The Strange

by Masha du Toit

  “They probably have some kind of test.” Noor sat on the bare, mattressless bed. “They test your DNA. They can do that kind of thing. See what part of the world your parents were from, based on your DNA. They must be able to do that for Strangers too.”

  “Oh.”

  “There’s a little broom and dustpan up in that shelf above your head,” she said. “Sweep up in here, while I go help Ndlela.”

  ¤¤¤

  The space in front of the roost was a chaos of bedding and possessions, and Ndlela was nowhere to be seen.

  Noor, embarrassed by the way their things were cluttering the walkway, quickly pushed everything out of the way and so found Ndlela, curled up in a nest of bedding. He grunted when she pulled aside the blanket, and turned away, burrowing deeper.

  Noor crouched, instantly concerned. She slipped a hand over her brother’s forehead and frowned at how damp and hot it felt. “Ndlela.” She shook his shoulder gently. “You okay?”

  “Head.” He squinted up at her as if the light was too bright for his eyes and raised an arm to cover his face.

  “You got a headache?” Noor kept her voice calm, but an icy trickle of fear coiled round her heart.

  Early symptoms include a loss of appetite, a slight fever, headaches, and a sensitivity to light.

  “Let’s get you into a proper bed. You can’t lie out here. Issy!”

  Something in Noor’s voice must have got through to Isabeau, because she appeared almost instantly, with none of her usual prevarication. “Yes?”

  “Get that mattress back in Ndlela’s bed and help me make it for him. He’s not feeling well.”

  Isabeau gave Noor a wide-eyed look, then hurried to obey.

  ¤¤¤

  By the time Elke arrived nearly an hour later, Noor was pacing in the walkway between the roosts.

  “What’s wrong?” Elke said, alarmed by the look in both the girls’ faces.

  “Ndlela’s sick,” said Isabeau.

  Elke listened quietly as Noor listed Ndlela’s symptoms. “Sounds like he’s got it,” she said. “The ink-ache. How bad is his fever?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have a thermometer.” Noor wrapped her arms around herself. “He feels hot, but not burning up. I got him to drink some water. Maybe that was a mistake?”

  “No. I’m sure that was the right thing to do. What we need to do now is get him to the lazaretto. Do you think he can walk?”

  “The lazaretto?” Noor faltered. “I— Can’t I look after him here? If somebody told me what to do...”

  Elke shook her head decisively. “It’s not just that it’s illegal to keep him here, Noor. The lazaretto really is the best place for him. They’ve rigged it up like a hospital; they’ve got medics in there who know exactly how to help him.”

  “But he’ll be all alone.” Noor glanced up at the cubby. “They announced it, I heard. Only the medics are allowed in there, medics and sick people. He’ll be all by himself.” A tear spilt down her cheek, and she wiped it away angrily, scrunching up her face.

  “That’s true,” said Elke, “but it’s really the best place for him. They can do things we can’t. They’ll put him on a drip. And they’ve got strangeside treatments.” She touched Noor’s arm. “Tell you what. I know some of the nurses. I can ask them to send you updates on how he’s doing. And give him messages. That way he won’t feel so alone. But right now, we have to get him to the lazaretto. You heard what they said—the earlier they start the treatment, the better the chances.”

  Noor looked away until she got her twisting mouth under control. She nodded abruptly. “Okay.” She wiped her face again. “Okay, but we’ll have to carry him.”

  ¤¤¤

  Ndlela could walk after all, and he insisted on doing so, keeping his eyes closed most of the way, his sisters guiding him. Meisje ranged ahead, and Elke followed behind.

  Luckily the lazaretto was on Short Storage, so they only had to go up one level. The colls were already dimming for the night shift, but everyone seemed to be awake and busy. People stood at open doors, talking, or sat on their balconies watching the crowd outside.

  Isabeau stayed close to Ndlela’s side, trying to ignore how warm his arm was around her shoulders. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t just stay in his own bed, but one look at Noor’s face had made her swallow all her arguments.

  The queue to the lazaretto was kept orderly by some of the newly recruited volunteer peacekeepers. They saluted when they saw Elke, and one of them wrote down their names, got a list of Ndlela’s symptoms, and organised a wheelchair.

