Arcadia

46

Angela’s explanation at lunch left Rosie feeling distressed. Shut Anterwold down? She made it sound no more than switching off a television, except they were real people in that television, living and breathing. What would happen to them? For the first time, she began to feel overwhelmed by the immense complexity of her situation. What would her own responsibility be if she stood aside and let it all happen? Accessory to murder on a huge scale?

Why couldn’t Anterwold be left in peace? It wasn’t as if it was doing anyone any harm. Was she wise, really, to put quite so much trust in this woman? She assumed Angela was telling the truth about bouncing back from the future, because that was the best way of explaining the unusual contents of Professor Lytten’s cellar. But her tale of having to run from bad people... was that so believable? What if Angela was the bad one and the people chasing her were the good ones? What if she was placing her trust in a dangerous criminal? Even a total lunatic? How was she meant to tell the difference? What sort of person could talk so calmly about wiping out an entire universe?

What did she, Rosie Wilson, want? It was curious. When she had been in Anterwold it had seemed entirely natural, while life at home had become like a vague dream. Now she was back, this seemed the only solid thing. Anterwold was now like a faint memory of a summer holiday. Lying on her lumpy bed at home, she could no more imagine spending the rest of her life there than she could imagine spending it on the beach in Devon. Pamarchon was like — what? — a holiday romance, knowing it would only be for a week or so. You exchange addresses, promise to write, and never do.

Coming back from holiday can be a bit of a shock, though, and Rosie realised she would have to pay a high price for her pleasures. There’d be detention at school, for a start, and she’d be lucky she wasn’t expelled for lying about the choir rehearsal when in fact she had been off with some boy. She hadn’t been, not really, but it was the most likely way of accounting for her brief disappearance. Then her parents; with them she didn’t have to guess their reaction. The moment she had come through the door — plucked, manicured and groomed — they had gone through the roof. The screaming of her mother, the threats of the belt from her father. Even her brother — no loyal ally he — had stepped in on her behalf, the first time he had ever done such a thing.

For the first time also, Rosie stood her ground. She refused absolutely to say where she had been. She threatened dire consequences if anyone so much as laid a finger on her. She scorned their lack of trust, their willingness to believe the worst. They shouted, Rosie shouted back. They advanced menacingly, she wagged her finger and threw a plate. They were aghast at the way she stood up to them and gave as good as she got, and it finished with her parents making grim predictions about the likely course of her life. Rosie replied that, whatever her life became, it wasn’t going to be as boring as theirs, a comment which set the entire argument going again.

At the end she commanded the room in triumph, while her parents retreated into the kitchen to wash dishes and mutter about how she hadn’t heard the end of it.

Of course not; they had already called the police, reported her missing, set off a search. Now they wanted the police to come round and frighten her with talk of reformatories for fallen women. Unfortunately, the policeman had been fairly relaxed about it when he finally turned up the next morning. Rosie had come back eventually, he pointed out, and it was obvious that she had not been in any real trouble.

‘She seems quite unharmed,’ Sergeant Maltby had said reassuringly. ‘They often do things like this, you know. Young people are not what they were. I will make enquiries to see if she has been up to something, if you like, but I suggest you leave her be until she is ready to talk.’

Although if I had parents like that, he thought, I wouldn’t say a word to them.

Rosie was quite invigorated by the fight with her parents and the unforeseen victory. Although she was distressed to have upset them, she told herself that she had done nothing wrong whatsoever and, in any case, there was no point in explaining. That didn’t mean that she was keen to have another fight, so she was not pleased when the doorbell rang the next morning and her mother let in Angela Meerson.

She tried to keep the visitor out, saying that Rosie was indisposed and could not be disturbed, but Angela brushed her aside.

‘That is completely irrelevant,’ she said loftily. ‘I need to interview her.’

‘You can’t. It’s quite impossible.’

‘In that case I will call the police.’

That did the trick. Rosie’s mother blanched at the thought of yet another police car arriving, of Rosie being dragged off in full view of the entire street.

‘It’s a serious matter,’ Angela went on. ‘Now, go and get her.’

Five minutes later, a deeply suspicious-looking, tired and sullen Rosie appeared, very different from the confident young woman she had taken for lunch the previous day.

‘Miss Wilson, I am instructed under the authority of the Official Secrets Act to take you away for assessment as pertaining to your condition thereof.’

‘What?’

‘You are coming with me.’

‘I don’t want to. I’ve had enough.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Your assistance is vital. Matters of state. Highest importance.’

Rosie scowled, then nodded.

‘Good. Come along, then.’

As they left, Angela nodded at her mother, who had a strange look on her face.

‘I do hope you are not under any misapprehension here,’ she said sternly. ‘You look disapproving and censorious, and it does nothing for your appearance, which is poor enough already. MI6 has great admiration for this fine young woman, whose service to her country is known to those who matter. Judging by your sour expression, you seem to be imagining all sorts of ridiculous things. So let me make it clear. This is a matter of the highest secrecy, Rosie will not discuss it with you and you will not question her. You do not have her level of clearance. Is that understood?’

