“Food, mostly. Cheese, biscuits, bottled water. But do you smell that?”
After a pause, Kiran answered. “Can’t smell a thing past the disinfectant.”
Isabeau edged even closer to the partition wall, dimly aware of the bulky shape of Danger, and the feel of his armour under her hands.
“Exactly. Disinfectant.” Elke’s voice was very clear now. If the partition had not been in the way, Isabeau would have been able to touch her. “It absolutely kills Meisje’s nose. Just look at her. She can’t stand it. It’s been like that with all of these places where things have gone missing.”
Another pause.
“So,” Kiran said at last. “You think that’s the idea? This person is sloshing disinfectant around to hide their scent?” Isabeau guessed that Elke must have nodded, because Kiran continued, “And you think it’s this woman— She’s here?”
Isabeau knew what Elke was going to say even before she spoke. A chill brushed down her spine and fear pooled in her belly.
“Missy Cloete. I can’t prove it, but I’m sure of it. Missy Cloete is hiding somewhere in the Eye.”
“Shit,” said Kiran. And then more emphatically, “Shit! What about Kipper? Disinfectant all over the place there as well. You think she—”
“I think she might have killed him, yes. He probably bumped into her by accident, and she had to shut him up.”
Isabeau felt a wet warmth on her hand and opened her eyes—she’d not even been aware her eyes were closed. Danger was licking her hand, anxious eyes locked on her face.
Her mouth was dry, her heart racing, and all at once she felt dizzy and sick, overwhelmed by the input from the gardag’s mind-link. She pulled the diadem off and sank down to rest her forehead against Danger’s reassuring bulk.
Missy Cloete.
Gunshot clapped her ears again, and another, and the stench of fear-sweat, the man’s hard arm about her throat and his fingers in her hair as he dragged her backwards across the sand.
Hiding under the floorboards with Robbie struggling in her arms, her heart beating so hard she was nearly sick.
Xun, leaping, her jaws closing, blood on the gardag’s armoured mask.
Isabeau’s arms tightened around Danger’s neck and she pushed her face into the gap between armour plates to breath the infinite comfort of his dog-scent.
Missy Cloete had sent those men to hunt her and Ndlela.
Missy Cloete was here in the Eye.
Just the thought of it had her heart bumping. They had to leave at once! But of course, they couldn’t. While quarantine lasted, they were all trapped.
The fear in her belly curdled into anger, and Isabeau sat back, wiping the tears impatiently from her face.
She had to get back to the table before Elke and Kiran came out and guessed what she’d overheard.
¤¤¤
Elke, Kiran and Meisje came up to the table where Noor, Ndlela and Tomas waited.
“We got some food,” Noor said, indicating a variety of bowls and cartons she’d set out. “I hope this is what you like?”
“Looks fine.” Elke looked around. “Where’s Issy?”
“She’s taking Danger for a walk,” said Tomas.
“Here she is.” Noor shifted to one side to make space for Isabeau.
“Under the table, boy,” Tomas told Danger, who crawled obediently to settle at his feet with a heavy sigh.
“He needs a proper run.” Elke watched as Meisje and Danger touched noses, and Meisje lay down next to him.
Tomas nodded, mouth full of food.
“Now what’s wrong,” Noor said to Isabeau. “You were hungry a minute ago.”
Isabeau shook her head.
“Where’s Diesel?” asked Kiran.
“She had to go do something,” said Noor. “She said she’d be along in a bit. Ndlela, is that all you’re eating?”
Ndlela’s plate was empty except for some pieces of bisc, a thin and crispy strangeside bread.
“What’s wrong with everyone?” Noor said irritably. “Issy. I specially got these fritters for you. You know you like them.”
Isabeau allowed Noor to put a few more fritters on her plate.
“So,” Noor said as she pushed a bowl of rice significantly towards Isabeau and handed her a spoon. “Mack Jack’s gone to see his contact who knows about the slavers.” She caught Elke’s eye. “I know Diesel doesn’t want us to talk about this in front of the kids, but they have just as much a right to know as I do.”
