The Reef Page 4

‘Let’s drink tonight and worry about these creatures tomorrow.’

  Manolin watched them walking back towards the warmth and the light. He lingered, wondering what these new beings were. He turned to face the sea.

  Santiago’s voice could be heard just before he re-entered the tavern. ‘Or, we could go and find out later tonight. The night, after all, is still young.’

  Manolin looked down as a cat rubbed his leg then moved away. The creature stepped from cobble to cobble, avoiding puddles, looking up all the time to where the geese went.

  Four

  ‘…of the basic silicate tetrahedral structure, with varying degrees of feldspar and mica. These extrusive rock formations, as they stand, are composed of the typical minerals, but can be grouped into two major, separate compositions: Eschan Bed Sediments and the Pergamos Formation (Tyaris et al, 1603). The extinct volcanic island chain, that extends north from the non-volcanic island of Arya are Daleth, Gimel, and Samekh. Only Samekh retains this unique geological formation, possessing discrete boundaries to the surrounding country rock that contains large amounts of iron and magnesium, typical of any magma.

  My other chief concern is the coral rock linked to these islands. The coral seems to move daily, with no reason as to a particular occurrence. The main frame in one particular region, expands outwards like a limb from the main coral system, which is nearest to Arya. This calcified rock gradually shifts as if the very world itself moves. I had not the ability to decipher its chemical composition. It must wait until another trip.’

  Prof. Victyr Lewys (1694), Geological Concerns of Tropical Islands. Department of Geology, Al Terril Institute, Escha.

  Five

  Jella woke early as musky sunlight filled the room. Lula stirred, the girl’s mouth open slightly revealing her tongue. Jella smiled, pushed Lula’s jaw up to close her mouth. A few strands of long, black hair fell over her tanned face.

  ‘You’ll catch flies,’ Jella whispered, still pushing the hairs back over Lula’s ears.’

  I’ll shoot them from the sky first,’ Lula said with her thick east coast accent.

  ‘I believe you,’ Jella said, smiling. She believed that Lula was one of the most proficient women with a musket she’d ever seen.

  Lula’s father had fought in wars, and settled in a small fishing village south of Rhoam, bringing Lula up on their own That was long before the couple had met.

  The story always made her smile. Jella had stolen a horse from a rich-looking merchant who sold his wares through the shanty city outside of Rhoam. Jella had jumped on the steed, galloped into the desert scrubland south, in the direction the dead city of Lucher, her old home. She had ridden for miles through sparse surroundings, dazed in the streaming light from which there was no shelter. She dragged up dust, entered even more barren regions, until out of the corner of her eye she saw the sea. It was a bold blue that stood out from the land and sky. She rode towards it, having not seen if for years. Like greeting an old friend, she felt an awkwardness then rapid ease. She sat on the horse staring at it. She watched the waves, took pleasure from hearing the water hit the cliffs.

  Eventually, those cliffs began to form a long shadow over the sea. Jella turned the horse along the coast, always remembering the pair of pterodettes that were flying together that evening. She was hypnotised, watching the green reptiles in unison and she jumped down off of the horse. She was still watching them glide in and out of circles, with their vein filled wings out wide, when she heard someone crying.

  She turned on the spot, her feet drawing up red dust that blew inland. Walking towards the cliff edge and down several steps that had been carved into the rock, she came across a girl. She was hunched, shivering. Naked, so that her skin looked the same colour as the rock.

  Jella walked down. ‘Hello,’ she said above the sound of the tide. ‘You okay? Why’re you crying?’

  The girl looked up. Black hair fell back away from a pretty face. Delicate, with strong cheekbones. A handsomeness that came from within. Her eyes dazzled even at a distance. ‘My father’s run off with a new woman. He left me alone.’

  Jella reached a hand down, offered it to the hunched girl, who looked straight up, full of confusion.

  The rumel said, ‘Where’re your clothes?’

  ‘What use are they right now?’

  Jella nodded as if she knew what that meant.

