Mysterious Mysteries of the Aro Valley (15 page)

Steve took his crowbar from the pocket of his overcoat. He stood on tiptoes and gently smashed in a window in the back wall of the Councillor's Chamber.

Steve did not believe in defeat. Yes, he'd lost the election. Technically, if you wanted to split hairs, Gorgon had ‘defeated' Steve. But why had Steve fought in the election in the first place? To get access to the secret archive. And he could still do that, just not by democratic means. And what better time to act than now, in Gorgon's moment of triumph when the rest of the council staff were distracted by the post-election celebration and the bonfire in the quad and the screams of people whose hair had caught on fire? Steve cared about knowledge, not political power. Now he would obtain that knowledge, and once he had it he would use it to bring down Gorgon and seize all that power for himself.

Steve's crowbar was his most prized possession. It was made of high-carbon steel. It gleamed with a silver-coloured enamel coating. It was the length of his forearm and able to be slipped into the pocket of his overcoat; it was very light, but strong enough to snap doors from their frames like kindling. No psychologist had a better friend than their crowbar. Steve had, in a moment of extravagance, etched the name of his crowbar into its shaft, in an elegant flowing script.
Lightbringer
.

He used the curved hook of Lightbringer to clear the last few shards of glass from the frame, then he threw a scrap of carpet over the rim and hauled himself into the chamber.

He kept low. Holes in the curtains looked directly out on the quad, where celebrating Te Aro residents danced around the spiral-shaped fire, howling and screaming with abandon.

He crawled across the dusty carpet to the corner of the room. He wedged Lightbringer between the closet door and its frame and gave an expert twist. The door popped open, revealing the cowboy uniforms. He could just make out the bulge where the filing cabinet was hidden. Lightbringer would make short work of its lock: then the secret archive would be his, and finally, he would have answers. He'd solve the mystery of Ogilvy. Of Threshold. Of the plot against reality. And he'd know what happened in 1974.

He parted the cowboy outfits. The cabinet was there, but the steel around the combination lock was buckled. It had been forced.

Steve was too late. The filing drawers were empty. The archive had already been stolen.

The secretary frowned. ‘Stolen by whom?'

Steve stood in the door to the Councillor's Chamber, looking at the broken window and the smashed, empty filing cabinet. Steve stood behind him. ‘Stolen by the archivist,' he replied.

‘The archivist? Impossible. He knows the Charter forbids entry to this room.'

Steve whispered in the secretary's ear. ‘I saw him. I happened to be wandering behind the building, and I witnessed the archivist smash the window with a crowbar and climb inside. That's when I came to get you.'

The fire in the quad was out and all the revellers were gone. It was just Steve, the secretary, and Kim, the other failed election candidate, who stood beside Steve and said sadly, ‘Bretec quagnet.'

‘I don't understand this.' The secretary looked tired. Lost. ‘Why would the archivist break in through the window? He has a key.'

‘That's the genius of it,' Steve countered. ‘If he'd used the key to get in, we'd have known it was him. He didn't, so we don't, and that's how we can be sure it was.'

‘Yes, that makes perfect sense. But what did he take?'

‘A secret archive,' Steve explained. ‘Documents removed from the old archive and hidden in the Councillor's cabinet. I believe these documents are proof of a sinister plot within this valley.'

‘But he's the archivist,' the secretary replied. ‘Why would he steal the secret archive? And why tonight?'

‘Let's find out,' Steve replied. ‘We'll hunt him down.'

‘I can't hunt anyone down. I have to stay here and wait for Gorgon. He or she is now the rightfully elected Councillor of Te Aro.'

‘There is no Gorgon.'

‘What?'

‘Vertek?' Kim looked astonished.

‘It's a conspiracy,' Steve explained. ‘A plot. The archivist is in on it. So was the old Councillor. Something happened in this valley in 1974. All evidence of it was removed from the archive and hidden in here. The archivist knew I was looking for it, and that if I won the election I'd uncover the plot. So he created a fake candidate to run against me and used Gorgon's strong brand recognition as an evil mythological creature to trick the people into voting for it. That's why Gorgon hasn't appeared to celebrate its victory. Because it doesn't exist. So let's search the archivist's desk.'

