The Gravity Keeper (17 page)

I pulled my hand away from my mouth and closed my eyes, holding them shut for a long moment. I thought I might discover I was imagining it. Alas, no: when I opened my eyes, the children were still there. Simon Bloom, Alysha Davis, and Owen Walters were standing outside
my
doorway!

“What do you mean, you're our Narrator?” Alysha demanded.

I cleared my throat. “Er, I meant to say navigator. Yes. And the direction you want is that way.” I pointed to the exit while quickly closing the door. But not quickly enough—something was jammed in the doorway.

“Ouch! That's my foot!” Owen shouted.

I swung the door back open. “Terribly sorry, but you did place it in the way; I don't know why you've chosen this moment to become so courageous.” Instantly, I realized my mistake and again clapped my hand to my mouth.

Alysha put her hands on her hips. “Now what the heck does that mean? Who are—?” She paused and turned back to her friends. “Do you guys hear that? That sounds like
my
voice.”

I coughed loudly to cover the noise, but of course, the sound of my cough echoed from my apartment. “That's nothing. A television program I'm watching. Please leave now; I'm stricken with plague, you see, and can't have visitors.”

Owen shook his head. “No, I definitely heard Alysha's voice and then his and now…now I hear mine.”

Simon glared at me. “What's going on?”

Alysha simply pushed past me and stepped into my apartment.

“Wait a moment!” I said. “You, there, this is not how things are done!”

But it was too late. Simon and Owen followed Alysha into my apartment and all three murmured, “Whoa!” at what they saw. I put my face in my hands and groaned. This kind of thing was not supposed to happen.

Simon, Alysha, and Owen gaped at the sight of my wall-size Viewing Screen showing images of them. And me. Standing in my apartment as it was happening.

Simon and Alysha whirled to face me, both of them thinking horrible thoughts about spies or Peeping Toms. I had raised my hands, ready to protest my innocence, when I noticed Owen getting closer to the screen.

“You guys! Why didn't you tell me I had some puke on my shirt? That's disgusting!” Then he remembered what he was looking at and whipped around to face me, too. “And what's the big idea having us on your TV screen?”

Simon looked back and forth from me to the screen and then gazed around the room. He was making exactly the right conclusion, which was exactly the worst news for me. “Wait a minute! How is this working? That image…What kind of camera angle do you have here? Because it's impossible!” He kept turning and moving around while peeking over his shoulder to note that, sure enough, the Viewing Screen was capturing it. “No matter where I move, it's focused on me and still showing all of you. How many cameras do you have running?”

“Oh, dear,” I groaned. “I'll be sacked for this, you know.” The three of them had no idea what I meant. “Fired. I shall be fired. This is against procedure.”

Alysha balled her hands into fists and spoke her formula, dimming the lights for a moment as she began absorbing electricity. “Have you been following us?”

“Young lady, I have not left my apartment in”—I checked my watch—“nine years, five months, ten days, and fourteen minutes. They've even changed the wallpaper in the halls since I've last been out there. And mind you, that outing was only for a building-wide fire drill.” I frowned. “It was raining, too. You'd think my one time out would at least include some bloody sunshine.”

“How can sunshine be bloody?” Owen asked.

I sighed. “Oh, Owen, sometimes you don't stop to think, do you? I'm English; ‘bloody' is just an expression we use.”

“So we're in England now?” Simon asked.

I shook my head. “No, we're still in Lawnville; I'm stationed here.” I smoothed my bathrobe lapels. “But all the best Narrators are from Great Britain.”

“Narrators,” Simon said. “You said that before. What are you talking about?”

I shook my head again. “No. I've said too much already. Please leave.”

Alysha folded her arms. “Tell us. If you've really been watching us, you know how dangerous we can be. You wouldn't like us when we're angry.”

I groaned. “Very well, just stop stealing lines from
The Incredible Hulk
. I don't want my Chronicle to be accused of plagiarism.”

Simon gestured with his hand. “Your Chronicle?”

