Saga Page 25

  “Yes.” I could see that.

  “But I’ll tell you what—I have a scroll on Cindella that you might find useful. Is the connection between us and Saga back on?”

  “For the moment. It probably won’t last long, once the Dark Queen notices.” In fact, I suddenly grew anxious that I might in some way have alerted her to my use of the building.

  “In that case, I’ll clip up and leave it somewhere for you.” Erik spoke with enthusiasm.

  “What is it?”

  “A scroll of ‘True Speaking’; it’s a spell. Cast it on her when you really need to hear the truth from her.”

  “Thanks. Although a weapon might be more useful to us.”

  Erik pursed his lips in response. “I don’t think my weapons would make much difference to you. And I don’t think violence is right, even against her.”

  If I had been in a body with a head, I would have shaken it at his display of admirable but misplaced innocence.

  “Well, whatever help you can give us is appreciated.”

  “Not at all.” He waved away my thanks. “We owe you much more than we can give back at this time. But I’ll go and leave that scroll in the room that was a café during the big party in the abandoned hospital. Is there anything else?”

  For a while, we looked at each other. The creatures of two different universes. Perhaps the only two beings who had seen each other on both sides of the divide.

  “Not that I can think of now. In fact, I’d better get going.”

  “Well, contact me again if you think of anything else I can do. And Ghost?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful.”

  He was gone. Well, I suppose the scroll was something. And we had learned that we could still talk to the humans. Maybe Athena would have some ideas of how we could use that to our advantage. With a shrug of resignation, which manifested as a contraction of my round body, I withdrew from the socket.

  Michelotto would probably be wondering about me, and there was my increasing concern about the Dark Queen. I quickly rolled over to a cup-shaped holder that held me above the iris of overlapping sheets. Somewhere there would be a device to make it work. For a moment, I toyed with the feeling of being trapped here, never able to return to my real body; it was unpleasant only because so long as the Dark Queen was alive in Saga, I would not be safe here to begin the construction of a spaceship that could take me to the stars. Then I found two controls. The first caused the iris to snap open, revealing a dark tunnel beneath me. The second dropped me.

  When I sat up, Michelotto came over from where he had been standing, leaning against the exit. It was good to stretch my arms, to feel my fingers, to move my legs. Just as I swung my legs from the bed, I was struck with a sharp pain through my head and I staggered from the path, having to put one foot down onto the silver blades, before recovering myself. I knew the memory was true. I had done exactly the same thing before! Except that last time somebody had reached out to assist me. His face was familiar, his eyes gray.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve just remembered something.”

  “While you were gone, it occurred to me that the easiest way to kill her would be to wait outside until she decides to use this facility. Then come in while she’s lying here, helpless.”

  “Listen!” I shouted angrily, the word lingering as it echoed.

  “This is important. I’ve just remembered something. The man who helped me off the table. It’s the same man who left me in the rain.”

  “What man?” Michelotto came over with a trace of concern on his face. Not for my well-being—I was sure of that—but for my display of what, for him, would seem to be erratic behavior.

  Rain was falling, drops of water slowly gathering on the ledge far above me. One fell, bloated, shining. It hit the yellow card in my hand and dissipated, but for a tiny remnant of moisture, clinging to the inside of the o in the man’s name. Season? No.

  “Searson.”

  This stopped Michelotto; his eyes narrowed.

  “A man called Searson helped you here, in the past?”

  “Yes. Yes, years ago, when I was young. Then I fainted. I kept fainting. The last time I came to, it was dark, raining. He left me on the street. But I stole his wallet. His card. It was yellow.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Possibly.”

  “I’m sick of your secrets.” I came over, grabbed his arms, and shook him. “If we are on the same side, then help me. I need to know who I am.”

  “All right.” He stepped back, breaking free of me by prying up my index finger, but not harshly. “Describe him.”

  “About your height, but not hunched.” I closed my eyes. “Gray hair, very short, so it stood up on top. Lots of lines on his forehead, some around his eyes. He was maybe fifty years old. Stocky. Rather shabby. I was surprised he was a yellow.”

