First Draft unedited: Uninvited Guests

Uninvited Guests

His heart was pounding. He was sure he had seen the doorknob move. Rooted to the spot, he watched the tiny door in the basement. That door, it had been there since they moved. Locked, always locked. He had no idea where it went, and eventually had assumed that it simply didn’t go anywhere. Maybe the previous homeowner has put it in for their son or daughter as a playtime toy, or a Hallowe’en stunt. Who knew? Now, his vision was locked on that smooth brass handle. Again! It moved again! Until he gasped, he hadn’t realised that he was holding his breath. All these years he had played with that door, wondered about it, invented whole worlds that may exist behind it, and he couldn’t bear to watch. He turned. Fled. Left the basement door slightly ajar behind him.

*

Darwin cursed under her breath and kicked the bottom of the door with her heavy boot. It wouldn’t open. Another portal that was seemingly broken. Slumping against the door, she slid down and hugged around her knees. Reality Checkpoint was fast becoming the only place where one could cross from Cam to Cambridge and you needed a pass for that. Darwin didn’t have that kind of spare money; the toll never seemed to stop rising. Something wasn’t right in Cam, the Trinity were stopping the free flow of people from under to over and such a move had never been made before. A large, midnight-hued Corvid landed on Darwin’s knee, and she moved a hand to rest on his back. Agitated, he used his expansive wings to shake her off and edged towards the doorknob. Blinking, he observed the lock underneath. Dar placed a finger across the top. It didn’t feel like it was made in Cam. The crow pushed his beak into the barrel, paused and pulled back again, cawing and clapping with delight. Darwin leapt to her feet, wide grin spread across her face.
“Do you think that the Trinity even know it’s here?” She paused, as if the crow would answer. “It’s Cambridge-made! They can’t touch it!”

*

He was sat on top of the wooden staircase, staring into the basement once more. Fixated on that door. As a child, his mother would laugh off his concerns about the door, telling him it clearly went nowhere and why couldn’t he just ignore it? Because someday he knew. He knew this day would come. Sunlight streamed through the street-level skylight and threw itself across the door. Could it have been a trick of the light that made it look as if the door handle was moving? It had never moved before, why should it move now? He shook his head. Lifting back up, he counted the 13 steps down to under-street level and paced across the floor, reaching up on the bookcase in a darkened alcove that stood to the left of the staircase. With his back to the door, his pulse had almost calmed when he heard the noise.
It was guttural, almost. But still, jubilant in its cry. A whoop of pure joy. He spun on the spot, rooted there with the book he had been reaching for, an encyclopaedia on World War One to help his younger brother with his summer assignment. In front of his was no illusion. The door was open. And she was there. He daren’t speak, dare not even breath, but his body did move to defend, crouching low in the darkness.

