Fearsome Dreamer (8 page)

He didn't sound like he was lying
, his treacherous mind whispered to him.

He tried to force calm, press it on himself like a plaster, covering up his wounds.

‘If you are nervous about the implant,' White said, ‘I think it does not work outside of World. You have nothing here it can use to … power it.'

‘Good god, I know that,' said Frith cheerfully. ‘You're curiously persistent in believing that you're one of the first from World to seek asylum here. The only reason I'm spending time with you is because, I'll admit, you're the first in my personal memory to offer something so useful to me.'

‘I can be useful. If it means you will let me stay here.' White paused a moment, gathering his courage. ‘But I will not spy on World for you,' he said. He had already anticipated where this might lead, and there was no way he was going to let himself be used for that.

‘That's an interesting statement. Let me ask you something in return. What is the last bargaining chip you hold?' said Frith. ‘In other words, what will prevent me from compelling you to do whatever I want?'

White felt his heart give a panicky leap.

‘If you make me a spy, I will go back to World,' he said.

‘You just told me you can't.'

‘There are people. They live outside Life systems, outside the city domes. I will go there.'

‘If you believe that removing your implant will kill you, you must also believe what your government says about no one being able to survive off grid.'

White clenched his jaw stubbornly.

‘I have heard of some who do,' he said. ‘They hate Life. They say we are too dependent on machines. They live in the old cities, the ones abandoned when the dome cities were built.'

‘I presume you're talking about Technophobes.'

The word sounded strange coming from an Angle Tarain mouth.

‘You needn't look so surprised,' said Frith, sounding almost reproachful. ‘I realise we seem a bit out of the way, but we do know things here.' He shifted. ‘It must have been quite a hard life for you, growing up in such a place.'

White bit back a scoff. He needed no one's fake pity. ‘Many people have hard lives,' he said, contemptuous.

‘Still. They don't like you because you can't be controlled. Because you don't need Life. You don't need
them
.'

White was silent.

‘So they arrested you for no reason,' came Frith's soothing liquid voice. ‘What charge did they give?'

‘It was all lies. They wanted to know if I had been talking to Technophobes. That was all.'

He subsided. Frith was silent, watching him. Listening. No one had listened to White in a long, long time. He felt himself open up.

‘The charges said that we had ties to terrorists. People with my … ability, they say we help the Technophobes, because they think we hate Life.'

White searched, trying to force out his thoughts with unfamiliar words.

‘Life makes travel unnecessary. Makes exploration unnecessary. Yet I travel. I
want
to explore. I am dangerous, because I cannot be … kept in one place. They arrested me for no reason. I was doing nothing. I was hurting no one. But they kept me in prison. No one did anything about it. They starved me. They drugged me. Like. Like I was an animal.'

The room was silent. White felt a wave of tears threaten underneath his eyes and bit on the inside of his cheek sharply to will them away.

Another room; another prison. A sickening fear fluttered through his head; that his life would always be like this. That there would always be people finding ways to keep him penned. Controlled. Docile.

‘Let's take a break. Would you like some food?' said Frith.

White nodded. A treacherous tear escaped, tracking down his cheek, and he brushed it off angrily.

They ate together in the interrogation room. The meal was extremely good, but anything would have tasted incredible right now. The sensation of hot food sliding into him was a very obvious, natural one that he had craved in the last few weeks.

He felt watched, and studied. Guards stood at every corner, surrounding the two eating in the middle of the room at their rickety wooden table. Occasionally a pair of eyes would slide to him. He tried not to make any noise as he ate, and resisted the temptation to shovel everything into his mouth at once.

Frith speared a soft cream-coloured vegetable on his knife and mashed it on his plate with the flat of the blade.

‘How do you call that?' said White.

‘A pomder, in Angle Tarain. In high speech it's called
pomme de terre
; and high speech, for your information, is the one that no one speaks any more, except the most inbred of aristocrats. You have a tendency to slip into it, which won't endear you to the common man in Angle Tar.' Frith paused. ‘Though pointing out that Angle Tarain has more French words in it than anything else never goes down well, either.'

‘It is the way the Angle Tarain language package that I bought taught it to me,' said White, fighting a sudden rush of embarrassment. ‘I do not speak correctly?'

