Elysium. Part Two (10 page)

‘So they bombed them!’ Someone interrupted before imitating an explosion.

‘Not the people, Harvey. Not the cities. They bombed the Bundestag building, which was where their government was.

Priya had been listening with an interest bordering on disbelief. She couldn’t help herself pulling back the partition and interrupting the class.

‘You do know that’s all bunkum, don't you?’

‘It’s not,’ Jocelyn replied defiantly, though with a touch of doubt in her voice. She went to one of the bookshelves and ran her fingers along the spines. She pulled out a small blue book and held it up. ‘It says so right here.’

She offered it to Priya, though Priya didn’t need to see it. She had read it in school herself, though it had been as part of her English literature studies, not history.

She took the book anyway, more for the sake of politeness, and studied the battered cover, which hung loosely and revealed warped cardboard beneath.

‘See?’ Priya offered the book back, turning it over. ‘Down by the barcode it should read ‘fiction’ but it’s been worn off. This is a fictional history of the twenty-first century as it may have unfolded without the Trade Centre Wars. It’s written by Marlon Vespir, one of the greatest science fiction writers of the early 22nd century. You must have other books by him?’

‘Oh God,’ Jocelyn went pale. ‘You're joking?’

Priya raised her brow and shook her head. ‘Sorry. I know this book inside out. Didn't you wonder about all the mentions of mining on Mars by the end of the century.’

‘I've been teaching that for years.’ Jocelyn said quietly, appalled.

‘That we went to Mars?’

She said nothing and slowly nodded.

‘Does Semilion know?’

‘I... I don't know.’ She moved closer to Priya so the children couldn't hear. ‘I think he suspects something. I hear him talking to my students sometimes with a look on his face like they’re, you know, simple.’

‘And everything you teach them comes from this book?’

‘Not everything. I always wondered why the fall of Germany wasn't in any other history books, but I never really considered it.’

‘Start considering it.’

‘I'm not really sure how to get out of this one, Priya.’

‘Just tell them it's a thought experiment. Make them write some alternate histories of their own. As for former students, you should take them aside one by one and let them know there was no brink of world war three, there was no mining industry on Mars, in fact you can be sure that nothing in that book actually happened.’

‘Would you take a lesson for me?’

Priya blinked in surprise. ‘A lesson? No. No way.’

‘You must know more than me though.’

‘Probably, but I don't see why I should...’

‘Please, Priya, just tell them anything you know until I work out what I’m going to teach them.’

‘You mean right now?’

Jocelyn regarded her hopefully.

‘I’ve got these girls to look after, Jocelyn. Maybe another day but I can't just drop everything and do it.’

Jocelyn nodded, though looked distant. She pulled her sleeves over her hands and hugged herself before turning back to her class.

‘That,’ she said so that the children in the back of the class looked up, ‘Is what we call a... Thought experiment?’ She turned to Priya who prompted her with a nod. ‘Which means that what I just told you didn’t happen... But someone imagined that it happened. Can anyone else tell me something that didn’t happen... Like yesterday morning when the sun didn’t rise we all had to spend the day writing by candlelight. Anyone else have another?’

A ginger haired boy raised his hand. ‘When you said I hit Sally you smacked my legs.’

‘No, that did happen. Yesterday.’

‘I mean I didn't hit Sally, she made it up because she’s a sow-bag!’

‘We’re not going through that again, Tarn.’ She turned back to Priya. ‘I don't think they’re getting it.’

I'm not surprised, Priya thought, and gestured for her to keep an eye on her girls. She stood and negotiated the sheet dividing the room, and rubbed her hands together in a guise of excitement.

‘Right. Who knows the story of King Kong, the giant ape of New York?’

The children looked at her blankly.

‘Ok, how about something more recent. The Oubliette Fields? The Revenge of Wolfhounds?’

All their hands shot up. She wasn't surprised that their suggested reading was books that focused on the ravages of the plague.

‘Right, now you all know the part whereby the Egyptian scientists conspire to create a virus to avenge the deaths of their friends?’

The children nodded uncertainly, and Jocelyn watched cautiously.

‘Well in real life that never happened. You see, when you write something that isn't true it's called fiction. When you lie it's a fiction.’

‘So fiction is bad?' One of the children asked.

