Aurabel Page 13
‘This is NOT a hospital!’ I roar. ‘This is a big wheel … This is a ride, ridiculous … a fairground ride!’ She doesn’t understand. ‘It’s not … Where is Rory? Listen to me – do you know a boy named R—’ He won’t have the same name any more, will he? I can’t …
Blank. Cold. OUT. Darkness.
I sleep but in this closed quiet I can hear her talking. Shuffling. The metal goes back over my face. Nostrils closed. Mouth shut up. I close my eyes. I dream. I am too tired. Too …
The grunting. Punches whack my chest again. Grunting mechanical tremor. Judders through my body. Quiver. Alert. Alive again. Like clockwork. I hear grinding in my chest. It’s easy to breathe again but the pain is still there. Eugh. Thumping. Be calm. Be calm.
The Mer with the shaved head swims back down to me.
‘There you are.’ She smiles. ‘I know this is scary and it looks like I don’t know what I’m doing. That’s because I kind of don’t. But you don’t have to worry, about nothing. I know this is a bit … make it up as you go along. I get that. But I think I’ve got this under control. If you can trust me. Which I know is hard in a place like this. You can’t really trust anybody. Sleep if you need to and I’m just gonna focus on keeping you alive.’
‘Keeping me alive?’
‘Yeah – you were as dead as a doornail when I found you. Why on earth would you come back down here? Nutter! Look, I fixed you, with metal, see, like my tail.’
She shows me this metal tail. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a perfect tail shape but gunpowder-grey, metal, silver. Rusted, worn patches of gold and iron, copper and amber. Even coloured, in places, from where the aluminium has been taken from Coca-Cola cans, beer cans. When you look closely you can see all the minute details – cranks and bolts, bottle caps, tools – keeping the mechanics of it working. Each piece so perfectly connected they move like chain mail. Like a real tail.
‘It’s metal, see –’ she beams proudly – ‘just like your lungs …’
Lungs?
I lift my hand and the weight is enormous. NO. Pain is screaming through my veins. I feel scabs on my arms and bleeding from my head from my fall. And I trickle my fingers softly down my front. I feel it done up like a seam. Like a hem of a dress in Iris’s shop. A zip. And it answers the pain.
The wound is sore. It smarts. It dawns on me – I’m never going to be able to breathe again. Not on my own, unassisted, out of water.
‘I don’t want you getting up yet, but when you’ve recovered and can breathe without assistance, the world is yours again, princess.’ She seems so happy to see me; why is she so – ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry.’ She holds me. ‘You don’t have to cry.’ She puts her hand on me. It’s rough. She adds, ‘This here is my blue net. It’s made from my hair – it’s what stitched you back together, so it shouldn’t scar too bad. The body is a miracle, really.’
AUTUMN
It is in Cheryl’s hair that I sit, carried in the bashing breeze. Or lined on the ball of her eye, lacing her lashes. Sometimes she can taste me, wet on her cracked lips; I seep onto her tongue. She crunches over my frosting moisture on the bend of every fallen dried amber leaf; I mist up car windows and eat at brick walls, whistling in through keyholes and the missing tiles on roofs. The sea air lives everywhere and knows all the secrets.
She raps on the door of Iris Spy. It is closed because the old man is sick, again. Coughing in his bedroom, a plastic yellow bucket takes it all. The smell is bad. His legs are bloated. Puffed out and purple, all shiny. Cheryl won’t see this yet though.
Flynn answers after Cheryl knocks again.
‘You all right, Cheryl? Sorry, Granddad is having a bad one today. I haven’t answered the door – you know what Mr Manflu is like,’ he jokes, but he is in denial about the sickness, pretending it isn’t eating Iris from the inside out. ‘And he won’t see a doctor, which isn’t helping.’
‘Maybe we should just take him anyway.’
‘Yeah, I’ll have to kill him myself first to get him there.’ Awkward laughter, the way laughter is when it’s about something that is true. Something that is inevitable. Death happens so suddenly sometimes; even though you have your whole life to prepare for it, no one ever really does. Never really can.
‘Is Lorali with you?’ Cheryl asks, the sound of my waves breaking behind her.