This made Isabeau sit up a bit. “Kids,” she said, shooting a glance at Ndlela, who didn’t respond. “You’re not that much older than us, Noor.”
“I spoke to Ricardo,” Elke said quickly, hoping to distract Isabeau. “He’s a friend of mine who works in customs. He had all kinds of stories about the Gute Fee.”
“The Gute Fee?” Isabeau leaned forward, her anger forgotten, and even Ndlela looked up.
“That’s their old name,” said Kiran. “Like the good fairies who spirit away travellers, you know?” She snorted. “Pretty grim sort of joke. Now people call them the collectionistas.”
“Oh, we’ve heard of those,” said Isabeau. “They kidnap people and send them off to work on the mines and that.” She broke off a bit of fritter, her eyes never leaving Elke’s face. “Noor says they took Mom into the Strange.”
“We think it’s possible,” Kiran said when Elke didn’t respond. “But so far we’ve not seen any proof of it. That’s what Mack Jack’s going to try and find. He’s got some guy who knows a guy who might be able to tell us more.”
Voices sounded from the cafeteria entrance, raised in greeting and laughter. Elke saw Noor’s expression change and turned to see what had caught her eye.
A group of people, led by an unusually tall black woman, were making their way to a table that had apparently been reserved for them. They were all dressed in beautifully tailored blue-and-silver uniforms.
“The Marine Guard,” breathed Isabeau. “It’s the Guard, Noor!”
Noor was already on her feet. “I’m just—” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Hey—” Kiran lifted a hand but let it drop. She swore under her breath as she watched Noor limp towards the group at the table.
Elke rose as if to follow, but Kiran grabbed hold of her sleeve. “You’ll just make it worse,” she said.
“That’s Mama Ukrebe,” said Isabeau. “Isn’t it? That big woman. And the white guy, he’s Thresher. Or is that Hammerkop?”
“Thresher.” Kiran’s eyes were intent on Noor, who had reached the Marine Guard’s table.
“The two tiny ones are Kuroshio and Oyashio,” Isabeau told Ndlela. “Noor told me about them. They’re fierce! And I guess that guy with the goggles must be Hammerkop then.”
Noor had reached the table and was speaking to the woman Isabeau had pointed out as Mama Ukrebe. The woman’s cool gaze swept down Noor’s body, stopping at her crooked foot. Her lip curled, and she flicked a hand dismissively as she turned away.
“Oh,” said Isabeau. “She’s coming back already.”
It was true. Noor, who’d stood frozen for a moment, was returning to their table, eyes downcast and cheeks flushed.
“So,” Kiran said, reaching for Isabeau’s plate. “You’re not going to eat all those fritters, are you?”
“Hey!” Isabeau pulled her plate out of Kiran’s reach. “Those are mine.”
By the time Noor reached the table, everybody was distracted by Kiran’s efforts to steal one of Isabeau’s fritters, and Noor was able to slide into her seat unchallenged.
“Mine,” Isabeau said triumphantly, seizing the last of the fritters. “What did they say, Noor? Did you talk to them?”
“I just said hello.” Noor’s hair was down over her face so it was hard to see her expression. “They’ve had a long day. I didn’t want to bother them.”
“That’s true,” Kiran said. “It’s a tough job.”
“That’s right,” Isabeau said eagerly. “W
as it like that when you were a guard?”
“It was.” Kiran mopped some sauce from her plate with a piece of bisc. “Reminds me of when I first joined them. I was about Noor’s age. Actually, I was probably a bit younger.” She took a neat bite of the morsel. “They skeer newcomers. It’s like an initiation. Shaving off all the bits of your personality that don’t belong in the sea. Put you through all kinds of tests.”
Noor looked up, interested despite herself.
“One of the things they do is you’re not allowed to sleep for, like, days.” Kiran grinned. “It’s amazing what lack of sleep will do to your ability to think straight.”
“What happened?” Isabeau was entranced.
Elke watched as Kiran launched into a ridiculous story of the tricks and tests she’d had to survive as a new member of the Marine Guard. She told them about all the mistakes she’d made as an earnest, accident-prone new recruit, believing even the most outlandish lies, and falling for the same pranks over and over again as she religiously followed the older guards’ advice.