Frith laid down his fork. ‘Actually, you speak extremely precisely. The way the old Empire of France would've had you speak, when they still ruled us. But things have changed. Now only rich people like to be reminded of those times, as it was only the rich that benefited from being part of the Empire. Nowadays, anything remotely French coming out of your mouth will get you a smile and an invite from the aristocrats, but a dirty look from everyone else. Let's move on, anyway, and talk about what will happen next.'

White spiked a pomder from the dish and nibbled on it while his heart dropped to his feet. In a way, he was grateful to Frith for being so direct. It was the balance of power that he had come to understand in prison. Hating the person who had control of you, loving them when they were kind to you; hating yourself for doing it.

‘You'll stay here in Capital,' said Frith. ‘I will be directly responsible for you. Don't worry, we'll treat you well. You'll have a place of your own to stay. Money. Food. Clothes. Not citizenship, of course. And there's no need for you to spy for us, if in return you give us every piece of information you have on whatever we ask about World. I'm also going to enrol you in our Talent programme.'

‘What is this?'

Frith leaned back, wiping his mouth with a tissue. ‘Did you think we had no one with your ability here? Witness my lack of surprise at your little trick.'

‘So you already have many people here who can do what I do.'

‘No, we don't. We have many people who may have something of it, but without training, no clue about the full extent of their capabilities. You'll train with the other Talented. You'll show us what you can do.'

White was silent. He forked a piece of meat and chewed, aware of eyes on him.

Frith pushed his plate gently away. ‘There are students in our training programme who can look into other places, travel into other countries, without leaving the comfort of their own rooms, through their dreams. There are some who can spy on others without them knowing anyone is there. They move their minds, somehow. I know the symptoms of Talent, and I know what to recognise. But in all the time I've been running the programme, I've only ever met one other student who can Jump the way you did today.'

White put his fork down, instantly curious. ‘I have met no one else,' he said. ‘Who is this student? Will I meet them?'

‘His name is Wren. It's quite extraordinary, what he can do.'

White filed the name away. Perhaps he would be introduced to this Wren at some point. Perhaps train with him. Would Wren be better than him? He felt a stab of jealousy and tried to ignore it.

‘Do you understand the Talent?' said Frith. ‘How it works, where it comes from?'

‘A little. Do you have Talent?'

‘In many areas; but not in that one.'

‘How did you find out about it?'

Frith took a sip of wine, and chose to ignore his question.

‘You'll work hard, please,' he said. ‘I need to prove that what I'm doing is the right decision. You will prove it. Look at me.'

White raised his eyes like an obedient puppy. Frith was watching him, his face expressionless. He would not refuse that face. It was the face of his future.

‘You understand how important you are.'

‘Yes,' said White.

‘You understand what that means.'

‘It means if I ever try to leave this country …'

He left it hanging.

Frith shrugged. ‘We don't have implants here. But we do have other ways of tracking you. And quite a lot of spies in World.'

‘Listen,' said White. The reverse had occurred to him, suddenly and sickeningly. ‘They know I am here. The police, they tried to catch me when I left to come here. Will they try to. To do something?'

‘Please don't worry about that. You'll be quite safe here, under my protection. And frankly, they'll soon forget about you. It'll become mired in bureaucracy and back and forth, and then they'll be distracted by a million other things. Yours is a very chaotic nation. Too much going on. They'll stop caring about you.'

White was surprised to find that he felt hurt. He knew that Frith was right. It should have been relief he felt. Relief that they wouldn't care enough to come after him for his betrayal. But it stung him, very deep down inside, in a hidden and shameful part of himself that still desperately wanted their approval for what he was, wanted to be accepted and loved for what he was.

He saw now that such a thing was just not possible in World. But maybe it was possible here, and maybe he had done the right thing. And maybe he could be himself, and be happy.

So White looked into the face of the man before him, and accepted his offer.

He felt a cold hand grip his heart. But there was no choice, he told himself. No other choice.

It was a shoveller bird that woke her.

It had flown in through the open sliver of her window. She had been dreaming about Til. No strange places, this time.

Rue lay, listening to the bird buzzing and beeping. She heard someone moving about outside, and memories of the night before started to ooze through her sleepy content. She threw the bedspread back, startling the shoveller, who hastily winged his way outwards. She watched him go, sorry.

‘You up now?' said Fernie, appearing at the window. She had on her floppy weeding hat that always made Rue laugh and cringe at the same time.

