About The Scarlett Kite
Hi! I'm Scarlett Kiteway, I'm 20 years old, a journalism student in Perplex City and this is my blog all about the excitement over the search for the Cube. I'll be keeping track of what the media over there is saying about it, and maybe a little bit about my life as well!
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Friday, October 28, 2005
The old man
Category: story, 05:46 PMI couldn't believe what I was hearing. Or seeing. For a moment I was sure that I was having another one of those vivid dreams I've been getting. This was the man from the archives! The mysterious man who'd set me off on all these adventures! Who'd nearly got us killed! As soon as I was able to react, I leaned over toward the panic button on the wall next to my bed. The old man was quicker than me, though. I reached for the button but he grabbed my wrist.
He said: "Don't do that. I need your help."
I struggled, trying to free my wrist. "Let me go!"
He leaned close to my ear and whispered: "Please, Miss Kiteway, I need you to help me. If I tell you who I am, will you promise not to press that buzzer until I explain why I'm here?"
I looked at him. Close-up he seemed older, more tired-looking.
"Yes."
He let go of my wrist and stood back, looking at me.
I said: "So who are you?"
He said: "My name is Henry Castille, retired Major of the Perplex City Defence Forces."
"And why are you here? What is Viendenbourg? Why did you give me a map to it? What is *going on*?!!"
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He looked so much like Allain when he did that.
"Miss Kiteway, I'm afraid I can only answer some of those questions. I wish I could do more, but, like you, I am still trying to establish what is 'going on'. But I can tell you what I know."
He reached one hand around to rub his shoulder, wincing as though he were in pain.
He said: "May I sit down?"
I nodded and he pulled up the straight-backed chair from its place by the window. He looked so vulnerable, I almost wanted to comfort him. He took a few moments to collect himself, had a sip of water. I suggested that he just start at the beginning, and try to explain to me what's going on.
He smiled, just a little.
"Miss Kiteway, the 'beginning' is so long ago that no one can remember it. That is part of the problem. But I can start by telling you about how we came to meet.
"We first encountered one another, you will recall, in the military archives, when you came to research a word you had not heard before: 'Viendenbourg'? You spoke very loudly, it was impossible not to hear what you were discussing." He smiled. "The exuberance of youth. And I gave you a map to the place. Did you ever stop to consider that it was an astonishing coincidence that a person who could give you the precise information that you required should happen to be in the archives at the same time as you?"
I nodded, silently.
"It was no coincidence. My grandson and I, we have been, well, researching Viendenbourg, researching the Reynolds ionizer for some time. I knew you would be in the archives that day, and I came to wait for you."
"But..." I said, "but, but... the woman in the archives said that you came there often; that you always cried when you looked at that box, from 5BC."
"Yes, that is correct. I often visit the military archive, I often look at that box. The history of our city is tragic. But I made a special point to be there at the same time as you."
He stopped to take another sip of water. I thought about what he'd said; it didn't seem to make any sense at all.
"How could you possibly know I was going to be in the archives that day?" I said. "How could you know I was investigating Viendenbourg?"
"Your friend, Kurt, tried to research Reynolds ionizers, yes? His key was attacked by a military-grade trace. Contrary to popular belief, it is possible to construct a military-grade trace, and even conceal its origin, without having to be a member of the military. At least, without having to be a member of the military any more."
"It was *you*?!!! You hacked *Kurt's* key?! But how did you know about me?"
He smiled. "You triggered some of our alerts when you searched for Viendenbourg. We could easily trace your connection to Kurt. Allain and I knew who you were, we knew that you must be looking for the same thing we are."
"Just a second," I said, "You did all this? You rigged up a military-grade trace yourself, and you've been tracking me and Kurt? You've been tracking me this whole time?"
"We've only been tracking you for a few weeks. We've been involved in this search a lot longer than that. We've been looking for Viendenbourg for many years now."
"We? You and Allain? But he's only my age, he's only a student."
"Not with Allain. I set up these systems with... my daughter. Allain's mother. A computer expert. Allain came here to find her. She is missing."
I'm sorry, I have to stop now - I'm very tired and I haven't even told you half the things that Major Castille and I have been talking about over these past few days. I have to keep stopping to rest. I'll carry on my story as soon as I can.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Recovering, slowly
Category: story, 03:50 PMIt's been a strange week. Not in the exciting way that my weeks have been strange up till now, just strange and horrible, both scary and boring. I've talked to Violet and my dad, have managed to persuade them not to come up here by sounding extremely cheerful. I don't feel that cheerful though. Brede has been in surgery to repair his leg and in between times I've been sitting talking to him. He's getting better. Not a lot better, but a bit. He's awake a lot of the time now, and even able to talk himself. Margot, Sanj and I have taken it in turns to sit with him. He remembers even less than the rest of us, nothing of that final day at all, barely anything after we left the train. That's something none of us understand; how foggy our minds have become about that time. The doctors say it's because of the shock, or the exhaustion, or the fall.