‘Lying is bad; fiction is something that storytellers use to explore ideas.’ Priya explained, trying to muster a fitting explanation. ‘I could imagine a story right now to explore how some children escaped a Blackeye that catches them down on the beach. That doesn't mean it has happened or will happen, though it explores ideas how to escape a Blackeye if it did. So, take your... board things, and write a story about something that didn't happen. Something wonderful, or scary, or funny...’ She shrugged and turned back to Jocelyn.

‘That was great, Priya. Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ She ducked back through the partition, thinking her job looking after under-fives was better, at least, than Jocelyn’s.

*

Selina returned home in the evening exhausted, but she also felt good in herself. She had helped the community in some small way, kept it going just that little bit longer. She was covered from head to foot in flour, her face paler than ever, and she spent most of the steep journey home brushing grain and dust from her hair and clothes.

She met Ted Corbin as she passed by the derelict church. He was calling for Breaker and asked her if she had seen him.

‘Little blighter’s probably raced off after a rabbit or some such. Good day in the mill? Looks like you’ve been hard at it.’

‘It’s a shock to the system but I had fun. Morag and Hannah are… a pair!’

‘They certainly are!’ He said merrily, before waving her goodbye and calling for Breaker once again.

As she neared Channel View, thankful to be home, she saw Priya returning from the other end of the village. She waited for her at the bottom of the garden kicking a small stone about her feet. As Priya neared, Selina waved and said jovially, ‘Good day at work?’

‘I hate being around children!’ Priya scowled, her blonde hair tangled.

The smile dropped from Selina’s face. ‘Why? What happened?’

‘That Lord of the Manor, Tupper, that’s what’s happened,’

‘
What’s he done?’

‘
Given me a job in the crèche is what he’s done!’

‘
And?’

‘
Oh...’ Priya looked as though she could burst into countless reasons, bullet-pointed and revised throughout the day, though she sighed a long breath and her protestations disappeared with it. She looked deflated and distressed. Surely she hadn’t taken to heart something one of her new colleagues had said? No, it wasn’t like Priya to take things personally.

‘
They’ve got their priorities sorted, I’ll give them that...’ Priya said, ‘when a child’s out of line they punish them.’

‘
Did anything interesting happen?’

‘Oh, Nothing really. E
xcept one of the little darlings threw their breakfast all over me as soon as I arrived.’

‘Why’d they do that?’

‘I mean she threw up on me!’

‘Oh, gross...’

‘Hmm, oh, and take a look at this.’ She rummaged in her pocket and withdrew a crumpled sheet of paper. ‘A sweet little girl called Edith drew a picture of me...’

‘
Ah, bless,’ she took the sheet and put her fingers to her lips.

‘Don’t laugh,’ Priya said, snatching it back. ‘Tell me I don’t really have the body of a hippo.’

Selina couldn’t help but shrug in mock uncertainty. Priya rolled her eyes and they walked toward the house, ducking beneath the tangled weeds that veiled it.

Though they had been in Mortehoe for little over a month, Selina felt, after a long days labour, that she was slowly becoming part of the community. She closed the door on the day behind her. She thought of their first day after being shipwrecked, the rotting mattress and the ghostly wind in the rafters. It was a distant memory now, and her day in the mill created a sensation of it being the first day all over again, one she felt proud of.

If only her fear of the dark would subside, and the dead of the
Tangaroa
would leave her in peace.

Chapter Twenty
.

South-easterly wind.

Nine knots.

The evening was a fine one, and the last coral rays of the day lit the dust within the Corbin’s home into an ethereal haze.

Dawn paced the room with William in her arms. He’d been ill for over a week and had grown increasingly sallow each day.

Amber, the village midwife, visited the house several times daily, and talked comfortingly whilst burning herbs in the hearth and wafting smoke over William, filling the house with a sickly sweet aroma.

‘It’s what my mother did for me when I was younger,’ she replied when Dawn complained about the smell, which after a time had become almost unbearable. ‘She burned heather and rose… filled the house with lavender if I was poorly. It smelt like stink for a while, but it did me the world of good.’

Dawn was tired, and her eyes were deep as furrows. She hadn’t eaten for days, and her sleep was stolen for fear of waking up and finding William gone. ‘I don’t like to think of him in pain.’ She said. ‘He coughs and mews when you waft that smoke over him. He doesn’t like it.’

