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“Are you with them?” the girl roars, pressing the flat of the blade hard against my flesh. She hasn’t cut me yet, but one jerk of her hand is all it will take to slit my throat and send a fountain of blood gushing.
I moan sickly in response.
“Talk!” she shouts, giving my head a twist.
Between moans, I manage to squeeze out, “Gonna... be... sick.”
The girl blinks, clearly not having expected that reply. When my stomach heaves, she releases me and I fall to my knees.
I retch on top of the vine, trembling with terror.
“Please don’t kill me,” I croak.
“Calm down,” the girl says. She’s still holding the knife but isn’t pointing it at me. Instead she’s tapping her lower teeth with the tip of the blade, looking at me with more wonder than suspicion.
“I haven’t done anything,” I wheeze. “I’m not with them. I don’t even know who they are. Do you mean the guys with the axe and knife?”
“Is that what they were carrying?” she asks. “I didn’t get a close look. When I spotted them coming, I ran. Luckily I knew there was a borehole on that bridge.”
I wipe my lips and rise. My hands are still trembling, but not as much as they were when the girl was holding the blade to my throat.
“They wanted to kill you,” I whisper. “They talked about killing me.”
“You?” she frowns. “Why?”
“They were in the mood for blood.”
“But why you specifically?” she asks.
“They thought I could see them.” I gulp. “I could, too, but I pretended I couldn’t.”
“Why shouldn’t you have been able to see them?” she asks softly.
I gulp again. “Nobody else on the bridge saw them, or you either.”
The girl takes a step closer. When I flinch, she lowers the blade. “Are you Born?” she asks in a low voice.
“Of course I was born,” I reply. “I hardly popped out of an egg, did I?”
“No,” she says patiently. “Are you one of the Born?” When she sees that I don’t understand, she tries again. “Are you from London?”
“Yes,” I say.
The girl gawps at me, lost for words.
“This isn’t Earth, is it?” I ask.
She carries on staring.
“Did the men say anything else?” she finally asks, bending to slip her knife back into its place in her boot.
“Not much,” I mutter, then remember something. “But one of them was called... I think it was Oar Lann.”
“Orlan?” the girl snaps.
“That was it.”
“Orlan and Argate,” she says grimly. “Then you can consider that the narrowest of escapes. There aren’t many who slip the grip of Orlan Stiletto and Argate Axe. Did they follow you?”
“No. The hole closed after you jumped in. They didn’t even try to open it.”
“We’re lucky they didn’t have a key for the borehole,” the girl says. “But how did you open it?”
I smile shyly. “I copied what you did. When the locks appeared, I stuck my –”
“Locks?” she stops me.
“I saw the locks when I put my hand on the slab.”
“Ah,” she smiles. “You’re a locksmith.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are,” she insists. “Nobody else could see borehole locks. Normal people like me need keys.”
“But you didn’t have a key,” I note. “You just pulled strange faces.”
“That was my key,” she says.
“Oh,” I say weakly, bewildered.
“I’ve never heard of a Born locksmith,” the girl continues. She casts her gaze over me again, taking in my stained school uniform, my tie, my scuffed shoes. “What’s your name?”
It’s the simplest of questions, but for a moment I’m thrown. We’ve been talking about such weird and bewildering things that it takes me a few seconds to process the answer. Then, when my head clears, I chuckle.
“It’s ironic, but my name’s Archie.”
“Why is that ironic?” she asks.
I point upwards. “Because of the arches. Arch... Archie...”
“That’s not ironic,” she says, “just coincidental.”
I scowl. “Anyway, that’s my name. What’s yours?”
“Inez Matryoshka,” she says.
“Match-ree-osh-ka?” I try.
“Mah-tree-osh-ka,” she corrects me.
I say it a few times under my breath, then decide to stick with her first name. “Is this where you’re from, Inez?”
“No,” she says. “I’ve never been in this zone before.”
“I don’t mean this spot. I mean this world... universe... whatever it is.”
Inez studies me closely. “You really have no idea where you are?”
I shake my head. “I saw you on the bridge and followed.”
“Why?” she asks quietly.
“I don’t know.”
She raises a sceptical eyebrow and I reconsider my response.
“Because of the mystery. I wanted to know where you’d gone. Also...” I hesitate. Dave was a big factor too, the terrible silence since he died. The last few months have been unbearable, and part of me saw this as a chance to escape the harrowing grief, at least for a while.
But I can’t share that with a stranger, so instead I murmur, “You were in trouble and I thought I might be able to help.”
I expect her to laugh, but she nods and says, “Thank you.”
She makes the greet again, pulling her fingers to her chest, then releasing her soul in my direction. This time I know what to do. Spreading my fingers wide, I draw her offered soul towards my chest and join it with mine.
Inez smiles. “I guess there’s only one thing left for me to say.”
As I look at her expectantly, Inez does a small curtsy – the first time I’ve ever seen anyone do that in real life – and says with a wink, “Welcome to the Merge.”