*

Having discovered that the door was not, as first assumed, humming with the decadent majic that coursed through the veins of Cam, Darwin had set to work. Hands, coated in leather fingerless gloves had moved adeptly to find a Cambridge hairpin, pocketed a few weeks ago from the floor of St Mary’s Church. She had quickly worked out the many uses that such an object could have and this was one of them; spun inside the barrel of the lock, she could find the bars that released the mechanism easily enough and with a satisfied click, she moved the pin away again. A grin played easily on her rose-tinted lips as she cast a glance at the Crow, who had moved back and forth along the ground, sensing the female’s anticipation. This was big. It was huge! If she had found a pathway back into Cambridge that Trinity had no concept of, it could become an immensely powerful route. Darwin stooped into the doorway and the crow hopped up the militant jacket onto her shoulder. The handle turned, the door pushed and together they stepped back into Cambridge.
She whooped as she stepped onto the cold flagstones in the basement of the house. “It works! It actually works!” She paused, spinning around herself. It was a standard basement, not dissimilar to the ones in Cam itself. A lot of Cambridge was modelled with gentle persuasion from those in Cam, although the above-dwellers would never know. The skylight allowed her to judge how far down the basement was, and cast some light upon the room. A wooden staircase led up into the main house; the door ajar. Listening keenly, she was almost certain there was no one upstairs to disturb her. She took a step towards a pair of ice skates hanging from a hook on the wall, and muttered to the bird still perched upon her shoulder. “I wonder where in Cambridge we’ve come up? We were in Little Spain in Cam.” Her verbalisation was interrupted; A movement behind her, the slightest shuffle, but enough for her oversensitive ears to detect. Spinning around, the crow alarms and takes flight, nesting on top of a rolled up carpet. Within the motion, she had reached onto her belt and unsheathed a relatively small, handheld blade. Enough to defend herself, certainly, but probably not to kill. Her breathing shallow, her eyes focused on the gloom behind the staircase. Darwin called out. “Who are you?” Silence met her reply, but now she was focused on him, she could see the boy easily underneath the stairs. “I know you’re there, boy. Who are you?”
His voice was timid, enveloped in the gloom surrounding him. “Portugal Street.” Darwin took a step forward.
“I know a lot about Cambridge. That’s not a name.” Her voice was tense and the blade was still held before her. “So, let’s try again.” Despite the tension, there was a sense of command in her voice, one the other could not ignore. The corvid hopped from the carpet roll down under the stairs and the boy tucked his feet closer towards him.
“It’s where you are. Not my name. Portugal Street, off New Park.” His voice quivered and his eyes never left the bird. Gently, he tapped it with a hand before pushing him. Before his fingers had disconnected with the feathers, however, Darwin’s handheld blade had struck the wood of the stair directly before him.
“I missed. This time. Touch him again, and I won’t miss twice.” Darwin’s voice rang strong through the darkness and with a low whistle, she called the animal back to her. He took a low flight, coming to rest on her broad jacket shoulders. “Name. Now.”
He stammered under the pressure of the situation, but finally managed to spit it out. “Jack. Jack Hamilton.” Darwin visibly flinched, and the boy edged forwards a little, sliding his hand between the steps and tugging the blade free of the wood.
“You’re a Jack?” Dar probed him; stumbling into the home of a Jack soaked the spirit of finding an unknown portal. It would become quickly registered, tolled or even closed.
“I’m Jack. Not a Jack. I don’t even know what a Jack is!” Jack-the-boy stressed the vowel before ‘a’, as if a Jack was a foreign concept for him.
“You’re Jack? Your name is Jack?” Dar needed to be clear about what the boy was telling her. He nodded in return, reaching further out from his alcove, book wrapped protectively around his middle as he stepped into the daylight. Darwin laughed, the relief washing over her.
“What are you laughing for? Jack is a perfectly normal name!” protested the boy. Once more composed, Dar nodded.
“I’m sure it is, up here.”
“Up here?”
“Up here.” There was a pause. Once it became clear that no further information would be offered, Jack pressed her once more.
“Where do you come from then, if not up here? That door isn’t even real!”
Darwin turned to look at the door once more. It was a plain wooden door, and from this side even lacked the keyhole that Darwin picked so professionally. Just as it is in Cam, the door was set inside an arch cut away from the wall. Her piercing green-gold eyes fell back on the boy.
“The River?” Having grown up in Cambridge all his life, Jack had spent many formative years on the banks of the Cam.
“No. The city. It spreads underneath Cambridge.”
The look on Jack’s face gave Darwin the impression that he didn’t believe her; his eyes were wide and his mouth slightly open. This young boy; he couldn’t have broken 20 yet. Darwin looked him up and down. He was lean, looked like he worked out in some capacity. Black hair flopped over his face slightly, touching his eyebrows and framing soft brown eyes. She chuckled to himself and touched a finger to her crow’s beak. He gave her a little nip and she drew back once more.
“Come on, Jack the Jack.” Without hesit“Cam.”
ation, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and pulls softly. “I’m Darwin, and we’re going to blow your mind.” Led by the wrist, Jack followed her through the small doorway.
The scene changed inexplicably quickly. One second, they were stood in Jack's basement, bathed in soft, late summer light from a nearby skylight, and with just one foot over the threshold of the doorway, freezing air bit at the pieces of skin it could reach. From the door, they stepped out into a tiny, cramped corridor made from a heavy stone. It's age showed through the roots and plants that grew from the grouting, and where Darwin had pushed her way along the lengthy pathway, larger branches and root systems had been broken off. It took about 10 minutes of tough walking, stumbling over broken rocks and uneven pathways to reach the courtyard. The boy let out a shallow gasp and Dar turned.
"What is it?"
"Snow." Jack replied bluntly. And indeed, it was. The yard was smothered in a blanket of pure white snow, one set of footprints from knee high army boots, the type Dar wore, leading back up the passage. The frozen scene suffocated the sounds and wrapped them in a comfy haze of white and soft.
"Aye. It's winter here. Cam seasons run ahead of Cambridge." She paused. "Who do you think warns you of poor weather? Your weather-tellers can't work out what day of the week it'll be, heavens bless they may get the weather right alone!" She chuckled, but Jack just stared at her. Through her.
"This is all some sick joke."
Darwin started to reply, but quickly held up a hand. With the other, she reached into one of the many pockets in her jacket and found a small piece of parchment. Deftly, she slid it to Jack and hissed.
"Let me talk."
Jack looked puzzled, and fingered the piece of parchment. It looked as if a child had created an identification card, expect that that the handwriting was stunning; calligraphy, and stamped with a purple wax seal bearing a cross over two parallel rivers. There was no picture, but a fingerprint instead and the details of the supposed owner; Jack Marshall. Eager to ask the female about the ownership and who Jack Marshall was, he started as he looked up.
Where there was once only Darwin, now there was Darwin and another; a smartly dressed another in what could only be described as a mourning suit. Top hat, ribboned with the same purple as the wax seal, a long mourning coat with tails and a purple waist jacket, completed with suit trousers and well-polished shoes. Darwin took a long bow and the new gentleman nodded his head at her. He then turned to the newcomer. Darwin preceded him.
"Your honour, this is Jack Marshall. He is new to the force of Trinity, your honour. It appears he stumbled here in error. I was helping him back to the checkpoint."
"Honourable, Miss Evesham. It's not a quality we see in your family frequently." The man’s voice rung of well tendered power; he had been born into this lifestyle, and it was a stark contrast to the lilting accent that Darwin spoke with. With his words, she visibly flinched and yet maintained her composure. This was a very different girl to the one Jack met in the basement.
"No, Your Honour."
"ID." The man addressed Jack directly now, and averting eye contact he passed the gentleman the slip of paper. The taller man took it from him, twisting it in his fingers and studying it. “”Marshall?” Jack did not respond initially; it took a harsh look from Darwin to remind him of his assumed identity.

