bottom of the box, disbelieving.
He slapped his palm against the comms panel so hard it didn’t sign him in immediately and he had to try again, more gently. Then he said, ‘Housekeeping, please.’
A pause. Hello, Rick. How can I help you?
‘I want some food, please.’
Glad you’re feeling better.
‘Breakfast,’ he said. ‘Green tea, Spanish omelette, bananas, buttered toast, bacon —’
Housekeeping said, I will be delighted to send you a protein-and-vitamin shake. Would you like painkillers with that?
Great, Rick thought. They don’t send a med, but they stop me eating decent food now I’m feeling better. ‘Look, I’m fine, I just want —’
Would you like painkillers?
‘No, I’d like —’
Your breakfast will be with you in a few minutes, Rick. Enjoy, and get well soon! The comm cut off. The panel went back to silver.
‘Caviar,’ Rick said to his reflection. ‘Champagne. Lobster. Honeyed dormice. Nightingales’ tongues.’
Silence. He thought: This is a punishment. No one gives a toss what I eat, really. It’s Daed. He must have told them not to give me what I want.
Rick closed his eyes and slid slowly down the wall, until he was sitting on the carpet with his knees up. The floor undulated, tilting from side to side like a ship. He didn’t know if it was really moving or not; although he could hear the wind and the smack of rain against the windows, so it might have been.
He thought: Daed told me not to complete the Roots of the Maze. He told me over and over again. He was very clear about it. And . . .
. . . and I completed the Roots of the Maze.
He heard Daed’s voice, as though the words were burnt into his brain. You do exactly, exactly what I tell you. And in return I will continue to protect you from everything you need protecting from.
Rick opened his eyes, because he was getting dizzy. He took a deep breath and gasped at the twinge of pain in his ribs. If Daed did stop protecting me, he thought, and then deliberately bit down on his sore lip to distract himself. If —
Imagine.
But it can’t be that big a deal. Whatever I’ve done, it can’t be that serious.
Can it?
He waited until there was the click of Housekeeping signing in, and let his head roll sideways to watch the door slide open. The man with the tray — it wasn’t anyone Rick knew — raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. He crouched down and put the tray within Rick’s reach, and left again, silently.
The milkshake was brown and tasted foul. Rick managed to swallow three big gulps and then had to stumble to the bathroom to wash his mouth out. But he could think a bit more clearly now. He put some trousers on — if he’d had more guts he’d have done something about his bruises, but even the thought of it made him wince — and logged out of his room.
His body took him to the tanks, out of habit, although he only realised when he staggered on the stairs and asked himself through clenched teeth where he was going. He couldn’t play in this state, he knew that. But the instinct was too strong; and anyway where else was there to go?
The tanks were all free. He went to his favourite one, at the end, and pressed his hand against the panel to log in. It wasn’t working. He tried the one next to it, and the one next to that. They all said the same thing.
Sorry, there seems to be a problem with your account. Please contact Crater Customer Services.
‘For gods’ sake, just let me in .’
Sorry, there seems to be a problem —
He smacked his hand against the panel, wiping his prints over the screen to register them. ‘Come on . . .’ Behind him the rain splattered and spat against the glass, and he felt the skin on his back prickle. He said, ‘I’ve got an infinite account! Let me in!’
Sorry, there —
OK. He took a long breath. There was the smell of disinfectant, and, underneath, the clinging odour of sweat. It made him feel queasy.
He was locked out of the Maze. Someone had
He slapped his palm against the comms panel so hard it didn’t sign him in immediately and he had to try again, more gently. Then he said, ‘Housekeeping, please.’
A pause. Hello, Rick. How can I help you?
‘I want some food, please.’
Glad you’re feeling better.
‘Breakfast,’ he said. ‘Green tea, Spanish omelette, bananas, buttered toast, bacon —’
Housekeeping said, I will be delighted to send you a protein-and-vitamin shake. Would you like painkillers with that?
Great, Rick thought. They don’t send a med, but they stop me eating decent food now I’m feeling better. ‘Look, I’m fine, I just want —’
Would you like painkillers?
‘No, I’d like —’
Your breakfast will be with you in a few minutes, Rick. Enjoy, and get well soon! The comm cut off. The panel went back to silver.
‘Caviar,’ Rick said to his reflection. ‘Champagne. Lobster. Honeyed dormice. Nightingales’ tongues.’
Silence. He thought: This is a punishment. No one gives a toss what I eat, really. It’s Daed. He must have told them not to give me what I want.
Rick closed his eyes and slid slowly down the wall, until he was sitting on the carpet with his knees up. The floor undulated, tilting from side to side like a ship. He didn’t know if it was really moving or not; although he could hear the wind and the smack of rain against the windows, so it might have been.
He thought: Daed told me not to complete the Roots of the Maze. He told me over and over again. He was very clear about it. And . . .
. . . and I completed the Roots of the Maze.
He heard Daed’s voice, as though the words were burnt into his brain. You do exactly, exactly what I tell you. And in return I will continue to protect you from everything you need protecting from.
Rick opened his eyes, because he was getting dizzy. He took a deep breath and gasped at the twinge of pain in his ribs. If Daed did stop protecting me, he thought, and then deliberately bit down on his sore lip to distract himself. If —
Imagine.
But it can’t be that big a deal. Whatever I’ve done, it can’t be that serious.
Can it?
He waited until there was the click of Housekeeping signing in, and let his head roll sideways to watch the door slide open. The man with the tray — it wasn’t anyone Rick knew — raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. He crouched down and put the tray within Rick’s reach, and left again, silently.
The milkshake was brown and tasted foul. Rick managed to swallow three big gulps and then had to stumble to the bathroom to wash his mouth out. But he could think a bit more clearly now. He put some trousers on — if he’d had more guts he’d have done something about his bruises, but even the thought of it made him wince — and logged out of his room.
His body took him to the tanks, out of habit, although he only realised when he staggered on the stairs and asked himself through clenched teeth where he was going. He couldn’t play in this state, he knew that. But the instinct was too strong; and anyway where else was there to go?
The tanks were all free. He went to his favourite one, at the end, and pressed his hand against the panel to log in. It wasn’t working. He tried the one next to it, and the one next to that. They all said the same thing.
Sorry, there seems to be a problem with your account. Please contact Crater Customer Services.
‘For gods’ sake, just let me in .’
Sorry, there seems to be a problem —
He smacked his hand against the panel, wiping his prints over the screen to register them. ‘Come on . . .’ Behind him the rain splattered and spat against the glass, and he felt the skin on his back prickle. He said, ‘I’ve got an infinite account! Let me in!’
Sorry, there —
OK. He took a long breath. There was the smell of disinfectant, and, underneath, the clinging odour of sweat. It made him feel queasy.
He was locked out of the Maze. Someone had
Similar Books