  The girl took Jella’s hand and the rumel watched the slim figure rise. She was most definitely a woman, not a girl. The sea hit the cliff hard, they felt the vibrations. Jella took off her white shirt and placed it around the girl, who strained to get both arms within with the wind being so strong. They were both half naked. Jella’s tough grey skin looked so different to the soft, brown of the human. They were uncertain of what to do or where to go. Both being lost in different ways, they stood together. It was only moments until they found each other’s touch both desirable and comforting.

  Jella held the girl. The exchanged names, then glances. The rumel drew her finger along the delicate jaw line, up to the forehead, pushing strands of hair from out of her eyes.

  They rode back to Rhoam, where they would spend every moment together. When they made love, it seemed that there was no outside world.

  ‘Will you love me?’ Lula had said. She asked the question a lot.

  Jella said, ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Men and women have said this to me before. They all leave and forget what words mean. Sticking your tongue inside of me isn’t enough.’

  ‘I’ll love you. I’ll show you what it means.’

  Jella did not care much for words, and although they felt awkward on her lips, those were ones she intended to stick by. And Jella needed Lula. The girl had softened her heart, made her feel something after such a long bitterness inside. One of the few things about her past that Jella wanted to remember was her father and the way he held her, looked at her, and Lula gave her exactly the same sensation. Lula was quiet, contemplative, and it was her gentle actions that soothed Jella, and the girl’s presence was at times better than any drug. Lula thrived on taking Jella on walks, for meals when they had stolen enough money, brought her flowers. Lula was the romance that she needed.

  * * *

  ‘D’you get much money last night?’ Lula asked.

  ‘Yeah, Menz and Yayle have it. We’ve more than enough money now. We can stop tricking rich, gullible men,’ Jella said.

  ‘Good, now we can get on with it.’

  ‘Yes, now we can. We should set off soon.’

  Jella rose from the bed. There were few comforts within the metal hut, but Jella and Lula had tried to make it their own. Lula hung green drapes, burned incense day and night. They had managed to find wooden cupboards and a table. Jella thought the place much better than most were outside of the city. They could, with the blackmail money, afford better, but it was a matter of principal that they remained with their own kind.

  She stood up, naked, and stretched, her grey skin taut over her muscles. Lula opened an eye to watch. The rumel’s tail swung in order to wake up fully and Lula’s eyes followed the tail left and right before it settled. Lula yawned.

  ‘I’ve got to go to the City Library soon,’ Jella said.

  ‘More research?’

  ‘More research?’

  ‘What’re you looking for now? I thought you’d planned every detail?’ Lula asked. Her accent made her words sound lazy.

  ‘I do, I do. But there’s no harm in being certain, is there? It’s fine to know what’s there, but I need to make sure we’re doing everything by the book.’

  ‘You’re like what you’ve told me of your father. You’re such a control freak,’ Lula said. Then, ‘But sometimes I’m glad of your attention to detail.’

  Both girls laughed. Jella walked to a cupboard, her muscles moved visibly. Her white hair swayed down her back, a contrast to her darker body. She opened the cupboard, thought of an outfit to wear, then put on a black gypsy skirt and a shirt.

&nbs
p; ‘It suits you. I think I like what you’re wearing,’ Lula said. She turned, ruffled the sheets, pushed the side of her face further into the pillow.

  ‘What? Don’t you like this?’ ‘Of course I do. I think you look sophisticated,’ she said to the wall. Jella looked at the body of the girl in her bed. The sheet had fallen back and the curve of Lula’s brown back could be seen. She stopped the urges that were building within. She had work to do.

  Jella walked through the wooden doors of the City Library, through the arched corridor, and into the book room. She always looked up to the ceiling that was covered in murals. From this end you could hardly see the other side of the room. She glanced over the area charts to find where the biology books were kept then she sauntered off to a far corner, humming a tune, her tail waving. The library was quiet. It was the way of things in modern Rhoam, she thought. People still loved the arts and books, but they liked to talk about them a lot in the street side coffee shops and dark music theatres.