The secretary looked bewildered. ‘For what?'

‘I have no idea,' Steve replied. ‘But whatever we find is bound to be incriminating.'

The drawer sprang open in a shower of wood splinters.

Steve used the tip of his crowbar to search through the debris inside it. The secretary gave Lightbringer a funny look. ‘Why did you have that in your pocket?'

‘I'm a psychologist,' Steve explained. The drawer contained pens, a stapler, a bag of pot, obsolete computer peripherals. ‘And what's this?' He picked up a thick roll of cash tucked in the back corner. ‘That's a lot of money for someone on an archivist's salary.'

The secretary peered at it. ‘That's not real money,' he said. ‘Look. The denomination is n+1. And the symbol on it is a spiral.'

‘An alternative system of currency,' Steve breathed. ‘This conspiracy is more diabolical than I thought.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I'll show you. Do you have any cash?'

The secretary produced a five-dollar note. Steve held it next to the spiral dollar. ‘Which of these is worth more?'

‘The real one.'

‘Why?'

‘It's a form of social contract,' the secretary replied. ‘The note is worthless, but we all agree to believe that it's worth something because it's a very convenient symbol of value.'

‘It is a symbol,' Steve agreed, disappointed that the secretary's answer was so cogent. ‘It's a pointer to other things, like value and trust, and they point back to money. That is what reality is. A network of symbols and pointers. Masks behind masks. These people,' he flapped the spiral dollar, ‘the archivist and his co-conspirators, they want to attack those symbols. They want to attack reality itself. We have to stop them. But first we have to find them.'

‘Blet,' said Kim, behind them. ‘Klo bey blet reware.' He was flipping through a large hardback book that he'd picked up from beside the archivist's computer monitor. He opened it to the inside cover and displayed it to Steve and the secretary.

‘Tnex.'

It was a book on counterfeiting. There was a large black stamp beneath the title on the first page:

Purchased from

Ye Undergrounde Bookshoppe

Access via the basement steps down ye nameless alleyway

on Aro Street

Beneath the stamp was a picture of a spiral.

‘The symbol of Gorgon,' Steve said gritted his teeth and spoke in a low growl. ‘Proof of the archivist's complicity. This election was a fraud. And, according to the Te Aro Charter'—he indicated the document on the far wall—‘as runner-up, I am the rightful new Councillor.'

‘Actually,' the secretary gave an apologetic cough, ‘Kim was runner-up. He came second. You came last.'

Kim said, ‘Blego!'

Steve took a second to absorb this unhappy news, then said, ‘But Kim abdicates his position to me. Right, Kim?'

‘Ea.' Kim shook his head vigorously, frowning, and made a slashing motion with his hand. ‘Kanb ea!'

‘There,' Steve said. ‘You see? Now, as de facto Councillor of Te Aro, I order you both to accompany me to the nameless alley.' He slapped his crowbar against his open palm. ‘It's time to do a little book shopping.'

Steve kicked open the door to the bookshop and stepped through it, Lightbringer raised, ready to swing at any archivist or bookshop clerk who came at him.

But the entrance wasn't guarded. Beyond the door was a small clear space with a table, cash register and rocking chair; beyond that were wooden shelves stretching from the floor to the low, dimly lit ceiling and radiating out into the unseen reaches of the room. It was impossible to tell how large the space was, or if any enemies lurked out there in the darkness. Sound in the room was muted: their footfalls on the bare concrete were swallowed by the thousands of books.

Steve's hearing was far more powerful than that of most humans. He listened, tuning out the sounds of Kim and the secretary, who had followed him; he tuned out the hum of the lights overhead, water hissing in distant pipes, the central heating of the building. And out there, just at the edge of the audible spectrum he heard something: voices in the distance and between the voices an odd sound: a repetitive thumping, like the beating of the bookshop's dark and musty heart.

He whispered to Kim and the secretary. ‘This way.' He led them into the shelves, towards the sounds, his senses on high alert. The thumping grew louder. Steve came to a fork in the path through the books. He turned left, then cursed as he tripped and fell. He landed on something soft. A person? He wasn't sure, so he bit into it. The thing did not scream. And it didn't taste like a person. He unclenched his jaw and pushed himself up onto his knees.

