Unlikely Companions
Sketch of Aethel and Constable, characters from two different stories.
*
The cloud, Aethel though, has to be a hologram. Looking across the bridge to this boy with a cloud above his head, his youthful countenance spoiled by a sulky expression.
He came across the bridge, lost perhaps in the slow way he walked, neither looking back or around at his surroundings, and heading towards her. Just as he was beside her, Aethel hailed him, making the boy tremble as she grabbed him.
“Scared you, did I?”
A nod.
This close, Aethel saw, the cloud was real and rained on the arm holding the boy. Stepping back, “Is that new technology?” She didn’t own anything like this cloud. She put up a hand: what would it be like to touch? A buzzing sensation waved through her arm, fingertips tingling, and she gasped.
“It doesn’t like being touched.” A quiet voice. The boy nudged off her hold.
“Tell me: how does it work?”
He shrugged. “Born with it. It never goes away; Aunt Anna tried but it rained on her.” His face changed for a second, almost happy he looked.
“Really? Like it did to me?”
Another nod.
“Make it rain again.”
The boy moved away, stepping down the set of stairs on the other side. She followed, staying clear of the little grey cloud, she wasn’t in the mood to change clothes, but close enough to talk to the owner.
“If you tell me about this cloud, right, I’ll take you to a secret place.”
Suddenly stopping, the boy caused a peddler to crash into him and drop a tray of potato snacks and clear liquid. Aethel grabbed him again, pushing him forward to another stall and shouting back at the peddler and ignoring the boy’s shocked look at each swear word thrown their way.
“Don’t mind his sharp tongue,” she said.
The cloud split in two, right in front of her, and lightning struck the peddler so he screamed terror.
Aethel laughed. A good thing because Paron said she was miserable too often, if only he’d been here, but this was the sort of thing he’d disapprove of.
The boy groaned. “This is always happening!” His cloud joined up, like a zip being done up.
“Listen, boy, about this place. No ones there expect for me and a few others; they won’t bother you but at least you’ll have no trouble. This cloud of yours is interesting. How about that?”
“Where is it?”
“A secret. I’ll have to blindfold you.” She took a handkerchief and covered his eyes, the boy protested and nothing could put off Aethel’s determination as she shoved him into a nearby shaft.
Five levels down, she guided him to a huge drain hole and down another shaft. Finally she took the blindfold off—“Can’t have you falling and breaking your neck.”
Here, they climbed down a long ladder, leaving behind the noise of the surface, Aethel’s word for the upper world, and entered the Basement level. And the cloud sailed down before them, leaving the boy cloudless and strangely different, like he was a common person without his trademark.
Aethel led him to her room where Paron sat repairing one of Gimus’ eyes. The boy wouldn’t enter, staring at the two automatons and pale, shaking terribly.
“They won’t hurt you, boy, like I said.”
“Another stray, Aethel?” Paron said, looking the boy up and down and turning back to Gimus—half blind but still able to see out one eye.
“The other one’s not coming back. Anyway, this one’s not from around here.” She held the boy’s hand and forced him in; the cloud was happy to comply with Aethel’s orders and rained on the boy, heavily.
“I don’t want to. It’s dark here, I hate that!”
She let go of him and he fell back. “Oh God, I haven’t hurt you, have I?”
Paron stopped working. Aethel went over to the boy, he’d hit his head and tears were in his eyes, this sort of thing she wasn’t used to.
“Please don’t cry. I swear I’ll take you back. I just wanted the cloud.”
“You can’t have it!” His bottom lip trembled. “I told you it never leaves.”
The cloud was above his head, wispy and white and so fluffy.
She sat beside him, rubbing his head where it hurt and bit her tongue when she felt a bump. Paron handed her a pack of frozen peas, the boy looked up in wonder or amazement, she couldn’t tell, and moved away to the left.
“He’s an android,” she said, “Do you have them?”
“No.”
“Real machines that walk and talk, you’d go far with one of them,”
“You’re selling us for a cloud?” Gimus said.
Aethel ignored her, as usual. She helped the boy up and this time he let himself in and asked for a drink.
“I’m not selling anything. He doesn’t know how to get rid of it.” She watched the cloud bob up and down, almost playfully, and decided it was wrong to separate it from the boy. Like it’d been her fault he was hurt in the first place.
“We don’t have this either,” he said at last, gulping down flavoured ice pulp.
“What about this?” Aethel switched the projector on, bringing to life a purple-coloured scenery of the sea and a boat floating in the smooth water, a perfectly real hologram she’d made herself, something to be proud of.
“No,” he whispered, “I like it here.”
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