The Memory Keepers (14 page)

39

It wasn’t going to be easy. Thieving jobs usually took weeks of planning, and that was
with
Carpenter’s direction (Seven still couldn’t get over the fact that his crew leader wasn’t around any more). And after the raid, the London Guard was on higher alert. It would be even more dangerous than usual. But it’s not like he had any other ideas, and what Alba suggested did make a lot of sense. Stealing memories was what Seven
did
. It was pretty much the only thing he was good at.

There was just one big problem –

How did you find a memory when you didn’t even know if it existed in the first place?

Seven and Alba arranged to meet again in a week to give him enough time to hunt down a skid about TMK.

So far, Seven had wasted a day panicking and grumbling and moaning about how the eff he was gonna do it. He’d wasted a further day catching up on sleep; meaning, he collapsed from exhaustion and was pretty much dead to the world for twenty-four hours. But once he’d had some rest he was able to come up with a plan.

Even though Carpenter had been the one who’d handled the trading and planning side of things, Seven had a few contacts of his own from his years working as part of Carpenter’s crew. It took him two days to track down Mac, one of the skid-thieves from another crew he’d chatted to a few times who seemed friendly enough to give help, then another day before Mac’s crew leader Finch agreed to meet with him. In exchange for five skids, Finch arranged a meeting for Seven with the Librarian the next day.

Seven had never met the Librarian before, never even caught a glimpse of him. He was like some kind of mythical creature or god. The crew leaders were usually the only ones who had any contact with the Librarian, and their relationships with him were one of the most important aspects of their jobs. Seven had seen crews fall apart because their leader had fallen out of his favour.

He wasn’t sure how exactly the Librarian did it, or how he’d been doing it this long without getting caught (Carpenter had mentioned something about him being so skilled at hacking he could access the data of every single memory-machine in the world). All he knew was that the Librarian was exactly what his name suggested: a catalogue, a directory of every skid that had ever been recorded.

If there was another memory about TMK somewhere out there, he’d be the one who could find it.

Seven stepped out into the dusky grey morning. The sun was only just rising behind the thick bank of clouds, and the South streets were pooled with litter-filled water from the previous night’s rain. The air bit with the chill of oncoming winter. Shivering, he rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and hurried towards the river. It was going to be a long walk. He may as well enjoy the view of North as he went.

Finch had given Seven directions to the Librarian’s base in Richmond. Seven had never gone so far west before. The city was mostly urban farms and energy plants out that way, and he had been wondering how the Librarian was living in such a London Guard-controlled area when he arrived three hours later at an overgrown marshland close to the river and realised where he was.

Like Battersea Power Station, Kew Gardens was another renovation project North had abandoned after the floods. Too close to the river to develop into useful land, the gardens were now a sprawling expanse of tangled vegetation and water-logged forest. Derelict buildings hid among the greenery, wreathed in vines and broken apart by the burrowing roots and trunks of trees.

Following Finch’s directions, Seven headed across the grounds towards a large, glass-shelled building. It was mid-morning by now; the sun glinted out from behind shifting clouds, catching on the glass, flashes of purple and amber lighting the broken panes covering the greenhouse. Birds flitted across the sky. Their sharp cries cut through the clicks and buzz of insects that filled the abandoned gardens with a constant hum.

‘Effing bugs,’ Seven muttered, swatting dancing clouds of gnats away (of all the things to be attracted to his face. This was probably as close to kissing as he’d ever get).

By the time he reached the greenhouse his skin itched raw with bites. His boots were soaked, trousers soggy to the knees from squelching through the mud. Leafy trees towered high above, broken through the building’s casing. Seven peered through one of the broken panes of glass into the steamy, shadowy (and extremely smelly) interior. The place was bursting with greenery: ferns with leaves the size of his head; fragrant lilies; twisted vines like rope winding round the steel pillars of the building’s frame.

‘Er  …  hello?’ he called.

No answer.

Feeling stupid, Seven knocked on a pane of glass, but again there was no answer.

Annoyed now – it had been a long walk, and he was tired and fed up of being a walking lunchbox for the insects – he made his way inside, flinging aside the leaves blocking his path. Sweat slicked his forehead; the greenhouse was muggy with steam.

‘I’m here to see the Librarian!’ Seven shouted. ‘We’ve got a meeting –
argh
!’

He let out a strangled cry as the floor gave way underneath him.