“Ohmigosh, look!” Owen was the first to look at something other than the Viewing Screen or myself. To my dismay, he had found the Recording Monitor.

“What's a Recording Monitor? Why capitalize that and Viewing Screen?”

And, to my greater dismay, he was reading along. Perfect. Perhaps it was better when he just hid from everything.

Owen, of course, read this. “Hey-what-does-that-mean-what-are-you-trying-to-say—” He stared and frowned. “Do I really talk like that?”

I pointed to Alysha. “She doesn't call you Speedy for nothing, you know.”

“You were about to explain,” Simon said.

I rubbed at my nose beneath my eyeglasses. “Yes, fine. Only please, Owen, step away from the Monitor. The one thing more distressing than your presence here is having you read along as the tale unfolds.” I spread my hands, indicating the rest of my apartment. “You might as well make yourselves comfortable. This may be a bit shocking.”

The kids looked around at my three-seater sofa, polished-wood coffee table with many magazines and newspapers on it, and several fake plants (fake plants make little mess, you see).

I gestured to the couch. “Please, sit. It's about time someone used it. The problem with all your friends being Narrators is they never come over to visit—we stay home working all the time.”

As they moved to the couch, Alysha decided to be nice, probably to soften me up a bit. “You've kept it very neat.”

I smiled. “Of course. I'm English,” I said before going into the kitchen. “First let me get you some food and drink; after all that formula use, you'll need to eat a lot. How about leftover Nezzo's? It's from yesterday, so it's still fresh enough.”

“You order from Nezzo's?” Alysha asked.

“Why not? I enjoy good pizza as much as the next person.”

Surprisingly, Owen spoke first. “Are you a person?” Then he glanced at the Recording Monitor and said, “Hey, why is that surprising?”

I stomped over to the Monitor and shifted the angle so he could no longer see it. Then I went into my spotless kitchen, placed several slices of pizza in the oven for reheating, and fetched the kids three cans of soda. I put the kettle on for myself.

“Yes, Owen, I am a person. I'm a member of the Historical Society. As with the other groups in the Knowledge Union, no Outsiders know of us. Most Union members don't know much about us either; it makes our work go more smoothly.” I poured the soda into glasses and placed them on coasters in front of my guests.

“What is your work?” Simon asked.

“The Society records history as it happens, with different members observing different subjects. I specialize in chronicling the Order of Physics, which is why I'm stationed in Lawnville. The Chronicle I've been working on for the last week and a day is about you and your friends, Simon. I am observing and recording your story. These”—I gestured to the Viewing Screen and Recording Monitor—“are my tools. It appears that I am narrating the story of how you change the universe.”

Simon sprayed a mouthful of soda all over my carpet.

“Don't worry; I'll clean that up later,” I said, trying to hide my dismay. “I think I preferred it without company,” I added in a low voice.

“Me?” Simon asked as he wiped the soda off his face. “Change the universe? How? Why me?”

I rubbed my chin. “I'm not certain. Even Narrators are only told what is needed to make a good Chronicle. I'll tell you this—no Outsider has ever seen Dunkerhook Woods before. Yet the Breeze invited you right in. Notice how Alysha and Owen could never find the woods without you? Alysha felt enough of the Breeze to lure her in that first time, but both only got the full Breeze treatment when you were all fleeing Veenie and Sirabetta. Now they should have no problem noticing the woods on their own. But Simon, the woods like you. The Book, too. Letting you access its wondrous formulas, humming when you hold it! Just having two Keepers at once is history being made. And I get to Chronicle it.”

“So you follow Simon around all the time?” Owen asked.

“Not just Simon. I see what is needed for the Chronicle to be told right. As for following, only in a manner of speaking. I don't go anywhere, as I've said; the Viewing Screen can observe you wherever you go. Even off planet, if need be.”

They sat silently (a rarity with these three); I could tell they were impressed.

“So wait, do you watch as we go to the bathroom?” Alysha asked.

