Rosie Frost, page 21
P.S. Sorry, promise, last question…Jackson asked me to go round the exhibition with him—is that like a date? Or just as friends?
P.P.S. I wonder if he’s kissed loads of girls? Sorry, I’ve asked that already.
P.P.P.S. Last one. I’ve now done one Christmas and one birthday without my mum. Blowing out the candle, it’s the moment you feel someone loves you no matter what. Your moment. God, I miss her.
Chapter 30
The King’s Chair
Thursday, February 9th. 6:00 p.m. The Emperium Palace.
“Wow,” Jackson gasped, his brown eyes wide and shining under the gold and silver light flooding down from the palace towers. “This is amazing!” He was impressed. He was never impressed. Another side to Jackson Sterling Rosie was discovering. She scanned his face for any sign of the “second-chance” kiss from last week. Nope, nothing.
The helicopter and ferry had been coming and going all day, bringing more council members and alumni. They were escorted into the Grand Chamber, then handed champagne as they moved between the exhibition booths. The pupils watched with anxious smiles, waiting for a validating nod.
The hall was vast, its high roof crisscrossed with heavy wooden beams, like in a gigantic old church. At the far end was a grand flight of stairs which led up to the rest of the palace.
Jackson swiped a couple of glasses of lemonade from a passing waiter.
“What’s that for?” said Rosie, nodding at a huge wooden chair encrusted with jewels and ornately carved. It was placed at the top of the first flight of stairs, in front of an enormous stained-glass window—like its presence meant something, something important.
“It’s the King’s Chair,” said Jackson.
“The what?”
“The King’s Chair. You know how Ludo is First Lord Protector of the Emperium Council? Like the CEO?”
Rosie nodded. “So does Ludo sit in it?”
Will Ludo be here? That’d be awkward. Should she thank him for the butterfly? She touched her jacket; she wasn’t wearing it.
“No. He’s only in charge because no one alive has the right to sit in the King’s Chair. If there were someone, they’d be in charge, with final say on everything on the island. When Henry VIII set up the Emperium Council, it was reserved for him and only his direct descendants. But Elizabeth I was the last one, so now it’s empty.”
“There’s a king in Britain, though.”
“Yeah, but he’s not a direct descendant of Henry VIII. No one is. None of his children had children.”
“Why have they put it there, then?”
Jackson shrugged and sipped his lemonade. “You know how Bloodstone loves an old tradition and future mash-up. I guess having the chair here is like bringing the ghosts of the Tudor kings and queens to watch over us.” Something whizzed by over their heads. “Oh my God!” he gasped, staring up at the ceiling.
Rosie looked up. It was Yaa Asantewa, also known as Jet, one of the engineering gods of the sixth form, and she was flying, actually hovering, high up among the beams, looking down over everyone through the mirrored visor of her helmet.
“Wow!” Rosie exclaimed. The whole crowd stared up at Jet, applauding. She spun slowly around in the air, with a small pressurized jet pack on her back and a control in her hand. She waved. Then she juddered, jolted forward, and—
Voom voom! Crack!
She dropped back down to earth.
She hit the floor with a hard, fast thud. The crowd gasped. “I’m fine,” she half groaned, and waved again. A steward with a paramedic bag jogged through the crowd toward her.
“I want one of those,” Jackson said, his eyes wide.
“Let’s go see Bina’s booth!” Rosie said, tugging his arm.
Bina’s was right up against the wall in the far corner of the hall. She was sitting behind the table, her fingers lightly tapping the desk, and looking around, like a bored animal on display at a zoo with no visitors.
“Hey.” She half smiled, and her eyes were dull. “Thanks for coming.”
Bina glanced at the stand beside hers, busy with visitors. All the exhibitors had been given a couple of tables and a set of screens to make a display for their project.
Bina’s booth was a kaleidoscope of rich colors—forests, saplings, and ferns on one side, ice and rocks covered in frost on the other. On the screens above them reared Volcan Crag, with sped-up clouds racing past its steaming peak, and the title of her project: The Fungi Kingdom & the Miracle of Mycelium.
