The Stolen Child (4 page)

“
Gotta get done.  We're still pitching to set off early tomorrow if we can.”
 

“
You're not going to change?”
 

“
We'll catch up and meet you guys at the restaurant.  Or something.  Honestly I'm just glad we're finally going to be out there doing something again.  I gotta tell you, girl, I am literally losing my mind cooped up here behind all these books.”
 

“
Goodness, it's almost like assisting a Professor of Archaeology involves more than just knowing how to fold a rope.  How terrible for you,” Ilona said.  Her tone was sharp, but Arsha had seen the two of them argue often enough to expect that.  She'd never really quite understood the way Micah and Ilona were with each other, but the fact remained that no amount of bickering and sniping had ever seemed to keep the two from remaining friends.  Or, something like friends.  She wasn't really sure if she knew exactly what to call it.
 

Hefting a coil of rope, Micah just shook his head, sadly.
 

“
I swear you and Rishi live behind those books of yours.  You're like a fated match, the two of you.  When you going to admit it and just tie the knot already?”
 

Ilona's eyes narrowed, just a little, but the woman said nothing.
 

“
What do you say Arsha?” Micah continued, ruffling her hair as he walked past, “How'd you like to have Ilona for your new mum?”
 

“
Fates, you are such an ass,” Ilona snarled.  “Talking about
her mother like that...”
 

“
Hey, hey, OK.  I'm sorry,” Micah said, throwing up his hands in a gesture of surrender as Ilona scowled at him.
 

“It
's OK.  It
really doesn’t bother me,” Arsha
said
.  “I mean, I never knew her, so it’s not
really like I can miss her or anything.
”

She
did her best
to sound unconcerned, but
an uneasy silence still fell over the room
.  It was always awkward, the way people were so wary of discussing
a woman
she’d never
even
met.  She supposed it must have been different for people who'd had a mother and a father, but all she’d ever known was growing up with her
d
ad.  She’d spent so much of her life aboard the Triskelion that she’d never really been lonely.  There had always been Micah to give her piggy-back rides around the deck, or Milima to read her a bed-time story and stroke her hair as she drifted off to sleep.
 
She'd explored every inch of their floating home playing hide and seek with Elim and Shani, crawling through hatchways and hidden nooks until their parents went mad trying to find them.  
All of the crew had become her family in their own ways.
 

The silence ticked on.  Ilona's eyes were fixed on her notes again, as Micah went back to counting off carabiners.  Arsha was still wondering if she should say something when the door swung open and Shani swept in.  Arsha found herself momentarily dazed by the sight of the older girl, looking gorgeous in a flowing gown of green and gold, with a brooch at her neck.
 

“
Hey sweetie.”  Shani smiled at her.  “You look stunning.”
 

Arsha looked away, feeling her cheeks tingling again.
 

“
Our parents are waiting outside, if you're ready to go,” Shani added.  “Oh, hey, Micah, I have got to show you this.”
 

As Shani danced across to where Micah was sitting, Arsha got up and began to make her way outside.  At the entrance to the lobby, she paused.  Milima and Abasi were standing alone together in the empty lobby.  Milima's face was upturned, Abasi's hand resting lightly on the back of her neck as her husband's lips met hers.
 

Arsha coughed.  Giggling, Milima took a step back, nodding in her direction.
 

“
Hello again, trouble,” Abasi growled, smiling.
 

Arsha just smirked at him, and stuck her tongue out.
 

“
Your father's outside, love,” Milima said.  “Had to take an urgent sending all of a sudden.  I don't suppose you know where Shani got to?”
 

“
Showing off one of her new toys to Micah, so, I don't know, they'll probably only be all night,” Arsha replied.
 

Abasi sighed, and rolled his eyes.
 

“
Why did I ever let that girl near one of those stones in the first place?”
 

“
Oh I don't know dear,” Milima replied, patting his arm, “perhaps because your daughter is doing something she's incredibly passionate about, and can probably make a very successful career out of?”
 