‘I am most terribly sorry if you are in any trouble with your parents,’ Angela said after a while. ‘I assume you are. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife in there. I’m sure it is all my fault, apart from the problems caused by your own reckless curiosity.’

‘That’s not much of an apology.’

‘I don’t get much practice. But I did my best to help.’

‘Mummy did look a bit stunned. It was the idea of a grateful nation which got her.’

‘I suggest that if they do ask, you look secretive, tap your nose knowingly and mutter something about need to know. Now, I need your help.’

‘I’m not sure I want to give it. I’m not upset about my parents. I’m upset about you.’

‘Why?’

‘You want to shut Anterwold down. That’s what you said. I think that’s a horrid thing to do.’

Angela groaned. ‘Oh, really! Rosie, there is no time for this. Something bad is happening, and I may have to go in myself to sort it out.’

‘Can I come?’

‘No. You are already there. That’s what I mean.’

‘But I’m here.’

‘Yes. And there. Probably.’

Rosie squinted at her. ‘Both at the same time?’

‘Indeed.’

‘I hope you noticed how calmly I responded to that?’

‘You are doing very well. What I have realised is that when you came back, the rings you were wearing confused the machinery, as your profile did not match the one you had when you went through. It didn’t know whether to allow you back or block you, so it did both. Which was lucky, as if it had done neither, heaven only knows what would have happened to you. That was the sticky feeling you had. At that moment it duplicated you. One version — you — came back. The other stayed in Anterwold. As long as you are there, I cannot shut it down.’

‘Good.’

‘It is not good. I still don’t know what Anterwold is but eventually a logical sequence of events will connect it to now. Here. When that happens, all sorts of unpleasant consequences might follow.’

‘Why not pleasant ones?’

‘An entire universe rampaging around like a bull in a china shop is unlikely to be pleasant. Anything which doesn’t fit will be erased.’

‘You told me you knew what you were doing.’

‘I may have been a little optimistic,’ she said with the greatest reluctance. ‘I didn’t put you into my calculations. Or several other things either. How much do you know about Anterwold’s origins? Where it came from?’

‘Nothing. The people there talk about the giants. But they never really refer to anything before the return from exile, and I don’t know what that was or where they came from.’

‘It was an idea Henry got from the Dorian Greeks, I think. They didn’t know where they came from either. Or care.’

‘There might be clues in the Story. Jay says his teacher, Henary, is the wisest of the wise, so you could ask him. Or, of course, you could just ask Professor Lytten. It’s his thing, after all.’

Angela stopped. ‘Do you know, that idea never occurred to me? Thank you.’

‘What do you need to know, anyway?’

‘The first thing is whether it is in the future or the past relative to here.’

‘Well, that’s easy,’ Rosie said. ‘The future, of course.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Casablanca. They think of that song in Casablanca as being ancient beyond belief, and the Professor told me it was made twenty years ago. It’s the same with other songs too.’

‘You might have mentioned this earlier.’

‘You never asked. I still don’t see what would be so terrible if Anterwold survives.’

‘It would be catastrophic.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t be born, for one thing.’

Rosie stared. ‘Wow,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘I have heard of vanity, but never on that scale before.’

‘I didn’t mean...’ Angela began in a flustered tone. ‘At least I don’t think that material existence would be improved if there were two of me.’

‘Good. One of you has made quite enough mess. Think what two would do.’

‘Stupid girl.’

‘I am not,’ Rosie responded stoutly, ‘and don’t you dare talk to me like that. Don’t you dare.’

‘Keep a civil tongue in your head.’

‘I am.’

The two glared at each other.

‘You turn up and decide to meddle with the whole of history just because you want to teach someone a lesson?’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Well, it sounds like it. And you go and say that a lot of really nice people are going to be snuffed out because you feel like it?’

‘You don’t understand. I didn’t ask you to go nosing around down there.’

‘You don’t understand either. You don’t know what’s happened, or what will happen, or why it’s happened. Do you? Go on. Tell me you do.’

Angela scowled at her. No one had talked to her like that for a long time, and she did not enjoy the experience.

‘I knew it!’ Rosie said triumphantly. ‘You haven’t got a clue.’

‘No. I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I am simply afraid.’

‘That’s the only reason? I don’t know what happens next either. No one does. You’re not meant to.’

‘As you wish. But still, there can only be one future. Either Henry’s story or reality will have to go.’

‘How do you know yours is reality? Maybe it’s just a story as well?’

Angela ignored the remark and walked on. After a few steps she realised she was on her own. Rosie was standing still in the middle of the pavement.

‘What is it now?’

‘All those people, they’re just puppets? Acting out the Professor’s book?’

‘Unfortunately not. If they were I wouldn’t be so worried. They all have perfectly free will, as much as anyone does. It’s all a bit Calvinist, if you like. Just because your choice is predetermined does not mean you do not have a free choice before you take it. In the case of your friends there, for example, they react to you in the way they wish.’

‘It would be interesting to meet me.’

‘That is a bad idea. Besides, what if you thought of yourself as you think of yourself? I would hate this to be resolved by one of you murdering the other. How would you divide up your boyfriend in there? I don’t think Henry built bigamy into his world view. You’d have to put up with someone else having him. Just think what a difficult position that would put him in.

