Read Online The Other Tree by D. K. Mok - Free Book Online Page A

leading down.
    The world can be divided into two camps. The first consists of those who, when confronted with a giant beanstalk, will climb to the top, and most likely be bestowed with riches and fame. The second group consists of people like Chris, who will probably dig up the beanstalk, take it home, and try to find out how it managed to get so damned big. They would then try to apply the same principle to potatoes in the hope of ending world hunger. There is actually a third group, whose instinct is to sell the beanstalk for woodchips to make cheap, unstable furniture, but they are unlikely to have found the beanstalk in the first place.
    Choices like these dictated the kind of life you led, and ultimately defined whether you viewed the world from above, or from within.
    Chris trod softly to the staircase, and with a cautious glance upwards, began to descend the stairs. The staircase continued for some time. As it descended the carpet took on a dull, stained look, and some of the wooden panelling became bloated and speckled. Several of the blown light bulbs had not been replaced, leaving their frosted glass sconces brimming with shadow. Just as Chris began to suspect that the carpet was damp, the staircase ended at a blue metal door with a steel handle.
    Seeing no suspicious wires, obvious cameras, or signs warning against the inappropriate use of fire escapes, Chris turned the door handle and pushed. She cringed and waited, but there was only silence. She pushed the door open wider, and saw a dim, concrete corridor stretching ahead. Plain blue doors studded the walls, and at the very end of the corridor was a heavy red door marked “Staff Only.”
    When searching for forbidden artefacts, doors labelled “Keep Out” were often good places to start. Chris stepped carefully into the corridor, and covered her nose with a hand. There was an odd smell down here—not like must and millipedes, more like…something rotting, very reluctantly. Her shoes crunched on the gritty concrete as she approached the far door, and the odour grew much stronger.
    Trying not to breathe too deeply, or at all, Chris stopped at the glistening red door, her hand hovering over the metal handle.
    Well , thought Chris, it doesn’t say “Do Not Enter,” or “Radioactive.”
    In the silence, she thought she could hear a faint squelching noise on the other side of the door.
    Her hand closed on the handle.
    “Oh my God, stop!” cried a voice.
    Chris spun around, excuses already sorting themselves into order.
    A woman with thick brown hair had emerged from a side door, and she was staring at Chris with an expression somewhere between horror and hysterical panic. She wore a name badge, reading “Rnynw: Assistant Curator of Uncategorised Objects,” but more striking was her choice of a harlequin blouse with a skirt patterned in skulls and crossbones. She also happened to be carrying a tumbleweed.
    “I was looking for the bathroom,” said Chris.
    Rnynw rushed over to Chris, inspecting the door urgently.
    “What’s behind there?” asked Chris.
    “Uh,” Rnynw looked suddenly wary. “Nothing.”
    Squelch.
    “You’re not from city council, are you?” asked Rnynw, a bead of sweat forming on her brow.
    Chris glanced at the tumbleweed.
    “Actually, I’m a Miscellaneous Academic from Varria University,” said Chris. “My office is a lot like this.”
    Chris gestured around the basement, and she saw Rnynw relax slightly.
    “You know, you can get rid of the mould on the walls by spraying it with a fifteen-percent tea tree oil solution,” said Chris. “No impact on millipedes, though.”
    “I don’t know how they get down here,” muttered Rnynw, watching a trail of them scuttle across the floor.
    Satisfied that the door hadn’t been breached, Rnynw walked back towards a side door. Chris squinted at Rnynw’s name tag.
    “That’s a very unusual name,” said Chris delicately.
    “My name’s Rochelle,” said Rnynw. “They messed up my