Sink: Old Man's Tale (8 page)

“I lied earlier about the amulet,” he said.

“Amulet?” Graham said. “What amulet?”

“I told Leader the amulet gives luck to its wearer,” Jeremiah said. “I lied. It doesn’t say that.”

“What does it say?” Graham said.

“‘Believe not he who wears this ornament’,” Jeremiah said.

“What do you mean?” Graham said.

“That’s what it says,” Jeremiah said.

“But why lie?” Graham said.

“I’m not sure it’s wise to tell the person with that warning around his neck the truth, do you?” Jeremiah said.

“But it might not be referring to Leader,” Graham said. “Who knows who it might have belonged to before.”

“But it’s a good way to pass on a message to all those who come in contact with these people,” Jeremiah said. “Don’t you think? To warn them of possible danger.”

“Danger?” Graham said. “From these little people? What kind of danger?”

“I don’t know,” Jeremiah said. “But it stands to reason. And how do we know the leader doesn’t already know its meaning? What if it was a test to see if I’m honest?”

“Are you always this suspicious?” Graham said. “No wonder you don’t have any friends. I’m sure us whispering to each other is allaying their fears if they are watching us. Let’s get back to the party before it’s over.”

Ting!

Jeremiah turned to see one of the guards put his hand to his sword and pull it away from the wall, away from a black glassy rock. Jeremiah frowned at it.

“What kind of rock is this?” he said.

“We call it ‘sticky rock’,” the guard said. “It sticks to metal.”

“May I?” Jeremiah said, reaching for the guard’s sword.

The guard glanced at the other guards before handing it over. Jeremiah held the sword up and moved it closer to the black rock. When it was a few inches away, it pulled the sword toward it.

“Eureka,” Jeremiah said.

“What?” Graham said. “What is it?”

“This rock,” Jeremiah said. “It isn’t just any rock. It’s a magnetite.”

“Which is what, in everyday English?” Graham said.

“A magnet,” Jeremiah said. “We just found our missing piece.”

The guards
carried huge lumps of the metallic rock back to the castle. The rock was already festooned with iron dust, coins, and a dozen other small nik naks it’d picked up along the way.

Graham slowed down to watch the festivities.

“What are you doing?” Jeremiah said.

“I might join the party,” Graham said.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Jeremiah said.

“Who cares if it’s wise?” Graham said. “It looks fun!”

The people had big smiles and red cheeks from drinking a purple liquid. The music was at a high tempo, colorful and exciting. Half the crowd turned to look at him, their mouths dropping open.

“I’m heading back,” Jeremiah said. “So we can get back as soon as possible.”

“I’ll join you later,” Graham said.

He crossed the bridge that led to the town square, the guards clearing a path around him, keeping the revelers back.

“You don’t need to push everyone away,” Graham said. “Just let them do their celebration.”

But the guards paid no attention to Graham, and continued to push the locals back.

There were circus performers, tumblers, acrobats, jugglers, and men on stilts who stepped over people in the crowd. The festivities continued, but lacked the energy they had before Graham had arrived. He could tell by the locals’ expressions and glances he was about as welcome as a father at his teenage daughter’s birthday party.

Graham sighed and turned to head back toward the castle. As he left, the music picked up and the cheers from the crowd grew louder.

He stopped at the castle entrance.

“I, uh, need the toilet,” he said.

A pair of guards led him toward the restrooms off a separate corridor. The guards waited on either side of the door as Graham entered. He closed the door behind himself and approached the window. He pushed it open. He climbed out and crouched down, creeping behind a row of shacks. He edged along the wall. The houses were silent. People weren’t here, instead preferring to be in the thick of the party.

A little man took off his stilts and leaned them against a shack. He took off his long coat and hung it over the top of a door, the mask tucked in its pocket. It was so long it touched the ground. Just the right height for Graham.

He got on his hands and knees and crawled along the side of the shack. He ever so gently lifted the coat. He crept behind the house, put on the coat and mask, and lifted his collar up. He took a deep breath and stepped out into the street. He waited for someone to spot him. Someone did.

A bunch of kids ran at him, screaming and shouting. Graham looked from them to the adults watching with smiles on their faces. Graham danced, twirling his legs around like they were stilts. The kids laughed and cheered, chasing after him.

Graham entered the town square. He came face to face with another man on stilts. They leaned forward and stared at one another. They scratched their chins as if in thoughtful repose, and then made a slow circle in mirror image. They made faces in an attempt to scare each other, and then pushed in a friendly wrestling match. Graham had a greater mass, and easily pushed the other little figure back. He landed on a crowd of people. They braced him with their hands and pushed him back upright.

They continued to wrestle and again Graham easily pushed the other figure over. The crowd roared and danced on the spot. Graham raised his arms in victory. He was led to the center, where he bowed down and received a gold medal. The crowd cheered.

The little men gestured to a throne, and Graham took a seat. A place of honor. Sat on the other seats were the victors of their own competitions. There was a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” a little voice said.

A cute little girl with big eyes and pigtails stood looking up at him. She barely reached his knees.

“The winner should come this way,” she said.

Graham got up and followed the little girl.

“Just lead the way,” he said.

She led him from the festivities and down a narrow street.

“Just where are we going?” Graham said.

The little girl came to a stop. Graham realized how quiet the street was. There wasn’t another soul around.