Abasi just rolled his eyes again.  Moments later, Shani glided into the lobby, Micah and Ilona following close behind her.  Micah was talking whilst Ilona listened with pursed lips, in what Arsha
recognised as their version of an animated conversation.
 

Shani glanced around the room at everyone.
 

“
So, are we just waiting for the esteemed professor?” she said.  Almost on cue, the outside door opened, and Arsha's father walked in.
 

She sensed the change in him as soon as
he stepped through the door
.  It was in his eyes, in the way he walked, in the way his hands moved at his sides, as if he wasn't entirely sure what to do with them.  The others sensed it too, and for a moment no one spoke.

“Rishi, what's wrong?” Abasi said, breaking the silence.

“Nothing's wrong, Abasi, it's just...”  He pushed a hand through his hair,
seemingly not for the first time
.  “Something's come up.”  
He paused.
  “How quickly can you plot us a new course?”

“Well,” Abasi said, speaking with an almost exaggerated caution, “
that depends
on where we'd be sailing to.”

“It's...”  He paused again, as if unsure how much he could say.  “It's beyond the Veil.  A city called 'London'.  We have to set sail as soon as possible.”

“Rishi, come on now, what's wrong?”  Milima stepped forward to lay a hand on his arm.  “All these plans
we
've been making...”

“Yes, I know.  I'll explain things to the dean tonight.  As best I can, anyway.”

“But why?  What in the world could be so important that you need to abandon everything you've been working for this last year?  What is this about?”

“Milima, you know I wouldn't ask, not unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“So we just have to trust you?”  Milima scowled.

“Can you?”

For a moment, Milima said nothing, her eyes fixed on his.  Then she gave a nod.
 

“I'll have the ship ready by daybreak,” Abasi said.

The argument apparently settled, her father turned to look at Micah and Ilona, both of whom had been watching everything keenly, but without saying a word.

“I'm so sorry about this.  I'll have arrangements made for both of you to stay here at Skytower.  Or, I can pay for passage if there's somewhere else you'd like to be.”

Ilona's sharp features pulled back into an angry sneer.

“You absolutely must be joking,” she snarled.  Her father's eyes creased with sadness.

“I really am so sorry.  This situation...”

“Professor, I think what 'Lona's trying to say,” Micah interjected, “is that we really don't give a rat's arse what the situation is.  We're not sitting this one out just because the plans have changed.  
I know how much this expedition meant to you.  Whatever this thing is that's come up, it's obviously pretty damn important.
”

“You feel the same, I take it?” her father said, looking at Ilona.  The woman
inclined her head, ever so slightly
.

“Well, thank you, both of you,” he said.  Micah raised his hands in an easy-going gesture.

“You did promise me we'd get to travel.  I've never been past the Veil before.”

Despite his outward calm, Arsha had known Micah long enough to recognise the nervousness in the man's eyes.  That same nervousness was lurking behind every face in the room, a tension crackling in the air, as her father excused himself and stalked away, his shoulders hunched over as his coat flapped around his heels.  Arsha felt Shani's hand enclosing hers,
a
gentle, reassuring pressure as the woman smiled at her, a little sadly.  Neither of them seemed to have any idea what to say.

A
door stood in front of her,
the
blue paint long since peeled
and
faded to an awful grey.  Plastic numbers
barely visible
,
the gold painted finish
all worn off.  The last door
i
n a line of grey doors on the third floor, overlooking a concrete courtyard.  The grey doorways faced onto a grey balcony, with a metal handrail painted white, but chipped and rusted with age and disrepair.  Below,
broken
swings and a
creaking
see-saw.  Bottles, cans and mouldy paper bags.  The smell of piss and vomit.

A
grey door, just like all the others, yet every detail had been seared into her mind.  Every fleck of paint, every scratch and stain.  The precise way that it stood, not quite shut.  A crack, showing a last glimpse of the apartment beyond.  She could hear the muted sounds of shouting.  An argument.  A television turned up too loud.  
T
he dull th
ump
of a bass-line pounding through the concrete walls.