  “I see.” Michelotto nodded, and my heart leaped. “I think it must have been Dardis, once lover and assistant to Thetis.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure.” He looked at me carefully. “If I had to speculate, it would be that somehow you are Thetis. But why did he leave you?”

  Thetis? Again. It evoked no response in me.

  “Let’s go and ask him,” I urged. “We know the name he’s using: Searson. There can’t be too many yellows of that name.”

  “What about staying here to kill the Dark Queen?”

  “This is important to me. More important than anything else.” It was true, I realized as I spoke. Yes, I did want to kill the Dark Queen, to prevent her from hurting my friends, and because I felt that I could. But it was nothing compared to removing the shadows from my mind.

  Thoughtful now, Michelotto fingered his chin. “Very well. I admit that I am curious, and the knowledge might be valuable. We can set up some surveillance equipment here, to alert us if the Dark Queen comes.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter 32

  SCATTERED ORCHIDS

  The yellow district in which Searson lived was cut off from the City center by high walls. We used Michelotto’s doppelgänger card to open an ornate metal gate, informing the security that we were local residents, a grandfather and granddaughter. The landscape was very different here. For a start, the quiet roads were lined with tall, leafy chestnut trees. The houses were all set very far back in their own gardens, hidden by evergreens. Every so often, we passed a public amenity, such as a small lake or children’s playground. It was odd to see swings and slides that were not covered with graffiti and tags. The yellows obviously felt that theirs was a calm and pleasant place to live in, but it was not the kind of area I would be happy in. There was something too controlled about it, too sterile.

  “Here.” Michelotto turned the airbike in to a long gravel drive, lined by rhododendron bushes. I was clinging to him, my board over my shoulder. To save time, I had agreed to get on behind him, and if I hadn’t been so distracted by attempting to clarify my earliest memories, I would have enjoyed the speed at which we flew through the City streets.

  The house was large, three stories built of a ponderous red brick, with dark heavy windows, like drooping eyes.

  “I’ll wait here for now.” He stopped us in the shadow of the hedge, and I got off.

  There were security cameras. I let them get a good look at me before pressing my palm to the doorcom.

  A minute passed. It would be so frustrating if he were not in.

  “Thetis?” My heart leaped as his voice sounded from the speaker. “Is that really you?” His face appeared in the screen and it was our man.

  “Yes,” I replied. You would think that as I was a master thief, dishonesty would come naturally to me. But, in fact, my stomach lurched as I said the word.

  “Oh, what a miracle! Come in! Come in!” The door clicked and slid across. Leaving my board on the ground, in a position to prevent the door from closing fully, I entered. Ligh
ts brightened in amber cups that ran high along the walls of a warm corridor. The floor was polished wood and my footsteps rang out loudly as I walked past closed doors to a wide, well-lit living room. From above a curving set of metal stairs in the center of the room, I heard hurried footsteps, so I waited, admiring the pictures on the walls and the comfortable furniture.

  “How did you manage to come back? I thought it impossible. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The man from my memory ran toward me, holding out his arms to embrace me, and I involuntarily took a step back, a little ashamed. The hopes that were growing in him came from the depths of his heart. He must indeed have been Dardis.

  “You look amazing. So young.” His eyes blazed with joy. Then a moment later, his face changed utterly, to an expression of horror as he looked past my shoulder.

  “You?”

  With a preliminary glance to his right, Dardis dived toward a cabinet on which was an elegant vase containing one orchid. I felt some sympathy for him at that moment, remembering my first encounter with Michelotto and the feeling of being in the presence of an icy creature from hell. Faster than Dardis, but without having to break into a run, Michelotto strode over and kicked shut the drawer that he was reaching into. The whole cabinet rocked, spilling the vase. It rolled over the lip, smashing on the wooden floor, water running swiftly from the cabinet’s surface before settling into a slow drip. Cowering beneath the black shadow of Michelotto, Dardis looked over at me.