  “Huh,” Elke said when they were out of earshot. “Salutes and all. Tomas must have been teaching them.” She seemed unsure whether to be amused or alarmed.

  “What about us?” Isabeau looked up and down the queue. “Will they make us stay somewhere as well? In case we’re infectious?”

  One of the other people in the queue, a small glim woman, heard her. “They’ll test all of you, to see if you’re showing any early signs. They do it with a spit test.” She put a finger just inside her cheek, demonstrating. “Doesn’t hurt.”

  “But my brother’s got it,” said Isabeau. “This— Inky thing. Doesn’t that mean that we could spread the infection, because we’ve been with him?”

  “Ink-ache,” said the glim. “Only some people get sick, and only the sick ones spread it.”

  A tall man standing just ahead of them, a clerk of some kind, nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard. The fungus needs to get properly into your body to complete its life cycle. Can’t spread unless it makes you sick.”

  “Ugh.” Isabeau shuddered and wished she could wash her hands.

  “Constable Veraart?” Another peacekeeper had appeared, and saluted Elke again. “Can you go to the strangeside gate? There’s some argument going on.”

  “Is it urgent?”

  The man shrugged. “Not yet.”

  “I’ll come.” Elke turned to Noor. “I’m going up front to speak to my friend who’s a nurse in there, tell them to expect you. Then I’ve got to go deal with this thing at the gate. If I’m not back before you’re done, wait for me by the lazaretto entrance. Meisje, you stay with them, okay?”

  Meisje gave a bark and went to sit by Ndlela.

  When Elke was gone, Noor crouched by Ndlela, again checking if he was comfortable and trying to get him to drink more water.

  Isabeau leaned sideways, trying to see how long the queue was, and what the lazaretto looked like. The end of the corridor was blocked off with plastic sheeting, clearly put up in a hurry. Scents breathed from beyond the sheeting—surgical spirits, cleaning fluid, and clove oil.

  “What’s a lazaretto?” she asked Noor.

  But Noor just shook her head.

  “Want some bisc or water, girly? Some sweetmeats for the young lady?” The speaker was a stocky man pushing a cart full of snacks and bottled drinks.

  “No, thanks,” said Noor. “We’re okay, thanks.”

  The man glanced around, then felt inside his jacket and drew out a pamphlet. “Heard your question,” he said in a low voice. “They don’t want to answer, do they?” He pushed the pamphlet at Isabeau, who took it.

  Meisje gave the man a considering look, and he stepped smartly behind his cart. “Read it,” he said. “That’s everything they won’t tell you, right in there.”

  Isabeau looked at the pamphlet. It was a printed on cheap grey paper, and the heading, in thick, black letters, proclaimed “Don’t believe the Lies!!!” Below it, in smaller type, was “The real story behind the diseas.”

  The front page showed a crude picture of a tattooed man holding up a syringe and smiling.

  Meisje nudged her nose under Isabeau’s hand, and then sniffed intently at the pamphlet, finishing with a snort.

  “It’s all in there,” said the tall clerk who’d spoken before. “My brother told me; he’s got a friend in the Bifrost Eye. Same thing’s going on there.” The clerk nodded at the pamphlet. “That is just the
beginning. You wouldn’t believe the lies the people in charge here have been telling us.”

  Isabeau frowned. “What do you mean?” She glanced back at Noor, who was trying to tuck a blanket around Ndlela.

  “This disease. They pretend like it’s something new.” The man snorted. “They treat us like we’re fools. Meanwhile, it’s happened at Bifrost too, and Nexico Eye.”

  “The other Eyes?” said Isabeau. “People got sick there too?”

  “That’s right.” The man nodded, grimly satisfied at the idea. “It’s nothing new. That’s just the way they try to play it to us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The man glanced behind him, as if checking to see if anyone was listening. When he spoke again, it was in a low voice. “It’s all a plan to infect the Real. It’s a strangeside invasion, but instead of doing it with guns and soldiers, they’re doing it with microscopic bugs. That’s why none of the Strangers are getting sick. It’s only us Reals, notice that?”

  “But—” Isabeau looked at him in surprise. “I know that’s not right. My friend Diesel got sick, and she’s a Stranger.”