‘It’s the badness inside him what doesn’t like it.’ Amber said. ‘That’s what my mother told me, anyhow… Said a cold is like a spirit, gets inside you where it’s warm, and doesn’t want to come out no more. You’ll see.’

William blinked and clutched for Dawn with his tiny fingers. She sat quickly and fed him.

‘See? He’s coming ‘round and he wants his ma’s milk. There’s a good boy.’

He drank until Dawn’s nipple was sore, but she smiled and cried and thanked Amber, and asked her to fetch more sea-grass and heather and fill the house with as much smoke as she could.

‘You’re going to be well,’ Dawn said to the mass of blankets at her breast when Amber had gone. Her smile was bright yet teetering, tears rolled down to her lips and she tasted the salt. ‘You’re going to be fine…’

From outside she heard her husband laugh, and Dawn looked across the room to where a bright column of smoke blazed upon the wooden floor. The vapours in the room swirled in the beam, and with her free hand she wafted it closer to her.

‘We thought the house was burning down!’ Reighn said, a smile on his face.

‘Really? Amber said…’

‘I’m teasing, dear. I know, I’ve just seen her. She says young William’s feeling better. And how are you?’

‘We’re going to be well.’

Reighn stroked Dawn’s hair and looked in awe at his son; his little fighter. Dawn rest her face in his open palm. He felt the wetness of her cheek in his dry hand, and pulled her close.

*

‘You’re not going to serve me that, are you?’ Tinder said as Semilion poured cider from a demijohn.

‘Sorry?’ Semilion said, blinking and looking at what he was doing. Thick gloop was hanging from the rim of the jar, plopping into Tinder’s cup.

‘Look at the state of it. There’s enough grot in there to shame Betty’s earholes.’

‘I heard that, you black-hearted cow-son!’ Betty looked up and scathed, mid-conversation.

Tinder turned and doffed his cap before turning back to Semilion, who had placed the demijohn on the floor and was hauling a second to the bar. ‘Sorry, Tinder. I wasn’t paying attention.'

‘You alright, boy? You’ve been out at sea for weeks.’

‘I know,’ he pinched his brow. ‘I don’t know… Things have just been strained since Kelly died.’

‘Aye, you can say that again. Guliven has it under control though, doesn’t he? He went back and forth with Kelly more times than I can remember, and Sean’s as able as Kelly and Guliven put together.’ He hesitated for a moment as he took a draught. ‘I only ask myself why you chose Guliven as Runner over Sean.’

‘I need Sean for other work.’ Semilion replied flatly, taking a bottle of ale and sliding it to Baron, who opened it and handed it to George.

‘Oh? Other work… Work at sea?’ Tinder asked, retrieving a pouch of tobacco.

‘I need to speak with him about it before I make it public. You understand?

‘Course I do. Better mention it to him quick though, he was upset to have not been chosen as Runner.’

‘He didn’t say anything.’

‘You know Sean. He wouldn’t bother anyone even if his head was hanging by a thread.’

Semilion snorted in agreement.

Priya stepped into the bar and brushed down her short cow-hide jacket. Dark spots of rain dotted the fabric, and Tinder got to his feet.

‘Raining hard?’ He asked anxiously.

‘Just spitting. Looks like it’ll be pouring in a few minutes though. I can’t believe it, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky half an hour ago.’

Tinder abandoned his cider and bade them farewell, muttering about his wife.

‘What did he say?’ Priya asked as she placed her hands on the bar.

‘Something about Kit battering him if he doesn’t get the washing in.’ He took a breath and composed himself. ‘What can I get for you?’

‘I’ll have some of your speciality, please.’

Semilion took a bottle of plum wine and poured a large cup. ‘How’s your day been?’

‘In the crèche? Wondrous!’ The sarcasm was as thick as the dregs of the cider. ‘God knows why you put me to work in there.’

Semilion smirked. He had given her the job in the crèche because he thought she needed her pedestal destabilised, and he felt as though it was doing the job perfectly. When she had first arrived in the community it seemed as though she had never worked a full day in her life, now she bore the air of someone who knew what it meant to sleep for the grace of labour.

‘You know, actually, it’s good you’re here tonight. I wanted to ask you something. Well, tell you something and ask you something.’