“This looks amazing, Bina,” Rosie gasped.
“Thanks. I’ve managed to grow some of the white mushrooms in the lab.” Bina pointed at tiny white petal-shaped fungi, scattered like pearls among the ferns. “Ms. Parr and I have done trials which suggest they could be really effective in the treatment of all sorts of autoimmune conditions, like MS and arthritis.”
“That’s brilliant!” Rosie said. “And what’s this?” She pointed at the little black fungi peppered with white specks hiding among the frosted rocks.
Bina’s eyes lit up. “That’s the game changer! A super-fungi! It’s a natural immunoglobulin.” She continued, as if she was just saying a regular word like “aspirin,” in full high-speed-Bina mode. “A universal antidote—I haven’t managed to grow it in the lab yet, but it could be world-changing for all diseases, cancers, viruses, snake bites, and any extreme poisonings.”
Jackson whistled.
“All poisonings?” asked Rosie.
“I think so. We’ve still got loads of testing to do, though. It’s one of the fungi that only exists on Bloodstone, and it’s really hard to find.”
“What are those rocks it’s growing on?” Jackson asked. “They look really weird.”
“Snowflake obsidian,” Bina said. The glistening black rocks were shot through with intricate white patterns; they did look like snowflakes. “The super-fungi love it, but it’s rare. It forms when bubbles of magma from the volcano cool super quickly. When fire meets ice. The bubbles of lava crystallize into snowflake obsidian, and life is re-formed. It’s like alchemy.” She shook her head. “Fungi were the first life-forms on land, you know. They mine rocks for nourishment. This world couldn’t exist without fungi!”
Rosie peered closer at the rocks. They were beautiful in a strange, dark way.
“Very clever bit of foraging. I do have a weakness for white truffles grated over fresh pasta,” a superior-sounding voice said behind them. “But I thought this exhibition was supposed to be about innovation, not grubbing about in the muck.”
Rosie turned. A tall man with a pinched face and a glass of champagne was talking to a woman with black hair cut into a short bob. They both wore the scarlet gowns of members of the Emperium Council.
“Yes, it’s like a primary school nature display,” she said.
Bina stood up very straight. “Actually, the techniques I’ve developed to grow and test these invaluable fungi are groundbreaking.”
“Or something from the Middle Ages,” the man said, and sniggered. “Herbal cures!”
“Did you not hear what she just said?” Rosie asked him.
The woman stared down her nose at Rosie and blinked, then looked past her. “A very disappointing year so far,” she said to her friend. “I had hopes for that Saint boy, but he seems to be trying to rebuild a Spitfire from World War Two.” She chuckled. “Let’s hope Arundel or Aragon-Windsor are up to standard. We shouldn’t award a prize if all the exhibits are like this.”
Without another word, they walked away.
“What a cow!” Bina said. “Relative of yours, Jackson?”
Jackson flinched and looked at the floor.
“Sorry, that was low.” Bina scowled. “But honestly, loads of people have been like them. It’s like if your project doesn’t explode, fly, or threaten to end life on the planet like Tommy Cromwell’s, no one’s interested. I should have filled it with all my test tubes and stuff. I mean, I know it doesn’t sound as exciting as a jet pack…”
“Does to me,” Jackson said, shaking his head. “It’s incredible.”
Bina looked at Jackson, placing her hand on her chin, then smiled. “Thanks.”
“It’s like casting pearls before swine,” added Jackson. “You can thrive regardless.”
“Yeah, let success be your revenge,” Rosie said.
She was quoting Ludo! Maybe he had a point.
“What did they say about Charlie?” Rosie asked.
“He hasn’t finished his project,” Bina replied. “He was up all night, and he’s still out in one of the palace labs working on it with Ludo’s engineers.”
“Doesn’t that disqualify him?” Jackson’s eyebrows knitted together.
“Ludo’s insisted on giving him extra time,” Bina replied.
