Rainbow's End - Wizard (46 page)

‘How do they Travel at all then, during the day?’ Thomas asked, puzzled.

‘They always leave from Desolation, Thomas,’ Orson replied, ‘and the moon there is always visible - it has three by the way. It is always dark, always cold…’ It was his turn to shiver, and he took a deep breath. ‘Unlike us,’ he continued again, ‘the Night Walker’s journey is controlled by Kraylle - Ariana’s brother. Their Crystals only allow them to take off.
He
determines where they land;
he
steers them once they are airborne, once they ride their Black Rainbow.
He’s
their Traveller, I guess you could say.’

Visions of a frozen castle, set in a
frozen, moon-lit, wind scoured landscape, had Thomas shiver once more, and Orson laid a consoling hand on his arm. ‘Don’t torture yourself, Thomas,’ he said. ‘We’ll get him back. You’ll see.’

*****

‘Less puddings and ice-creams and other sweets, Arnold,’ remonstrated Annie. ‘It’s not good for the children; they need more veggies or they’ll become overweight… or sick. I wish you’d keep to the menus we agree on…’ With “I knew it” looks John, Izzy and Frieda cast their eyes ceiling-wards.

The chef folded his arms, and his tone was obstinate. ‘I don’t see any fat children around Rainbow’s End,’ he said. ‘Nor sick ones
, for that matter. Do you?’ He tried staring Annie down and failed.

‘The first is because they’re always active,’ she
replied, ‘and the second because there’re no germs at Rainbow’s End. You know that, but it’s still no reason to skimp on healthy foods like cabbage and other vegetables.’

Arnold leaned forward, and gripped the edge of the table. ‘I will
not
have cabbage in my kitchen,’ he declared vehemently. ‘Or broccoli. They both smell.

‘
Excluding them,’ he leaned back with a haughty sniff and gave a ceremonious wave at its closed swing-door, ‘you are welcome to use my kitchen at any time to prepare these “wholesome” and “healthy” meals of yours.’ He gave a supercilious smile and played his trump card then.

‘I don’t know who’s going to eat them though
. You’d probably find yourself with a lot of not-hungry children of a sudden… and Rainbow’s End infested with swarms of fast-food vendors,’ he added, after a reflective pause.

Big John stopped them then. ‘Enough, you two,’ he said. ‘We go through this every month, and end up with no solution. Let’s go on to other matters. Izzy?’

The lanky old Traveller shrugged. ‘There’s not much to tell,’ he said. ‘The eleven children who have gone back in the last two months, have all settled back in with no problems: four in our children’s homes in England and Ireland, three in the States, one in Australia and one in Russia. The other two are back in their own homes: they haven’t been missed.’ He turned to a still petulant Arnold. ‘If you have it ready, Arnold, could I have the list of food-stuffs and other things you need for next month? I plan on leaving early tomorrow morning.’ Arnold got up off his chair and disappeared into his kitchen, and Izzy frowned. ‘Is it my imagination,’ he asked, ‘or is he losing weight?’

Everybody shushed him with fingers held before their lips and big eyes, which earned a suspicious glare from the chef, who came crashing back through the swinging door. He wore
(forever hopeful), the same T-shirt as on the previous month’s meeting - the one saying “If you liked the food - Kiss the Chef” - and in his right hand, secured by a safety chain to his wrist, a large soup ladle. He wordlessly handed Izzy the folded list, and then said, with an aside, venomous glare at Annie, ‘If you have space left, bring me more ice cream.’

She
uttered a long-suffering sigh, then turned to Big John. ‘Edith wants to know how time-lines and curves work,’ she said, adding, after a second, ‘I guess we’d all like to know more, as long as you keep it simple. Remember - we’re not all Physicists.’

John let his eyes travel around the table. Edith, Frieda, Annie and Izzy,
they all sat watching him in expectation; even the huffy Arnold stood waiting. ‘All right,’ he said, and got to his feet. ‘Please pick up your drinks.’ Everybody complied, and at a sweeping glance from the giant, everything on the round table - except the white tablecloth - lifted and then floated off, gently setting on an adjacent table.

‘Now, Edith,’ John said, singling out their guest to address himself to, ‘imagine this table as the Earth.’ He waved the flat of one large hand back and forth over its white-clothed surface, then reached across and took a squeeze-bottle of tomato sauce from the next table. ‘The Earth,’ he said, and uncapped the bottle, ‘has been divided into strips by man.’ He began squirting vertical lines of red, starting with a straight one bisecting the tables centre, then others, starting and ending at the same points top and bottom, but curving ever further outward, the further away from the centre they got. ‘These strips,’ and he pointed with the red nozzle, ‘are separated by imaginary lines.’ More sweeping and pointing with the nozzle. ‘Lines which we call longitudinal - or time lines.’

He
stepped back and changed the tomato sauce bottle for a yellow mustard one, regarded his handy-work from a few feet away, and then stepped in again. With long sweeping strokes, he commenced squirting horizontal yellow lines from left to right, bisecting the red at more or less right angles. Arnold was watching the desecration of his once pristine tablecloth with open-mouthed bemusement, the ladle dangling from his wrist, forgotten.

‘
These are latitudinal,’ John said, ‘and indicate position. Together, longitudinal and latitudinal lines form squares and rectangles, which people on the Earth use to determine GPS, or Global Positioning.

