The Cradle of All Worlds. Jeremy Lachlan

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СКАЧАТЬ my amber eyes shine a little too brightly. I’m sitting in some sort of library, smiling up at the camera, wearing one of the books as a hat.

      I flip the photo and frown. There’s some kind of symbol drawn on the back. An almost-triangle, like a shark fin or a thorn, surrounded by a circle.

      And beneath the symbol, another message.

       Everything happens for a reason.

WORST-CASE SCENARIOS

      My tunic gets clammy in the stifling heat. The sun creeps towards the horizon, beaming dusty shafts of light through the gaps in the boat shed walls. A mishmash of tribal drums drifts down from Outset Square, mingled with the faraway sounds of laughter.

      The Manor Lament has begun. Hours must’ve passed since Winifred left.

      Worst-case scenarios claw at my mind. The mayor and his goon squad crashing through the doors, pitchforks raised and ready to skewer. Mr and Mrs Hollow wandering in with a tub of popcorn, ready to enjoy the show. Peg throwing me back into the water. The fact that none of them have happened yet can only mean Atlas is planning something bad. Really bad. The man knows my weak spot, after all. He knows what would hurt me most.

      He could go after Dad.

      I haven’t left him alone this long in years. Atlas could burst into the basement, drag him from his bed and throw him out onto the street, and I wouldn’t be there to stop him. Peg could throw him into the water. Dad would sink faster than I did. Wouldn’t stand a chance.

      The thought alone makes my hands tremble.

      I just want to get back to the basement and make sure he’s okay. Rustle up some grub, settle him in for the night, maybe even tell him a story or sing him a song. Dad loves my songs. I can tell. I’m not one to blow my own horn, but I’m pretty sure I’m a great singer.

      I should sing a bit now to pass the time, but I’m not in the mood. Instead, I fumble through my undies and throw the fish corpse across the room. No easy task with two bound hands. I tap my feet. I sweat. I try the ropes again, and sweat some more. Stare at the photo till my eyes ache and blur, then try to find a hidden clue in Winifred’s message, a secret meaning behind the symbol. Strange, but I can’t help feeling I’ve seen it somewhere before.

      Also, I kinda need to pee. I’m seriously considering taking a squat in the corner when there’s a flurry of tapping somewhere behind me. I drop the photo. Violet’s waving down at me through a window high on the back wall, face painted in stripes of black, orange and white. She’s supposed to be a tiger, but she couldn’t look less fearsome if she tried. She’s wielding a toffee-apple half the size of her head. I’ve never been happier to see her in my life.

      ‘Go round the front,’ I shout. ‘I don’t think the door’s locked, so you don’t need to break the –’ Violet shatters the pane of glass with her toffee-apple. ‘Never mind.’

      ‘Jane whatever-your-middle-name-is Doe.’ Violet ditches her treat and clambers in, dropping down onto a stack of crates. ‘I leave you for one second and – whoa. That sucker on your forehead’s the size of a chestnut! Does it hurt? It looks gross. Like, really, really –’

      ‘I’m hideous. I get it. How did you know I was here, Violet?’

      ‘Eric Junior. Heard him bragging to Meredith Platt at the festival. She was getting her face painted same time as me. Got a butterfly on her cheek. Can you believe that?’

      ‘Focus, Violet. What did he say, exactly?’

      ‘Eric Junior? He said you tried to drown all the fisherfolk and Winifred Robin caught you. And he said it’s a secret. I don’t think many people know yet. Cool cage, by the way.’

      ‘Yeah, I love it. Almost want to stay here forever.’

      ‘Yeah.’ She cocks her head. ‘Wait, really?’

      ‘No! Of course not. Thanks for coming, kid. Look through that junk down there for something to cut this damn rope. We’ve gotta get out of here, pronto.’

      Violet leaps down from the crates and searches through the junk scattered around the shed. ‘By the way, I waited, like, half an hour for you. Even after the little quake happened. Then I went home, just like you said, and I waited and waited –’

      ‘Did you check on my dad? Is he okay?’

      ‘He’s fine. I told you he’d be fine. I sat with him for a while, but then I got really, really bored, and thought maybe Atlas might’ve taken you to check out the festival, so I headed back to Outset and – well, then I got distracted.’ She rummages through a tackle box. ‘You should’ve told me you were gonna wreck half the cove.’

      ‘It was an accident, Violet. And it wasn’t half the cove, it was one jetty.’

      ‘Still. Would’ve been cool to see.’ She pulls a small fishing knife from the tackle box and skips towards the cage. ‘I could’ve helped you teach ’em a lesson.’

      Bless her little boots. She hacks away at the rope around my hands, chewing on her tongue. She always chews on her tongue when she concentrates. Her parents hate it. Actually, they seem to hate everything about her. Maybe they love her deep down, but they never show it. Truth is, they’ve resented her ever since she became friends with the girl in the basement.

      They tried to stop it happening. For the first two years of Violet’s life, Mr and Mrs Hollow made sure we were never in the same room together. Before I was let upstairs to clean the house, she’d be locked in her room. Before she was brought down to the kitchen, I’d be locked in mine. I’d hear her crying and giggling, blowing raspberries upstairs, but I never saw her. After a while, I heard her little baby footsteps. I’d hold my ear to the basement door and listen to the tales Mrs Hollow would tell her over breakfast. Scary stories of bad things lurking under houses and demons posing as amber-eyed girls. But the Hollows didn’t know who they were dealing with. Even as a toddler, Violet was enthralled. I began to hear her shuffling around outside the door. One day I looked through the keyhole and saw her eyeball staring right back. Mrs Hollow dragged her away and told her she could burst into flames just by looking at me, which only made the little pyro want to see me even more. She sneaked outside a few hours later and made her way round to the basement window. I’ll never forget that moment. Me, standing at the base of Dad’s bed, looking up. Violet fogging up the glass with her breath, smiling down.

      The rest, as they say, is history.

      ‘So,’ Violet says now, ‘what was she like?’

      ‘What was who like?’

      ‘Winifred Robin.’ Violet tuts at me. ‘Come on, you could act a little more excited. She’s only the most amazing adventurer Bluehaven’s ever seen. She’s been into the Manor more times than anyone. I’ve read all her books. Kids at school say she went batty after the Manor shut up shop, like most of the old folks round here, I s’pose. She lives under the museum. Never talks to anyone. She’s pretty much a hermit, but, like, a cool one. And you actually got to meet her.’

      ‘Lucky me.’ Violet cuts through the last few strands of rope and it unravels to the cage floor. I rub the red-raw marks around my wrists and take the knife. ‘Thanks.’

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