  She picked a title up: Marine evolution surrounding the seas off Samekh Island. She wondered around other sections, collecting books on mathematics and three ocean charts of the Sea of Wands, and the Island chain north of Arya. She settled on a desk in a quiet corner of the library.

  For an hour or two, she made notes and calculations, until she was interrupted by the curator, an elderly man with a ghostly face. His eyes were enlarged behind his glasses.

  ‘Good morning, Jella. How’re we today?’ He coughed, hunching into his jumper.

  ‘Hello. I’m fine,’ Jella said, looking past him. He was always helpful, always bringing her the books she needed. Never asked any questions, happy that someone wanted to read.

  ‘Studying, eh? Good. Not like your friends then?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Menz and Yayle, those chaps in your little group that come here looking at maps. They were arrested early this morning’ ‘Arrested?’ She looked him in the eye. ‘What for?’ ‘Terrorism charges,’ he said. ‘They were caught in possession of some pretty lethal explosives and several dozen muskets.’ One of his eyes squinted in a strange expression.

  Jella waited for more detail, but there was none.

  ‘Now, Jella, I don’t want you getting caught up in anything to do with weapons and war. Does no good at all.’ Even though Jella was looking at him, her mind was elsewhere. She could tell that another one of his stories was coming.

  ‘I remember years and years ago, a library-not sure if it was this one, come to think. Anyway, it was under siege. The city’s armed forces came in, knives and muskets everywhere. Said that there was information that could cause a revolution -political talk-within the walls. The government wanted all the books burning. Place was sealed off, with the staff inside.’

  He burst into laughter and Jella forced a smile. ‘Of course, that was back a long time ago when the government could do that sort of thing. Anyway, the soldiers picked up books and started to read. All sorts of philosophies went in their minds. All sorts of stories. One by one they stopped the burning. They ignored their orders. They read and enjoyed and read more. They put down their weapons and just read. Course, the government was ironically overthrown as a direct result, eventually, but just goes to show that weapons are no use, Jella. You’re a good girl. I don’t want you getting caught up in any such activities.’

  She said, ‘I won’t, sir. When were they arrested, Menz and Yayle?’

  ‘Dawn, approximately. But for some reason they weren’t in bed like the rest of us. They’re in the City gaol now.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’ He turned, walked along one of the corridors of books, touched the shelves with his hand.

  ‘Shit,’ Jella said. She scraped her chair back, gathered her notes.

  Six

  ‘Father?’

  The boy prodded the doctor’s bald head. He was sitting cross legged on the beach, on the side of the island facing the reef. His eyes were closed.

  The boy said, ‘Father.’

  Doctor Macmillan opened his eyes, gazed out at the water. His eyes focus sed on the large, turquoise gem: the coral reef. He couldn’t see any of the islands beyond. The glare off the water forced him to squint. The water was partially broken up about two-hundred feet from the shore, where green algae seemed to loaf like flotsam. It was, in fact, resting upon limestone pedestals in their thousands. Clouds stretched out thinly, in one or two small lines above the horizon. The heat was glaring.

  Doctor Forb Macmillan turned to regard the boy. The child’s skin was browned and he wore a white shirt and sand-coloured breeches the same type that his father wore. He stood waiting for his father to speak, prompting him.

  ‘Father, did they make it?’

  Doctor Forb Macmillan shrugged, wiped a thin veil of perspiration from off of his bald head. ‘I don’t know.’

  He stood up, pushing his weight down into the soft sand, leaving his imprint momentarily. He ruffled the boy’s short, scruffy black hair before he walked towards the palm forest. He was limping as he walked off an ache. He felt a little dizzy. ‘I hope no more’ve been killed.’

  The boy shook his head. The tide followed them inland, water seeping through the indentations in the sand, which the doctor had made, and covered them up before removing them from the beach.

