STORM: The Infinity Code

The dead tone of his voice gave his opinion away. Will couldn’t blame him. Here they were, on Maly Prospect, outside the block that his grandmother called home.

It was grim. The building once would have been grand but was now old. It looked as blank and impenetrable as the gray sky above them. Broken glass littered the sidewalk and had scattered onto the busy road, beneath three dilapidated cars. Two were missing wheels. Beneath the third was a heavy rusting chain and a filthy tabby cat.

Five years ago, it had seemed as bad, Will thought. But the misery of the scene had at least reflected the emotion he’d been feeling. Now he looked up at the fifth-floor window with its cracks and bars, and he felt disgusted that his grandmother should live in a place like this. But then his mother sent her plenty of money—he himself had seen the checks. If his grandmother wanted to, she could move. Following fast after these thoughts came twin surges of hope and fear.

Would his mother be here? Will hoped so with all his heart. But he was also afraid. What if she were, and she didn’t want to see him? What if she were, and she told him she would never come back?

Perhaps Gaia had a sense of what he was thinking, because she touched him gently on the arm. “Come on,” she said. “We have to go in.”

“What about him?” Andrew said, and he jerked his head at a man walking toward them, a bottle of beer in his hand. Andrew kicked at the pavement with his boot. It rang. Six thirty p.m., local time, and the air was bitter.

She was right, of course. And yet Will’s feet, as he forced them to move, felt bound to the frozen ground. He wanted to see his mother. He was afraid of seeing her.

Again, Gaia touched his arm, but this time she wound hers through it and pulled him gently. “Caspian,” she said, her breath clouding and freezing in her hair. “Remember— we have to find him.”

He looked up. A woman in heavy boots and a thick scarf was emerging from the solid steel front door. Ducking forward, Will caught it before it shut. He led the way into the stairwell, which was covered in green and blue graffiti and stank of urine.

“Come on,” he whispered. “And don’t talk on the way up. If anyone hears you speaking English they’ll come out to find out who we are—and we probably don’t want that.”

Will shot up the broad staircase, through stale, freezing air, to the first apartment on the right on the fifth floor. This was the one, he was sure of it. There was a bristly welcome mat on the peeling linoleum outside. An iron gate. And behind that a red door, a curling sticker of a posy of flowers just below the peephole. He couldn’t forget something like that.

The first knock sounded weak. Annoyed with himself, Will banged hard, three loud raps. From inside he could hear a piano. Played badly, he noticed. The notes were falling all over each other.

“Perhaps she isn’t in,” Andrew said. And he glanced nervously behind him. This was about as far from his home as he could imagine. “We could go to a hotel—”

“Perhaps she can’t hear,” Gaia said. And she reached out, to knock again. At that moment, the door opened. Gaia had to lean on Will to steady herself. She backed off quickly. But Will hadn’t noticed. The old woman who answered had thrown a plump hand to her mouth. She fumbled with the lock to the gate, then clasped Will to her body in a ferocious embrace.

“William! William! God in heaven, what are you doing here? And now look, you have made me cry,” she said in Russian.

Elena dabbed at her face with her skirt, smearing tears into her wrinkles and revealing her stout legs. Silver hair tumbled down around her shoulders. She had given Will’s mother her eyes, black and sparkling. And the neat shape of her face, with her pronounced cheekbones and broad mouth.

“And look, you have brought these two young people,” she said in clear, crisp English. “Welcome, please, come in, come in!”

Elena stepped back into the narrow violet-painted hall, colliding with a hat stand. Andrew managed to grab it before the coats could pile to the floor.

“Andrew,” he said, a little embarrassed. He held out a hand, but the old lady grabbed him too and held him tight.

“And this is Gaia,” Will said. But already he was heading down the hall. He passed the two bedrooms, and entered the bright lounge, his mind on other things. Specifically, on the piano music that cascaded through the open door of the little parlor beyond.

Now the voices behind him faded into the background. The colors in the room fell away. He heard nothing but the notes, and his heart, which pounded.

Will stared stupidly at the instrument. It had been modified by Elena’s friend Vanya. Elena had switched the controls to auto, and the keys were moving, playing Prokofiev’s Piano Sonata No. 1 without the need for fingers. A gimmick, Will thought. Like one of the pianos you sometimes saw in department stores . . . A gimmick.

“My mother,” he said involuntarily. And his grandmother appeared behind him. She filled the doorway with her bulk.

“Shopping? No. Your mother isn’t here, she hasn’t been here since your dear grandfather’s funeral. I haven’t laid eyes on your mother in five years!”

Elena had spoken softly. Yet the words boomed like cannonballs in Will’s brain. They shattered his thoughts. She wasn’t here . . . And yet . . . Natalia had told him . . . She, his mother, had told him herself . . .

Five minutes later, Will, Gaia, and Andrew were sandwiched together on Elena’s old rose-patterned sofa. Elena had insisted on bringing out the piano stool for herself. She said it was good for her back. She had brewed strong-tasting tea in her singing stovetop kettle and turned up the oil heaters, so that the room was now bearably cold. Still, Andrew shivered. The condensation dripping down the small windows made him feel thoroughly chilled. Will did not notice.

Five minutes of discussion had not really clarified the situation. The last time Elena had heard from her daughter was when Will’s father died. Then—nothing. On the phone from Dorset, she had told Elena she needed some time to herself, and she was going away.

“Of course, I worried about you, dorogoi moi, but then I knew your mother would make sure you were all right. You are the most precious thing in the world to her. It goes without saying,” Elena said.

The world, he decided, was cracking around him. Not only had they lost Caspian, but his mother, who he’d felt sure would be able to help them find him, was AWOL. She had lied. And lied. But why?

His anger edged into fear. It was unlike her. And if she wasn’t with her own mother, then where was she? What if she was hurt? What if someone had harmed her . . . ? But then she had planned her own deceitful departure. As she had driven to Natalia’s house, she had told him again: “I just need to be with my mother for a little while. I won’t be away for long, I promise.”

“You know what I think?” Elena said as she poured another cup of tea. “Your mother loved your father with all the passion in the world. I think she needed time on her own—afterward. She always was headstrong. It’s the only explanation I can think of. I am sure I am right. Now my dear, tell me, is that why you came? To try to find your mother?”

Will glanced at Gaia and at Andrew. “No,” he said. “We need to find someone else. Elena, you were a scientist. Maybe you’ll understand. I need to talk to you about space.”