Isabeau, Ndlela and Tomas were soon shaking with laughter, and Noor emerged from behind her hair, and even smiled a few times.
“I wish I could have seen that,” Isabeau said when the story was finally over.
“It was even funny to me, once it was over,” said Kiran. “Though not at the time.”
“Why did you leave them?” said Isabeau.
“Issy!” Noor frowned.
“No, it’s fine,” said Kiran. “It’s no big mystery. It just worked out that way. I didn’t belong with them. I didn’t like the way they saw the world. So, I left.”
Noor swept her hair back so that it hung away from her face. “What was your name, with them? They give you a name, don’t they, when you make it through initiation?”
“They do.” Kiran picked up her empty plate and piled it on top of Elke’s. “They called me Spira. It’s an aquatic animal on the strangeside. Very like a dolphin.”
“Spira,” said Isabeau, trying it out. “That’s beautiful. Have you ever seen one?”
“A spira?” Kiran shook her head with a wry smile. “No. I’ve never been into the Strange.”
“You haven’t?” Isabeau frowned, puzzled. “Wasn’t your mom a Stranger? Or was it your dad?”
“My father,” Kiran confirmed. “My mother was a Real. As far as they’re concerned, that’s enough Reals blood that I’m not allowed strangeside.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Elke. “That’s tough.”
“That’s not fair,” said Isabeau. “How can they do that?”
Kiran shrugged. “That’s how it is. I’ve lived most of my life in the Eye, and in the Real, when I was with the Guard.”
A tinny pop cut off the dexter music that had been playing for the past few minutes, and somebody began repeating the by now familiar list of quarantine rules. It was a different voice from before, an older woman who rushed impatiently through the message.
“And now,” the voice continued, “we can confirm that the disease that has been spreading amongst us is a form of microsporidiosis. It’s caused by a kind of microscopic parasitic fungi. The form of the disease we see here in the Eye has not been recorded before, although it is similar to the strangeside disease known as ‘pix’, ‘ink-ache’ or ‘ink-flu’.
“It is too early to say how this disease came into the Eye, or how it is spread, but the number of cases that have occurred in so short a time suggests that it is highly contagious. For this reason, we are continuing our current strategy of isolating all residents who show signs of infection.
“Early symptoms include a loss of appetite, a slight fever, headaches, and a sensitivity to light. As the disease progresses, the fever intensifies and the patient may temporarily lose their sight. Excessive saliva is another symptom, and in many cases, black tears will leak from the eyes.
“If the disease remains untreated these symptoms will intensify, leading, in severe cases, to organ failure and death. However, we are happy to report that so far, most of those who’ve fallen ill are in a stable condition. It is too soon to speculate on the recovery rate at this stage.
“There is, as yet, no vaccine, and certainly no cure for this disease, but it can be treated symptomatically. Early detection is essential. and it is for this reason that we urge all residents who experience any of these symptoms to report to the newly expanded lazaretto on Short Storage just below the realside gate.
“Since the organism that causes the disease had been identified, we can test for its presence before any symptoms occur. All residents of the Eye will be tested. Residents can find out more about this procedure by consulting the notices that have gone up in all the public areas.
“We urge all residents in the Eye to remain calm, and to comply with our efforts to contain and eradicate this disease.”
After a brief pause, the voice started again, this time speaking in one of the dialects of the Strange.
“A microscopic parasite!” Isabeau’s eyes were huge. “That sounds horrible.”
“They said that people recover from it,” said Noor. “And they’re doing everything they can to stop it spreading. These are Strangers, remember. They know all about this kind of thing.”
“I think you guys better go back to your cubbies,” Elke said, looking around the cafeteria. The mood of the place was changing. A group of people was arguing near the back, and the cafeteria staff were hurriedly gathering in the unoccupied chairs and abandoned cutlery.
“Constable Veraart?”
A young woman slid between the tables towards them, balancing on a pair of roller-skates. She held an envelope out to Elke. “Message for you.”
“Thanks.” Elke put a hand in her pocket but the girl said, “Don’t worry. Already paid for,” and skated off, her long black plait whipping behind her as she went.