‘I’m doubly intrigued.’ Semilion looked at her stonily. ‘Go on.’

She leant forward, her arms crossed on the bar. ‘It’s about the codes you’ve been working on.’

‘I’ve not been working on codes!’ He said, trying his best to look indignant, though instead he simply looked as though he was curious how she knew.

‘Not according to the titles of the books on your desk. It was pretty bloody obvious.’

‘So what is it you wanted to tell me?’ He moved to the far end of the bar, away from Baron. Priya followed.

‘Remember when we first arrived and you asked us about our former lives? When I told you about my parents? Well, I kind of lied.’

‘Kind of?’

‘I said they had nothing to do with any insurgent groups in Bahrain. Well, the thing is, they were. Nothing directly. I mean, they had nothing to do with the bombings, but the authorities still held them accountable as accessories because they were go-betweens. They used to pass messages between the rebel groups, and they were always conversing with this group or that in one secret language or another.’ She raised her cup to her lips and looked at him seductively. ‘I guess that’s why I’m so good at being sneaky.’

‘So what really happened to them?’

‘The rest of what I told you was true. They were caught and locked up. Look, the reason I’m bringing this up is that I hate working in the crèche and whatever it is you’re working on is driving you insane.’ Semilion made to protest but she rolled her eyes. ‘Look at the size of that vein on your temple! It’s pulsing like an obese leech.’

He raised his hand and touched the vein, wondering if anyone else had seen it. Tinder had already noticed he wasn’t concentrating, and had commented that he had been distant for weeks, Sarah had noticed also.

‘I’m good at code-breaking,’ she said, quashing his refusals before he could even voice them. ‘Come on. What’s the worst that could happen?’

He laughed. ‘Now there’s a provocation for God. What’s the worst that could happen? You could translate it wrong and…’

‘Then I’ll show you all my workings!’ She replied, exasperated. ‘I’ll write down my notes and show exactly how I came to my conclusions. God, Semilion. Give me something worthwhile to do.’

‘The crèche is worthwhile. There’s nothing more worthwhile that looking after our next generation.’

Priya sighed. ‘I know. I didn’t mean that. I’m just not the motherly type, you know?’

Selina burst into the bar, soaking wet from the storm. Rain lashed against the window and a cold draught stirred Priya’s clothes, making her shiver. She stepped to the door and closed it.

‘Where the hell did that come from?’ Selina asked. ‘There were blue skies a minute ago!’

‘Get used to it,’ George chuckled, winking at Baron conspiratorially and stepping towards her, ‘plenty more of that in the months coming.’

‘Come on, sit over here,’ Priya said, leading Selina to a seat near a solar lamp. George joined them and placed the lamp closer to her. It didn’t give off much warmth but it was better than nothing.

Semilion threw a bunting towel toward them and Selina disappeared beneath it, thrashing her hair below the thick material. She reappeared, red faced, and puffed exasperatedly.

‘Remind me to not leave home without one of those awful wax jackets.’

Semilion appeared with a large tankard of mulled wine and handed it to Selina. ‘It’s not as warm as you’d like, but…’

‘It’s great, thank you.’ Selina smiled, and raised the mug to her lips. It smelled bitterly and the spices almost burned her throat.

‘I think maybe you should get out of those clothes and dry yourself properly.’ George offered earnestly, though Selina rolled her eyes and shook her head with a sigh.

‘Is that the best you’ve got?’ She snorted.

‘I hear more intelligently suave propositions at the crèche.’ Priya smirked.

‘She could catch cold!’ George protested.

Selina sneezed and George’s eyes widened proudly at the seeming confirmation of his diagnosis.

‘Priya,’ Semilion said. He beckoned her to the bar and she followed.

‘I’d be grateful for any help you might be able to shed on what I’m working on. You’re right… I can’t continue with everything I have to do as well as working on this throughout the night. I have to ask you to keep it quiet, though. I can’t have you telling Selina about it when you’re drunk, or mentioning it in the crèche to fill the silence when it’s quiet.’

‘Jesus.’ She laughed. ‘Quiet? I take it you’ve never been to the crèche before.’ She held up her hands to ward off Semilion’s look of earnestness. ‘I get it, really I do. Don’t worry, I can keep a secret, especially an important one.’

‘God, Priya.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I’ve not known anything more important in a long time.’