The Cradle of All Worlds. Jeremy Lachlan

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      ‘No, don’t –’

      ‘Hey, everybody,’ Eric Junior shouts. ‘Jane Doe’s looking for my father. Anyone know where he’s gone? Anyone want to help her out?’

      The fisherfolk freeze. Even the cats abandon their fish heads and stare.

      ‘Huh, guess not,’ Eric Junior says. ‘Actually, how stupid of me. I just remembered he’s at the Town Hall, working on his speech. It’s a good ’un this year.’ The creep slaps me on the shoulder and stands aside, ready to enjoy the show. ‘Pity you’re not invited.’

      A seagull squawks. A cat meows. A lonely buoy-bell clangs in the distance.

      ‘W-well,’ I say in the general direction of the fisherfolk, ‘I’m running late, so I’ll leave you all to –’

      ‘GET HER! ’

      They charge. Naturally, I run for my goddamn life. Duck and dodge. Jump over a barrel, slide under one of the gutting tables, and leap to my feet again. For a second I figure I’m gonna make it, too – there’s a break in the crowd, an alleyway beyond – but then some jerk swings an anchor at me – an actual anchor – and I have to change course. I’m surrounded in no time. Everything’s a blur. Everyone’s shouting and screaming, closing in, so I head for the only clear space I can see. Before I know it, I’m running along a rickety old jetty stretching out into the sea. The fisherfolk weren’t just closing in. They were herding me.

      I’m trapped. Over water. Maybe not so street smart, after all.

      A cheer from the fisherfolk now. Even Eric Junior joins in, whooping and howling.

      I feel sick. I can hear the water lapping far beneath my feet. See my shadow drowning between the rotting planks of wood. A few sailboats are anchored nearby, but for a girl who can’t swim they may as well be floating on the horizon. I turn around, slowly. The fisherfolk are already stalking down the jetty towards me, led by Eric Junior and a gap-toothed giant with a wooden leg. Peg, they call him. Yeah, they’re really great with nicknames round here.

      ‘We told you not to show yer face here again, little Doe,’ he growls.

      The jetty groans under our combined weight. It sways a little.

      ‘We really need to get off this thing,’ I say. ‘Please, I – I’ll go home. Right now.’

      ‘You don’t have a home,’ Eric Junior says. ‘You’re a parasite, Doe. A leech sucking this island dry. You and your demented dad.’

      I barely get the chance to think Nobody calls my dad demented, you overgrown turd before he breaks away from the others and sprints right at me. The jetty cracks and buckles.

      ‘Wait,’ I shout, ‘nobody move,’ but it’s too late.

      The jetty lurches to one side. The fisherfolk topple like dominoes. Eric Junior slams into me and we fall and fall and hit the water hard, shoot right under. My cloak’s too heavy, dragging me down already, as if the pockets are filled with stones. I cling to Eric Junior. He kicks, thrashes, tries to break free, but I can’t let go. I plead with him, scream bubble-shaped cries for help, my lungs heaving and burning. It’s like I’m trapped in one of my nightmares.

      And then he’s gone.

      Eric Junior disappears and an eerie quiet settles around me. I can hear my own heart beating, every spasm in my throat, but all I can think about is Dad, lying in the basement at the mercy of the praying mantis and the weasel. Alone. Hungry. Waiting. Worrying.

      The invisible thread between us tugs and wrenches.

      But now there’s a different feeling. Some tentacled thing wrapping around me, squeezing, stealing me away. No, not away. Up. I’m rising, faster and faster, caught in a fishing net. I burst from the water in a flash of brilliant sunlight and glorious air fills my lungs. I’m not just breathing it, either, I’m flying through it. The net swings around, dumps me on the deck of a sailboat and I collapse in a tangled, panting mess. Even manage a smile, till I realise someone’s watching me. An old woman in a red cloak, standing by the rope pulleys.

      Winifred Robin. Up close and personal. Her skin’s wrinkled and scarred. Face like a goddamn chopping board. Hands like talons. As she strides across the deck towards me she pulls a shotgun from her cloak. Clearly my situation hasn’t improved.

      ‘I am sorry, Jane,’ she says. ‘You are going to wake up with quite a headache.’

      And she knocks me out cold with the butt of her gun.

VOICES IN THE DARK

      My sleep’s usually riddled with nightmares. Flashes of babies crying, strangers running from monsters, never-ending stone corridors and a blinding white light. Most of the time it’s just me, drowning in a faraway sea. No wonder Violet thinks I’m scared of the dark. I always wake up screaming, twisted in my sweaty sheets. This, though – actually being knocked unconscious – ain’t too shabby at all, like being wrapped in a thick, warm blanket. A floating cocoon where no bad dream can touch you. A safe place, deeper than normal sleep.

      Only problem is you have to wake up.

      ‘I was surprised to get your message.’ A deep voice tugs at my ears. ‘Capturing her after all these years. Throwing her inside this thing. Quite the change of character, Robin.’

      ‘Perhaps.’ An old and scratchy voice. Her voice. ‘But I have my reasons.’

      ‘So you keep saying. You have not, however, told me what those reasons are. Nothing is ever this simple with you. You haven’t set foot on a boat in years. How did you know she was going to end up in the water? You cannot tell me it was mere coincidence.’

      ‘Of course it was no coincidence. There is no such thing.’

      ‘Then how –’

      ‘You have waited fourteen years for this moment, Eric. I am surprised you are asking any questions at all. I have handed over the girl. She is no longer under my protection.’

      A moment of silence.

      ‘You know what this means, Robin. What you’re giving me permission to do. You may have struck a deal with my predecessor, but I won’t stand for it. Breaking curfew, wandering the streets, knocking on my door, bold as brass. Attacking an innocent group of people – attacking my own son. And another quake – today of all days – hours before the Lament? They’re getting worse. We all know it. We cannot live like this. We won’t.’

      ‘Like I said, I can protect her no more.’

      ‘And what of the other?’

      ‘His time will come soon enough. Leave him be. Now, if you please, Ms Doe is about to wake up. I would like a quick word with her alone.’

      ‘You think you can tell me –’

      ‘I know I can tell you, Eric. Out. Don’t even think about listening at the door. After I am through with Jane you may do what you wish, but until then I want absolute privacy.’

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