A mattress. He'd fallen on a mattress. No—a whole pile of mattresses. Thin, foam ones; dozens of them. And beyond them lay another pile, and another.

Steve clambered over them and stepped onto another path through the shelves. He was very close to the thumping noise now, and he could hear the voices. Two women: a low murmur back and forth. The thumping sounded like something being dropped, picked up and dropped again, over and over.

He turned and signalled to Kim and the secretary to go down the other row, circle around and come at the voices from the opposite side to Steve. They gave the thumbs-up sign and crawled over the mattresses to him, ignoring his gestures while he waved at them and mouthed, ‘No! No!'

They refused to turn back, and the group continued on down another row of shelves stocked not with books but with large cardboard boxes. Steve paused under a fluorescent light and checked the box labels. Some of them were filled with blankets. Others contained syringes and adult nappies. The final shelf in the row was empty except for three plastic trays filled with hundreds of blue envelopes packed in together neatly. Steve opened one of the envelopes. Inside he found a map, half of which showed the Aro Valley, the rest of which depicted a vast and bewildering labyrinth.

The thumping came from just beyond the last shelf. Steve took a breath. He nodded at Kim and the secretary. He stepped out into the light.

It was an open space extending to the concrete walls at the back of the room. There were boxes everywhere. The thumping echoing through the room was the sound of two women taking books from the shelves and dropping them into the boxes. They stopped when Steve appeared. He looked them up and down and said to the closer of the two, ‘Verity?'

‘Steve?'

‘Well,' said Steve. ‘Well. Well. Well.' He strolled towards the women, twirling his crowbar like a ringmaster menacing a troupe of mutinous clowns. ‘So the conspiracy is revealed.'

‘What are you doing here?'

‘Why, I'm looking for Gorgon.'

‘Gorgon?' Verity cast a concerned glance at the second woman, who gave a tiny shrug. Verity turned back to Steve and said, ‘She's busy.'

‘She?' Steve looked amused. ‘Tell her she has official visitors.'

Verity sat back on her knees. She looked hot from her work. She picked up a bottle of water and drank from it. The second woman spoke; Steve recognised her now. It was Eleanor, Verity's friend who owned the Dolphin Café. ‘We're busy too,' she snapped. ‘Beat it, deadbeat.'

‘You have to go,' Verity added. ‘Now. Please.'

Steve refused to acknowledge her absurd request and snapped, ‘There is no Gorgon, is there? You and the archivist made it all up. You faked her.'

Verity looked genuinely confused. ‘Why would we do that?'

‘You know why.' The stolen archive was probably right here somewhere, hidden in one of the boxes, Steve thought. But which one? There were hundreds. ‘You have something,' he said. ‘Something we want. Something very valuable.'

Verity and the archivist both glanced towards a mound of boxes stacked against the wall. Steve calculated the intersecting angles of their gaze and identified an ordinary box on the top of the pile. So: that was the secret archive. It was smaller than he'd expected. And, now that he inspected it, he noticed a faint blue glow emanating from a tear in the cardboard. Why would the secret archive glow?

‘We don't have anything for you, Steve. And you're trespassing. Get out. The bookshop is closed.'

‘Oh, but I'm not trespassing. I happen to be the new Te Aro Councillor. I can go anywhere I want and do anything I want.'

‘That's not true,' the secretary said quickly. ‘The role is mostly ceremonial.'

‘What's more,' Steve continued, raising his voice to drown out any future unhelpful comments from the secretary, ‘I can impound property and belongings. All of these boxes are now the property of the Te Aro Council Subcommittee for Public Safety.'

‘The what?'

‘So either we search through all of these boxes until we find what we're looking for,' Steve said to Verity, ‘or you turn the secret archive over to us now and we all find out whatever big mystery is hidden inside it.'

‘What secret archive?' Verity looked even more confused, but Eleanor did not. Comprehension was dawning in her eyes. Steve pointed at her. ‘Ask your accomplice there. She knows.'

Verity turned. Eleanor hesitated, then said to her, ‘About ten years ago, Gorgon ordered the old Councillor—the Sheriff—to destroy all the records …' She licked her lips and glanced at Steve. ‘The records of what happened at Threshold. Last week we learned that the Sheriff disobeyed. Instead he hid the records in a safe in the closet in his chamber.'