“Poor Charlie! I hope he makes it,” said Rosie. “Shall we hang here for a bit, Bina?”
“No, you go on. There’re some pretty cool things here, and you’ve made me feel better already.” Bina gave Rosie’s arm a squeeze. “Besides, Miss Churchill said she was going to pop by. She believes in my project. She’s a bit late, though.” Bina looked at her watch.
“If you’ve got Miss Churchill’s backing, it’s all good!” Rosie smiled.
Miss Churchill had promised her answers today.
Where is she?
Chapter 31
Family Tree
Thursday, February 9th. 6:30 p.m. The Emperium Palace.
“All this academic puff is enough to make your head explode,” said Jackson.
Tommy Cromwell’s nanobots had been confined in a glass tank with a big UV light over it, in case they got out of control. The goo was still sludging but less smelly.
The central aisle of the hall was filled with the top contenders for the prize. Christopher Needham was picking up concrete blocks in a sort of wearable forklift truck, and Kokebe Tesfaye had created a huge floating barrier which could gather up plastics from the sea. His booth was playing a glossy video of him using it from Ludo’s yacht. Nadezhda Popova’s showed walls of code running like a multicolored waterfall. In the center of this was a 3D hologram of Nadezhda, speaking fluent Japanese to an elderly couple in red council gowns, while the real Nadezhda replied in English through a headset.
“Yes, it’s a Van de Graaff generator, my own design, actually.” Ottilie’s voice traveled over from the next stand. “But that’s just delivering the charge I need for something bigger.” The two council members who’d been so rude to Bina were now sneering at Ottilie’s booth.
“Seems rather ‘basic,’ as the young people say these days,” the woman said.
Ottilie stood with her hands on her hips in front of a screen of stars and clouds of space gas.
“It’s a calculation of the position of Goldilocks planets from a third of the galaxy and creating a simulation of likely space-time anomalies!” She sighed. “Just imagine if we created a shortcut that could reduce travel time and distance. A connection between two different points in space and time through naturally occurring wormholes.”
“Einstein-Rosen bridges, how dull,” said the man.
“If Stephen Hawking were here, he’d understand!” Ottilie folded her arms.
“Hawking’s theory of everything…is a little old now,” he muttered, wandering off to the next booth.
“Oh my God!” Ottilie pouted at Ishaan and Jamila. “They’re all missing the point. Take over. I need to go and find my center.”
She stormed off, leaving Ishaan to poke at the generator. His hair stood on end.
Jamila giggled and took a photo of him as other council members drifted past.
Jackson smirked, and Rosie folded her lips in, trying not to laugh. Was he flirting with her? No, this was a friendly grin. No time for flirting here.
“Shall we go and see Hitomi’s DNA thing?” he asked. “She’s right next to the King’s Chair.”
Rosie nodded. They passed Charlie’s empty booth on the way. His screens were playing a slideshow of complicated designs.
“He’ll be okay, Rosie,” Jackson said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.
The superior council couple were ahead of them, looking at Hitomi’s stand. “Let’s see what their next verbal assassination is,” muttered Rosie.
“This is much more like it,” the man said, smiling.
Rosie and Jackson exchanged shrugs, then nudged their way around the edge of the crowd to the front of the booth.
On the screens behind Hitomi, old photographs and oil portraits were unfurling like flowers, all linked together by elegant helixes of DNA. Hitomi was standing in front of them with a white box the size of a shoebox. It was completely smooth, with an enamel surface.
“…and I’ve used machine learning to extrapolate results going back over thirty generations. This includes cousins, uncles, and aunts, with the relationships precisely connected. There are a few gaps, of course, but access to the DNA sequences recovered by archeologists has given us all an unparalleled view into our personal histories. My technique for obtaining pure samples from objects, or even the smallest fragments of hair, will increase the range and accuracy exponentially. I’ve then taught the model to cross-reference with all available visual and biographical material.” Her voice was fluent and confident. “And, as I am sure you can imagine, the pupils of Bloodstone have been wonderful guinea pigs through which to double-check our results, given how many have detailed records of their family trees.”
