Читать книгу The Chosen Ones - Scarlett Thomas - Страница 15

8

There was no queue for the Otherworld. The last time Effie had come here it had been very crowded, and she’d had to wait for a long time before she was allowed through. But today there was no one around. Not even Festus. He must have gone through already. He’d certainly appeared to be in quite a hurry.

A woman in a floral dress was waiting with a scanning device. She was different from the woman who’d been on duty the last time Effie had come here.

‘Right,’ said the woman, scanning her. ‘M-currency is 1,003. One boon, a Ring of Strength, coming in at around a hundred pieces of dragon’s gold or twenty thousand M-currency. Next!’

‘Wait,’ said Effie. ‘Are you sure? I should have a lot more M-currency, and my ring isn’t . . .’

‘NEXT!’

A man at a desk had been writing down figures with his quill pen.

‘You’re not supposed to argue,’ he said.

‘But . . .’

‘She’s new,’ he whispered. ‘Now scram.’

‘NEXT!’

Effie hurried down the corridor and soon emerged in the Edgelands Market. The goblins who ran most of the first few stalls looked sleepy and a little bewildered. The sun was still in the process of coming up and everything looked pink and frail. The meteors had been dancing all night, more in the Otherworld sky than elsewhere, but were now becoming still. One lone meteor commenced its final fizzle into oblivion, then nothing.

The goblins left Effie completely alone. Effie hardly noticed them. She was worrying about what the woman on the door had said when she’d scanned her. She must have got it wrong because she was new. She hadn’t correctly identified Effie’s Ring of the True Hero after all. But 1,003 M-currency? That was absurd. Especially as Effie had been saving it up deliberately. She hadn’t been checking it very often, but the last time she’d been to Mrs Bottle’s Bun Shop for a cup of hot chocolate Lexy’s Aunt Octavia had told her she had had something like forty thousand. It must have been a mistake.

Effie headed straight for the book stall that had been here last time, walking past stalls both familiar and new to her. Deeper into the Otherworld no one used money for anything. But here all currencies were accepted, and most people traded in krubles or dragon’s gold. You could buy or sell magical, Otherworld objects alongside Realworld items that were rare in the Other-world. Effie walked past the usual stalls selling enchanted weapons, silk clothing and feathered hats, but was then amused to come across a stall she had never seen before that sold denim clothing and old mobile phones that people mainly used as torches.

The book stall was not where it had been last time Effie had been here, so she walked deeper into the market. She soon noticed a stall that offered something called KHARAKTER KONSULTATIONS. An unhappy-looking woman sat filing her nails and watching an old Realworld soap opera on a grainy black-and-white TV. Effie remembered Festus’s warning not to get a consultation here in the market. He needn’t have bothered to warn her. Effie would not have had a consultation with this woman for anything.

Next to the stall was the entrance to one of the indoor bazaars. Its opening had been constructed from vast swathes of purple velvet cloth. Inside was the usual jumble of interconnected tents made from expensive silks and linens, with thick Oriental carpets for their floors. Some of the spaces were tiny, some were as big as normal shops. Effie soon realised that this particular sequence of outlets had a theme. One tiny chamber contained only a single silver-coloured box. ‘Composer?’ enquired the shopkeeper, as Effie peered in. ‘You can keep your great work in here. Only four hundred pieces of dragon’s gold.’

The next chamber was larger, and was full of maps, charts, candle-lamps and thick-looking hardbacks. Effie stepped inside to see if any of the books might be The Chosen Ones, but these were all books for adults. There was a large section on travel, but also a section on psychology, as well as a number of thick, complex-looking novels.

‘Explorer?’ said the clerk hopefully.

Effie passed a shop for alchemists containing cauldrons, Bunsen burners and bags of strange yellow rocks; the ‘Hedgewitch Emporium’, which was a vast colourful mess of different fabrics, wool, packets of dried flowers, tea-bags and books about the moon. She had not come across anything for her own kharakter yet. Did heroes not need shops? She wondered what one would sell.

She knew she should turn back and look for the book stall, but everything here was fascinating to Effie. She told herself she would just go a bit further and then turn back. The large covered market narrowed and became a dark series of twists and turns through corridors lined with the purple velvet fabric. It grew quite dark for a time, and so Effie didn’t notice the young man coming towards her at some speed.

