What do I know? Only everything! Nobody’s a bigger fan than me, mister, got it? Maybe you didn’t see me trunk here? Now can we go, please? I’ve got work to do!
Work? said Sam.
Quiet, both of you, said Olpert.
The water had submerged the basement window. And now Sam’s front door was leaking too. On the other side Olpert imagined a little tiered waterfall cascading down the steps, pooling at the bottom, seeping greedily under the door.
The water’s coming in, it’s flooding, said Olpert. I’ll take you both. We have to go.
AFTER AN ENDLESS tumble through the darkness, the cart stopped with a judder. The Mayor pitched forward, clutched the sides, somehow didn’t fall. The air was black, it seemed both sprawling and to compress around her. Tilted on an incline, she realized someone or something was holding the cart: a foot against the wheels, a hand upon the edge, inches from her own hands. And even before he spoke, she knew who it was.
Greetings, my queen, said the voice — that creamy, sleepy voice.
The Mayor sighed.
Can you see me?
It’s too dark.
Look at me. Try.
I don’t go in for this sort of craziness. I can’t be party to it.
Nor I, Mrs. Mayor, nor I. But please. Focus your eyes. Allow them to acclimate.
She closed her eyes, opened them: and saw less than when they had been closed.
And now? said Raven.
Is this where you’ve been hiding? A hole in the ground?
Is that where we are? A hole? It seems to me more complicated than that. But what do I know, this is your town —
City. This is a city. My city.
Pardon me, of course. Your city, your splendid metropolis, your great megalopolis. I trust you’re aware what comes next.
Feeling herself easing downward again she grabbed the sides of the cart. The movement halted. Raven rocked her softly, back and forth, like a babe in its cradle.
What are you doing, she said. What have you done.
Done?
Done!
Ah. To tell you the truth, I thought this would be amusing. I didn’t know that it would be — that it would be, well. .
Well what. A disaster?
You think it’s that? May I ask, Mrs. Mayor, what you think existed here before us?
Where does it go, this tunnel.
Oh, don’t worry. For certain, we are totally alone.
Yes, but where are we. Where is here.
Such a question. Have you considered that perhaps this place does not exist even now. Perhaps it never has? Perhaps we never have.
I exist! Aren’t you talking to me?
Yes! Such sagacity, such simple truth. You exist in your words, and I in mine.
The rocking stopped. The stillness and darkness were absolute. Everything pitched outward into oblivion. When Raven spoke next it was in a whisper: We do indeed exist, all alone down here, wherever we are. We’re unique in that, Mrs. Mayor — so dreadfully unique, you and I.
DEBBIE WOKE to cricked pain through her body, a stiff neck, her left leg numb from foot to buttock. All night she’d bounced from dreams into waking panic. She unfolded herself from the beanbag chair and on creaking limbs hobbled to the Room’s rear window and parted the curtains.
Dawn was breaking over the lake. But something was wrong. It took a moment: the breakwater was submerged, waves swept all the way to shore. The water, level with the piers’ edges, was starting to trickle over. From below came a pocking, suctiony sound — surf slopped up against the building’s underside.
She found the Hand sleeping on the floor of her office.
Hey, said Debbie from the doorway, we’ve got to get out of here. There’s flooding.
The girl stretched, yawned, blinked, so innocent and girlish that Debbie looked away with a flash of guilt — it was too cute, nothing she was meant to see, this gentle kittenlike awakening before that hard mask came growling down.
The door slammed: Debbie was left staring at a poster about how to build community. She moved to the main room, where the twins slept head to toe on the couch. Their eyes fluttered open and regarded Debbie, hovering over them, with suspicion.
We have to go, she said. The lake’s flooding.
The office door opened, the Hand padded to the bathroom. A swishing sound — puddles splashed into the Room. She followed behind, kicking water in front of her.
See? It’s flooding, Debbie repeated. We should leave. I want to help you.
With a snort the Hand turned to her friends. You hear that? She’s going to help us. How? Teach us to glue macaroni to a paper plate?
Debbie glanced at the gallery wall, at all that macaroni glued to all those plates.
No, said the Hand. We don’t need help. Let’s go.
She led the twins to the door. But she couldn’t figure out how to unlock it, so Debbie stepped in, the Hand stood by stiffly as she flipped the catch. None of the three youngsters acknowledged Debbie on their way out — but on the sidewalk they stopped short: a Citywagon idled in front of Crupper’s store. A Helper got out, leaned on the roof of the car, called, These kids with you?
Me? said Debbie.
Yeah, they yours? We were getting ready to grab them.
What do you mean, grab them?
We’re doing sweeps. There’ve been. . incidents. So we’re scooping anyone suspicious — nonresidents, whoever, just taking people to the Galleria to ask them some questions.
What sort of incidents? Debbie stepped boldly in front of the Hand and the twins, hands on hips. You don’t have anything better to do?
The guy’s tone remained lethargic: If they’re with you, don’t worry about it. Just doing what we’re told. Then his expression changed. What about you, you local?
Me? said Debbie. She shrank a little, then gestured to the Room: I work here.
Sure. But are you from here.
Of course I’m fuggin from here, said Debbie.
Oh. Well make sure you have your papers ready, we’ll be doing sweeps all day. And we’re still working on the power out, but the trains’ll be up again soon. Good lookin out! He saluted, got in the car, and drove off.
Debbie turned to the Hand. Well, she said, maybe we can help each other after all?
The Hand stared back. Her eyes were savage. From the back of her throat came a gravelly sound, rising up — and she spat. A fat wet glob smacked Debbie in the chest and clung there like a mollusc. Debbie’s arms floated down to her sides, a faint whimper sounded between her lips. One of the twins laughed. The Hand shook her head, gestured to her two friends, and they moved off up F Street at a jog, down an alley, and Debbie was left listening to the swish and plop of waves slapping underneath the Room.
II
FTER PASSING through the phalanx of Helpers that ringed the Galleria, Kellogg, Pearl, and Elsie-Anne found the end of the surnames N — S queue at the south entrance. Noticing the other legal guardians — some alone, some in anxious-looking pairs — eyeing Elsie-Anne covetously, perhaps even in a predatory, kidnappy sort of way, Kellogg sandwiched their daughter tightly between him and Pearl. Watch out now, he whispered.
From their eyes drooped purple sacks, the skins of spoilt plums. As had many of these parents, the Pooles had spent all night dealing with Residents’ Control before being directed downtown just before dawn. For reasons unexplained, a number of young people and nonresidents had been rounded up and detained in the Galleria’s upper floors. There was a chance, the Pooles were told, they’d find their son among them.