‘No. I’ve been so busy here with Granddad we haven’t opened up shop. Is she OK?’
‘I’m worried she’s gone to those stupid swimming lessons again or that she’s tried swimming on her own and something might’ve … I’m sure she’s fine.’
Flynn knows the swimming lessons don’t exist. He didn’t know what she got up to, but it certainly wasn’t swimming. Her hair never smelt of chlorine.
‘Yes, I’m sure she is fine. Let me know if you don’t hear anything later.’
‘Will do. Do you need help with your granddad?’
‘We’re good, thanks. He would hate for you to see him like this!’ He nods. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’
But Flynn isn’t sure of anything. How could he be?
PIN
Murray perches nervously, awkwardly, on the wooden swing inside the Sabre Tower. Backwards, forwards, she swings like a pretty caged canary. Sienna floats up towards her with spiked walrus milk in a glass. The clunk of the chain around her wrist clanks as they cheers. Sienna wears black lace over her tail, her colours carefully concealed.
‘How is the pain?’ Sienna asks Murray, reaching her palm to stroke Murray’s cheek.
‘Still hurts; still miss her.’
‘Of course you do.’ She kisses her forehead. ‘Take a sip of this, it might take a little off.’
Murray sips the milk. Her bones tingle.
Sienna snakes behind Murray, her breath tickling up her spine. Murray’s tapestry flourishes, with jellyfish-like rounds marking her like she has been scalded by a burning pan. Sienna, also an expert at reading the marks of a tapestry, nods knowingly.
‘I just wish she would come home.’ Gentle tears sweep the young Mer’s face.
Sienna nods, brushing her weeping away, her fingertips walking Murray’s arms, spidered in sparkly intricate tattoos. Hairs on end. Sienna strokes Murray’s face with her sharp claws, but it is a gentle touch, scarily soft. Murray’s heart begins to stir; she is feeling something. Deep. Sienna comes close, up to her mouth, to her ear, cheek to cheek. Tension. A hot bite. It feels like Sienna is either going to suck the tongue out of Murray’s mouth or strangle her. Murray can’t help but feel her spine arch back. Her insides are on the boil.
‘I have a gift for you.’ Sienna pulls out a pin. A silver tooth-shaped brooch. ‘It’s my special handmade pin. It represents my home, my family. You are one of mine, Murray. You are welcome, always.’
And the fear of the sensation she was almost about to give in to evaporates.
A pin?
Murray has never had a family before. Never felt like she belonged to anybody except Aurabel. And she can’t help but feel honoured. Starry-eyed, she hugs Sienna close. Chest to chest. And without thinking a moment longer, unhinges the prick of her Murray name badge and replaces it with the glistening pin of Sienna. It sparkles, beautifully, nearly as much as the way Victor sees her.
LORALI
‘Here, eat this.’
‘Thanks. I’m starving.’ She takes the root and slither of ray.
‘Good. I hate Mer that don’t eat.’ I watch her chew. She has tiny hands. And gorgeous round cheeks, way prettier in real life. ‘How’s your breathing?’
‘Fine. My chest just hurts,’ her voice crackles and she winces as she swallows, holding her front. She looks about as she chews. ‘You live in a fairground.’
‘I dunno what this place is,’ I say back. ‘At first I was so scared of it all – never seen anything like it – but now I know it’s decent. Wouldn’t change a thing about it.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Tippi.’
‘Have you been before?’
‘Yes, of course! I mean, I wasn’t meant to, but I’d always sneak out and visit.’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t think the royals ever visited Tippi.’
‘Most of them don’t. But I always did. It’s an amazing place.’
‘Yeah, it is pretty amazing.’ I try not to get upset. She is all right, this one. For a princess anyway. Lorali gets up. I can see her ribs hurt as she swims about.
‘Course this is an old-fashioned funfair. Looks years old. But you should see them when they are turned on, full with people on a Saturday.’ Lorali looks glum for a moment. ‘Children happily screaming, arms in the air, lights, music, the smell of sugar. Popcorn. Candyfloss! It’s like a real treat for a Walker to come to a place like this.’ She smiles.
‘That’s funny – I thought it was a torture chamber when I first landed here.’
