Green Jay and Crow

by D. J. Daniels

  It is not right that the Crow should live and that T-Lily should die. I move over to her. It’s not far and I don’t even have to stand; I just pull myself up to sitting and shuffle along until I can feel her. The connection that is always there when one of the Trocarn touches you is gone. There is no exchange. There is nothing. I have made it worse for her, not better.

  “We can’t leave her here,” I tell Blue Jay. Though neither of us has anywhere to go, any place to take her.

  “I can’t let you be caught again,” he says. He’s still sitting on the landing, as if he’s collapsed. For a moment, I feel as if I want to push him off. I don’t understand why. But then he looks at me, and the feeling goes.

  “We could take her to the greenhouse,” I suggest.

  “Okay,” says Blue Jay, but I can see he thinks it’s wrong. That he would have to carry her up the flights of stairs. And then, what would we do with her? I do not even know how the Trocarn treat their dead; what is considered right.

  “Or to the High Track, back to her own people.” I make myself say it.

  “No, not there.”

  “We can’t leave her here.”

  “Can you stand?” Blue Jay holds out his hands, and I pull myself up. Once I am standing, it’s not as bad as I thought. I hold on to the railings while Blue Jay lifts T-Lily. I want to cover her, but there is nothing. Blue Jay holds her in his arms and starts down the stairs. T-Lily could be asleep. Asleep in his arms. He walks slowly and I follow them, and there is a part of me that wishes I was asleep too.

  Crow

  I’M BACK BY the water tower and luckily I had some help to get this far. I’m as right as I’m ever going to be, which is to say my leg is completely fucked. And if it wasn’t for the fact it’s full of God-knows-how-much ultra high tech, it would be a write-off. They told me that at the hospital quite a few hundred times. I’m not sure who they thought I was, and it’s not like I was giving them a rundown of my own complicated history—I don’t even know if I could anymore—but they seemed to know very well I wasn’t from there and then. So to speak. And didn’t seem much troubled by it.

  In any case, I’ve got a clean bill of health, despite some prolonged fussing over the tendril embedded in my wrist. They offered to get it out and I surprised myself by refusing. So far no harm done, I reckon. And if they can fill part of me full of shit, then so can the Tenties. Talk about loyalty.

  Anyway, once I’d expressed an interest in the water tower and they divined that taking me there was a way to get rid of me, I got some help. I could have managed on my own. I mean, I can walk, although I’ve been advised not to run for a while; things are still settling in. And I can’t say it’s the most dependable walking I’ve ever done. So a friendly robot helper was provided. It looks like a stick insect standing upright, and it has all the personality of one. No offence to stick insects.

  The robots here are nothing like the Chemical Conjurers, more’s the pity. There’s no personality, no chance for a chit-chat and a laugh. On the other hand, you know exactly where you stand; they’re a mine of information, and extremely helpful. Can’t see this one helping me out with any necessary escapes, but you never know. I’m not even exactly sure if this one’s coming with—I mean, back home, and elsewhere. That’s the one bit of extremely good-to-know information I haven’t been able to extract.

  The hospital turned out to be not all that far from what should have been the marketplace, and so it wasn’t long before I was back in familiar territory. Same old, same old. The High Track was as obvious and intrusive as ever, and my thoughts naturally, if reluctantly, turned to Guerra and the task at hand.

  I’m not looking forward to it. I’ve got a new perspective on Guerra now. There’s the man he becomes, the crazy tortured Barleycorn King, feeling more than a little guilty about the Tenties if nothing else, but more immediately there’s the man who sent the time nets out for me and Eva. And bloody unpleasant things they turned out to be. But that’s the Guerra I know, and I know ways to get around that one.

  At least, I hope I do.

  But first I have to meet up with Mac and Eva. Rendezvous at the water tower. Which, despite all the high techiness of this particular reality, is still very much there. There’s not much chance for graffiti, the whole thing is covered in screens. Thin, bendy screens that sometimes show all sorts of different things and sometimes band together for the one big, slightly overwhelming image. Beats the big screen back home, have to say that.

