Warm air rises from the atrium to greet Yoshi. With his fingertips under the seal now, he lifts and then shifts the skylight to one side. If he drops down from here, the pond in the lobby won’t cushion his fall. A free runner might know how to absorb the bone-shattering shocks from all kind of leaps, but they also had to respect their limits. Yoshi bites his lower lip. It’s one thing to have rediscovered his calling as a parkour. For the sheer rush, it even beats this psychic eye of his. All he needs to recall now is just how far he can go with each gift.
“Tell me, Livia, when will you learn some respect for authority?” Way below, despite submitting to the care of the guards, the soaking wet woman continues to rant and rage. She glowers at the floor from which she’s just been so breathtakingly evicted, though the misty light has retracted now. In fact, Yoshi can’t decide if it’s an aura or the glare from a fluorescent strip coming through an open door. “Even if you’d earned another day trip,” shouts the woman from below, her sense of duty gone, “you’ve blown it now. I’m ordering the door to your quarters to be locked, for the safety of my staff, do you hear? One day’s confinement should encourage you to realise that abusing your powers like that is wholly unacceptable!”
“Abusing my powers?” comes the astonished reply, from the girl who Yoshi has yet to see. “Our parents think you’re helping us get to grips with our abilities. They have no idea that you treat us like laboratory animals. Now that is what I call an abuse of power!”
A guard stands on the upper level. He’s leaning against the balcony, looking quietly amused by this exchange of insults. He watches the woman being led from the lobby. Man, he’s seen some crazy things within these walls. Witnessing the doctor being dumped from a great height wasn’t out of the ordinary. The stunts these freaks in here can pull leave a grin on his face sometimes. Take the twins who can start a fire just by putting their minds to it. The day they caused the doctor’s lunchbox to burst into flames was a high point. All the so-called residents here can be kind of unruly at times; but then who can blame them?
The guard observes the doctor in question being led into her office, and scratches his behind. If he was a kid who found he could make objects move just by touching his temples, or saw things happening behind locked doors, he’d question whether this outfit really had his best interests at heart too. The Foundation may have been set up to help these youngsters get to grips with their abilities, but some of the things Mr Aleister put them through didn’t seem to benefit anyone but him. His obsession with the churches was a case in point. How many times had he been asked to chaperone some kid to a crypt or a nave, only to stand back while old baldy had words with them? Whatever was said seemed to scare up half of them, even bring them to tears. He didn’t like it, but then he was paid to keep the kids in order, not make a fuss about their welfare.
Reflecting on his time here, the guard attempts to pick his pants from the crack of his backside. This place may be tough on the residents at times, he thinks, but it was a jammy job in one paradise of a building. Keeping watch from this, the upper viewing gallery, was the post they all wanted. It was bathed with sunshine on a good day, and had a glorious view of the stars on a clear night. Best of all you were up here on your own. You could take a nap if you wished, and nobody would be any the wiser.
A soft thumping sound disturbs the guard’s thoughts just then. He turns from the balcony, but there’s nothing to see. Just parlour palms to break up the curving marble wall, with trunks too thin for anyone to hide behind. He shakes his head, figuring it’s probably the girl below working out the last of her tantrum – throwing things at the ceiling with that weird light-force of hers. He glances at his wristwatch, and is pleased to see that it’s nearly time for a tea break. After doing nothing for so long, he thinks with a private smile, it would be good to sit down for a while.
On the other side of the balcony, a boy dangles from the lowest rail and prays this guy doesn’t look down to his left. Yoshi tightens his grip, tries not to breathe too loudly. Both palms are still stinging from where they had slapped around the rail and stopped him from turning to ketchup on the lobby floor. A monkey fling. That was the name of the move he had just executed. It had sprung into his mind in midair, which wasn’t a good time to disturb his concentration. First Yoshi had lowered himself through the skylight, then rocked back and forth to build up momentum. On the final swing, he had let go, spread his arms and fixed his sights on the rail. The foliage hanging from the balcony had served to cushion his arrival. He had figured it might also be strong enough to serve as a safety net should he miss. Which he hadn’t. Much to his relief.
The question Yoshi asks himself now is just how long can he hang around? Above him, the guard sounds kind of restless. The boy dares to glance up, and sees the guy shaking one leg as if trying to straighten out his trousers. He closes his eyes, his arms beginning to ache, and then opens them smartly when a squeak of jackboot soles on marble suggests it’s time to seize the moment.
This is the true test. Not of skill but of strength. With the guard leaving his post, Yoshi has just seconds to haul himself up and over the balcony. He lands soundlessly, having removed his shoes before making the leap. Forward thinking is what it takes to be a free runner, and Yoshi can’t afford to put a foot wrong. His shoes are strung around his shoulders now, and bump about as he flits across the floor to catch up with the guard.
Of all the things he has learned from his time with the crew, this manoeuvre is something he picked up just by watching. He’s seen one young punk in action on the streets of Covent Garden, and now it’s his turn to try it out – the art of shadowing. The big difference between the set-up for a trick and what he’s doing here is that he can’t afford to bail out or get it wrong. Yoshi knows he has to be invisible, which means mimicking the man’s moves so closely that they practically become one.
One sugar or two? That’s all the guard is thinking as he ambles towards the elevator. He’s only travelling to the level below, but, well, taking the stairs would eat into his break time. Whistling to himself now, he punches the button on the panel beside the doors. His number takes a while to light up, and so he seizes this opportunity to really pick at the seat of his pants while nobody is looking.
The doors are made from brushed steel. The guard can seen his own reflection, just about. It’s a bit blurry, and makes him look like he should be eating a little less dessert. So much so that he sucks in his gut and turns side on just to make sure. The lift arrives with a ping, and the doors slide apart before he’s had a chance to resign himself to the fact that this job has turned him into a tubby. Unfortunately, he discovers with a heavy heart, the three interior walls of the lift are fitted with mirrors from floor to ceiling.