The Cradle of All Worlds. Jeremy Lachlan

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СКАЧАТЬ I get the point and join her. A bunch of kids have just walked by. A woman’s sweeping her stoop a few doors down. I sneak across the road, stealthy as a goddamn bandit, and lead Violet into an alleyway quick smart.

      Bluehaven’s like a giant maze, but I know every street, every shortcut. Sure, I only step outside to run the occasional errand for the Hollows nowadays – collecting wood, buying rice – but I used to sneak out all the time, mostly at night. I’d wander the streets by moonlight, raiding the neighbour’s bins for any clothes or knick-knacks they might’ve thrown away, maybe even a midnight snack for me and Dad. Sometimes I’d head on up and raid the mango and coconut groves and bring back a feast. Didn’t take long till I’d walked every path a thousand times.

      ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Violet says now. She dives and rolls under a window to make sure nobody sees her. A pointless move, seeing as the window’s boarded up, but at least she’s enjoying herself. ‘If this really is an ambush –’ she leaps up, dusts herself off – ‘I reckon you should just go with it. Have fun. Be the baddie. Run around and scream and tell ’em if they don’t give you a crate of flint you’ll sink the whole island or something.’

      ‘Why would I want a crate of flint?’

      ‘Why wouldn’t you?’

      A busy intersection. A right onto Kepos Road. No choice but to blend in for a bit, go with the flow. Hide in plain sight and hope the passing townsfolk don’t clock us. I pull my hood down even lower. Focus on my feet, let Violet lead the way. Keep expecting a hand to grab me and spin me around, the crowd to turn on me as one.

      Violet stops. I bump into her back and someone bumps into mine. I brace myself, get ready to run, but the guy actually says, ‘Excuse me,’ and keeps on walking. I almost laugh.

      If only he knew.

      ‘What’s going on?’ I whisper.

      ‘Two carts up ahead,’ Violet whispers back. ‘They’re stuck. Blocking the road. Idiots. We could try ducking under them, but –’

      ‘No,’ I say. ‘Come on. It’s risky, but we’re gonna have to cut across Outset.’

      We duck into a side alley and start jogging. I can feel the seconds slipping away from us. We sidestep bins, jump over potholes, duck under a clothesline and scramble over a stack of crates and barrels, the hum and buzz of Outset Square growing louder all the while.

      I check my pocket. The mysterious photo’s still there, safe and sound. I hold it tight, fighting the urge to run back to the basement and make sure Dad’s okay. Sometimes I swear there’s an invisible thread connecting us that spools out, stretches, then tugs at my heart and guts whenever I stray too far. Whenever I’m gone too long.

      It’s pulling stronger than ever today.

      Violet catches the look on my face. She knows it all too well.

      ‘He’ll be fine, Jane,’ she says, huffing and puffing beside me. ‘I mean, he’s much safer than you’re about to be. But don’t you worry, the square’ll be packed. Everyone’ll be way too busy setting up for the festival to notice anything. You’ll see.’

      And she’s right. Outset Square is heaving. Everybody’s busy building stalls and stages. Trundling carts of fruit and roasted spits of suckling pig. Hanging flags from the lampposts. Unfurling long banners between the columns of the surrounding buildings. The Dawes Memorial School. The Museum of Otherworldly Antiquities. The grand Town Hall. The flags and banners are white, symbols of peace and slates-wiped-clean. The Manor Lament marks the anniversary of the Night of All Catastrophes. It’s the one day of the year the townsfolk come together to celebrate and remember the adventures of old. To praise their gods – Po, Aris and Nabu-kai – otherwise known as the three Makers. To chant, pray, feast, dance and – yep – burn effigies of me and Dad. There they are right now. Towering wicker things on wheels.

      Maybe the festival started out as a sombre affair, but it’s more like a party nowadays. And I’m most definitely not on the guest list. I really, really shouldn’t be here.

      ‘I love festival time,’ Violet groans as a wheelbarrow full of fireworks rolls by.

      ‘Calm down, little pyro.’ I drag her into the crowd. ‘I like the idea of these losers running from something other than me, but do you really want a repeat of last year?’

      ‘Hey, if they didn’t want kids around the Dragon Wheels they should’ve put up a sign or something. And I only let off half of them.’

      ‘They were still in storage. I could hear the explosion from the basement.’

      Violet sighs. ‘Yeah, you should’ve seen it.’ Then she goes all puppy-eyed on me. ‘I wish you’d come tonight, Jane. You’ve never been once. Why don’t you just give it a go?’

      ‘Do I really need to answer that?’

      ‘We could dress you up. Like a tree or something. Get a few sticks, some leaves –’

      ‘I’m not coming to the festival, Violet. Ever. Now can you drop it?’

      ‘Fine. I’m dropping it. It’s dropped. Do you reckon it’ll happen this year though?’

      ‘Do I think you’ll blow something up? Probably.’

      ‘No, stupid. The thing everyone’s thinking. Do you reckon it’ll finally wake up?’

      I look around at the crowd. Between the trundling, building, sweeping and cleaning, everyone keeps glancing up the Sacred Stairs on the far side of the square. Straight as a tack and crumbling at the edges, the colossal staircase stretches all the way up the steep hill in the centre of the island, raised above the terraced farms by a series of towering arches. Up, up, up they climb, scaling the rugged, rocky slope of the hilltop – a dizzying height now, almost as steep as a ladder – until they’re devoured by an enormous stone door. The gateway to Bluehaven’s great lamented treasure.

      The Manor.

      With its towering columns and crummy stonework, the Manor looks more like an ancient ruin than anything. A gigantic gargoyle crowning the island, born of the cliffs themselves, as old as the sea and sky. Crumbling statues flank its windowless walls. Dying vines creep up its sides. For thousands of years, the people of Bluehaven worshipped it, praised it, journeyed through it to the Otherworlds, but it has stood like this – dormant, lifeless, closed to all – for well over a decade now. Fourteen years, to be precise.

      Ever since me and Dad came to town.

      They say there was a storm. They say Dad fell through the gateway and collapsed at the top of the Stairs. A man without a past. Without a name. John Doe, they called him. John Doe and his baby, Jane. Apparently, I was bundled up in his arms, crying.

      They say the first quake struck at once.

      ‘Jane? Oi.’ Violet tugs at my cloak. ‘I said, do you reckon it’ll wake up?’

      ‘Don’t know, don’t care.’

      ‘All right, all right. Stroppy pants. I don’t reckon it was your fault, by the way.’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘I mean, you СКАЧАТЬ