  We stand under the water tower for a while, but bugger that, I give up and sit with my back against one of the support posts. It’s not the one with the ladder, but I can see the entrance to Mac’s lair. Don’t look like it’s been opened in a while. The farm’s pretty much nonexistent, unless this world somehow get its sustenance from grass and wildflowers. It’s pretty. There’s no shed, which comes as something of a relief, but the house is there. I watch it closely, just to see if there’s any sign of life. It’s somewhere to sleep if I have to. I don’t fancy climbing up into the water tower, even with the help of my robot friend.

  I close my eyes for a moment. I wouldn’t have thought I slept, but after a while there’s a clucking noise from the robot. It’s half-human, half-dog as far as I can tell. I mean, it can speak and it’s usually intelligible, but it also makes these weird sounds. Kind of annoying, slightly endearing. I suppose I’ll get used to it.

  Not that there’s anything happening when I do open my eyes. Everything is much of a muchness. There’s a bit of a breeze rustling through the grasses, a bit of heat haze, but that’s hardly enough to provoke clucking in a robot. Or maybe it is. I had a dog once that used to bark his head off at insects and completely ignore the birds stealing his food. That was a while ago, that dog. The thought makes me homesick.

  I close my eyes again and make a mental note to mess with that clucking somehow. For now, I just ignore it. And so I’m surprised when the robot gives me a kick in the shins. Not my bad leg and, to be fair, not that hard, but it does surprise.

  “Look,” it says, pointing to the outside world in what I can only describe as an exasperated manner.

  There are two people walking towards us. One of them’s carrying a third person, who looks, from this distance, to be either gravely injured or dead. You’d think I’d be more concerned about prospective visitors. Or at least up on my feet. But there’s something about the drugs I’m fairly sure are still pumping through my system that makes me chilled. And these people don’t appear that much of a threat. One of them’s encumbered and the other one appears to be struggling; she, and I’m fairly sure it’s a she, lags behind. The first one waits, she catches up, they keep walking. Obviously heading over here, but taking a bloody long time about it.

  The robot takes a few steps forward. It’s changed its configuration so that it is actually more like a dog. Down on all fours. Not sure why: it could stand up under the water tower. I can, and it’s not much taller than me. It’s at the edge of the water tower, hovering between shade and sun, and then it decides and runs out to greet them. At first I thought it was some kind of an attack, but no, it wants to help. All that first-aid programming kicking in. It stretches out its body so that the injured person can be laid on its back. Which would not be a comfortable ride, but then they’re probably in no state to care. The injured figure is delivered to the robot, the woman leans on the first figure, and they all keep walking.

  I’m standing too now, at the edge of the water tower shade. And recognition kicks in: it is, of course, Mac and Eva. Who else was I expecting? I can’t tell who the robot’s got. A Tentie would be my first guess, but I’m reserving judgement. I lift my hand in greeting and get a half-hearted response from Mac. Who looks, with all due respect, like crap. Eva’s not much better, but that’s par for the course.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Green Jay

  WE WALK FROM the landing where Blue Jay found me, across to the High Track staircase. It is not that far: T-Lily, so hurt, so brave, ha
d brought me to the closest hidden place she could find. But when we get to the staircase, there are no stairs. Or, better to say, the stairs are damaged and unusable.

  “There’ll be others,” says Blue Jay, though I can see he is already tiring. I forget that he, too, has been through so much. I have not yet asked him how he managed to get away from Guerra, what harm was done to him, and I feel ashamed.

  In the Barlewin I was born into, there are buildings under the High Track. Most of them used to be warehouses and they probably still are. Guerra uses some of them, I am sure. People live there, not many—because, I think, it is hard not to feel that you are under Guerra’s watchful eye. It is not a place I have ever been. Me, or even Olwin Duilis. It is not somewhere you would want to go.

  This Barlewin is not so different. Perhaps because it’s beginning to get dark, so that there are shadows and mysteries. I do not want to walk between the buildings here. The tenements where my greenhouse is are also shadowy, but at least you know there are people living there and it is possible they will be friendly, and that they will allow you also to live beside them untroubled. But in this place anyone you meet is here for a purpose, and that purpose is unlikely to be friendly.