‘Sorry!’ he said, as he careered into her.

He seemed to have come out of a chamber on the left made of yellow silks, with soft, warm lighting glowing from within.

‘That’s OK,’ said Effie.

The young man had dropped something. It was a certificate. Effie bent down to pick it up while the young man caught his breath. She couldn’t help noticing some of what it said as she handed it back. ALCHEMIST HEALER, it said on the top. There were several numbers, including one that looked more important than the others because it was written in gold. It said 6.10.

‘My parents are going to be so happy,’ he said. ‘And when I go back with this!’ He beamed. ‘They always wanted me to be a healer. I was worried that I was a mage, or worse, a galloglass mage. Galloglasses have to go and live on the island, obviously, and I was so scared I was just going to die even if I could get through. But now I can go home! Being an alchemist is nothing to be ashamed of. I can create remedies for wounded adventurers. I’m so happy!’

Effie had understood less than half of this. But he somehow reminded her of older children at her school who had just got their exam results. Although she’d never seen anyone as happy as this with just an A* in some academic subject. This young man was acting as if he’d won a very valuable prize. As if someone had just told him what his life really meant. Which, Effie realised, someone just had.

‘Did you just have a consultation?’ she asked him.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘With Dr Foulscrape.’

‘Dr Foulscrape?’

‘She’s the very best there is,’ said the young man. ‘At least in this area. Most of them around here are charlatans, of course. But she works here because she genuinely wants to help runaways like me. She’s very good. Incredibly understanding.’

‘Where did you run away from?’ Effie asked.

‘Where does anyone run away from?’ he said, smiling ruefully. ‘Home. My village. Boring everyday life. You must have done the same, surely, if you’re here. I mean, why else does anyone come to the Edgelands? Unless . . .’ He peered at her more closely. ‘Heavens. Are you from the actual island?’

‘Yes,’ said Effie. ‘But I’m a traveller. I go between the worlds.’

‘Don’t you run out of lifeforce really quickly when you’re here?’

‘No,’ said Effie. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘And is it all true? Is the island really dangerous and dark and full of murderers?’

‘Not really,’ said Effie. ‘Not where I live. Anyway, you have monsters, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but everyone knows how to deal with monsters.’

The young man rolled up his certificate.

‘I must start for home,’ he said. ‘If I leave now, I might get there by nightfall. I’m going to start building my laboratory straight away. My remedies are going to be known throughout the land!’

He hurried away, leaving Effie looking at the warm light spilling out of the chamber on her left. She walked towards the opening in the fabric that worked as a doorway. There, embroidered in yellowy-gold thread was the name DR FOULSCRAPE. It didn’t sound like a very auspicious name for a doctor. But the young man had recommended her so very highly. She seemed to have completely changed his life.

Effie knew she should turn back now, find a copy of The Chosen Ones – if there was one anywhere in the market – and then take it to her father immediately. She had to get her box back and then go to Dragon’s Green and see her cousins. As well as that, she had to find out about the Sterran Guandré and see if she could discover anything about what the Diberi were planning. She hadn’t seen Raven since yesterday afternoon. Perhaps she’d found something out by now.

And Maximilian would have done some useful research, she was sure. He was so reliable like that. He was focused and intelligent, not hot-headed and impulsive like Effie could be. She wondered what Maximilian would have done if Dr Green had tried to confiscate one of his boons. But he wouldn’t have taken it to class in the first place. He was much too careful for that. It could never happen.

Effie sighed when she remembered how much trouble she was in with the Guild of Craftspeople. And how horrible her father had been. She had probably missed another class at school now too, what with all that waiting around in the Funtime Arcade, which would probably mean another letter home. Effie found she didn’t much want to hurry back. And if she just stayed here a little longer, perhaps she could get a quick consultation. She so desperately wanted to know what her secondary ability – her art – was. And maybe even to buy something nice that went along with it. Something like the silver box for composers, or Festus’s compass.

Before she knew what she was doing, Effie had entered the warmly lit chamber. Inside, all was muted white and cream, with flickering candles in yellow glass holders. There was a reception desk with a thick diary and a candle-lamp on it, but no receptionist. The chamber smelled strongly of lavender, with some other scent that Effie couldn’t quite place. There were several framed certificates hanging precariously from the fabric that functioned as the right-hand wall. Each one carried the name ‘URSULA FOULSCRAPE’ and then a different qualification. One was for ‘divination’, another was for ‘scrying’, whatever that was. Another certificate looked exactly like the one the young man had been carrying, except that at the top it had the words ‘INTERPRETER HEDGEWITCH’. In the middle of this were the numbers 5.50.

