The Realms Thereunder

3

They ascended the stairs again and went higher up the tower than they had yet gone. She made several halting pauses as if she didn’t completely remember where she was going.

Finally the three came to a metal door that Modwyn opened by turning a large wheel in its centre like a submarine hatch. Freya thought this rather odd and out of place, but had only a couple of seconds to wonder at it before she saw what was on the other side of the door.

They gasped. The room, which was as big as Freya’s bedroom, was filled with modern machinery. At least, it seemed modern in comparison to everything else in Ni?ergeard. It was more like the sort of technology in old science fiction TV shows-large metal banks and cabinets with dials and switches on them-dials and switches like those in World War II bombers. There was an ornate wrought-iron chair of typical Ni?ergeard design at a small desk that held a pair of massive headphones that were connected to the bank by a dangling, decaying, coiled cord.

“What is it?” Freya asked Modwyn.

“Our radio,” Modwyn replied frankly. “Ealdstan brought a man in to make it almost a hundred years ago. Our blacksmiths and craftsmen made each piece that he needed to his specifications. Ealdstan said that it would be very useful, and it has been in the past, but it’s been some time since we’ve had any need to come in here.”

She walked over to a large wheel that jutted out from the wall opposite the headphones. It was solid metal, about two feet wide and two inches thick. Modwyn gripped it by its edges and put her whole weight and strength into turning it. It moved slowly and continued turning when she let go. A red lightbulb above it glowed on.

“Do you still use radios where you live?” Modwyn asked.

They both nodded.

Modwyn flipped a large switch that fell into place with a thunk. There was a popping sound, and then a hum filled the room.

“As long as the wheel is turning, the radio will work. If the wheel stops, then give it another turn.” She disconnected the headphones from the machine and a static susurrus filled the air. She went over to a large dial that had many numbers and radial lines on it.

“Turn this to hear different reports and sounds.” With more difficulty than Freya or Daniel would have had, she found a station broadcasting an interview show.

“You may listen as long as you like. If you need something, come and see me or Frithfroth or Cnafa and Cnapa.” She went to the door and turned to them before she left and said, “Destruction and evil is spreading in this world. Listen for yourself.”

They sat for some time, listening to the soothing voices on the radio spar snidely about the current conflict in Palestine, as it related to a book that one of them had written. Shortly after that came the BBC Radio 4 call signal and a political debate show that discussed the proper response towards a certain African despot. Daniel stood up just as the discussion opened to include a South American dictator and turned the large dial to a music station. Then he gave the large flywheel a little more momentum and sat back down next to Freya.

They listened to songs number nine to five on a station’s pop music countdown and then the playlist broke for a news roundup.

There were four items: there was the African dictator again, a young boy who had been stabbed in London the previous night, a body count of people who had been crushed to death in a religious ceremony in India, and a car bomb that had gone off in a British embassy in a country they knew of but couldn’t place. The three-and-a-half-minute segment ended with the prime minister announcing that the army, which was occupying that country, already had suspects in hand and “a very hard line would be taken with them, and those in the area, to ensure that such events do not happen again.” Then there were some commercials.

They finished out listening to the top pop songs countdown, and Freya got up to turn the dial just as the news program started to repeat.

They didn’t know how many hours they sat listening. Perhaps it was a full day. It was both comforting and disturbing to listen to the radio. Comforting because it was familiar and reminded them of home, but disturbing because they couldn’t deny what Modwyn had said: a lot of bad things were happening in the world. Some of them seemed small-the shootings, kidnappings, and murders- compared to the larger events like wars, riots, and racial killings on a national scale.

“Do you think it was always that way?” Freya asked.

“I don’t know, but it’s that way now.”

“It seems like a lot of these things are really big problems.

Were there always rulers who killed lots of people? And wars?”

“Must have been,” Daniel said. “But that doesn’t mean that what Modwyn says is wrong.”

“But it doesn’t make it true either. She could have planned all this.”

“Planned what? News reports on the BBC? Even if she could, why? Why would she, or they, need to trick us? Why would they want us to do this quest?”

“Who knows?”

Daniel thought some more as classical music played on the radio. “Well, even assuming the worst, I don’t see how we’re going to get out of it. Either we go on this quest to destroy Gad’s heart, or what? We stay here forever?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Daniel thought for a moment. “I feel like I fit in here,” he said eventually, in a low voice, almost surprised at his own honesty.

“You ‘fit in here’? More than the place you grew up in-where you were born? Is school really that bad?”

“You have no idea how much I hate school. And it’s not just that, it’s . . . everywhere. Even in my own home I’m ignored, or in the way. At least here people pay attention to me, you know? Swi?gar and Ecgbryt and Modwyn-even Ealdstan-it’s like we matter here. If we did this, we’d really make a difference.”

“You don’t think you matter in the real world?”

“Do you?” he shot back. “Sorry, of course you do,” he continued sarcastically. “You come from a well-off family in a nice area who has a lot of stuff and parents who like you and give you hugs and presents and cake-”

“Shut up,” Freya said angrily. Daniel didn’t dare look at her but knew that she was glaring at him fiercely. He played with the straps on his shoes instead. “What if I do have all those things? I don’t, but so what if I did? It’s not my fault, is it? I didn’t choose my family or where I got born, so I’m not going to apologise, am I? Anyway, I’m not making you poor, or lonely, or messing up your relationship with your parents.”

“What parents?” Daniel murmured, an uncomfortable lump in his throat. “We’ve known each other since before primary school. I’ve been around your place, but why do you think I never invited you around mine? The last memory I have of my dad is him shouting at my nan. He left me with a mum who sleeps all day, goes clubbing every night, and is always rat-arsed wherever she is.”

There was a pause.

“Rat-arsed?” Freya asked. For some reason, this struck her as funny. She couldn’t stop a giggling snort from escaping her.

“What?” asked Daniel peevishly, but he was smiling too.

“I’m sorry.” Freya gave another little laugh.

Daniel grinned a little wider. “It’s not funny,” he said, still trying to be mad but failing. “It’s really not.”

“No, I know, it’s just . . .” She laughed again and Daniel joined her.

“What are we going to do?” Freya asked once they had stopped laughing.

“I don’t see what option we have.”

“Destroy the evil wizard?”

“Let’s do it.”

“This sounds important. It’s an adventure,” Freya said, smiling. “A once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

“At least I hope it is.” Daniel gave Freya a smile back and they rose together to find Modwyn.

“We want to help,” Freya announced when they found her.

“We’re going to help you destroy Gad.”

“And we want weapons,” Daniel added.