  “Thetis? Why are you with him?”

  “Actually, I’m not Thetis.” A comfortable padded chair of red cloth embroidered with gold floral designs was nearby. I turned it to face Dardis and sat down. “But I’d like to know who I am.”

  There was silence for a while, just the occasional soft tap of water hitting the floor. Dardis remained half lying on the ground, looking from me to Michelotto and back. Eventually he surrendered to our unwavering scrutiny.

  “Six years ago, the Dark Queen and her assassin were closing in on Thetis. She had run out of hiding places and knew she was doomed unless we did something drastic. So she decided to risk swapping bodies in the portal. You know the portal?”

  I nodded.

  “We had no idea what would happen, so I was against it. But she argued me around. She felt it was over for her, whatever she tried. Against my will, I helped. When she went unconscious on that horrid white bed, I took her body away and replaced it with that of a young girl. The idea was that when Thetis came back, she would occupy the new body. We did what we could with drugs, trying to get rid of the old personality without damaging the brain, to make it susceptible to Thetis’s return, but it was all guesswork.”

  My eyes began to fill with tears.

  “Who did you put on the bed? Who was the girl?”

  “Just a girl. You. We got her from an orphanage one night and deleted all references to her, so that it was like she never existed.”

  “And you drugged her?”

  “Not at first. She wanted to come. It was exciting, an adventure for her. But of course, when we went to the portal, once we’d programmed the building to recognize her, we blasted her with everything known to wipe out memory—cholingerics, mostly.”

  It was impossible to prevent a tear from spilling onto my cheek, try as I might. The poor girl. Nine years old. It was easy to imagine her happiness at escaping a state orphanage; they were miserable, decrepit places. But she was betrayed and used by these people and their stupid games. I had her body, but I wasn’t her. Those memories were gone. Perhaps, at some deep level, some quality of her personality lived on in me. But they had effectively killed her, whoever she was. Did she have friends who missed her? What had she wanted for herself? What were her dreams?

  I dug into my hoodie pocket for a tissue, blew my nose, and made my voice firm again. “What was her name?”

  “I don’t remember. It didn’t matter. Thetis dealt with the records.”

  “Interesting. What happened to the body of Thetis?” mused Michelotto. He was framed in my vision by the tears on my eyelashes. I was angry at his calmness.

  Sitting up with a sigh, Dardis moved the broken pieces of china so that he could lean against the cabinet. “It died after about a week of brainless function. I buried it in the garden, so at least you vampires wouldn’t get to gloat over her.”

  “Why didn’t you look after me?” I shouted. “Why did you leave me on the street?”

  “I did for a while, but then I got scared. You asked a lot of questions.” Dardis smiled, a sad smile. “One day, you were going to say something to the wrong person, and it would have got back to them.” He gestured at Michelotto. “So when I realized Thetis wasn’t coming back, I wiped your mind again and abandoned you on the street. It was raining; you came to just as I was leaving.”

  “You should have killed her,” observed Michelotto laconically. “She remembered you.”

  “Yes, I should have. It’s just that, while she lived, I could still daydream, you know. That Thetis would come back one day. In a young, beautiful body. I thought it had happened, when you were standing at my door there.” He looked up hopefully.

  “Is there anything of Thetis in you?”

  “Perhaps. I don’t know how much of me is the girl and how much is her.”

  “Have you any feelings for me?”

  I thought about this. “Yes.”

  He brightened.

  “I hate you. For what you did to that little girl—to me.”

  His expression instantly turned into a scowl.

  “Any more questions?” Michelotto asked me.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Bending at the knee, as if to look more closely into Dardis’s face, Michelotto whipped a garrote around the old man’s neck and pulled it tight, his knuckles white with the effort.

  “Stop!” I screamed. “He isn’t going to reveal anything.”

  “He isn’t now.” Michelotto spoke with a great deal of satisfaction. He straightened up, and the body of Dardis slumped to the side, falling into the debris of the china and the scattered orchid petals.