Suddenly, a large woman entered the small chamber through a curtained opening behind the reception desk. She was wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard. She had the biggest diamond earrings Effie had ever seen, which looked quite odd with her sensible haircut and clumpy black shoes.

‘Are you Daniella Bounty?’ she asked Effie.

‘No, sorry,’ said Effie.

‘She hasn’t turned up for her appointment,’ said the woman crossly. She shook her head and tutted. ‘Three YEARS is the current waiting time for a consultation with Madame, I mean DOCTOR Foulscrape. Of course we charge double for missed appointments. Dear oh dear. Anyway, who are you and what do you want?’

‘I’m Euphemia Truelove,’ said Effie. ‘I wanted to find out about having a consultation. But if the wait is really three years . . .’

The woman looked at her watch.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘You might just be in luck. If Miss Bounty doesn’t turn up in the next few minutes, I daresay you can take her appointment. Very fortunate you’d be, though. We’ve had people waiting out there offering clients huge sums of money to take their slots, so desperate they’ve been. And after that profile of Madame, I mean DOCTOR Foulscrape in The Liminal recently . . . Here you go.’ The woman gave Effie the clipboard. ‘You can fill that in while you’re waiting. If Miss Bounty does turn up, we can always put it on file for you for three years’ time.’

‘What is it?’ asked Effie.

‘The basic test. Have you done one before?’

Effie shook her head.

‘You read each statement and tick box 1, 2, 3, 4 or 5, depending on how strongly you agree with what it says. I’m Nurse Shallowgrave. Let me know if you need anything else. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be back in ten minutes to collect the test.’

Shallowgrave? That was even worse than Foulscrape. Effie suddenly had a terrible feeling about this. The test in front of her looked like a bad photocopy and smelled slightly of fried onions. There was something wrong in this chamber too, although Effie couldn’t work out what it was. Underneath the comforting lighting and lavender was . . . She wasn’t quite sure. Anyway, it was too late now. She could hardly just leave. And besides, if Effie didn’t do this now, she’d have to wait three whole years. Effie remembered how happy the young man had been with his consultation. And all those people who paid extra. And she was very lucky that this Daniella Bounty had not shown up. Fate obviously wanted her to do this.

Effie started filling in the test. It was actually quite interesting and she became so absorbed in answering the questions that her worries soon faded. Some of the statements were definite 5s. For example ‘I find it easy to learn other languages’ and ‘I am more fearless than my friends’. Others were definite 1s, for example ‘I make a lot of diagrams’ and ‘I am an excellent cook’. Soon Effie found herself longing to know what all this meant. She finished the test and waited.

A few more minutes passed and then Nurse Shallowgrave strode back into the small chamber. The smell of fried onions intensified. Her large diamond earrings glittered. She took the test from Effie and disappeared back beyond the curtain. More minutes passed. Then Nurse Shallowgrave emerged again and gestured to Effie that she should follow her.

There was a thin dark passageway and then a black velvet curtain. Nurse Shallowgrave held the curtain aside and showed Effie into the small, dark chamber.

‘Eugenie Halfhound,’ she announced. Then she left.

‘Actually, it’s Euphemia True—’

‘Sit,’ came a silky, smooth voice. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’

Effie sat on the only chair, which was wooden, and very, very hard. The chamber was far too hot and the only light came from a single flickering candle-lamp on Dr Foulscrape’s desk. The desk was quite untidy. There were matchboxes, notebooks, bottles of ink, tissues, sweet-wrappers and huge piles of paperwork. In the corner of the chamber was a large cauldron. Various crystals hung from the low fabric ceiling by thin pieces of thread. The small amount of light from the candle-lamp danced slowly around the gloomy chamber, changing from red to yellow to green to blue, depending on what crystal it had last travelled through.

‘Well,’ said Dr Foulscrape. ‘Greetings and blessings.’