‘What time did you get back?' said Rue, pushing her feet into her raggy slippers. Avoiding Fernie's eye would arouse suspicion. Looking at her too much would be out of place.

‘Late. Not much later than you went off to bed, though, right.'

Rue shrugged. ‘Didn't feel sleepy. Thought I'd wait up for you a spell.'

‘Hm. Come outside and have tea. It's a goodish day, and we'll be to the market in a stretch.'

Fernie and her hat disappeared. Rue shuffled to the kitchen, re-examining the last few minutes for any hint of self-betrayal. The smell of fresh mint tea drifted through the air. She poured herself a glass and wandered outside. It
was
a goodish day, and unwittingly Fernie had given Rue the perfect opportunity to talk to Til. He'd be in his usual place at the market, selling the morning's freshly baked breads.

Her toes scrunched in the bare earth as she watched the horizon and sipped her tea. Fernie's generous backside was wiggling as she worked a herb border.

‘What we on for today, then?' said Rue.

‘You,' Fernie emphasised, ‘will be learning your herbs. We'll be making up some fresh mixes for quite a few of my jars are nearly out. Mayhap a square of soap or two. I can show you how it's done, if you like.'

Rue made a non-committal grunt. When it came to the everyday practicalities, she could not rouse as much enthusiasm as Fernie seemed to expect her to. Doubtless she'd get the local soap maker to do hers when she became fully fledged. She didn't see the reasoning behind doing everything yourself.

‘Will you go back to the Woolmaker's?' said Rue, trying not to sound hopeful. She liked having the house to herself.

‘We'll both be going tomorrow,' came the muffled voice. Rue rolled her eyes, playing with the sodden mint stalks at the bottom of her glass. ‘I know as how you don't care much for the babies part of the job, but you've to learn and appreciate. You'll understand when you see the kit and know you've helped bring it into the world.'

An image of those blood flowers floated through Rue's mind and she made a sour face. There was no appreciating that.

‘Would she have died if you hadn't been there?'

‘Who's to say?' said Fernie. ‘Maybe she would have got better on her own.'

Rue chewed on one of the mint stalks, watching Fernie work. ‘You're too generous,' she said. ‘You saved her; she would've bled to death if she'd've been on her own.'

‘There'd be some who'd argue 'twas Tro saved her. Or Buc who decided to spare her.'

‘Tuh. No one really believes in them.'

Fernie turned, still squatting. She sat back with a sigh, her heavy skirts rumpled up around her stockinged legs. She looked both comical and sweet. Rue felt a rush of affection for her.

‘You ought to be careful who you say such things to,' said Fernie. ‘And how loud you say 'em.'

‘Gods are worthless,' said Rue. ‘Never around when you need 'em, always underfoot causing trouble when you don't. Ain't that one of the first things you ever said to me? No one ever sees them, anyway.'

‘Or maybe they're deliberately choosing not to be seen. I never told you not to believe in 'em, just 'cause I don't. Just don't trust 'em, that's all.'

‘If one came round here,' said Rue, ‘I'd tell him to be off and that we didn't need his help, thank you kindly. We've been getting along quite well without him so far.'

Fernie laughed. ‘He wouldn't think much of that.' She pushed herself to her feet and swept off the hat. ‘Get some clothes on. It's market time.'

It was busy today. Most of the customers were young, the older folk having come in the early morning to avoid the worst of the heat. Rue steadily avoided gazing straight to the bakery stall and kept her eyes forwards, her insides churning uneasily. She both hoped and dreaded that Fernie would send her over there to get some bread. She didn't, more often than not – she liked to bake her own. Did they have any left in the house? Rue couldn't remember and momentarily hated herself for forgetting to check before they left.

Her shoes kicked up the gravel and sand mixture scattered across the village square flagstones. She trailed around, trying to appear enthused whenever Fernie turned and asked her opinion.

Where was he? At his stall? She'd risked a glance, but couldn't see him there. Maybe he wasn't tending today. Fernie was engaged in a mock argument with Shard the furniture maker and didn't look set to leave his stall any time soon.

Rue wandered nonchalantly away. She started to cross the square, making her way towards Til's stall. She'd only taken a few steps before she felt someone at her side and turned quickly; but it was only some boy, and her heart fell.

‘Hello Rue,' said the boy. What was his name?