  “Did you actually see her?” The man smiled at Isabeau’s hesitation. “I thought not. Just got a message, didn’t you. It’s all part of it.”

  Isabeau frowned. Surely this could not be right? She tried to think what it was that bothered her, but the thought slipped away from her like a tadpole in mud. “But if they want to spread the disease into the Real, why are they doing all this quarantine stuff?”

  “That’s all a smokescreen,” said the man. “They’ve stopped the commercial trains, that’s all part of it. There’s a lot of money to be made by creating scarcity. And if somebody wants their product to get through”—he rubbed finger and thumb together with a significant wink—“ you can bet they find a way. No, this so-called quarantine is just a show for our benefit.”

  The queue started moving, and the man picked up his briefcase. “Whatever you do,” he said to Isabeau. “Don’t let them give you any pills or shots. Don’t trust the medics here. They’re all in on it.”

  After that it wasn’t long before they reached the entrance to the lazaretto, a temporary gate made of heavy sheeting draped over scaffolding.

  A guard barred the entrance. Just beyond him was a cubicle of translucent plastic, inside which people could be seen putting on hooded plastic coveralls, gloves, bag-like boots, thin, papery masks, and goggles.

  The clerk who’d been talking to Isabeau was arguing with the guard at the entrance desk. As far as Isabeau could tell, the clerk was demanding to be let into the lazaretto, although he claimed not to be sick at all. He had to speak to somebody. No, he didn’t want to send them a message. No, he could not let the guard know who this person was.

  At last the clerk threw his hands up in disgust and stalked away.

  Noor approached the desk, and the guard glanced at her, and then at Ndlela. “All of you sick?”

  “Only him,” said Noor.

  A hissing drew Isabeau’s attention. The cubicle was filling with a white mist that dewed the inside of the sheeting. The people inside, now completely dressed in their protective clothing, were nearly invisible.

  “Remember that Sneeze guy,” Isabeau said to Noor. “Wearing his biosuit all the time. Maybe he’s not so crazy after all.”

  But all Noor’s attention was on the nurse who was inspecting Ndlela. The nurse asked Noor about Ndlela’s symptoms, noting her answers on his clipboard, and slipped a bracelet on the boy’s arm. Ndlela sat as if asleep, eyes closed, head slumped forward on his chest.

  “How long will he have to be in there?” Noor asked, but the nurse wheeled Ndlela away without responding. “Excuse me!” she called and tried to follow, but the guard barred her way with a peremptory arm across her chest.

  “I just want to know—” Noor leaned sideways, trying to see past the guard, who stepped again to block her way.

  “No.” The guard was quite neutral, but with no sympathy either. “Go.” She placed a gloved hand on Noor’s shoulder and forced her to turn. “Go.”

  Another guard moved from behind the plastic, eyebrows raised, ready for action.

  Meisje, who’d been at Isabeau’s side, trotted forward, hackles slightly raised.

  “No,” said Noor, lowering her hands. “Meisje, no, it’s okay, I’ll go.” She turned and walked away, and to Isabeau’s relief, Meisje, after a last look at the guards, followed her.

  “We’ll wait over there for Elke,” Noor said, pointing to a bench near the translucent cubicle.

  “I thought Elke said she’d talk to the nurses,” said Isabeau.

  “Maybe that wasn’t the nurses she talked to,” said Noor, sitting down, and making Isabeau sit next to her.

  Meisje lay down at their feet, relaxed but alert. Isabeau pressed her legs against the gardag’s warm flank, wishing that Tomas and Danger were here too. She liked the big gardag, found him less intimidating than the self-contained and competent Meisje.

  Another hiss drew her attention. The cubicle was emptying of mist again, revealing a small figure that Isabeau at first took for a child. As she watched, the person pulled off its overalls, balancing clumsily first on one foot, and then the other. Isabeau struggled to see through the misted folds of plastic. Something was odd about the proportions of its limbs.

  He—by now, Isabeau was pretty sure the figure was male—bundled up his protective clothing and shoved them into a bag. He unzipped a flap in the plastic sheeting and stepped through, accompanied by a waft of medicinal scent.