‘Ha ha. I would’ve thought that too.’ She ducks under the coves and arches, lined with rocks and weeds. ‘Now it all looks so vacant.’ She doesn’t want to offend me. ‘Not scary vacant. Just different: peaceful.’ Her fingers stroke her stitches. My hair embroidered around her heart.
‘Hey, if you don’t like the blue, I’m sure we can find something else.’
‘No, it’s perfect. Why would I ever want anything different?’ She gulps. ‘Your hair saved my life!’ She smiles. ‘Aurabel, you saved my life, and when it’s safe enough for me to get back to the palace, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded. Properly.’
I think about my job at the palace. My responsibility. This isn’t the first time the palace has promised me a reward. The chances of one are slim. But I don’t care – things are different now.
‘Nah, I don’t need no reward, Princess.’ I rub my shaved head. I actually like it without the hair – makes me feel strong, less to care about. Plus, I can move faster without all that hair dragging me down.
‘I’m on the hunt,’ I add.
‘The hunt?’ she asks, turning to face me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘To get who did this to me. To kill who took my tapestry.’
‘I thought monsters did this to you. Wasn’t it an accident?’
‘They did.’ I hold my throat. I don’t think she’ll like hearing who I am after. Sienna is in the council; she is basically royalty. ‘But it wasn’t an accident.’
‘Aurabel! If it wasn’t an accident, who is to blame?’ I can see she cares; she is hurt for me. Wants justice, even. I don’t know why she cares so much. I feel the anger slipping out. My darkness leaking from me, cancelling out everything. But I can’t answer.
Lorali puts her hand out and strokes my head. Her palm rests on it; it feels like it’s always been there. ‘Whatever you need to do.’ She smiles.
‘We should get you back on the wheel,’ I change the subject.
Lorali is able to fix herself to the cone. It looks uncomfortable but I don’t help her – I want her to know that I’m not holding her here, that she’s free to leave whenever she chooses. I start to climb the wheel, making the mill turn. I clamber up, mounting the spokes. I can feel her eyes on me. She is frowning, almost. It’s not angry. It feels more like she’s asking me why: Why would I do this for her? I avert my eyes and focus on the turning, sweating and pulling my arms and yanking, the metal tail beneath me weighing like concrete.
‘AURABEL!’ she shouts up through the racket of the water sloshing. ‘Aurabel!’
‘Oi! No!’ I swim down. ‘Don’t take the cone off! Put it back over your mouth or else it won’t work.’ But she doesn’t listen. And what am I gonna tell a princess?
‘Aurabel, what happened to me wasn’t an accident either.’
I drift down to her as she sits up.
‘OK?’ I come close, swimming to her now.
‘Somebody wanted me dead. They tricked me, made me feel it was safe to come home, and then they watched me – they watched me die.’
‘Lorali, that’s horrible. What, and they did nothing at all? Why didn’t they help you?’ I shake my head in horror; who could just watch an innocent Mer lose their life in front of them like that and do nothing? Hmm … I can think of somebody who might. ‘Do you know who it was? Did you recognise them?’
Lorali nods, although I can tell it hurts her heart. Her face crinkles up; it’s the first time I’ve seen her so full of hate. ‘Oh yeah. It was Sienna,’ she spits. ‘Sienna.’
My body sinks. I look at the industrial bulk attached to me. My dead nerves. And then up at the princess. ‘Looks like we have something else in common.’ I push my tongue into my mouth and Lorali says nothing. Which is exactly what we have to do: nothing. Absolutely nothing. For now.
HEADHUNTED
A wet wipe smeared in brown make-up. Shapes frowning, like an inkblot test of yet another day of wearing a fake smile. Speak to the mirror, Opal Zeal.
She picks at the last few remaining salty chips on her plate of room service and orders another glass of rosé to be brought up. No, make it a bottle. She isn’t sleeping. That queen-sized bed is overrated. Legs are overrated if she is honest. She can’t even use the stupid things. She is still just as paralysed. Just as reliant. Just less special. Where is that wine? Where is Marco?
Her phone pings. Marco. Finally.