Brede's angry. When he's awake, when he has strength, he's angry. I guess he has a right to be. Whatever happened to us wouldn't have happened if we hadn't been *there*, off the beaten track, walking an unregistered path. He says he's not angry with me, but I don't know if that's true. His parents are here and, whatever Brede feels, *they're* angry with me.
We had a long talk a few nights ago, the four of us. We put our memories in order, piecing together as much as we could. We talked about odd things that we thought had happened on the walk. Sanj said he remembered feeling frightened when there was nothing to be scared of - just that the trees seemed to be suddenly unexpected and strange. Margot remembers being lost - she says she remembers all of us together being lost, staring at the maps, trying to get our bearings, not being able to get a lock with our keys. Neither of them remember the building I think I saw - low-slung and grey. Put together it doesn't amount to much.
We've told what we remember to the mountain rescue people and the police. We've told them that there was a fifth person with us, but the truth is that none of us really know anything much about him - none of us even knew his second name. The police say they've checked but there's no one called Allain registered with Edyta College. They're following it up but there are no good leads. The mountain rescue team have scanned the area several times but there's no sign of anyone lost in the area.
And so I'd basically come to a decision. I didn't know what had happened to Allain, but there really wasn't anything I could do to help him. Sometimes, when I'm tired, I think that we just all imagined there ever *was* an Allain. As I thought about it, I became more convinced than ever that it'd been him that I met that day in the military archives, that he'd dressed up for some reason to persuade me to come here, to bring my friends. It's the only thing that makes sense, although it doesn't make a lot of sense. Maybe it was Allain who smashed Brede's leg. That doesn't make much sense either. Last night I'd decided that it was time for all this to be over, for me to go back to the city with my friends, to try to forget that any of this ever happened. That was last night.
But today it's all different. Because, this morning when I was quietly reading in my hospital room, there was a knock on the door.
I said: "Come in?"
And the old man from the military archives walked in. He looked just as I'd remembered him, tall, white-haired with pale blue eyes.
He said: "You are Scarlett Kiteway, yes?"
I nodded. I couldn't say anything.
He said: "You have to help me. They've taken my grandson. They've taken Allain."
Friday, October 14, 2005
Stuck in hospital
Category: story, 04:33 PMOK. I'm sorry about that message last week. I must have sounded so confused - I think the people at the hospital had given me something to help me sleep, and in any case I was pretty out of it. Thank you all so much for not contacting my family; I've told them all they need to know - that I'm OK and that nothing's seriously wrong. Thank you for realising that I'm an adult and can make these decisions myself. Strangely, I did get a call from Iona at the Sentinel saying they'd had some tip-off that I was hurt, but I was able to reassure her that it was nothing serious. I guess journalists really do get to hear everything!
Anyway, I'm doing better now. I'm not even really hurt, just a few scrapes and bruises. Margot and Sanj are the same: just minor bumps and scratches. It's Brede who's seriously injured. And Allain is, well... Allain's missing.
The truth is I really don't remember a lot of what happened at Viendenbourg. I don't even have a proper impression of the place. That might be the drugs, or the shock, or... I don't know. I think I remember a building: long, grey, low-slung. And a sound... a whining hum, like machinery. I could have dreamed it - I've spent quite a bit of time sleeping and they say the drugs make the dreams very vivid - but it seems more real than that. I've spoken to Margot and Sanj - they remember even less than I do. They just remember walking and then... nothing. Nothing until the rescue guys found us.
We were at the bottom of a steep slope, they say. The four of us. Allain wasn't there, not anywhere. But Brede, Margot, Sanj and I were huddled at the base of a ravine. There were marks all down the slope to show where we'd fallen. The rescue guys said it happens pretty often in this area - people come off the track, get lost, it gets dark, they miss their footing and fall. I don't remember any of that, none of us do. We don't remember walking in the dark or getting lost or falling. But the rescue guys said we were lucky. Brede's key has emergency distress beacon which goes off automatically if it senses he's been injured. If it hadn't been for that... well we probably wouldn't have died, but we might have been a lot worse off before they found us. The hospital staff couldn't understand how we'd been hiking so late in the day only wearing our T-shirts and shorts, with our warm clothes still in our backpacks. And they don't know how what happened to Brede happened.
Brede's leg has been smashed. His right leg. They say it looks like someone hit it, repeatedly, with something large and heavy but that couldn't have happened - none of us would have hit him, none of us even had anything of the right shape or size. So they say it's probably an odd effect from the fall. Maybe some rocks landed on top of his leg. Except they didn't find us under any rocks. Or maybe it was a wild animal attack - there are some puma around here. Except that they don't tend to attack people, and there aren't any bite marks on Brede's leg. They say he's going to be OK. He's been pretty beaten up, has spent a lot of time drifting in and out of consciousness. I've been spending my days holding his hand, reading to him or just talking about anything that comes into my mind. His family are coming up here; I've had a struggle to persuade the hospital not to call my family, but apparently that's the one thing I was really insistent about even under medication. I don't want to have to give them explanations. I don't want to have to tell them what I think... that I got us all into this mess.
