Archibald Lox and the Empress of Suanpan Read online

  The locks are made out of different types of metal, and come in all shapes and sizes, but are built to be unlocked with keys — you couldn’t poke your fingers into any of these, and I’m pretty sure the holes wouldn’t widen, no matter how often I stroked them.

  Winston drapes himself across the couch and nods for me to sit in a chair. He picks up a lock and plays with it, producing a strange-looking object from a pocket.

  “This is a skeleton key,” he informs me, when he catches me staring at it.

  “Oh,” I say. “I’ve read about those in books, but had never seen one before. Is the lock from the Born?”

  Winston looks puzzled. “Of course not. It would have dissolved here a long time ago if it was.”

  “Then you have normal locks in the Merge as well?”

  “As well as what?” Winston asks.

  “The ones you find in boreholes.”

  Winston goes on playing with the lock, but his focus is on me. “All of our locks are created like this, before being added to boreholes or objects. They change at that point, allowing us to use fingers, noises or gestures rather than physical keys. That’s common knowledge here. Which realm are you from, Archie?”

  Again I hesitate, wary of revealing the truth about myself.

  Winston says softly, “You’re not from the Merge, are you?”

  “No,” I whisper.

  He smiles. “That’s alright. I’m intrigued, but I won’t push for answers if it makes you uncomfortable. Can I get you something to eat?”

  “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

  “How about a drink?”

  I frown. “I didn’t think the Merged got thirsty.”

  “We don’t,” Winston says, “but some of us make drinks anyway, out of mushrooms.”

  “Mushroom juice?” I pull a face.

  Winston laughs. “Devisers can make the liquid taste like almost anything you’ll find in the Born. It’s the same with food — our mushrooms can be converted into meat, fish, vegetables, bread… whatever.”

  I whistle. “Inez never told me that.”

  “Inez Matryoshka?” Winston’s features tighten with concern.

  “Yes. She sent me here.”

  Winston lays his lock aside and returns the skeleton key to his pocket. “Please tell me what she said.”

  “A missing princess needs your help to vote, and Inez wants you to meet her on an island of pineapples in a few days.”

  Winston sighs and picks up another lock, which he fiddles with while I sit in silence, staring at the now troubled-looking old man. It’s been a long day and my eyelids start to droop. Winston spots this and puts his lock aside, insisting on making up a bed for me. I try to argue – we still have a lot to discuss – but he says there’s no rush. He takes me to another room, smaller than the other two. The bed is formed out of a raised vine.

  “Would you like some blankets?” Winston asks.

  “That’s OK,” I yawn, lying down and stretching out. “I’ll be…”

  Before I can finish the sentence, I’m asleep.

  I sleep soundly, no dreams. The bed is comfortable, and I lie there awhile when I wake, smiling at the ceiling. The room is dark, but a light comes on when I clap. I get up and return to the room of locks.

  Winston is waiting for me and produces a plate of crackers, with a pâté-like paste smeared across them, which is delicious. He also produces a jug of greyish liquid, which isn’t quite the same as milk, but it’s passable.

  “This will all break down inside me the same as the mushrooms, right?” I ask.

  “Exactly,” Winston says.

  “So I won’t need the toilet?”

  “Perish the thought,” he purrs, chinking his mug against mine.

  Having decided to come clean, I tell Winston about myself, seeing Inez being chased, opening the borehole and following her, travelling through Diamond while she searched for a way back here, splitting up in New York.

  “It was unfortunate that you ran into the SubMerged,” he tuts. “You’d think, in a city of millions, you wouldn’t cross paths with others from the Merge, but it happens all the time. One of the quirks of the spheres.”

  “Do you know why she was coming to see you?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says. “I’d heard about the vote in Sapphire and the princess who’s gone missing. The realms are awash with the news.”

  “What’s the vote about? And what does a princess have to do with it?”

  Winston purses his lips. “I’d happily answer those questions but it’s not my place. You’re Inez’s ward, not mine.”

  “I’m nobody’s ward,” I say sourly, thinking that makes me sound like a baby.

  “Sorry,” Winston says, “but the decision to tell you rests with her. We don’t, as a rule, share secrets with the Born, so I understand her desire to tread carefully until she’s worked out your role in this.”

  “I don’t have a role,” I snort. “I got sucked in by chance and now I’m done. I’ll be heading back to my normal life now.”

  “Perhaps,” Winston says, looking at me with a strange expression. Then he clears his throat. “I don’t wish to detain you, but a few hours won’t make much difference. I thought you might like to have a go at those.” He nods at a table laden with locks.

  I should leave – my foster parents will be mad with worry – but the locks fascinate me. I’m curious to find out if I can open them.

  “I’ll work on a few of the locks,” I decide, “but not for long.”

  “I won’t keep you a second longer than you deem appropriate,” Winston promises, then leads me to the table, where he explains that devisers transform mushrooms into metal, then pass them to locksmiths to work into locks of varying kinds.

  “You mean you build locks as well as pick them?” I ask.

  Winston nods. “Most locksmiths can create locks.”

  “Could I?”

  “Probably,” he says, “but that’s a challenge for another time.”