Verity looked wary. ‘And now they've vanished? Where are they?'

‘I don't know,' said Eleanor nervously. ‘The archivist didn't take them. He's at Threshold.'

‘Well if he didn't steal them, and this idiot didn't take them' —Verity flicked her hand at Steve—‘that only leaves …'

An expression of dread came over Eleanor's face. ‘The Adversary.'

Steve said, ‘The who?'

Verity nodded. ‘And now the Adversary knows about Ogilvy and Threshold. They'll figure out what's beneath the valley.'

‘Hey? Hello? Excuse me?' Steve tapped his crowbar against a shelf. The sound rang out in. ‘Remember me? Are you saying you don't have the archive? You expect me to believe that?'

Verity turned to him. ‘I know it doesn't look like it'—she gestured at the boxes of books—‘but what we're doing down here is the most important thing in the whole world right now. Someone is trying to stop us. We don't know who they are; we just know they're very smart and very ruthless. They are the Adversary.'

‘I'm your Adversary!' Steve pointed at his chest with his thumb.

‘Oh please, Steve. Our real Adversary is dangerous. Competent. We need to find out who they are before they ruin everything. You can help us.'

‘Help you? I don't think so. You're in a lot of trouble, Verity. First you vanish mysteriously. Now you're down here operating a bookshop without a permit.' Steve ticked off crimes on his fingers. ‘Stacking mattresses in violation of Te Aro bylaws. Boxing books in an unsafe manner. Whatever you're doing down here …' He stopped, frowned. ‘Where's that eerie music coming from?'

Everyone listened. At first there was nothing; just the subterranean silence of the bookshop. But the rest of them soon heard it too: distant music, notes rising and falling. A child's tune played on a wind instrument like a flute or a recorder. It came from somewhere deep underground, beyond the walls.

‘It's her,' said Eleanor. ‘She comes.'

‘Her who? Who comes?' But Steve already knew the answer. Gorgon. He looked around the room again and this time he saw the curtain. A thick fabric hung over a shadowed section of the wall. Steve's keen senses detected subtle shifts in the fabric and micro-changes in air density. There was a hidden passageway there.

‘Steve.' Verity said. ‘You need to go. Now. Run.'

Steve thought about it. Should he run? He analysed Verity's physiological signals: the fluttering at her temples, the moistness of her eyes and the stress in her voice. She was frightened by whatever was making that music and coming towards them down the passageway. Maybe he should run? Or could he use Verity's fear to his advantage?

He turned towards Kim, who was closest to the blanket draped on the wall. ‘Kim!' he called out. ‘Tear down that curtain!'

‘Blas,' Kim replied. He loped towards the curtain with an obedient grin. Verity and the archivist chorused, ‘No!' and ran to intercept him. Over this din of voices and footsteps the music came again, very close, just behind the curtain; the same haunting childhood tune.
Bind me. Blind me. Or Gorgon will find me
.

Steve took advantage of the chaos to run towards the glowing cardboard box. Maybe Gorgon was real. Maybe this mysterious Adversary was real, and maybe the Adversary took the secret archive, or, maybe it was all a lie and the archive was right here, within Steve's grasp. Well, he would find out. He sped towards the box and raised his crowbar. Verity reversed and tried to intercept him but she was too slow and far too late.

He swung. The box caved inwards, revealing that it didn't contain the secret archive after all, but rather countless vials filled with a glowing blue compound, which now exploded into millions of fragments of glass and radiant droplets. These rained upon Steve, soaking his clothes and splattering his face.

Verity slid to her knees. She scrambled backwards, away from the glowing blue liquid. Her mouth was opening and closing but no sound came out. Maybe there was something wrong with her? Steve didn't know. He turned to watch Kim and Eleanor struggle. Their thrashing bodies tore the curtain from its hooks: it draped itself over them, revealing a long, dark passageway receding into the distance. There was a woman moving down it, coming towards the bookshop. She moved with an odd lurching gait. A wild tangle of hair surrounded her head. Another step, and she would emerge into the light.

And then all the luminance and all the shadow in the room drained away; reality dissolved, and Steve found himself in the Real City.