  I looked at the body, stunned and horrified. This man had meant a great deal to Thetis. Was she screaming for him? I was afraid to look too deep.

  “That’s it. You’re on your own! You’re just as bad as the Dark Queen. I want nothing more to do with you.” I leaped out of the chair and strode toward the door. “Never! Understand? How can you just kill someone like that, so heartlessly? I don’t care what the Dark Queen does; you and she are just the same.”

  “You know,” he called out toward my retreating back, his voice calm. “Whoever you are, you’re not a proper RAL.” I paused, but I was trembling too much to speak. Nor did I turn around. “You’re too emotional.”

  Chapter 33

  RAGE AND DESPAIR

  Half a day has passed since I witnessed the murder; the sun has set. Yet always the malicious expression on the face of Michelotto comes into my thoughts, causing my heart to accelerate in fear and anger. I board away from the scene, through empty streets, where the only motion is that of the furtive short scurries of rats. Night has come to a dead part of the City, a pocket of decay in the grid of lights. Am I Thetis? Am I howling inside at the death of Dardis? Even though I have never known the man. Of course not, and yet, when I take my thoughts away to other matters, somewhere, deep down, there are tears.

  It seems, in my imagination, that every path that I have ever boarded along, every person I have ever spoken to, holds a part of me. I have become worn, tired, thin, and dispersed. If I am to end my suffering, I must draw together my distant parts, selfishly, protectively. No matter what may occur, I cannot be hurt once I am entirely contained within my own skin. Even better, I pack my lost selves inside my heart, pulling in the distended cords of my life, compressing them tighter and tighter, until I am diamond hard. Impossible to wound. Incapable of tears.

  Stretching my arms high above my head, I splay my fingers, concentrating. I inhale, breathing i
n the echoes of my past, bringing them back to me. In the glowing neon streets, they hear me. Past the torn fencing, in the graffiti-covered parks, they hear me. My scattered selves. They rise like the undead, given the chance of life again, and eagerly seek the call. A flow of cold through my fingertips. I shiver and inhale again, deeply, powerfully. All that I was, all that I once cast aside, comes back to me now, for I am wounded and must heal myself. Even those attachments that I ought to care for—Athena, Milan, Nathan, Arnie—they, too, must return. Feeling the loss, but determined above all on my survival, I inhale a third time.

  There are no longer any exposed parts of my identity that can be twisted and hurt.

  All is still, and yet I quiver with energy. With my eyes closed in concentration, I channel the vibrancy of my life force into my heart, as though it were the chamber of a nuclear reactor. Only six years of existence, but so much vitality. Denser now, the core of my being. Denser still. Atoms screaming as they collapse in upon each other. This is my new heart, and it cannot be broken.

  If she was ever there, deep in my subconscious, Thetis is certainly gone. Nor am I that poor girl, taken excitedly from her orphanage and destroyed on a white table in a white room. I am who I am. Ghost.

  As I wipe the tears from my face, I hear footsteps. They are of my own creation so I do not turn around but continue to glide through the shadows, listening to the powerful beat of their tread, filling them out: legs, bodies, heads. They are complete, and I turn to meet my escorts: Rage and Despair. They will be my companions this night. Rage has a silver breastplate beneath her gown; she carries a sword and on her crown are mouths, wide open in silent screams. Despair is veiled; in her hand she holds a mirror; the brooch of her cape is an opalescent lily. They frighten me, but I let them come closer; they lift their arms and embrace me.

  Oh mercy! They are fire and ice. I blaze and burn; my insides are slowly torn through and through. We cling tighter, and my suffering continues throughout the night. All nights must end, I tell myself. And so it does, unexpectedly, as though the Earth, having ceased to turn while I shivered with loneliness, was suddenly given a kick. Under a brightening gray sky, Rage and Despair dissolve and, with their departure, I am purged. A new memory comes. Or is it a dream? It is simple: a curtain with the light behind it. The curtain is orange, my view sepia-tinged from its glow. The memory contains no meaning; it does, however, hold emotions: affection and happiness.