‘Hello,' she said vaguely, still moving. She wasn't going to stop and have everyone think she had something on with this boy.

‘What you doing?' said the boy.

‘Looking round the market.'

‘Yeh.'

Silence ensued. Rue noticed that a handful of similar boys were standing in a group not far from them; watching and grinning to each other.

‘So, what you doing tonight?'

‘None of yours,' said Rue. She had intended it to be offhand but it came out sharp. The boy blushed.

‘Nope, none of mine,' he agreed. ‘Just wondered is all. If you'd be free.'

Rue stopped. ‘For what?' she asked, though it seemed obvious.

‘To meet me.'

‘To do what?'

‘Anything you like.'

It was Pake. That was his name. He was stocky, shaped by farm work. About her age, she knew. Nice eyes. Decent manner. But that was all he had. There was no magic there.

‘Um,' she said, trying to think of the right combination of words that would get her out of this. ‘Well. I'm real busy.'

‘You can just tell me a time, then.'

Don't be a coward, Rue girl. Don't string him along. Just say it.

‘Um. No,' she said, and then shut her mouth firmly, stopping any more vague excuse words coming out that might make him think he could still worm a meet from her.

He waited for a moment, and then smiled, nervously.

‘No?' he said.

Rue shrugged. ‘No,' she repeated.

‘Oh,' he said. ‘Um.' He took a step back.

Rue felt her face bloom crimson in mortified sympathy.

‘Sorry,' she said. ‘I just. Um. Sorry.'

Pake turned without a further word, his eyes away from her.

He went back to his group. Rue spun hurriedly on one foot and started walking, hoping she wouldn't trip or look stupid, feeling their glances landing on her back, over and over, like birds pecking at a seed.

Where was Til? She needed him to be right there, so she could stop the horrible feeling that everyone was talking about her as she walked. As she approached the bakery stall she saw that it was busy as always, but there was no sign of Til. She looked helplessly about.

Women milled in front, chatting, laughing, and cooing. Then, like a puppet, Til sprang up from behind the wooden table, loaves in hand. She worried for a moment that he wouldn't see her, but his eyes fell on her straight away. He nodded, turning back to the woman in front of him. Of course; she would have to wait until he'd managed to get rid of his customers before they could talk properly.

They did like to hang about. Rue watched them impatiently as they flirted and laughed. Til wasn't as silent and brooding as she remembered. She dawdled until the last woman finally left, and moved up to him before anyone else could approach.

‘What do you need?' said Til.

‘I just wanted to see how you are. I mean, after last night.'

‘I'm well, thanks. Your advice was good.'

Rue smiled tentatively, hoping for more, but Til merely looked at her.

‘I'm sorry,' she blurted. ‘I measured it wrong. I'm really sorry. It was stupid.'

Til said nothing for a long moment. Finally he shrugged. ‘Don't worry. It wore off quick.'

‘Oh … good,' said Rue. ‘If you're going to tell Fernie, could you let me explain to her first?' She tried hard not to sound shaky. ‘I'd rather I fessed, if that's all right by you. I don't want her thinking that I didn't have the guts.'

Til shrugged again. ‘I weren't going to say anything, unless you wanted me to. What breads you looking for, then?'

‘I didn't come for breads. I came to talk to you.'

Til laughed, sounding awkward. ‘Why?'

Rue knew her face was flushed and it made her angry.
Why?

‘Because of what happened, is why. I don't … I'm not. I don't feel bad towards you, it being my fault and all.'

‘Glad you don't, Rue. And anyway, I told you your advice was good. You said to talk to her, so I did.'

Rue floundered. ‘You did?'

‘I did.'

‘What did she say?'

‘None of yours,' he said easily. Rue gave him a proper look. He was light in manner and seemed boyishly happy, at odds with his usual mysterious reserve. Her heart sank, heavy with misery.

‘Well, and so it went right with her, then,' she said, trying for casual.

‘Early days, but …' Til grinned. It was a beautiful boy grin and lifted his whole face so that it shone. ‘Sure you don't want some breads? I made some Noisy Surprise.'

‘No thanks,' said Rue. ‘Fernie makes her own mostly and we've not run out.'

Another customer had approached and was waiting for them to finish. Rue took the opportunity to leave as fast as she could.

As she walked away she prayed no one was looking at her, because she knew that her face had fallen to the ground.