Elke tore open the envelope and read its contents. “Oh.” She closed her eyes.
“What is it?” Kiran touched her shoulder with a tentative hand. “Bad news?”
“It’s Diesel.” Elke rubbed a hand over her face. “She’s sick. She’s gone to the lazaretto.”
Isabeau pressed herself into Noor’s side, pulling her sister’s arm around her. “Diesel’s sick?”
“She can’t be too bad,” Elke said, attempting to pull herself together. “She didn’t even have a headache, last time I saw her. They said it’s good if you catch it early, didn’t they?”
“We better go,” Noor said. “We can talk about it at the cubbies. It’s okay, Issy. I’m sure Diesel will be fine.”
The Lazaretto
Isabeau marvelled at how untidy the cubbies were, despite them having brought so few things with them. Noor’s cubby was in reasonable shape, but the one Isabeau and Ndlela shared was a clutter of discarded clothes and bunched-up bedding strewn with small objects.
Isabeau had been collecting discarded brass washers wherever she found them in the corners and crannies of the Eye. She liked the way they looked, like blank, coppery coins. Ndlela’s collection was of interesting valves, springs and other small parts, most of them given to him by mijnheer Sparks.
Both had a tiny bottle garden too, presents from Mack Jack—glass globes filled with miniature mossy landscapes, each with a tiny coll-sun on a spring casting dappled light over the crumpled, crumb-strewn blankets.
It was tricky, manoeuvring about in the cramped space of the cubby, so Noor and Isabeau simply emptied it, passing everything out to Ndlela for him to shake out and organise while they swept and cleaned and readied the shelves and cupboards.
As she worked, Isabeau was trying to figure out how to bring Missy Cloete into the conversation. Elke had not mentioned her, and clearly meant to keep her presence in the Eye a secret. Isabeau wanted to tell Noor what she’d overheard but couldn’t explain her knowledge without confessing how she’d come by it. And that was the problem. Isabeau was absolutely sure that Noor would forbid her to use the diadem, once she found out its pot
ential for eavesdropping.
“Where’s your other shoe?” Noor held up the only one of Isabeau’s shoes she’d found so far. “Why aren’t you wearing your shoes?”
Isabeau tossed a bundle of blankets to Ndlela. “It’s always indoors here. I don’t need shoes, do I?”
“But where is it?” Noor bent to pick up Isabeau’s backpack and looked inside it. “Shoes are expensive. It’s bad enough, the way you grow out of them...”
“Noor,” Isabeau said. “You know what Kiran was saying, about how she can’t go to the Strange, because she’s half a Real?”
“Hm?” Noor was down on the floor now, peering into the long drawer under Isabeau’s bed.
“How do they check?”
“Ow.” Noor rubbed her head where she’d bumped it. “How do they check what?”
“Whether you’re a Real or a Stranger.”
“I don’t know, Issy. They look at your papers, I suppose. Or at your parents’ papers. They’ve got all those records, you saw them in the archive.” Noor reached deeper into the drawer, sweeping her hand from side to side. “Here it is,” she said, drawing out the shoe. “Why did you put it in here?”
“But what if you don’t have papers? I mean— What if you don’t know who your mother is? Or your father?”
Noor placed both shoes neatly next to each other on the floor. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you know, like me.” Isabeau took her empty backpack and absentmindedly stuffed the shoes into it. “I don’t know who my mother is— I mean, I don’t know who my birth mother is. Mom found me in a bin, didn’t she? When I was a baby.”
“So?” Noor closed the drawer with a bang and pulled open the drawer under Ndlela’s bed.
“So,” Isabeau said, “my mother—birth mother—could have been a Stranger, couldn’t she? Or my father. I could be a Stranger. How would they know?”
Noor closed the second drawer more slowly and smoothed her hair back out of her face. “I don’t think that’s very likely, do you?”
“No. But I mean, just as an example. There must be many people like me, who don’t know who their mothers were. Or— Or their grandmothers, or grandfathers.” Isabeau drew up her narrow shoulders. “How do they know, who’s a Stranger and who’s a Real?”
The Strange Page 10