  Isabeau couldn’t help staring. The man’s face looked wrong. His mouth seemed too complicated, like the mouth-parts of an insect. His eyes were small, and his eyebrows so elongated they seemed like antennae.

  Noor and Isabeau, seeing him approach, rose to their feet. Meisje stood too, but her tail was wagging, and her expression relaxed and friendly.

  Isabeau had heard about non-human Strangers, kewers and mormels, but this was the first one she’d seen. She guessed this one was a kewer. Mormels, she’d heard, were catlike, and he was neither sinuous nor graceful.

  The kewer’s hands moved over a contraption strapped to his chest, and a moment later a voice emerged. “Hello. You are Elke’s friends,” it said. “You are Noor and Eesabaa.”

  “Isabeau,” Isabeau corrected automatically, and the kewer inclined his head apologetically, moving fingers over the box’s keyboard again. “Isabeau,” said the voice. “My name is Alexander. I am a friend of Elke’s also.”

  “You’re working in there?” Noor said. “You are a nurse?”

  Alexander nodded his strange head. “That is correct. I am a temporary nurse. Just helping out. I am not.” He hesitated, then tapped some more. “Not a professional nurse.”

  “I understand,” said Noor. “Did Elke explain about our brother? He’s sick, in there.” She pointed at the lazaretto. “Elke said you could help us get messages to him, maybe tell us how he’s doing.”

  “No problem,” said Alexander. “You can ask the guards there for me, when you come again. Ask for Alexander, and if you have trouble getting hold of me, here is my cubby number. You can leave a note there for me.” He did something to the box, and slip of paper emerged from it, whirring and clicking. He tore it off and handed it to Noor.

  “Oh, cool,” said Isabeau, no longer able to contain herself. “It prints too!”

  Alexander wiggled his eyes at her in a way she guessed must be his version of a smile. “That’s right. Elke helped me improve it. Most helpful.”

  “Ndlela would love that—” Isabeau faltered as she remembered how unlikely it was that her brother would be able to appreciate anything right now. “He likes that kind of thing. Mechanical things,” she finished awkwardly.

  “Ndlela is your brother who is sick,” said Alexander. “I will show him my speechifier, when he is feeling a little better.”

  “Hey! Alex. Guys.”

  They all turned to see Elke coming down
the corridor. Meisje barked, and Alexander raised a hand in greeting.

  Elke walked quickly, with Danger trotting at her heel, her expression so serious Isabeau’s stomach tightened with dread. “You got Ndlela booked in okay?” Elke asked Noor, and hardly waiting for a response, said, “Tomas is sick. Mack Jack too, he’s got it pretty bad.” She bent to greet Meisje, who was curvetting around her in silent greeting. “Any of you showing symptoms? Isabeau? Noor?”

  Noor and Isabeau shook their heads.

  “Well, good.” Elke blew out a breath. “Listen. You know everyone’s being tested, right? Your roost is scheduled for testing early tomorrow morning.”

  Through all of this Isabeau had been peripherally aware of a group of people approaching, each clutching a package. They crowded up to the cubicle and shook out their packages, which turned out to be biosuits and the rest of the protective gear. One of them was a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length hair and the elegant tattoos of an eidolon lady.

  Jinan Meer.

  Meisje growled softly, and Isabeau saw Elke stiffen. She wanted to step behind Elke, but found herself frozen to the spot.

  Jinan turned as if she sensed their combined attention. She regarded them, her expression neutral. “Veraart.” Her gaze moved over Noor, and Isabeau. “Hmm.”

  “Frau-eid Meer,” said Elke. “You are helping in the lazaretto now?”

  Jinan inclined her head. “I have the training. We must do what we can.”

  Isabeau felt as though the air had been punched from her stomach. Jinan Meer, the woman who was responsible for all the mayhem that had torn up her home, was not just walking around free, but going into the lazaretto where Ndlela was lying, helpless and alone.

  She opened her mouth to speak and felt Elke’s hand tighten on her shoulder.

  “How is Diesel? Do you know?” said Elke.

  “Diesel.” Jinan tugged her biosuit into place over her arms and shoulders. “Yes, she booked herself in earlier today.” She pulled the hood up over her head. “This disease is no joke. Diesel is stable, but we don’t yet know enough to predict the progress of any individual.”