Her voice was like thick honey. Very sweet and dense, and with a slight European accent that Effie couldn’t place. She was wearing a crumpled black linen jacket and a white silk shirt. Her hair was dyed bright pink. She looked both very old and very young, and extremely wise. Effie immediately wanted to tell her all her secrets. How odd. She didn’t usually trust people so immediately.

‘Greetings and blessings returned,’ said Effie.

‘Well,’ said Dr Foulscrape. ‘Well, well.’

‘Do you have my results?’ asked Effie.

‘I do.’ Dr Foulscrape pressed her fingers together. ‘But I wonder. What do you think you are? Do you already have some idea?’

‘Yes,’ said Effie. ‘I know my kharakter already. I know I’m a true hero. But—’

‘A true hero? Whoever gave you that idea?’

‘Oh, um . . .’

‘You haven’t been speaking to one of those ghastly fortune tellers out there, have you? They’ll tell you you’re a wizard already and then charge you hundreds of krubles. A true hero. My my.’ She laughed and shook her head. ‘I haven’t heard that one for a very long time. A true hero – if it even existed – would be a positively AWFUL thing to be. All that traipsing around after monsters and dragons and great criminal masterminds!’ She laughed again. ‘Most people who come in here long to be alchemists, healers or guides. I have the occasional would-be hedgewitch or engineer. Do you know what people are worst at, Eugenie?’

‘It’s actually—’

‘I’ll tell you. At knowing themselves. People are EXTRAORDINARILY bad at it. Which is why we use the test. The test is never wrong. But of course the test needs something vitally important in order to function. Which is . . .?’ Dr Foulscrape raised her eyebrows. ‘I’ll tell you. It needs an interpreter. Not just anyone can read this test, you know. And do you know how long I’ve been doing this? I’ll tell you. Forty years. Impressive, no? And I am simply NEVER wrong about anyone. So . . . let’s see.’

Dr Foulscrape started shuffling papers on her desk. Surely, Effie thought, if Dr Foulscrape had just been looking at her test it should be near the top of her pile? While the doctor scrabbled around on her desk, a very old and decrepit-looking cat jumped up from the ground, scattering pieces of paper everywhere. They couldn’t be pages from Effie’s test, could they? But the pieces of paper didn’t look like a test. They looked like some kind of warning or penalty notice, similar to the parking tickets Effie’s stepmother Cait sometimes brought home.

Once a few more pieces of paper had been moved around it became clear that Dr Foulscrape had found the thing she’d been looking for. It was a bright yellow bowl full of slimy brown cat food. This was what Effie had been able to smell underneath the lavender.

Dr Foulscrape stroked the cat as it ate, and it began to purr loudly. She started again on the paperwork. Her red glasses were perched in an uncomfortable-looking position on her nose.

‘Halfhound, Halfhound . . .’

‘It’s Truelove,’ said Effie exasperatedly. ‘My name is Euphemia Truelove.’

‘Oh, why ever didn’t you say? Here we are. Oh, yes. An interesting case. What did you say you thought you were? A true hero? Nope. You’re a warrior. I could have told you that anyway because of your ring.’

‘But my ring is . . .’

‘A Ring of Strength. Did you really think it was the Ring of the True Hero?’ She laughed again. ‘Oh, bless. You thought you were going around the Edgelands Market wearing something the goblins would have off your finger in seconds if they saw it? Something worth hundreds of pieces of dragon’s gold? Whoever told you this was a true hero’s ring needs their head examined.’

Effie started to feel angry.

‘The person who told me about my ring was very wise,’ she said, remembering her beloved grandfather. Although . . . had he ever actually named the ring? Now that Effie came to think of it, the person who’d told her about her ring had not been a person at all, but a dragon.

‘This anger you show,’ said Dr Foulscrape, ‘is entirely characteristic of a warrior. You’ll want to be careful you don’t let it get you into trouble. Now, do you want to know the rest of your result?’

‘Yes,’ said Effie. ‘Sorry. Is it my art and shade next?’

‘Just your art. We do the shade together afterwards.’

‘OK.’

‘And the art comes after payment, of course.’

‘Payment?’ Effie suddenly realised that she hadn’t asked anything about payment before. Of course she’d meant to, but it had all been so distracting with Nurse Shallowgrave looking for Daniella Bounty and then giving Effie her appointment. But of course she’d have to pay. This was the Edgelands after all. Things were not free here.

‘How much is it?’ said Effie.