‘The Universe,’ he looked at Edith, ‘is divided in the same way
. Except for one very big difference: It has not been finished…yet.’ John paused for effect, before continuing. ‘The Earth’s shape is fixed, therefore coordinates remain fixed - they cannot move unless the Earth as a whole changes shape. The Universe, on the other hand, is expanding by the second, and not always at the same rate - or speed - in all or any directions. To put it simply: The centre of the Universe is not fixed. In fact, it rarely stays in one place for more than a few days; sometimes a fraction of a second, before shifting. Every bit of the heavens is subject to the Universal grid, every galaxy and every heavenly body within those galaxies. Including the Earth.’ He plopped a drop of mustard on one of the rectangles covering the tablecloth, and tapped it. ‘Today,’ he said, ‘the Earth might be here.’ He plopped another drop an inch away. ‘Tomorrow there,’ he said.

He studied the tablecloth again for some seconds, and then
continued: ‘So - we have Planetary coordinates and Galactic coordinates, and Universal coordinates as the ultimate - the supreme coordinates. Millions, billions, and trillions of coordinates, within millions and billions and trillions of coordinates, ad infinitum… Times and places within times and places, on and on… Dimensions within dimensions within dimensions… All of them subject to change all of the time…

John took a deep breath.
‘The only possible way,’ he said, ‘to make sure of landing in a definite place at a definite time, is to use pre-determined time-lines and curves, and the only beings able of determining them, are the Ri-Ti-Ri - them that know it all: The astrologists, mathematicians and physicists of the gods…’

Another deep breath, and Big John
looked at Edith again. ‘Now, do you understand, Edith?’

‘I’m not sure…
’ Edith frowned. ‘Are you saying time-curves that are suitable to Travel on, are determined by the expansion of the Universe?’ John nodded encouragingly, and she continued, albeit hesitantly, ‘and that these
beings
- these Ri-Ti-Ri…? are able to determine at what
speed
, and in which
direction
, it will expand - or will
have
expanded at a certain time, and using this information, can ascertain
exactly
which time-curve you need to Travel on, to get back to the Earth, at the same time, or even before, you left it in the first place…?’ Edith finished with a frown, which changed to a smile, when Big John slowly and loudly stated clapping his hands.

‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ he said, and giving her a wink, added, ‘You’ll make an excellent Physicist, Edith Carter.’

But Edith was not completely satisfied. ‘But why only six months?’ she asked. ‘Why can’t people stay for nine or ten, even a year?’

‘
Rainbow’s End is also six months ahead of the Earth in time,’ John said, ‘so, as long as a child - or adult,’ nodding at Edith, ‘is returned within that time-frame, he or she will not be missed.’

‘Also, Edith,’ Big John held up a finger, ‘remember that people
get older - even on Rainbow’s End, albeit slower. And we can’t very well return a teenager when we took a seven year old, can we?’

They all mulled
over John’s lesson for a minute, and then Edith, still inquisitive, said-asked, ‘You haven’t explained how, or why, it is possible for one to return at a time before you left in the first place?’

John shrugged. ‘That’s because I don’t fully understand it myself,’ he said, ‘save to say that it involves
the aligning of certain grids - Universal, Galactic, and Planetary. The math involved would take me days, and even then, I probably would not get it right.’

They all sat for a
nother quiet minute then; staring at John’s tomato-and-mustard work of art, and finishing their drinks. Izzy finished first, and leaning forward, pushed his cup and saucer through the red and yellow lines, smearing them orange in places.

‘Well, if that is all then,’ he said, ‘I
’m going to my room, and bed.’

‘Aren’t you staying at Orson’s?’ Annie asked, surprised.

‘Not tonight,’ he replied, and mumbled - as he did that morning at Ariana’s pool - something about dogs and babies and old men going soft in the head.

Everyone stood then, and thanked Arnold for an excellent supper. The chef however, answered with only half his attention,
and kept one eye on Big John all the time. He was ready then, when - eyeing his now-too-large T-shirt, the huge man took a step towards him; gripped the large spoon tighter and lifted it a few threatening inches.

‘Don’t you dare, John,’ he warned,
with all traces of his fake French accent suddenly gone. The spoon lifted another few inches, threatening. ‘This time I’ll brain you…’

Frieda saved the evening. With a soft smile, she stepped into Arnold’s open, ready to fight
arms, and on tip-toes, gave the chef a soft, sweet kiss. The safety chain somehow slipped from around his wrist and over his hand, and the heavy spoon fell clattering on the tiles at their feet; the four spectators were clapping and cheering, and seconds later, when they left - Frieda with a backward glance that could have meant any one of a thousand things - Arnold was left standing. The same as a month before, but this time, dazed with happiness, his mouth puckered like a carp’s.

37

‘It’s almost exactly as I imagined it would be,’
Orson said softly, wistfully. It was a beautiful English morning: The sun had risen from behind the trees to the east, and dew lay sparkling on the grass and flowers, wet on the red roof of the small white house. Its large windows - one in Thomas’ bedroom, and the other the lounge - looked like eyes; the green front door its nose, a brown Welcome-mat a mouth, or a tongue.

They’d landed just minutes ago
, at the back of the little house, and had walked around its front, where they now stood, just looking. It was too early for Marge.

‘You stayed here ten years?’ Orson asked, still softly, and Thomas nodded.

‘Close to eleven,’ he said, and it felt right
, and good, when his grandfather put an arm around his shoulders for the first time, and held him close. And they just looked again: each busy with his own thoughts, each his own memories.

‘Let’s go inside,’ Thomas said after a minute. ‘The key is around back.’

Thomas was waiting at the kitchen-table when
Marge came in the open back door. He’d barely enough time to stand before she was all over him: shouting “Thomas!!” and gripping him in a tight, long hug, then holding him at arms-length and clucking like a mother-hen, inspecting, and then hugging and holding again. When she let go at last, it was to stare at the two steaming mugs of coffee on the table. Marge was a tea-person.

‘Who…?’ she started asking, but was interrupted.