Okay, maybe
she
wasn't as impressed as the other two. “No, dear. Have you ever read a book in which the characters go to the bathroom? Quite frankly, who wants to read about it?” My oven timer dinged. “Ah. Victuals!” I brought out four plates of pizza. “Enjoy! It'll help you get your strength back and should be just as tasty as if eaten in the restaurant. Or outside this apartment.” I sighed.

As we ate, Alysha guessed that sitting in my apartment for so long had warped my brain. I couldn't help but lose my famous English reserve at that. “I am not bloody warped! I am merely expressing my pride in my work. And so what if I'm getting a bit dodgy from sitting here alone for so long? I'd like to see you try it!”

Too late, I realized what I'd done. “Oh, dear.”

Alysha gasped. “You read my mind!”

I groaned. With all these rules being broken, I was bound to get stuck narrating infomercials as punishment. But as I liked to finish what I'd started, I continued. “Not quite: I can sense your surface thoughts, yes, but only those relevant to the Chronicle. After all, that is what Narrators do, correct? Especially in this type of Chronicle: a first person/third person omniscient tale. Only the best from Greygor Geryson.”

All three kids asked, “Who?”

I blushed. “Er, that's me. That's my name.”

“Wait,” Simon said. “So you read Mermon Veenie's and Sirabetta's minds, too?”

I shook my head. “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that; I don't know why. I expect my Keeper knows the answer, but I've never met him. It's that whole never-leaving-here thing, I suppose. But when chronicling, I only know what I know and nothing more. I knew when Mermon was scared or anxious, but I could learn none of his plans about Sirabetta. And I know nothing of Sirabetta; I couldn't even get an emotional reading off her.”

The kids frowned; they'd hoped for better information.

“I'd think you'd know all about someone like that with all her talk of revenge against the Orders,” Owen said. “Or having such a loud voice in that hood.”

I was beginning to feel quite cross, as if I wasn't being respected. I am a Narrator, not a detective! “Yes, well, it's not as simple as all that. Wait, what? Revenge against the Orders? She
did
say that, didn't she? And that hood. I believe her hooded black coat let her become invisible, rather than any tattoo formulas. That reminds me of something.”

I gasped and rushed to my bookshelf, a well-organized collection of past Chronicles and Knowledge Union reference books (as well as some choice novels for when things get dull). I scanned the spines of the many volumes there and found a compendium of items created by the Orders.

“Here it is: the Overcoat of Dr. Solomonder Smithodrome!”

The three kids rushed over to me, crowding in to look at the book I held. I continued to read. “‘Solomon Smith, doctor of Psychology…also known as Solomonder Smithodrome, Keeper of the Order of Psychology and honorary member of the Council of Sciences.'” I tapped the entry. “Yes, here we go. ‘He designed his hooded Overcoat with the aid of the Craftsmen's Guild, incorporating an important psychological principle into its weave. It allows the wearer to go unseen when nobody knows he is there. Visibility is restored when the wearer's presence is reasonably suspected, and only to those who think he's there.' An odd bit of clothing. But it does explain why Sirabetta appeared whenever I saw Veenie talking to her or thought she was present.”

“So how did Sirabetta get it from this Solomon?” Simon asked.

I coughed uncomfortably. “I'm really not supposed to get involved, and telling you that would be a bit too much information,” I said, closing the book.

“But our lives are in danger,” Simon said.

I frowned. “True, but I might lose my job.”

Alysha put her hands on her hips. “You can't possibly care more about your job than our lives, could you? We're just kids!”

“Pushy kids. But no, I don't want to see you killed or hurt.”

“Maybe this is fine,” Owen said. “You think this has never happened, but you don't know
everything
. This might be part of your job. Maybe you'll be fired if you
don't
do it.”

I rubbed my chin as I pondered that. “I'll see what I can find.” I removed my spectacles as I searched my bookshelf for the correct reference book.

“Don't you need your eyeglasses?” Owen asked.

“The wretched things aren't real; I removed the lenses long ago.”

“Then why wear them?” Alysha asked.

I blushed and looked away. “I wanted to look more like a proper Narrator.”