“Yes, Si—Your honour.” Jack remembered himself at the last minute, dropping the standard Cambridge formality and picking up the canon which Darwin had used.

“New to the service?”

“Yes, Your Honour.” Jack averted his eyes, following Darwin’s lead. The older man went back to his study of the paper.

“Fine. Very well. Get yourself back to the checkpoint. Miss Evesham here will, I’m sure, show you the correct path to take.” His voice contained a slight malice, and the assumption that Darwin was known to this man hung in the cold air. He passed the paper back to Jack, which he tucked into the back pocket of his modern jeans. Once again, Darwin bowed low and Jack followed her lead, mirroring the motion. The man saluted to them both, and they stood together in silence as he left.

“What was that?” Jack was the first to break the softened hush.

“He is an Honour, from the Trinity. They make the rules around here. We’re not.. friends.” Darwin’s tone was flat as her corvid came to join her, resting on her shoulder once more.

“I think you owe me an explanation.” he said.

“Let’s walk. He’ll be back, check I’ve done my duty and all.”

*

As they passed through the snow-covered streets, asleep in the hush of the blanketed world, Darwin spoke to the world underneath Cambridge. Controlled by the Trinity, a trio of siblings who came to power in the years when wishing still worked and had ruled over Cam since. With their Order of Sires, Honours and Jacks they ensured that calm and peace was maintained in Cam. However, as the population grew, the residents of Cam began to thirst for additional information about the worlds that surrounded them. This thirst meant that more residents were moving between Cam and Cambridge, thus displeasing the Trinity. Gradually, they had shut off every portal that linked the two worlds, limiting the residents to Reality Checkpoint, a military checkpoint manned with Jacks, the lowest of the Trinity forces, who charged a toll to pass between the worlds. The toll was nominal; the Trinity had no need for the money, however the checkpoint served a secondary purpose of being a point from which the powers could keep an eye on roaming souls that chose to move between worlds and check their purposes. Those like Darwin who chose to remain under the radar of the Trinity found themselves throttled, and as far as Darwin knew, the portal into Jack’s own basement was one of the last remaining points that the Trinity were unaware of. Darwin herself was descended from a once well-respected family, regarded in high honour by the Trinity. However, displeased with the way that the Trinity begun to control what they felt to be natural curiosity, the Eveshams fell out of favour and gained a reputation as a family of troublemakers, rebelling against the wisdom of those above them. Known to the Order of the Trinity, Darwin worked hard to keep herself out of their view. She had stumbled today, and it was only through her quick thinking and light-fingered pickpocketing of lackadaisical Jacks that had helped them escape trouble. Jack paused.

“And the bird?”

Darwin looked up at the crow. They had come to rest at the side of a market, slumped together against the railings of the perimeter. The crow was perched on the back crossbar that held all the railings together and helped them to maintain their rigidity. “What about him?”

“He’s your pet?”

“No. He’s a familiar.”

Jack balked. “A familiar is something a witch has.” This in itself caused Darwin to chuckle.