TO: MissZeal@theworldofzeal.com
FROM: MarcoAscott@wildyoungthingspr.com
Dear Opal, my glamorous baby,
You will always be my number one wild princess. I’m SO sorry to do this over email but it was too too too too hard face to face.
I wanted to wait until the opening of GUSH (and your amazing reveal was out of the way!).
As you know I’ve taken on Leslie Glass, who I was doing odd bits for whilst she was here in the UK for her arena tours … and GUESS WHAT? She’s offered me a full-time position!
Opal, I’ve been headhunted, by LESLIE GLASS!
LESLIE BLOODY GLASS! My all-time dream … I know you’ll be happy for me. ‘My Head Is a Spaceship’ is such a banger – we always loved that tune, didn’t we? I’ve told her all about you! She says you have the best wardrobe in the world! She’s a fan! You two should do drinks!
I’m sure you’ll come join us on the road for a sing-song! Oh my god, Leslie would love that. But as you know this is really and truly my dream job. Seeing the world and travelling and I’ve always wanted to work in music.
I can recommend some new names for you of assistants and publicists if you still think you need someone, although it seems to me that you’re not doing much at the moment. Perhaps you need a holiday or should take some well-deserved chill time?
Anyway, love you so much.
Your friend,
Marco x
Opal throws her phone at the mirror. It cracks into diamonds that fall on the marble bathroom floor. That’s seven years bad luck she could really do without.
Perhaps they were right and opal is an unlucky stone after all.
TIPPI
Damp, dilapidated town. Easy to turn your back on the sliding dregs as they bleed and fold into one another like pages of a soggy diary. Tippi was a sour, wet, cold hole. A ditch. A dive. Visiting there, with the common Mer, was just too much effort. Too much reflection. Too much of, It’s not fair that they live like this. But now they come to Tippi. Sienna has a plan. She wants Murray and Victor to sell her as queen first, get some momentum going, and then she’ll reveal herself again, reward them with a visit.
Murray knows the way, of course. Sienna’s serpents swirl around, not too far out, securing the young Tippi Mer and her unresolved companion.
‘So this is where you live?’ Victor asks, swimming behind. His tail is still an eggy off-white; it will remain so until his resolution when his colours will flood and texturise his tapestry into deep, detailed illustrations. But for now he remains neutral. No identity. Giving away no scent. Giving away no secrets.
‘Uh-huh. Yep.’ Murray leads Vict
or through, her long hair butterflying before him. He likes Murray. She is the reason for the water bubbles in his stomach sometimes. But he is professional. Polite. Happy to be the newbie being chaperoned around.
Here it is. A mangled mash of city life. Civilians living in battered shacks stacked high and spread tall. This isn’t because space is limited but because they believe there is safety in numbers and prefer to build close and tight. The structures are impressive. Stacks of fallen unwanted items from Walkers or the borrowed earnings from the sea: lost boats that stole lives with them, crashed cars, coaches, ambulances. Units. Sheds. Tanks. Trains. Cars. Ambulances. Phone boxes. All piled up. A mixture of findings from all over the world. Once a piece of something drifted away, who knew where it would end up?
‘This is great!’ Victor soaks up the buzzing town. It is so much more alive than the Sabre Tower, which stands like a frozen, neglected cathedral. A place where it is always winter. Tippi is bright. Electric. Moves at speed. Bursting with a frenzied purr. The minute Victor stops to admire something it has vanished. There is so much to see. So much to be amazed by.
‘Do you really think so?’ Murray laughs. ‘I reckon the Sabre Tower is much more amazing; you’re so lucky to live there.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, it’s so … decadent. Is that the right word?’
‘I prefer it here. It’s not as dark … it feels real happy.’
Murray hasn’t felt happy without Aurabel for a long time. Nowhere feels happy to her any more.
‘If I’m being honest, I always thought it was a dump myself.’
‘Well, it’s not. It’s got character. It’s got purpose.’ Victor nods to show he stands by his statement. Murray can’t help but be charmed by Victor, trying to be all official, and his sweet compliments. The lanky thing. How’d he even end up here? She can’t imagine him as a Walker. Living. Breathing. What bad thing happened to him to be salvaged? Did he drown? Was he murdered? Did he sink in a ship? Or do a suicide?