She should go back.  Not walk away like this.  Go back and do something.  Do something, but she didn't know what.  She couldn't remember what she was doing here.  Couldn't remember what was beyond that door...  
What
could be so important.  What she was running away from.

The thought lurked in the back of her mind,
l
ike a space where a tooth had been.  She felt the flaking paint of the railing, the rusted metal rough against her fingers.

What was she doing here?

The ugly space in the back of her mind.  Something trapped in shadow.  An emptiness, sucking her in.

White paint, flaking on her fingers as she rubbed them together.  The door, slightly ajar.  Bass-line pulsing in her skull.  Thudding, like a heartbeat.  Like the feeling you get as the headache first begins to settle in.

The door creeping open.  The gap widening.  The emptiness sucking her in.

What was she doing here?

The last door in a line of grey doors, creeping open.  She knew.  She knew what was behind that door.  She should have closed it then.  Should not have let herself look back and see that door, half-open.

She should
have
close
d
it.  Her feet were like lead.  Her heart pounding in her throat.  The bass-line, thudding in her head.  One foot, then the other.  Closer to the opening, the darkness, the emptiness.  She
held
out a shaking hand
towards
the handle, but it continued to swing wider, moving just beyond her
grasp
.  She
reached out
, a desperate whi
mper
escaping
from her lips as she leaned in closer.

And then
the door frame was no
t a
frame, but a vast archway, growing higher, wider.  The darkness came rushing forwards.  Her feet could not hold her,
and t
he whimper became a scream.  She was falling, falling down through that vast opening, falling into the darkness that rushed up to swallow her.

Rachael
woke to find herself surrounded.  Bodies pressed in all around as a thunderous sound bellowed in her ears.  The carriage swayed violently as it swept around a bend in the tunnel.  The clamour of voices could barely be heard over the constant
rumble
reverberating from the tunnel walls.  They rode through total darkness, buried deep within the earth.

Slowly, her breathing calmed.  
Rachael
checked her bag, the contents apparently untouched.  She had little enough to steal, but the thought still nagged at her.  The woman
in the next seat
glowered at her from the corner of
one
eye, before returning to her sudoku
puzzle
.

For the price of a single ticket, you could ride the
C
ircle line until midnight.  The underground was warm and dry,
t
he trains rattling on through the same dark tunnels
as they had for a hundred years
, smelling of oil and grime.  After the encounter on the rooftop the day before,
she had retreated
down into the tunnels, somewhere safe, hidden away.  Curled up in a corner seat on the train, she kept her bag hugged to her chest and her hood down low,
doing
her best to simply shut out the sound of the other travellers.

T
he hours ticked by as the train pulled into one station after another, the crowd in the carriage shifting, changing shape, but never really seeming all that different.  Sometimes she sketched, picking a face at random and letting it flow out onto the page.  She liked drawing people on the underground.  
T
hey tried so hard to block out everything around themselves, to become completely disengaged, and yet they allowed so much of themselves to flow to the surface.

She drew, and
sometimes
she dozed, head tucked against the corner of the window frame.  Days on end o
f huddling in doorways and alleys
had left her exhausted, and it was easy to
nod off
in the warmth, rocked to sleep by the gentle but insistent
swaying
of the carriage.

Somewhere half-way between dreaming and waking, she noticed that a man was watching her from across the carriage.  He had steel grey eyes,
tanned skin and a buzz-cut
.  He wore a patched black leather jacket.  There was a
tension
in
him that unsettled her.  Still groggy, she clutched her bag tighter, ready to slip out at the next station.  The train slowed, coming to a stop with a hiss as the doors opened.  For a moment she couldn't move, trapped by the press of bodies squeezing past.  She was ready to slip into the crowd when she glimpsed the empty seat where the man had been sitting.  As the carriage began to fill again, like a tide coming back in, she searched the crowd but saw no sign of him.  Uneasily, she stayed where she was.  Most likely, she'd only imagined the man was looking at her.