There's something else as well. When I woke up in this hospital bed, I had something in my hand. They tell me they tried to pry my handto get it out but I just wouldn't let go. It's only a twisted bit of metal and black plastic but I recognise what it is. It's half of Allain's key, battered and broken like Brede's leg. It means that, wherever he is, whatever's happened to him, he can't call for help.
Friday, October 7, 2005
Viendenbourg
Category: story, 03:58 PMI'm writing this from a hospital bed. We've been taken to a facility in the Tanraga mountains and I... everything's so confused. The last few days are a blur. More than a blur, I don't remember... I just don't know where to start. Maybe the best thing is to start from what I know I remember. From where I'm sure. There's not much I'm sure of.
When I last wrote to you, we were setting off to Viendenbourg. I remember that. I remember writing it. It seems longer ago than just a few days. We packed up our kit and set off on the trail. We'd calculated it'd be about two and a half days' hike out to the place where Viendenbourg ought to be, so we'd hit it at about lunchtime on the third day.
The first day was fine, uneventful. There had been some showers the previous night, but the skies had cleared. We all seemed a bit clearer too, now that we were actually on our way. I walked with Brede, Margot and Sanj walked with Allain. We were just five friends enjoying a hike. That was the first day. I remember it.
I remember the second day, too. That was when I started to realise that everything wasn't quite as it seemed. It was at the end of the day's hiking. We'd come through some densely wooded terrain and out into a plain where we'd camp for the night. We all had our jobs to do. I went to gather firewood so that I could make the fire. Margot and Sanj arranged the camp. Allain was helping Brede set up the tents. That was when it happened.
Allain was putting in tent pegs. I'd been to gather firewood and walked to the camp from the back, coming up through some trees close behind him. I stopped for a moment to rest. He didn't know he was being watched. Perhaps that's how I saw it, through both of us being off our guards. He was swinging his mallet down onto the tent pegs with such concentration, lifting it high and bringing it down hard. And I found myself thinking: "so strong, for an old man". And I saw it then. It must be. Allain has the same gait, the same height, the same pale blue eyes as the old man I met in the library all those weeks ago. I knew, just knew, that they were the same person. That Allain must have disguised himself, for some reason, to talk to me. That he's still doing it now. I only knew I'd dropped the firewood when Sanj ran over to see what was wrong.
I watched him all that evening, while we ate our dinner and sat round the campfire talking. I couldn't get away from the others to talk to Allain. But I watched him and I knew that I was right - his eyes were the old man's eyes.
The next day, we set off early. We didn't know what we'd find at Viendenbourg. On the map it was barren, not even any trees. We thought we'd have to come back to the forest edge to make camp. I remember walking and the sun was so bright, amazingly bright, glaring. Maybe that's just in my memory and not real at all. I only have fragments, shards of information. I think I was confused then, but perhaps that's because I'm confused now. The morning dissolves into trees thinning into nothing, and mountains growing closer and I remember... I remember a conversation with Allain. I remember walking and falling behind in step with him. I remember taking his arm and whispering urgently.
I said: "I know it was you. In the military archive that day. I know that was you. Disguised, or something. You tricked me! To get me to come here - you made me come here!"
I remember he looked at me with his pale blue eyes.
He seems calm, in my memory.
In my memory he says: "No, I didn't, that's not how it is."
I don't think I believe him.
I'm getting so tired now. I don't know if this makes any sense. I'm just trying to... put it all together. It doesn't make sense to me either. I remember Viendenbourg, a shape on the horizon. I remember Brede, trying to... do something? Say something? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I can't make more sense than this. I remember being injured (but was that in my mind? or where do I hurt?) and I remember Brede trying to help me, and then... I don't know.
I have to go now. They say I ought to sleep. Please don't tell anyone else what I've told you. I'll write again when I can.
Monday, October 3, 2005
The train has stopped
Category: story, 05:12 PMI've only got a few moments to write this - Brede is packing up our few final things. I told him that I was sending a quick note to my family before we set off hiking. This really is a distant region, we might even be out of range for full key functionality for a day or so. And we're going to Viendenbourg. At least, *I* know that's where we're going, but I haven't told Brede, Margot or Sanj what it is. I've just muttered the family history thing and said it's supposed to be beautiful. They don't mind, we've rearranged our train tickets to give us a little extra time. I think Margot and Sanj anyway think that I'm acting so weirdly that they'd better just humour me. I don't know what Brede thinks at all. I feel guilty all the time for not just telling him the truth. And there's the other thing, another reason that he's gone all silent. Allain is coming with us. Or at least, we're all heading in the same direction, so it seemed simplest, and safest, for us to travel together. None of us seem particuarly happy about that. I don't know if I can trust him, but I figure nothing much can go wrong if I have three friends with me. Anyway, that's the plan.
Brede is waving at me - I have to go! The next time I write, I'll have been to Viendenbourg!
Monday, October 3, 2005
Try your luck
Category: tv, 04:50 PMThere's an ad in the Metro (a UK newspaper) today for a puzzle designer to work with the guys at Mind Candy. As an extra dose of excitement, though, the interviews will be filmed for a television show! So if you'd like a shot or you know anybody who would, email your CV off to headhunters. Best of luck!