  Seven

  ‘I’m not sure if I like this route,’ Manolin said, walking behind Santiago. The older man carried his hat under his arm, a lantern in the other. They shifted along a platform at the edge of the sewer. Rank fluids flowed past them and they dared not look at what was in there. Manolin swore he saw a decaying arm, clutching at the damp air, being swept away into the darkness. Snakes snapped by upstream. He could smell methane, sulphides. The only light came from the lantern, and the brickwork was black as was the water. Manolin’s eyes were heavy with the weight of alcohol. Either that or the chemicals in the water.

  ‘It means we get past any hi red thugs used to guard the grounds,’ Santiago said. He paused to look at the map in his pocket. ‘Gets us right in there.’ Then, ‘This way.’ He pointed to a right turn.

  Presently, they surfaced outside of the rear entrance to The Temple-the offices of the mayor. Manolin looked up in and he felt awe at the perpendicular spires. Gargoyles loomed over. The building looked as if it didn’t belong there. It was something so old that was immersed in hastily constructed buildings. The limestone was smooth. Santiago rubbed his hand over it, nodding. Birds clung to the top of the spires of the building. Birds or bats, it was so high up that they couldn’t quite discern. Manolin could see the chimneys in the distance, the plumes. He wondered at how bad it would be to live under such conditions, breathing them in, allowing them to line the lung over time.

  They heard stifled laughter and screams close by, almost so close that they could see the groups of people attached, but there seemed a strange otherworld quality to where they stood, as if the history of The Temple was enough to scare anyone off.

  He was starting to shake a little as Santiago closed the lid of the sewer, being as careful as he could be. The old man dug in his pockets, pulled out a silver key and tried it in the large oak doors. He smiled, popped on his hat once again.

  ‘Where d’you get a key from?’ Manolin said.

  Santiago waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, I’ve many an old friend who can help me out with these things. I’ve got a stash of such keys at home somewhere. You never know when they’ll come in handy.’

  Manolin watched Santiago laugh to himself as he walked into the darkness of the building. He hoped that there was nobody inside. Manolin followed, taking one last look to make sure that they were not being followed. He wasn’t cut out for all this stealth.

  Santiago seemed to know his way around the government building surprisingly well, despite the fact that there were no lights, just corridor after corridor. Santiago took them up several levels of stairs before concluding that they were close to where he suspected the alien species would
be being held.

  ‘There’s a room on the top floor that was used for scientific pursuits some years back,’ he said. ‘There was a botched up experiment by a rather hopeful mayor, but the room has been kept for research.’

  Manolin said nothing. He thought that he should be at home, in bed with his wife. He missed her, despite everything that had happened.

  ‘Righto, here we are.’ Santiago pushed open the doors then walked into the black. Because he’d dropped the lantern in the sewer, after Manolin had screamed at what turned out to be nothing, he pulled out a matchbox from his pocket, struck a small flame. They walked to the next room.

  Manolin stepped towards the window. From it, you could see the cityscape in its entirety. There were large, rectangular towers peppered with the little lights. Above he could see an airship turning in a slow circle. Down below were two men standing next to a barrel, which held a small fire. They rubbed their hands together, held them over the flames. People walked by, threw objects towards them. Glass shattered. A few paces away: a hooded figure was painting something on a wall, an explosion of colours and lines. Manolin followed the figure to a shadow, where a prostitute was leaning, her skirt hitched up to her thigh. Even from that height, he could hear a group of rumel were taunting a human female. Manolin thought that she could look after herself. She tossed a canister of liquid in their direction. The rumel scattered into the darkness.

  He looked up towards the hills that the ancient train lines disappeared into, where he knew clansmen operated. No one travelled through those scrub hills.

  Santiago’s footsteps disrupted his thoughts. Manolin turned to face the room again. There was a glass panel separating that room from another. The match went out, so again, Santiago drew another. This time he noticed that the flame reflected off the glass panel. Santiago turned to look for lanterns on the wall, lit several of them to illuminate the scene fully. Manolin and Santiago walked up to the glass, placed their hands on the smooth surface. Their mouths fell open.