The audience laughed and nodded at each other.
“So far our accuracy is one hundred percent. Now, shall we have a demonstration?”
“Maybe that is cooler than fungi!” Bina said behind her.
Rosie turned round.
“Shouldn’t you be at your booth? And your fungi are going to save people in the future; this is just history.”
Bina sighed. “History is important, particularly here.”
“I need a volunteer!” Hitomi said.
Why not? Rosie put up her hand. She’d told the Wanting River she needed to know who she was, and now here was her chance. Hitomi looked straight past her.
“Bina!” Hitomi said. “If you have a moment?”
Bina didn’t even have her hand up, but she shrugged and made her way through the crowd to Hitomi and the box. Hitomi opened a sterile pack with a cotton swab and carefully handed it to Bina, who wiped the swab on the inside of her cheek.
“Can’t think she’s related to anyone interesting,” the snooty woman murmured.
Bina gave the stick back to Hitomi, and she pressed a button on the side of the box. A little tray opened smoothly from its side, and Hitomi broke off the cotton swab into it. It slid shut again.
“How long will this take?” another man in a robe asked.
“About a minute,” Hitomi replied. There were raised eyebrows and nods from the alumni. “There we are.” She pressed another button and a hologram of a tree began to grow out of the top of the box. It was beautiful, like a two-foot-high bonsai, with a bunch of empty picture frames hanging from it. One frame on the bottom branch held a picture of Bina, grinning broadly.
“Wow!” Rosie said.
Just above Bina’s picture, two more appeared. Hitomi touched them and a smiling man and woman revealed themselves.
“That’s Mum and Dad!” Bina exclaimed. Hitomi touched them again, and floating text appeared next to them, like a Wikipedia entry, which Hitomi could scroll up and down through.
“Now let’s try going way back,” Hitomi said, tapping on one of the higher branches. An image appeared of a young woman with long red hair. It was an oil portrait, and the woman was blindfolded, being led to a block. A man holding an ax towered over her.
“There are no contemporary paintings, so we just have this Victorian version, but there she is. Lady Jane Grey, the queen for nine days in 1553.” Hitomi touched the image and scrolled through the text. “This is Bina Simurgh’s fifteen-times-great-aunt, once removed!”
The audience applauded.
“And, of course, through her mother, Lady Jane leads us to her cousin…” She touched one of the highest screens, reaching up on tiptoes, and it lit up to show the face of a blond toddler in a huge hat. “The only son of Henry VIII, the boy king who died at fifteen. And his father, Henry Tudor himself.” She touched one last screen, showing one of the famous portraits of the monarch in all his finery.
The crowd burst into loud applause. Rosie watched as Harry Arundel stood at the edge of the group, clapping along with the others, watching his daughter and beaming with pride.
“That’s all correct, isn’t it, Bina?” asked Hitomi.
Bina nodded. “Yup, we are Seymours through my dad. Simurgh is a Persian version of the name.”
The audience oohed and ahhed again. “She didn’t even want to be queen,” Bina whispered to Rosie, still looking at the portrait of the woman. “The king made her do it because his sister Mary, who was next in line, was Catholic, and he wanted a Protestant to succeed him on the throne.”
“I’d like to try,” a very posh voice called out.
“Me too!” said another. Everyone in the crowd wanted a go. All the adults were suddenly as excited as playful children.
“I’m happy to test you all,” Hitomi said. “I shall be back in five minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.”
She and her dad smiled at each other across the heads of the people desperate to try Hitomi’s machine, then he headed off toward the other exhibits.
“Perhaps we should have another peek at the little forager,” the snooty woman murmured. “Now that we know she is someone.”
Typical Bloodstone.
Bina hurried back to her booth.
“Hey, was that okay? I was so nervous,” Hitomi said, coming over to them, her eyes wide like a vulnerable fawn’s.