‘One more thing. The reason I’m worried is that they shouldn’t be doing anything. Henry hasn’t written a story, only notes. He never finishes anything. Anterwold was meant to be a snapshot. I designed it so that nothing could happen. No causes, no effects, no consequences. But it has started moving because of you, and I don’t know where it is going.

‘And,’ she said finally, ‘if it makes you feel any better, I don’t know that my world isn’t just a story as well. If you knew the hideous complications that might involve, you wouldn’t be looking quite so smug. Now, come along.’

Angela opened the front door to Lytten’s house and walked into the hallway, then stood there listening for any sign that he was in.

‘Good,’ she said quietly when she was reassured that they were alone, and she walked softly down the old stairs into the cellar.

‘Right then,’ she said as she took off her coat. ‘With luck this will all be easy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will tune the machinery.’

It was very peculiar, Rosie thought. She had imagined whirling dials and plugs and buttons. Angela, in contrast, shut her eyes, hummed and twirled around a couple of times before waving her hands about in a florid, extravagant motion. Then she stopped and peered at the pergola.

‘Damn,’ she said, and bit her lip for a moment as she thought. ‘Silly me.’

She tilted her head to one side and blinked rapidly four times. A soft glow slowly grew on the other side of the room, rays of light filtering from the sides of the curtain.

‘Ha!’ she said in triumph, then stepped forward and pulled off the curtain.

‘Hell and damnation,’ she added, after she had twitched her hands and seen the light go off.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘He wasn’t there. Something must have happened to him.’

‘Who wasn’t?’

‘Long story.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Why is everything so difficult these days?’

‘What was that rigmarole anyway?’

‘The movements set off particular brain patterns which the machine interprets as instructions.’

‘That’s clever.’

‘Quite routine. Now, I also put you into it and I want you to do the next one, to see if it will respond to your brain properly. Just in case I have to go through and get him. The kettle sets the year and month, the saucepans fix the day and hour and the two tea mugs set the location. It’s not precise enough for minutes. Here.’ She handed Rosie a piece of paper.

‘“Kneel down on the floor...”’

‘You have to do it, not read it. The two require different parts of the brain.’

Rosie looked at her doubtfully, then, concentrating hard, she knelt down on the floor and counted to six. Next she went to the window and made a humming sound with her mouth closed. Then she turned round three times, holding her left hand out parallel to her chest, span the kettle round six times and, finally, scratched her right knee.

Instantly the light came on and then faded off again.

‘Did I do it wrong?’

‘Oh, no. That was brilliant. It was just a test. Really good. You are a natural. It must be because you are so young. Your brain hasn’t become clogged up.’

‘Thank you,’ Rosie said, pleased with the compliment.

‘So now we get Mr Chang back.’

‘What?’

‘I persuaded someone to go through and investigate the place. He was meant to be there for six days, and it’s time to get him back.’ She took over again, made some adjustments and the light returned and this time stayed on. It was grey and cold-looking on the other side.

‘It’s raining,’ Rosie said. They both looked intently, hoping for some sort of clue, but apart from establishing that it was about midday, there was no further progress to be made. Eventually Angela grunted. ‘I might have to step in after all. There’s no Chang, unfortunately. I do hope he’s not got into any difficulties. I’d better try the fallback.’

She went through her bizarre routine again and the image dissolved, then slowly re-formed. It was strange to watch. The scenery emerged out of nothing; first there was just a grey light and then, bit by bit, shapes formed, became more solid and changed colour. For some time the image was sludgy and blurred, but eventually it cleared to show grass, trees and sky.

‘Oh look!’ Rosie said. ‘It’s the tomb of Esilio. You see? At the far end. That lump of stone.’

‘You recognise it?’

‘It’s close to where I arrived.’

‘Excellent. That’s what I was aiming at; I’m getting quite good at this. So now we know where. When, though? That’s the problem. It’s meant to be five days after you went there. Oh dear!’

They both saw the movement on the left at the same moment. First one shape, still not clearly defined, then more of them. The machinery started to clear the image, making the outlines firmer, giving them colour and substance, until Rosie let out a cry of delight.

‘Look! It’s Henary. You know, the scholar.’

Angela studied him. ‘He looks like Henry himself. The old egotist.’

‘And Jay and — oh look! There’s Pamarchon and...’

‘Out of the way. Quickly. Move!’ Angela changed instantly from lady with teapot and roughly pushed Rosie aside. She was very alarmed, and with good reason. For there, standing in the middle of the image, was Rosalind herself.

‘Keep out of the way. She doesn’t know you exist, and it will upset my calculations if she does.’

Then the two of them heard a shout from upstairs in the hallway. ‘Angela? Are you down there?’

Angela rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, not now, Henry, please,’ she muttered. ‘For heaven’s sake! Don’t I ever get any peace? What’s he doing here?’

‘It is his house, you know.’

‘Angela? Would you come up here, please?’

‘We’ll just have to get rid of him. Come on.’

She switched off the pergola, let Rosie go first, then climbed the rickety stairs after her.