“I’m going to head back,” Graham said.

He turned, and his face was smothered with a thick bag.

With the
metallic rock now in his possession Jeremiah set to finishing the machine. He polished it so the surface shone bright. Then he wrapped the wire around it. Happy with the result, he sat it to one side. The digger looked a mess, like he’d demolished it. But sometimes you needed to destroy something before you could rebuild it again.

A cheer erupted in the town square outside. Jeremiah had to admit, the party festivities did sound fun… No. He wouldn’t go out there. Once, he wouldn’t have thought twice about joining a street party, but at some point he had lost touch with civilization. He no longer felt comfortable in it. Besides, he didn’t need it. All he needed was to go home.

Jeremiah let out a sigh. Despite being deep underground he was no worse off than when he was on the surface. He kept to himself, not letting anyone get close. The only thing he really missed was his beloved eucalyptus tree. If it wasn’t for that, he’d have been just as happy down here. What did that say about his life?

Graham’s casual comment about Stuart had rocked him to his core, and it had been all he could do not to ask how his son was doing, how his grandson was. How trivial the root of an argument seemed with the perspective of years.

Though Jeremiah’s fingers were large and knotted around the knuckles, the skills came back to him quickly. He was making good progress and should finish the machine ahead of schedule. No thanks to Graham. The big quitter.

The music outside built to a crescendo and Jeremiah turned to look at the crowd. What would these people even do up on the surface? They had no skills, no way to function in the modern world. They would find themselves in a new bubble. But what concern was that of his? He would get the digger done. His eucalyptus tree depended on him.

Clearly his
disguise hadn’t fooled everyone. Graham’s joints had once again been locked by a team of tiny bodies, before dragging him away. For little people they certainly were strong.

He was now sat on a chair with a bag on his head. He wasn’t tied up. He heard a door open and close, and people whispering, fidgeting and moving around inside the room.

“I’m going to remove the bag now,” a deep voice said. “Please don’t panic. We mean you no harm.”

The muscles in Graham’s limbs tightened, preparing to spring and make a run for it.

The bag was whipped off. A big friendly face with a large nose and wart on his chin beamed at him.

Graham leapt to his feet, banged his head on the roof, and immediately fell back into his seat. He was dazed, almost knocked unconscious.

“Be careful,” the little man said. “Don’t get up. You’ll only hit your head again.”

The room swirled around Graham like he was on a Ferris Wheel, the faces and forms of a dozen people floating through his eyes.

“Washer woman 4813, get him a cold towel, quick,” the friendly faced man said.

Graham blinked, and then peered around at his surroundings. He was sat in the front room of a small house. Even prone in the tiny child-like chair as he was, his head almost grazed the roof. It was like living in a child’s model house. The people before him looked like average little people, but there was a similarity in the features. Casting his eyes around at the photo frames confirmed they were a family. There were even marks on the doorframe showing how tall each of the kids were at various stages of their life.

Two of the kids dug at the walls with tiny shovels. Their mother picked them up and held them in her arms.

“They’re your kids?” Graham said.

“I hope so,” the little man said. “Otherwise I’m going to have a stern word with my wife. They’re diggers, born and bred.”

A cold towel was placed on Graham’s head, a large knot already forming.

“Can I help you?” Graham said.

The family looked at one another with solemn expressions. The eldest figure stood before him.

“I’m afraid you’ve come to a dangerous place,” the little man said.

Graham glanced around.

“Doesn’t look very dangerous to me,” he said.

“Not here,” the little man said. “In the castle. Leader is not what he seems.”

The door was just behind the little man. Graham could easily knock him aside and make a run for it, though he suspected his legs might still give way beneath him.

“Leader might appear friendly,” the little man said. “But he’s not. He’s evil, manipulative, and controlling.”

“He seems nice enough to me,” Graham said.

“That’s exactly it,” the little man said. “Him and his ancestors have been ruling since before we came down here, since we were a tribe called Manu.”

“Leader said your old tribe name had been forgotten,” Graham said.

“It hasn’t,” the little man said. “They tried to make us forget, but we never will. We were called the Manu. In our tribe’s language, our name meant ‘empty fist’. It’s about the only words of our original language we remember. There’s a foulness in Leader’s blood. It’s because of him and his ancestors we got sucked down here in the first place.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Graham said. “Back up. What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” the little man said. “I forgot you are a stranger here. First, let me introduce myself. I am Chief Digger 138. It is my job to decide which direction to dig.”

“You’ve done a swell job so far,” Graham said.

“Leader wants us to forget our past,” Digger 138 said, “to forget our past and what we once were. But we still pass our history down from parent to child, to share in the old ways, but it’s difficult. The guards watch us every moment and it’s hard to get away. Sometimes some of us must make a sacrifice not to enjoy the ceremonies so others can.”

There was a sound outside, of shouting voices, and the father nodded to one of his sons, who pushed aside the curtain and peered out.

“It’s just Cook 3897,” the little boy said. “Overexcited as usual.”

“Five hundred years ago, when we were on the surface, our tribe met white people,” Digger 138 said. “This is why we now speak English. They had technology and weapons unlike anything we had ever seen. It was like magic to us. And we revered the white man like a God. But they explained it was not magic, but exploiting the rules of nature and the universe. Our ancestors tried to replicate the technology of the white people, but they couldn’t.