The Cradle of All Worlds. Jeremy Lachlan

those days are long gone, so I grab my cloak and creep up the basement stairs. The Hollows won’t lock the door till they leave, so getting out’s no problem. Even so, I sit tight a moment, breath held.

      Then it happens.

      There’s a sharp crack. Somewhere out back, I think. Mrs Hollow yells, ‘Not again! The bucket, Bertram, where’s the bucket? Violet! You get back here now!’

      I smile.

      The girl’s incorrigible. Eight years old and already a pyromaniac.

      The back door screeches open, which means it’s time to move. I step out into the hallway, ease the basement door shut, and sneak down to the front door as quickly and quietly as I can, doing my best, as always, to ignore the Three Laws hanging above it, framed and embroidered, covered in a fine film of dust. Standard in every house on Bluehaven.

       We enter the Manor at will

       We enter the Manor unarmed

       We enter the Manor alone

OUTSET SQUARE

      Bluehaven’s a hole. A crumbling mess of ramshackle houses and dead-end alleyways sandwiched together all the way around the rocky shore of the island. Wooden beams support bulging walls and sagging eaves. Potholes mar the narrow streets. The quakes have taken their toll. I doubt there’s a single surface in town without a crack in it – one of the main reasons the townsfolk make me feel as welcome as a fart in a bathtub on the rare occasions I step outside. So even though the sun’s shining, even though it’s hot as hell and I haven’t breathed fresh air in three days, I pull the hood of my cloak forward the moment I set off down the street. I can’t take any chances. Gotta keep my head down, walk fast, look out for the usual suspects.

      Old Mrs Jones, who wails whenever she sees me pass by. Mr Annan, who shutters every window and sobs in the dark. The old woman in red, Winifred goddamn Robin, who stalks me from the shadows nearly every time, walking when I walk, stopping when I stop, vanishing the few times I’ve doubled back to tell her off. Creepy, sure, but I’m used to it. All of it. Kids usually run the other way when they see me, like I’m carrying an infectious disease. Doors are slammed shut, locks click. Old folks whisper prayers.

      This morning, though, it’s a ghost town. There’s no one in sight.

      ‘Oi, wait up!’ Violet darts round the corner behind me in her little red boots, beaming like a thousand suns. ‘Before you start, I didn’t blow anything up. I just set fire to the trash.’ She falls into step beside me. ‘Something inside the bin exploded, but that isn’t my fault.’

      ‘You do realise you could’ve just called your mum upstairs or something, right?’

      Violet scrunches up her nose. ‘Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I can’t help you if I’m stuck at home, can I?’ She claps her hands. ‘So, what’s the plan?’

      ‘I’m heading to White Rock. You’re going home.’

      ‘Uh-uh. If you’re caught breaking curfew, you’ll be locked in the basement for a month. Or worse. They could banish you. Stab you. Oh! Oh! They could stab you and then banish you!’

      ‘Wow. Try not to sound too upset about it, Violet.’

      ‘Obviously, I don’t want any of that to happen. But let’s face it, you’re stuck in the basement with John every day, which means I’m your only friend; you’re not allowed to go to school, which means you’re not the smartest kid around; and now you’re going for a walk on a day when people literally gather round to burn effigies of you in Outset Square.’

      The fact that kids on Bluehaven know effigy-burning is a thing can’t be normal, can it? This place, I swear. ‘You’re saying I need all the help I can get?’

      ‘I’m saying you need me.’

      ‘Fine,’ I sigh. ‘You can walk with me to the edge of the cove, but then you have to go. The message said “come alone”. If we spook Atlas, this could all be for nothing. And if anything happens before then, you run home. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Deal?’

      It doesn’t seem to bother her, but Violet gets teased enough for living under the same roof as me. I don’t even want to think about what would happen if people found out we’re friends.

      ‘Deal,’ she says.

      I hang back at the corner of Sunview and Main. Violet ducks ahead to make sure the coast is clear. She tries to whistle but hasn’t quite got the knack of it yet, so she coughs and clears her throat till I get the point and join her. A bunch of kids have just walked by. A woman’s sweeping her stoop a few doors down. I sneak across the road, stealthy as a goddamn bandit, and lead Violet into an alleyway quick smart.

      Bluehaven’s like a giant maze, but I know every street, every shortcut. Sure, I only step outside to run the occasional errand for the Hollows nowadays – collecting wood, buying rice – but I used to sneak out all the time, mostly at night. I’d wander the streets by moonlight, raiding the neighbour’s bins for any clothes or knick-knacks they might’ve thrown away, maybe even a midnight snack for me and Dad. Sometimes I’d head on up and raid the mango and coconut groves and bring back a feast. Didn’t take long till I’d walked every path a thousand times.

      ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Violet says now. She dives and rolls under a window to make sure nobody sees her. A pointless move, seeing as the window’s boarded up, but at least she’s enjoying herself. ‘If this really is an ambush –’ she leaps up, dusts herself off – ‘I reckon you should just go with it. Have fun. Be the baddie. Run around and scream and tell ’em if they don’t give you a crate of flint you’ll sink the whole island or something.’

      ‘Why would I want a crate of flint?’

      ‘Why wouldn’t you?’

      A busy intersection. A right onto Kepos Road. No choice but to blend in for a bit, go with the flow. Hide in plain sight and hope the passing townsfolk don’t clock us. I pull my hood down even lower. Focus on my feet, let Violet lead the way. Keep expecting a hand to grab me and spin me around, the crowd to turn on me as one.

      Violet stops. I bump into her back and someone bumps into mine. I brace myself, get ready to run, but the guy actually says, ‘Excuse me,’ and keeps on walking. I almost laugh.

      If only he knew.

      ‘What’s going on?’ I whisper.

      ‘Two carts up ahead,’ Violet whispers back. ‘They’re stuck. Blocking the road. Idiots. We could try ducking under them, but –’

      ‘No,’ I say. ‘Come on. It’s risky, but we’re gonna have to cut across Outset.’

      We duck into a side alley and start jogging. I can feel the seconds slipping away from us. We sidestep bins, jump over potholes, duck under a clothesline and scramble over a stack of crates and barrels, the hum and buzz of Outset Square growing louder all the while.

      I check my pocket. The mysterious photo’s still there, safe and sound. I hold it tight, fighting the urge to run back to the basement and make sure Dad’s okay. Sometimes I swear there’s an invisible thread connecting us that spools out, stretches, then tugs at my heart and guts whenever I stray too far. Whenever I’m gone too long.

      It’s pulling stronger than ever today.

      Violet catches the look on my face. She knows it all too well.

      ‘He’ll be fine, Jane,’ she says, huffing and puffing beside me. ‘I mean, he’s much safer than you’re about to be. But don’t you worry, the square’ll be packed. Everyone’ll be way too busy setting up for the festival to notice anything. You’ll see.’

      And she’s right. Outset Square is heaving. Everybody’s busy building stalls and stages.