  There’s a lot of neglect. Broken windows, doors swinging open. Grass growing up where there should be pavings. I imagine a lot of the plants are ones whose seeds have floated down from the High Track; but here they have changed from beautiful to sinister. I stumble a few times, but I know I must not. I must walk as if I have no fear, as if everything is fine, as if we are in a safe, well-lit area.

  Blue Jay is moving straight across the middle. It would be quicker to try and reach one of the other staircases, but I know what he is thinking: at least in this direction we are heading to the water tower and the marketplace, to places that may offer protection.

  There are sounds. Bumps, scrapes, stifled laughter. They’ve been there for a while. It means nothing, I tell myself. I try to walk faster. I know it is not fast enough.

  And then there are five people standing right in front of us. They moved so fast I can’t even tell where they came from. And there is nowhere to go. No side streets, no open doors. Although what we might find behind a door could be even worse. I see flickers of light that could be knives. I draw close to Blue Jay.

  “Give us the Tentie,” says one of them. He’s skinny. His clothes are too big for him. He reminds me of the Crow. But even the Crow would not behave like this.

  “She’s injured,” says Blue Jay. “We’re taking her to get help.”

  “There’s no help here, mate.”

  Blue Jay looks at me quickly and then down at his arms. I know what he’s thinking. We may have no choice but to Time Lock, and for that we need his tech. He can’t move his arms. He needs them both to hold T-Lily. I find the dragonfly in my hair and then link my arm through his as if I am scared, but I’ve moved it as close to the technology wrapped around Blue Jay’s forearm as I can. I hope the dragonfly understands. I can reach the top of the device; I need the dragonfly to get to the underside. The skinny guy is watching me, but I don’t think he suspects. Why would he? This does not seem to be the kind of place where Time Locked travel would be common. Blue Jay is still talking. Making things up about hospitals and being lost and if they could just let us through we’d be out and away so soon.

  One of the others—not the skinny guy—laughs. “It’s dead,” she says. The five of them crowd closer. Some of them are poking at T-Lily. One of them’s trying to pull her away from Blue Jay. Another has his knife out, and is flicking at Blue Jay’s arm. “Give it up,” says another. “Give it up.” His voice is getting louder.

  The skinny guy steps back, spits on the ground deliberately so that I can see. I don’t dare look down at the device. And I cannot be at all sure where we are going even if the dragonfly knows what to do. The skinny guy steps towards me. There’s a grin on his face that I know and understand. I close my eyes and will the dragonfly on. Anywhere we go is better than here.

  Crow

  THEY MAKE IT to the water tower, and pretty much collapse onto the ground. At least Eva and Mac do; there is a Tentie on the robot’s back and I think probably T-Lily, but she’s too far gone to know for sure. Tentie features were never my strong point. The robot gives me a look and then lowers itself right down low so that it can slide the injured Tentie off its back, releasing something flat underneath it so that it’s not lying on the ground. I help, because I’m not such a heartless bastard as all that. Then the robot starts fussing with Eva so I go to Mac. Not that I can offer any medical skills, but I have some water. He sits up and leans back against one of the water tower support posts. I sit down too because standing, for some reason, hurts like hell.

  “You looked better last time I saw you,” I say.

  “That’s T-Lily,” says Mac. “She’s—she didn’t make it.”

  And somehow that makes everything worse. All this running around with the time nets and Eva’s quest for personhood and Guerra’s madness in whatever form I encountered him, never seemed much more than a fucked-up version of normal life. But we were meant to save the Tenties. Eva and me. Get them out of Time Lock and back to disturbing us in real life.

  “We thought we’d take her to the High Track, but we didn’t quite make it that far.” Mac tries for the self-deprecating grin, fails. He’s got his head as much wrapped around T-Lily’s death as I have, which is to say not at all. And then I realise that Mac has to have carried T-Lily through Time Lock to get here.