Seven plunged face-first into a hidden pond. Stinking, stagnant water closed around him. It went up his nose, filled his mouth as he gasped for air. Kicking frantically, he threw out his arms, feeling vines and roots hidden in the depths of the murky water. They twisted round his limbs. The more he thrashed the tighter they became, until Seven realised he was going to die here in the rotten water (of
course
this was the way he’d go, the most effing undignified death there ever was), and for some mad reason Alba’s face came to him then and he wondered if she’d miss him, if she’d even notice he was gone –

There was a tug as something hooked round his waist. Seven let out a grunt as he was yanked upwards. Seconds later he broke the surface of the water, spluttering and retching, and was dragged up onto muddy ground.

‘Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance.’

The voice was gruff and wheezy. Swiping a hand across his face to clear the mucky water from his eyes, Seven looked up into a pale, lined face with chapped lips and long white beard plaited with coloured ribbons. The man was tall, his dirty brown shirt – at least five sizes too big for him – hanging off a willowy frame. Thick glasses magnified his intense blue eyes.

So
this
was the Librarian. Seven wondered why he’d been so intimidated at the thought of meeting him. The man was even more of a mess than
he
was.

‘Didn’t you hear me knock?’ grumbled Seven with a scowl. He stumbled onto his feet, untangling himself from the metal hook round his waist.

The Librarian’s smile was wide. ‘Course I did. But this was so much more fun. Now, come on. Show me your marking.’

It was pretty much visible through his wet shirt already, but Seven unbuttoned his top anyway to reveal the saw tattoo on his chest. The man’s smile widened. He reached out and traced its outline with a long, dirty fingernail.

‘So
you’re
Carpenter’s boy.’

Seven flinched away from his touch. ‘Yeah,’ he said, buttoning his shirt back up.

‘Sad news, that. He was always my favourite. He had such beautiful arms.’ The Librarian let out a puff of air, eyes glittering. ‘So, boy. Finch said you were after a skid. Let’s see if we can find it.’

He moved surprisingly fast for an old man. Seven stumbled after him through the dense foliage. He swatted the blade-like leaves of a fern out of his way: they slapped back into his face with a snap.

‘So how does this work?’ he called, words almost lost under the incessant buzzing of the mosquitos.

‘You tell me the skid you want. I find it. In exchange for something
I
want too, of course.’

‘Which is?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’

They reached the far side of the greenhouse and stopped by a cluster of towering palms.

Seven doubled over, spitting out a fly that had flown into his mouth. ‘I kind of expected there to be computers or something,’ he said, and when he straightened back up the Librarian was grinning at him, crouched beside an open trap-door in the floor that revealed a set of steps disappearing into a cool, blue glow.

‘What? Like the ones that are down here?’ He let out a croaking laugh. ‘I’d have thought a skid-thief would know how deceiving looks can be. Now get in and close that pretty mouth of yours before another fly decides it looks inviting.’

Throwing the Librarian another scowl, Seven hurried down the steps, hearing the thud of the trap-door shutting behind them. Instantly, the frantic noise of the greenhouse was silenced. The air was cool here, filled with a low, electric hum. Everything was bathed in blue light. The steps were steep, and it took a while to get to the bottom. When they did, Seven bit his lip, not wanting to give the Librarian another chance to gloat, but he couldn’t help but be impressed.

They were in a large, underground room filled with computers and sleek machinery. Blue lines of text scrolled dizzyingly fast across the black screens of the computers, making the room flicker as though they were underwater. Wires crawled over the floors and walls in organised tracks. To one side of the room was a small bed and kitchen; the only messy part of the space. A row of memory-machines were lined up against the opposite wall.

Seven’s heart started beating excitedly just at the sight of them.

‘Go on, boy. You can admit it. Pretty slick, huh?’

The Librarian walked past, chuckling. Wheeling out a leather-backed chair, he rolled over to one of the computers.

Seven shrugged. ‘It’s all right.’

The man smirked. ‘Stubborn, aren’t you? Just like Carpenter. Well, tell me.’ He stroked the keyboard, long nails clicking. ‘What’re we looking for?’

Seven hesitated before answering. Could he really trust this weirdo? But then he thought of Carpenter, the only person he’d ever truly trusted (before Alba, that was, though he still wasn’t one hundred per cent certain about her, even if something in his gut made him want to be). If Carpenter had trusted the Librarian, so could he.

‘There’s this thing we –’ Seven stopped abruptly. ‘This thing
I’ve
found out about. I dunno much except it’s called TMK and it’s got something to do with these people known as Candidates.’

He searched the Librarian’s face for any signs of recognition, but the man’s face was unreadable.

‘You don’t like to give much away, do you?’ said the Librarian. ‘You really
are
like Carpenter. No matter. Just so happens I don’t need much to go on.’ He ran a hand down his beard and winked. ‘I’m
that
good.’

