He lay awake through the hours of Pekko’s watch and then through Drake’s. Pekko fell asleep, his breathing quick and even. Drake got up and went on patrol. Vikram’s mind wandered. He found himself revisiting the ships rusting away in the harbour, all the expedition boats that had left Osiris, years before he was born. For the first time it struck him as peculiar that none of them had ever come back. Not a single one.
The Rechnovs had a secret. What if no-one was meant to leave? What if “Whitefly” was the key to enforcing that?
The wind moaned and rattled the boards in the window-wall. He shook aside the thought. It was only ghosts whispering in his ear. Their malice was childish.
Drake returned. He watched her face, tinged red with the glow of the heater. She huddled over it, her hands resting on her knees and her chin upon her hands.
“What time is it?” he muttered.
“About half four. Get some sleep, Vik.”
“I can’t. My mind’s too awake. D’you remember the story of the last balloon flight, Drake?”
She gave him a tired smile. He sensed she had been lost in her own thoughts. Perhaps now was not the time for his. “The one Keli talks about. Yeah, I remember. It’s not a good story though, really, is it.”
“No. I guess not.”
He lay back once more, watching a drop of moisture form on the ceiling until it fell onto the heater with a hiss. Even though the plaster was crumbling and the tower was falling apart, the sight of the water did not fill him with horror as it had done in the cell. For the first time, he felt the full relief of his escape.
I’d rather die than go back.
“Keli said the balloon would appear one day,” said Drake softly. “A huge, bright, striped balloon, floating through the sky.”
She fell silent again. He noticed the lapse into the past tense, as though Drake was too tired to pretend any longer, to offer respect because respect could not restore the dead.
He glanced across at Nils and Ilona. They slept side by side, Nils’s arm hugging Ilona’s tiny body tightly against him.
But if I can’t go back, then there’s something I have to do.
Vikram got up and stepped stealthily around the sleeping bodies of the others.
“Drake. I need to see Adelaide.”
Drake’s eyes darted towards the door, towards the room where Adelaide was being held. She looked back at him and her forehead was creased.
“Vik-”
“It’s alright,” he said quietly. “I know.”
He slipped away before she could protest.
He turned the handle and pushed it open. The sour smell of confinement wafted out.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “I’m going to switch on the torch.”
There was no reply. He could not tell if she was awake or asleep. He flicked on the torch. She was in a foetal position, her face hidden as it had been before. Her wrists were tiny in the ring of the handcuffs and the joints of her hands were swollen. He felt a surge of pity.
“Adelaide. I’ve brought you a light. And something to eat.”
No response. He moved the beam of the torch directly upon her.
“It’s Vikram,” he tried.
He shut the door and put the torch on the ground. He knelt in front of Adelaide to set down the two flasks he had brought. She looked to be carved out of stone.
He touched her arm lightly and she shuddered. A sigh of relief escaped him. She was still alive. Now he needed her conscious.
“Adelaide. Look at me, if you can.”
Still she gave no answer, so he took her shoulders and turned her towards him. Her head drooped. He pushed aside the tangled hair. Her eyes were slits. Vikram brought the flask of water to her lips and dribbled a little into her mouth. She gasped and began to shake.
“Woke me,” she mumbled. “Woke… me…”
“You need to drink,” he ordered. “Water first. Open your mouth.” He tilted the flask once more. “Swallow. Good.”
He saw the effect of the liquid with every drop. She had been lapsing into hypothermia. It was lucky she had City clothes, ripped and filthy but locking in some crucial insulation. Next, he took the flask of broth. She choked on the first mouthful. Her eyes sprang open, suddenly bright. She glared at him. He knew that glare. He had seen it in other people, in westerners, in visitors to the shelter; the helpless defiance of the already defeated. He pushed the flask mercilessly against her mouth.
“Drink. If you don’t drink this your body is going to shut down and you’ll collapse. You mustn’t go to sleep. You have to stay alert.”
“Nothing… keep me awake.”
“I won’t leave you on your own again. You’re getting sick.”
He examined her properly, with a curious sense of reversal. Had Adelaide’s brother looked at Vikram with this same, scientific scrutiny? Assessing his body’s deterioration, its potential for one final surge of activity? The skin around her eyes was shiny and tender, but her face had lost weight. With her bone structure newly close to the surface, she had the freakish beauty of the otherworldly.
He took a bit of wire he’d found on the floor from his pocket and inserted it into the handcuff lock. It took only a minute to release them. He massaged her wrists to revive the circulation. She winced. He took an adrenalin syringe out of its plastic packaging and rolled up her sleeve. He found a vein in the crook of her elbow, inserted the needle, squeezed the fluid out.
“My leg got hurt.”
He looked down. Her trousers had ripped and there was a six inch gash down her calf. The surrounding flesh was swollen with infection.
“Went through… a bridge…”
Shit, he thought. That would slow her, if she got the chance to run. But he said nothing, dug out a couple of the antibiotic pills from the nurse’s bag and pushed them between her lips. He put the water flask into her hands and to her mouth again. Water trickled down her chin. She wiped it away. The gesture took a long time.
“Why did you come here?” he said. It sounded harsher than he had meant.
She blinked.
“What-what is-this place?”
“It’s the unremembered quarters.”
She put down the flask. The adrenalin would take effect soon. Her pulse would quicken. Darts of pain would spark in her limbs as sensation returned alongside full consciousness. He had experienced it many times; it would be new to her.
“Why did you come?” he repeated.
She wrapped her arms once more around her body. “Cold.”
“I know. Adelaide-”
“Why did I come. To the west, you mean. To your city.”
“It was madness,” he said roughly.
“Then I came because I’m mad.” She attempted a smile. He saw a bead of blood forming on her lips where the skin had flaked and cracked. He took her right hand and began to knead her muscles through the fabric of the glove. He worked steadily up the arm, towards her shoulder.
“There’s no point in playing games now.” He kept his voice even.
“Then let me out of here, and stop… talking to me.”
“I can’t let you out. You’re the only leverage they have.”
“They?”
His eyes flicked to hers. “We.”
“I’m not sure you’re so sure.”
