Read Online The Grasshopper's Child by Gwyneth Jones - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gwyneth Jones
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She didnât bat an eye when the man behind the Reception desk looked at her curiously. She just said Hi, and walked right into the Access Booth.
This time a womanâs avatar came into the virtual room, and sat beside the Inspector at the blue table. She explained who she was; what a transient biometric scan was; that it was completely harmless and would be destroyed after use. Heidi pretended to look at the terms and conditions: gave her consent and the scan was taken. Nobody waved a wand around, she didnât walk through a gate: she didnât have to move from where she was. Weird to think that this was such a big deal at home, and people were outraged and terrifiedâ
It depends what you need, she thought. If you need it, youâll put up with anything.
âFunny you ended up in Mehilhoc,â remarked the Inspector, as they waited for the confirmation. âItâs a special sort of place, I hear. What dâyou make of the set-up?â
âIt seems like a bit of a rich hippiesâ private manor,â said Heidi, shrugging. âThey rule the roost, but they share the wealth and all that, so I suppose itâs fine.â
âMm, I see. How does this âsharing the wealthâ work?â
âOh, I dunno. Just, they organise stuff, and look after their own, I suppose.â
âInteresting.â
In the crisp afternoon she ran joyfully uphill, and made another attempt to reach the towering Sequoia. Again it managed to vanish, so she ran to the knoll at the end of the ridge instead, to visit The Magic Vistas Panorama . The views of the Gardens werenât much: too many wind-sown young trees had sprung up. She could barely make out the roof and chimneys of the Garden House; gingerbread gables like surprised eyebrows. One of the high windows must be her own. She felt like waving to the Bad Dream Cat: but she couldnât quite figure out which. And there was the Sequoia, of course. She liked the sound of that word, the way it flowed: se-quoi-a . But you couldnât put it in a poem, unless you had a good reason. It was too different. I wonât chase you anymore, she thought. One day Iâll just find you, and something marvellous will happenâ
The best vistas were far off in the distance: the dark river winding through snow; the village of Mehilhoc all tiny, and the white-iced spurs of cliff-tops that must hide the sea. A spiky blot on one of the spurs puzzled her. It looked as if the villagers had been building a monster bonfire. Maybe they have human sacrifices, she thought. Maybe Gorgeous George has to slice up a maiden with a golden knife every Beltane, to make the crops grow.
If Brooklynâs mum is going be nearly crying, and telling me sheâs so sorry , a hundred times a minute, whenever she sees me, I just hope I donât have meet her very often.
I am a stranger in a place
Of horror and secrets
Sequoia is my guardian
From the grey-eyed princeâs knife. . .
Rubbish. Grey-eyed prince , bleggh. Get out of my head, Gorgeous George! She was going to see Mum, and that made everything okay. Common sense whispered in her ear: the police never do you a favour for nothing, what does he want? But she didnât care.
The sun had gone in. She ran again, until she spotted the Painted Dragon: first time since the day she found the Door in the Wall. Her feet couldnât get more cold or wet, and she had time to spare, so she decided to check it out. She scrambled through undergrowth, down to the wall under that roof, and followed it through snowy thickets to the front of an enclosure. It genuinely was a dragon, not a weird-shaped branch. It pranced along a tiled roof, glaring at her. The tiles were green; except where theyâd vanished. Sheâd found another Temple, like the Temple of the Dead Cats, but Chinese-style. A shallow flight of steps, white and spotless, led up to a gateless gate.
The snow had melted, or been blown away, from the
This time a womanâs avatar came into the virtual room, and sat beside the Inspector at the blue table. She explained who she was; what a transient biometric scan was; that it was completely harmless and would be destroyed after use. Heidi pretended to look at the terms and conditions: gave her consent and the scan was taken. Nobody waved a wand around, she didnât walk through a gate: she didnât have to move from where she was. Weird to think that this was such a big deal at home, and people were outraged and terrifiedâ
It depends what you need, she thought. If you need it, youâll put up with anything.
âFunny you ended up in Mehilhoc,â remarked the Inspector, as they waited for the confirmation. âItâs a special sort of place, I hear. What dâyou make of the set-up?â
âIt seems like a bit of a rich hippiesâ private manor,â said Heidi, shrugging. âThey rule the roost, but they share the wealth and all that, so I suppose itâs fine.â
âMm, I see. How does this âsharing the wealthâ work?â
âOh, I dunno. Just, they organise stuff, and look after their own, I suppose.â
âInteresting.â
In the crisp afternoon she ran joyfully uphill, and made another attempt to reach the towering Sequoia. Again it managed to vanish, so she ran to the knoll at the end of the ridge instead, to visit The Magic Vistas Panorama . The views of the Gardens werenât much: too many wind-sown young trees had sprung up. She could barely make out the roof and chimneys of the Garden House; gingerbread gables like surprised eyebrows. One of the high windows must be her own. She felt like waving to the Bad Dream Cat: but she couldnât quite figure out which. And there was the Sequoia, of course. She liked the sound of that word, the way it flowed: se-quoi-a . But you couldnât put it in a poem, unless you had a good reason. It was too different. I wonât chase you anymore, she thought. One day Iâll just find you, and something marvellous will happenâ
The best vistas were far off in the distance: the dark river winding through snow; the village of Mehilhoc all tiny, and the white-iced spurs of cliff-tops that must hide the sea. A spiky blot on one of the spurs puzzled her. It looked as if the villagers had been building a monster bonfire. Maybe they have human sacrifices, she thought. Maybe Gorgeous George has to slice up a maiden with a golden knife every Beltane, to make the crops grow.
If Brooklynâs mum is going be nearly crying, and telling me sheâs so sorry , a hundred times a minute, whenever she sees me, I just hope I donât have meet her very often.
I am a stranger in a place
Of horror and secrets
Sequoia is my guardian
From the grey-eyed princeâs knife. . .
Rubbish. Grey-eyed prince , bleggh. Get out of my head, Gorgeous George! She was going to see Mum, and that made everything okay. Common sense whispered in her ear: the police never do you a favour for nothing, what does he want? But she didnât care.
The sun had gone in. She ran again, until she spotted the Painted Dragon: first time since the day she found the Door in the Wall. Her feet couldnât get more cold or wet, and she had time to spare, so she decided to check it out. She scrambled through undergrowth, down to the wall under that roof, and followed it through snowy thickets to the front of an enclosure. It genuinely was a dragon, not a weird-shaped branch. It pranced along a tiled roof, glaring at her. The tiles were green; except where theyâd vanished. Sheâd found another Temple, like the Temple of the Dead Cats, but Chinese-style. A shallow flight of steps, white and spotless, led up to a gateless gate.
The snow had melted, or been blown away, from the
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