  “Trouble?” I ask.

  Mac nods. He holds up a piece of flimsy tech which looks pretty much ruined then closes his eyes and I disturb him no more. The robot pushes me out of the way so it can fuss with him.

  “How’s Eva?” Mac asks.

  “She is stable for now,” says the robot. “She requires extra care. I could take her to hospital?”

  “No,” says Mac.

  “Can you do anything for T-Lily?” I ask.

  “The Trocarn?”

  “Yes.”

  “She is gone,” says the robot. “Unnecessary, given her restorative powers.”

  I look at Mac and he’s looking up at the bottom of the water tower. We both know what that means. T-Lily could have saved herself. She saved Eva instead. Mac flinches. The robot is suturing a cut on his arm. “You would benefit from a hospital visit too,” it remarks.

  “No,” repeats Mac. “Is anyone else around?” he asks me.

  “Don’t know,” I say. “Haven’t seen anyone. Can you scan?” This last addressed to the robot.

  “Not accurately. I am designed for personal care and monitoring, nothing more.”

  “Doing a great job,” says Mac.

  “Thank you,” says the robot.

  “Do you have a name?” he asks.

  “I have been called Tal.”

  “Tal it is then,” says Mac.

  A half hour later, Mac’s recovered enough to take a look inside the water tower. (Tal believes there isn’t anyone inside, but he gives no guarantees.) It’s completely empty, no sign of the half-done renovations, no sign that Mac ever lived there.

  But that’s not the worrying thing.

  On the inside of the tower, painted right at the eye line for someone standing on the top rung of the ladder, are three birds. One is green, one is blue and the other is black. They are all wearing gas masks, and they are standing on barbed wire. Not that I climb up to see; Mac takes a picture on his phone to show us. And even I get this. It’s a warning.

  We all of us look at T-Lily.

  “What do you know about the Trocarn?” Eva asks Tal. “What is the right thing to do with her?”

  “Let me take her to the hospital,” Tal says. He’s reverted to his stick insect form, although he is not as tall as I remember him. Perhaps that is only because he isn’t walking beside me.

  “Can you access anything beyond your first aid script?” asks Mac.

  Tal shakes himself a little. “The Trocar
n have had many forms,” he says after a moment’s contemplation. “Death is unusual because of their self-healing capabilities.”

  “We should take her back to the vines,” says Eva.

  “If they still exist,” I say.

  “Eva’s right,” says Mac. “She has to go back to the Trocarn.”

  “Which means the High Track,” I say.

  “The High Track is weird here,” says Mac.

  “The High Track?” asks Tal.

  Mac points in the general direction of the High Track. “Big circular thing, floating above the roads. Ramps coming down.”

  “The bicycle ring,” says Tal. Which explains the swooshing noise that has been bugging me for a while.

  “Right,” says Mac

  “Then we take her there,” says Eva.

  “At least there’s no stairs,” says Mac.

  “Was it ever a garden?” I ask.

  “No,” says Tal. “Always for bicycles.” He turns to look at me. “You cannot go through Time Lock, not with your leg.” Which is news, and not welcome news, not that I had any intention of taking T-Lily back to the vines. “I assume that is your plan? To take the Trocarn back to her people in another reality?”

  “Somebody has to go,” says Eva. And she looks at me as if to say, well, it should be you. I return the look, but I doubt she interprets it correctly.

  “We’ll all go,” says Mac. “At least as far as the place where the Trocarn should be.” He helps slide T-Lily onto Tal’s back. The plan is to walk up to what I think of as staircase number 1, which in this world is a smaller ramp designed for people. It’s a bit of a trek, but otherwise we’ll have to deal with cyclists. So off we go.

  It’s a forlorn procession: Eva leaning on Mac, unnecessarily as far as I can tell; me hobbling along; and Tal carrying T-Lily.

  As we walk, I give some thought to Tal’s no-Time-Lock-travel prohibition. It’s an edict I could have done with some time back. But there’s no way I’m going to stay here, not indefinitely. Though now is not really the time to be asking Tal for details.