“A familiar is just an animal. Where do you think the idea of witches comes from?” Darwin proceeded to tell Jack stories of how Cam residents, in the days when transit between the worlds was simple and unregulated. Residents used to come to Cambridge with their animals and show off simple tricks that they had learnt from Cam. Many were actually majic, in simple ways, many more were tricksters. Despite their lack of malice or malevolence, the Upper World churches begun to single out the Cam residents, and gradually they were chased back underground. However, the legends of them had remained in Cambridge and other Upper World cities and familiars were simply just a part of that. “So, he’s just an animal.”

“What’s his name?” Jack applied Upper world schemas to the world he now inhabited.

“Name?” Darwin sounded genuinely puzzled. “What, like Darwin? Or Jack?”

“Yes. Is there another type of name?”

“Well, of course.” Her tone became condescending. “There are names like Your Honour and Your Sir. And then there are given names. Like ours.”

Jack rolled his eyes at her. “Like ours then. What is his name, like ours?” He drew out the last two words, enunciating them to stress their meaning.

“Why would he have a name?”

“Because he’s yours?” Each was as confused as the other. Slowly, Darwin explained.

“Animals don’t have names. Why would they have names? They’re just animals.”

This silenced Jack quickly. He didn’t have a reason, and the more he thought about it, the less logical giving an animal a name became.

“How do you know it’s yours?” Curious, his question bought a smirk to the soft lips of the female. From a pouch on her belt, she pulled a piece of smoked meat and tossed it high. In return, the crow leapt from his perch and took wing, catching it mid-flight and looping to land at her feet.

“Do you think this creature would ever leave me? Honestly?”

They both chuckled at this; the plumpness of the bird certainly suggested that he knew where the greenest grass grew.

“When a child is born is Cam, they are given a creature that the Gaber—“ She hesitated “—The religious leaders -- feel reflects the new-born’s soul. It is a creature that stays with them throughout their lives, like it or not.” She ran a finger over the head of the crow, thoughtful. Jack attempted to mirror the motion, holding his hand towards the bird. Quickly, the bird retaliated. Wings flapping, his screeched and nipped at the hand, claws grasping into flesh before he took flight. Jack cursed, bringing his hand up to his mouth and sucking the wound. Dar chuckled.

“He’s not a people’s bird. He likes his own company.”

“And that reflects your soul, does it?” Jack spat bitterly.

Darwin missed the tone, her own pensive. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

“Fine. Then be on your own!”

*

As a teenager, Jack had often been described as petulant; sulky, aggressive and argumentative, he was what his mother described as a typical teenager. She of all would know; a social worker for the more deprived areas of Cambridge she dealt with some of the toughest youths in the city. Now that he had broken into his twenties, just, some of that petulance had stayed with him. He had stormed away from Darwin into a strange city, one he felt he knew and yet became easily confused at any turn. Nothing looked quite the way it should, or in the right place. Turning corners he felt sure would lead to a Common only left him at shop fronts, and the backs of shops led into church gardens. He couldn’t make sense of this place, and the more he wandered, the less he could recall the path back to his own basement, to a Cambridge where streets arrived where they should and people didn’t get assigned animals with no names.

Night was drawing in when Jack finally gave up. He pulled his hoodie up over his head and pressed his back onto the glass fronted shop, sliding down it and hugging his legs. His feet were frozen; shoes sodden with the damp of melted snow. Jeans too bore the watermarks of his wanderings. Quietly, he began to sob, forehead rested on kneecaps. He longed for a friendly face, anyone to take him tenderly by the hand and lead him into the world he understood.

Instead, what he got was a small, cold nose pressed against his ankle.

Jack started quickly, withdrawing the limb and staring down at the offending nose. It was attached to the blonde face of a small puppy, tail wagging so hard that his whole body shook with the exertion.

“You can name her, if you like.” Dar’s voice was quiet, and the crow swept to sit by the excited puppy.

“She doesn’t have a name. She’s just an animal.” But still, Jack had already warmed to the just-an-animal, lifting her up into his lap and tickling her chin.

“If you’re staying, you need an animal. Else, people will ask questions, see?” Darwin shrugged mildly.

“I’m staying? Who says?”

“I found you staring at a doorway that you had no idea even went anywhere. Something tells me you like to have an adventure or two.” She teased him now, having his attitude worked out quickly.

“And what if I do?” Truth be told, Jack spent much of his time working on creating fantasy adventures and mysterious worlds, racing around Jesus Green and Midsomer Common with his siblings.

“I have just the adventure for you.” From her leather satchel, she pulls a smooth round stone. “Can you skip these?”

“Stones? Sure. It’s easy.”

“Good. Because these ones, they keep coming back, you see.”

(3766 words)