BLUEMANTLE by Karen Langston (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

between solid blocks of concrete. Irregular tombstones in uniform grey.

“Quite a view, eh?” said Naylor, joining Chase at the window. “I still can’t work out if it’s beautiful or thoroughly depressing.”

“Depends if you think about above or below, I guess.”

Naylor nodded, then moved away to sit in an armchair. The room was small, functioning as living room, dining room and study. Books lined the walls on makeshift shelves. Off the main room was a closet kitchen and bathroom and two cramped bedrooms – his and Clo’s, his sixteen-year-old daughter.

Naylor poured lime leaf tea from a steel pot. He held up a glass to Chase. “Here you go. Sorry I can’t offer you anything stronger.”

Chase accepted the glass and sat at a small table beside Naylor. “I won’t lie, I could use a stiff drink.”

“It’s not too late, you know.” When Chase didn’t respond, Naylor cleared his throat and added, “It feels like Ursel’s persuaded you to go, even if she didn’t mean to.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. Just surprised you’d do it, I guess.”

“It’s nothing to do with Ursel. I’ve spent three days looking for Wella. I don’t know where else to try. And, if Ursel is right and she’s there, I want to see her for myself. Even if I can’t persuade her to come back, I want to hear it from her – that she’s okay and she’s chosen to stay.” He looked up at Naylor, deep lines across his face. “I know we’re not close, but I’ll be able to tell if she’s on something, or if she’s being coerced. Because it doesn’t stack up. She knows first-hand how dangerous the Scene is. Ursel makes out she’s safe there. That’s bullshit.”

A silence fell between them. A murky gloom began to fill the room as the sun sank low in the sky.

“Promise you’ll send word,” said Naylor. “Tonight. Doesn’t matter how late. A message to let me know you’re safe. And Wella. Promise me.”

–

Back outside, Chase climbed the Elevated and caught a railmotor destined for Old Wydeye Town. He got off at the penultimate stop on Standings Cross and looked over at the big top, its orange and green stripes an effective lure amid its drab surroundings. As he approached the gates, a steady stream of citizens filed out past him. Their faces were placid, their movements fluid. Around them hung a murmur of voices, hushed chatter as they discussed the show. Chase caught himself envying their air of temporary relief. He had never once attended a performance. It occurred to him he had no idea why and, for the first time, he felt a flush of curiosity.

Security nodded him through without question. He walked around the big top, resisting the urge to part the canvas and peer through. When he reached Ursel’s yurt he hesitated, thrown by the lack of means to knock. He cleared his throat with awkward exaggeration. “Hello? Ursel. It’s me. Chase.”

A muffled voice from within called out, “Just a moment…”

Chase glanced around. Performers milled between the caravans and tents, still in bright costume and heavily made up. Beneath the warm glow of festoon lamps, the colourful enclave appeared incongruous with the palette of life beyond the boundary fence.

Ursel stuck her head through the flap that constituted her front door. “Okay, you can come in.” She held back the canvas and gestured with her head for Chase to enter.

“Good show?” he asked.

“I guess.” Ursel wore a short black tunic, around which she was buckling a belt with her one hand. Her movements were swift and effortless.

“I don’t know how you manage.”

Ursel glanced up, confusion in her frown.

“One arm…” he added, flushing.

“I manage the same as you do.” She knelt down and fastened the buckles on her boots. “Take a seat. I’m almost ready.”

Chase knelt on a cushion and tried to think of something to say. He hadn’t expected to feel this way: awkward and out of place. Taking a deep breath, he looked around him. The space was cluttered with piles of books; charcoal sketches were nailed to the yurt’s wooden framework; brightly coloured fabrics were draped from the walls. There was a single bunk, a small table with two chairs and a bookshelf. “Where do you cook?” he asked, forgetting his embarrassment.

“We all eat together. There’s a catering tent on the other side of the top.” She sat down beside the table in front of a small mirror. Chase watched her as she put an earring into her left ear. It was a silver loop, from which hung delicate silver threads like a miniature dream catcher. She turned and studied Chase for a moment, then cocked her head slightly. “Why are you coming?”

Thrown by the question, Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, you said yourself you doubted you could persuade Wella to come home.”

“But you don’t even know she’s there.”

“True.”

“You could let me go on my own. Find her. Then you could come next time if you still want to try and convince her to come back.”

“That’s also true.”

“So, why come? Why risk it?”

Chase thought for a moment, juggling conflicting motives. “If she’s chosen to stay there, I need to see it for myself. You were right, I don’t understand. I have to go there to stand a chance of changing that.”

Ursel nodded. “Let’s go then.”

“Hold on. What about you? Why are you helping me?”

Her eyes flashed and she smiled. “You’ll know the answer to that once we’re there.”

–

Their route was circuitous, taking the tramway south through Crow, then west, to Darlem Fields, via a loop around Spire Wells. They changed lines three times.

“Is this necessary?” asked Chase.

“The onus is on everyone who attends to ensure we don’t lead the Deaf Squad straight to its prize. The risks don’t diminish just because we choose to attend. Secrecy is our collective responsibility.”

“And yet you’re showing me the way?”

“I trust you.” Ursel looked out of the trailer at the concrete cityscape as she said this.

Chase, bemused, fell silent.

They travelled the rest