  Winston tries me out on a host of locks, starting with the simplest kind – which I fly through – and quickly working up to complex pieces. Some of the complicated models take me several minutes to open, but they’re child’s play compared to the lock outside Big Ben.

  “This is too easy,” I complain. “Don’t you have anything tougher?”

  Winston tuts. “Be careful what you wish for. I have more challenging locks, but some would take you several days to open, and you’ll find that a master lock has a way of commandeering your focus. Many fine locksmiths have lost themselves on fiendishly difficult locks.”

  “Lost themselves?” I echo.

  “We need to eat. Without nourishment…” He hesitates.

  “You turn into hell jackals,” I say hoarsely.

  “You know about those?”

  “We ran into some in a prison and on a river of blood.” I shiver at the memories of the feral beasts with their tight skin, yellow eyes and bared fangs.

  Winston continues. “Sometimes a locksmith gets so involved in a lock that he forgets to eat and wastes away. I’ve lost a couple of friends that way.”

  “Could that happen to me?” I ask.

  “Not here,” Winston says. “I’d wrench you free.”

  “Then can I try one of the harder locks?”

  “You could,” he says, “but even the easiest master lock would take several hours to open. Do you want to stay here that long?”

  “I guess not,” I mutter, figuring it’s time I reported back to George and Rachel. Then I have a thought. “Could I take it with me?”

  “Too dangerous,” Winston says. “You might start working on it somewhere quiet, become obsessed and starve to death.”

  “So we’re done?” I sigh.

  “I suppose,” Winston says, but he doesn’t get up to lead me away. He looks as if he’s thinking about something. Then he says softly, “You could return. The borehole in Lon
don allows access in and out of this zone. You could be my student in your spare time.”

  “I’m not sure,” I mutter. “If a lock takes several hours to master… or days… what would my foster parents say if I kept going missing?”

  “I’d train you to take breaks,” Winston says, “so you could spread the harder locks out over a series of visits, just come for a couple of hours at a time, after school or at the weekends.”

  I lick my lips uncertainly. Part of me wants to jump at the offer. It would mean not severing contact with the Merge, remaining part of this bewitching sphere. But it’s also a dangerous place, and I’m not sure I’m ready to commit.

  “You don’t have to decide right now,” Winston says. “Go away and mull it over. If you want to resume your studies, I’ll be here.” He stands and stretches. “Come, Archie, I’ll show you to the borehole. It’s time you returned to your own sphere and the normal life that’s waiting there for you.”

  5

  Winston leads me through a series of rooms – all awash with locks – and out onto a large balcony overlooking the geographically impossible skyline. I can see the Sphinx, the Statue of Liberty, the Colosseum.

  Winston smiles as I stop to study the scenery. “You’re impressed.”

  “It’s amazing. How does it work?”

  “This is a wrap zone,” he says. “The deviser visited places in the Born, encircled them with vines so that they became anchors, then linked them. It’s a very difficult undertaking. There have never been many zones like this one.”

  “Did you ask for it to be built?”

  “No. The zone was established by a queen who enjoyed a mix of the spheres, though I’ve had it updated — I think she would have liked that.”

  My gaze moves from one world-famous landmark to another. It’s a sunny day and they’re all looking their finest, but as I’m admiring the great rock of Uluru in the Australian outback, I pause.

  “How do day and night work? If it’s day in London, it must be night in Australia, yet…” I point to the clear blue sky.

  “London’s the hub,” Winston explains. “It’s the centre of the zone, so everything is set to London time. Of course you can exit anywhere, so if you decided to visit Ayers Rock, you’d find yourself in the middle of an Australian night.”

  “Cool,” I grin. “You could celebrate New Year’s Eve dozens of times on the same night, all around the world. How many others live in this zone?”

  “None,” Winston says.

  “You have it all to yourself?” I gasp. “With that view, I assumed this would be tourist central.”

  Winston shrugs. “The Merged have little or no interest in the Born. I rarely pause to take in the view myself.”

  “Then why do you live here?”

  “Because it’s a forgotten zone and that suits my purposes. It makes it hard for my enemies to find me.”

  I look at the nice old man. He’s smiling, but sadly.

  “The SubMerged?” I ask quietly.

  He nods. “I was one of the finest locksmiths of my time, but talent can be a curse as well as a blessing. I was forced to do the bidding of masters not of my choosing.” His fingers wander to his cheeks and he strokes old scars.

  “Would they target me if I turned out to be a really good locksmith too?” I ask.

  “Possibly,” Winston says, “if you develop the way I think you can.”

  “Then it’d be better if I didn’t learn any more, wouldn’t it?”

  Winston sniffs. “Safer? Certainly. Better? I’m not so sure. Is it better to live a life of limits, defined by fear? Having been hurt, I retreated to this oasis. I live in isolation, cut off from those I care about. I’m safe, yes, but happy?”

  Winston’s face crinkles into a sea of wrinkles and I worry for a moment that he’s going to cry.

  “Why don’t you go back?” I whisper.