Turning back to the computer, he started typing. His fingers danced across the keyboard. As Seven watched, his stomach kept doing uneasy flips.
This is it
, he thought.
If nothing comes up, I’m screwed. There’s nothing more we can do.

Given his luck, he wasn’t hopeful.

Alba would no doubt be just fine living without knowing the truth about TMK – she was only really affected because her father was involved – but Seven didn’t know how he could go on being aware he was a Candidate but never understanding what that actually meant. He felt as though his whole life had been stolen from him. Past, present and future, all taken away in the space of a few weeks. A world he’d thought he knew (even if it wasn’t one he liked) crushed to nothing.

And then the clattering of typing fell silent, the Librarian turning round and smiling toothily at Seven.

‘Good news, boy,’ he said. ‘We have a match.’

40

She could tell it had gone well as soon as she saw him. Even in the pitch black of the stormy night – she really should thank Mother Nature for making these night-time trips such a
pleasant
experience – with rain lashing the trees, leaves whipped into the air by the wind, Seven’s grin was so wide and bright it was as though it’d been cut from a piece of the moon.

‘You found one!’ Alba cried, letting out a small laugh that was part relief, part happiness at seeing him again. She’d run the short distance from the house to where he was waiting under the line of elms, but already her raincoat and black trousers were soaked through. She flicked her wet hair out of her eyes. ‘Another memory about TMK. You actually
found
one!’

Seven cocked his head. ‘Come on, Princess. You know you didn’t doubt me for a second.’

Alba smiled, holding back the truth that she’d worried sick about him all week. Stealing a memory about TMK seemed ridiculously dangerous, especially since the raid, and even though memory-thieving was his job she still couldn’t quite marry the picture of the awkward, gangly boy she knew with one of a sleek, stealthy thief. Every night at dinner she’d asked her father for news on whether the London Guard had made more arrests.

Her parents were delighted, of course. They no doubt thought she was finally starting to appreciate the severity of the crimes of memory-thieves. If only they knew she was friends with a boy she was
helping
to steal memories.

‘How did you find it?’

Alba almost had to shout as she followed Seven through the dark grounds of Hyde Park Estate, bent against the wind and driving rain. Their boots squelched in the mud. They were huddled together, and whenever one of them stumbled on the uneven ground they’d bump into each other, sending an electric pulse through her body, and she’d forget for a moment how to breathe.

‘There’s this man.’ Seven gave a strangled laugh. ‘The Librarian.’

‘What’s funny?’

‘Nothing. Well, actually, kind of everything. He’s a right weirdo. Anyway, he can hack into memory-machines and banks and stuff and get all their data. He found two skids about TMK. One was your father’s, so we already know about that one.’

Excitement fluttered through Alba. She licked her lips; they were wet with raindrops. ‘And the other?’

‘It was just in some flat in South.’ Pride touched Seven’s voice. ‘I’ve stolen skids from the poshest houses in North. Compared to them, stealing it was a breeze.’

‘Have you surfed it yet?’ Alba asked eagerly.

He didn’t reply for a few moments. ‘Er  …  well, I kinda thought you’d wanna be there when I did,’ he said eventually, in an odd voice, and somehow it was that more than anything that made her feel as though Seven was
finally
allowing her in.

Alba smiled into the darkness.

When they were almost at the fence, a thought hit her.

‘Seven?’

‘Yeah?’

‘What did the Librarian man want in exchange for giving you the location of the memory?’

‘You know, that was what’s so weird. He said I could have it for free,’ Seven said, glancing at her, ‘as long as I use it to find out the truth about TMK.’

They squeezed out their rain-drenched clothes in the quiet of his memorium, making puddles on the floor. Alba’s teeth chattered. She hugged her arms across her chest, trying to keep herself warm in her jumper, which was so wet the moss colour was almost black. They didn’t speak as Seven brought his memory-machine into the centre of the room and powered it up, its humming and ticking filling the air.

‘What do you think the memory will be about?’ Alba asked as she watched him strapping himself in.

Seven shrugged. ‘The Librarian said the skid was coded in such a way the data corrupted when he tried to download it. Apparently the other TMK skid was like that too.’

‘It sounds as though whatever TMK is,’ she said, ‘it’s big.’

He threw her a wide grin. ‘Nothing I can’t handle, Princess,’ he said, but in the split-second before the memory took hold and his lids fluttered shut, Alba saw fear flash in his eyes.

She waited a few more minutes until certain Seven was deep in the memory before reaching for his hand. Tentatively, feeling breathless, she twined her fingers with his.

‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I’m scared too.’