I found a tome on recent events in the Council of Sciences and starting flipping through. I stabbed my finger at an index entry, turned to the page, and stopped in shock. “My, my. Here's an interesting fact: ‘Dr. Smithodrome's wife, Sara Beth Smith, joined the Order a week after her husband did; she became Sirabetta Smithodrome.' As you've no doubt gathered, official membership in the Union involves a slight name change.”

Simon's face paled. “So Sirabetta's in the Union?”

“Not anymore. Listen: ‘In February 2005, Solomonder and Sirabetta were divorced and began feuding in the following months. By June 2005, Sirabetta had begun recruiting members of the Order of Psychology to help her overthrow Solomonder and let her take over as Keeper of the Order. She was defeated; her followers and she were—” He gasped and became even paler than normal. “They were stripped of their formulas and lost their Union Cards.”

“Union Cards, what does that mean?” Owen said.

I felt my throat closing as I answered; this was not something I liked to think about, much less talk about. But they deserved to know. “Losing your Union Card is what we call being ejected from the Union. It's supposed to be
quite
rare, only for terrible crimes. The BOA has your memory partially erased and your life rearranged; you no longer remember the Union or have anything more to do with it.” I paused. “In some extreme criminal cases, they send you to Outsider prison. That's what they did with Sirabetta, as Sara Beth Daly. That's her maiden name.”

Owen gasped. “They threw her in jail—that's why she wants revenge!”

“Yeah, but you said she had no memory. Or formulas,” Simon said.

Alysha frowned. “And where's this Solomonder guy now? Why'd he let her have his inviso-coat?”

I closed the reference book. “It doesn't say here. There are no further entries on either of them.”

“You've got to call someone!” Simon said. “Tell people who Sirabetta is, find out what happened to Solomonder, and get the Order of Physics off our backs.”

“Simon, I'm sorry; I cannot do anything more. I'm a Narrator, not a helper. I shouldn't have done this much. My purpose is just to sit and watch. If I don't know something, such as who that Miss Fanstrom woman really is, it's clearly not ready to be revealed in the Chronicle yet.”

Alysha balled her hands into fists and opened her mouth, ready to make a threat, but Owen put a hand on her shoulder. I stared, stunned, as he said, “It's not his fault.” He paused thoughtfully. “It's like fish asking a human to come underwater and help them. He can do it for as long as he holds his breath, but after that, he's got to go back up on land.”

I took a step back, amazed. Who knew Owen could be so wise?

“Yeah?” Alysha said. “But then he can just get a snorkel or some scuba gear and go back down for longer!”

And then there was Alysha.

Simon shook his head. “I think Owen's right, Alysha. We've come this far on our own. We'll manage.”

I nodded. “I can't see the future, but I can tell you this—you've accomplished more incredible things in a few days than most on Earth will ever do. And you've shown more bravery and cleverness than many Union members as well.”

I frowned as Owen scarfed down the last slice of pizza, which had been sitting on my plate. It looked like I'd be calling for more delivery soon.

“I can tell you one thing that may be helpful,” I said. “Mountain Hospital, where Ralfagon is being kept and Eldonna is keeping watch? There's a shortcut that will keep you off the roads, away from Physics members if you're lucky.”

“Where?” Simon asked.

“Through the woods, over that ravine,” I said. “The path continues on to another entrance. Go out that way and down Mountain Road; you should reach Mountain Hospital easily. It's so rare that an Order member would need to go to the hospital that I doubt they know the shortcut. It might be your best hope.”

Simon stood, and the others followed suit.

“Thanks, Mr. Narrator,” Owen said. “I don't even feel tired anymore.”

Alysha nodded. “Yeah, thanks, I guess. But if we get killed from this, I'm going to be really mad at you.”

“Um, Greygor, right?” Simon asked. “If we do get out of this, maybe we'll come by again when I'm not the subject and you can talk more.”

I shrugged. “We can work it out. I almost always have pizza around.”

They left, and I started to clean Simon's soda mess from the carpet. I hoped that the information I'd given them would keep them alive; I also hoped that it would not get me in trouble.