  His fingers return to his cheeks and his eyes widen with the memory of ancient pain. “There’s only so much you can take. I was betrayed by a boy I thought of as a son. The thought of suffering as I’ve suffered before…”

  His arms tremble and he lowers them. Stooping, he picks up a lock – there are even some out here, strewn across the balcony – and fiddles with it, concentrating until he forgets the torments of the past.

  “I’m a weak, foolish old man,” he says, smiling apologetically.

  “No,” I protest.

  “Yes,” he chuckles, “but there’s nothing wrong with being weak and foolish near the end of your days.” His smile fades. “At least that’s what I keep telling myself.”

  There’s a long silence. I focus on the sights, feeling awkward.

  Winston finally puts the lock on the floor and clears his throat. “I’ve wasted enough of your time,” he says. “If you follow that vine down to street level, you’ll find yourself at the base of the clock tower. The borehole is always open from this side. There’s a lock as you approach it from the Born, but you’ll have no problem picking it if you choose to return.”

  “Thanks,” I say, then start towards the vine, not saying goodbye, wanting to act the way the Merged do.

  “Archie,” Winston stops me and I glance back. He starts to say something, then shakes his head and waves me on.

  “Archie,” he stops me again. This time, when I look back, his face is firm. “I won’t be able to meet with Inez.”

  I frown and retrace my steps. “You’re not going to the pineapple island?”

  He groans. “The thought of facing my foes again, running the risk of capture, of being tortured…”

  “But Inez needs you,” I tell him. “I’m not sure what it’s all about, but she risked her life to come here.”

  “I know,” he says miserably, “but I can’t do this. I can’t.”

  “OK,” I sigh, “but what will happen to Inez?”

  “She’ll have to look for help elsewhere,” he says. “I don’t think she’ll resent me. She knows I’m reluctant to get involved in affairs of this nature. If the situation hadn’t been so grave, she wouldn’t have attempted to make contact.”

  “How bad is the situation?” I ask.

  Winston looks at me sadly. “The lives of millions of people hang in the balance. An entire realm is at risk.”

  “Of falling?” I cry.

  “No,” he says. “Of slavery and brutality.”

  I frown uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

  Winston shakes his head. “It’s not my place to tell you. I probably shouldn’t tell you this either, but I can see that you’re fond of Inez.”

  “I don’t know about fond,” I mumble, blushing.

  Winston laughs, but it’s a short laugh, and he’s deadly serious when he speaks again. “You could help her.”

  “Me?” I bleat.

  “There’s a special lock she’s going to need assistance with,” he continues, “and I’m confident that you can pick it when the time comes. You’re not ready for it now, but if you stick with her…”

  I stare at Winston, my heart beating faster than normal.

  “My foster parents,” I wheeze.

  “I know,” he says.

  “How long would it be?”

  “A few weeks, maybe longer.”

  “Couldn’t I go home, spend some time there, then come back?”

  “No,” he says. “If you returned home, your carers would surely keep a close eye on you for a very long time. I doubt you’d be able to sneak away again any time soon. You’d have to go to her now, and stay with her until the end of her mission.”

  “I can’t be away from home that long,” I croak.

  “I understand,” Winston says. “It would be a terrible thing to put your family through. And you might not make it back at all. Nobody will blame you if you go home. You’re not one of us. Your place is there, not here.”

  “But loads of people will suffer,” I moan.

  “They might suff
er no matter what,” he says.

  “But they’ll have a better chance if I team up with Inez?”

  He nods reluctantly.

  “Even though I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to do?” I press.

  A smile flickers across his face. “Sometimes the people best equipped to change a world are those who have no idea what they’re doing.”

  I stare at Winston’s ancient, wrinkled, scarred face. “I don’t have time to think about this, do I?”

  “No,” he says.

  “You’re asking a lot of me.”

  “Too much,” he agrees.

  “Why should I do it, for people I know nothing about?”

  “I can’t answer that,” he says.

  But to my surprise, I can. My foster brother has popped into my thoughts. I’m remembering the day we lost him, thinking about where he might be now, and without fully understanding my reasoning, I know I have to do this, not so much for my sake, but for Dave’s.

  I take a deep breath and say, “Show me how to get to the island of pineapples.”

  And the expression on Winston’s face when I volunteer is a mixture of great pride and joy, mingled with immense pity and terror.

  THREE — THE ISLAND

  6

  Winston guides me to a borehole. I’m not expecting him to say goodbye, but I assume he’s going to ask me to pass on a message to Inez, saying sorry that he can’t come. Instead, after looking uncertain for a few seconds, he taps the side of his nose and leaves me with something that’s either a riddle or a lame joke. “Remember, Archie, if he comes to the vine at the end of the line, a wise dog barks.”

  As I’m trying to make sense of that, Winston heads back to his rooms and his locks. With a bewildered sigh, I step through the borehole and find myself on an island full of giant stone pineapples.

  I gawp at the statues as I wander around. There are hundreds of them, and many have to be twenty metres tall. Some of the smaller pineapples have been converted into seats, while holes have been carved into others, with beds placed inside.

  I do a complete circuit of the island. It doesn’t take long. There are mushrooms, a sandy beach, the statues and nothing else.