TTR / Storytime! Macbeth

Interlude 2

Jenny had been right; the place was unmistakeable. Though in shape the building was no different from the other half-dozen light industrial units, the large sign reading ZANY ZOË'S FACTORY OF FUN!!! removed any trace of doubt. It was, Izzy reflected, sadly typical of Zoë's earnest approach to reinventing herself. Rather than hand-lettering the sign, she'd printed it in 900-point purple Comic Sans, and the result looked about as wacky and countercultural as the third Marquess of Salisbury.

Izzy pushed the button on the intercom, and jumped back just in case this was designed to trigger a sidesplitting practical joke. Instead, Zoë's voice answered.

"Who's there?"

"Izzy," Izzy said.

"I'll come down."

And in a few moments, a pale, fragile-looking and not in the least zany Zoë opened the door.

"Come in," she said. "Follow me and put your feet exactly where I do."

She led Izzy in, crept crabwise around the edge of the lobby, and ascended the stairs, counting under her breath the while and skipping steps apparently at random. At the top, she opened the first door on the right — using a rubber glove to avoid touching the metal handle — and waved Izzy through it. They found themselves in a futuristic waiting room, decorated in shades of off-white, and containing cube-like chairs, brick-shaped sofas, spiral-legged coffee tables, an abstract sculpture apparently made entirely of chrome-plated wires, a food machine, and a selection of magazines with dates ranging between 2015 and 2120.

Isobel was lying on one of the sofas, looking positively green.

"Oh, hello," she said. "Forgive me not getting up. I think we must have eaten something yesterday that disagreed with us."

"She's not joking," Zoë said. She slumped into a chair, which blew a raspberry. "Neither of us has touched a bite today. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at a jellied eel again."

"Dying of a surfeit of lampreys?" Izzy got down to business. "I want to know what you and Jamie are up to."

"Nothing. Isn't that right, Isobel?"

"Quite right. We couldn't do anything even if we wanted. Look at us."

"Very well, then. What's Jamie up to?"

"I don't know the details." Zoë cudgelled her memory. "He had a complete edition of Shakespeare, and I think he was planning to read to the children. He gave us the slip and went off to make some plan with Samantha and Gia."

"That makes sense. Next question. Why can't I get back into the nursery?"

Zoë shrugged. "No idea."

"And you don't know where Victoria's got to?"

"No. Why? Is there something wrong?"

"You mean something other than Jamie trying to tell the toddlers stories?" Izzy got to her feet. "I'll see myself out. Unless either of you want to come with me to try and set this thing right."

Isobel groaned.

"I don't think I could risk it," she said.

"Me neither," Zoë added. "If I happened to make any sudden movements I think something terrible might happen."

"Thanks for nothing, then."

Izzy departed from Zoë's Fun Factory less puzzled, but no less worried, than before. If only those nitwits had thought to warn her in the morning, rather than lying around nursing their delicate stomachs, this whole fiasco might have been avoided. She slammed the door, which made a variety of allegedly humorous slapstick noises, and considered her next move. For want of anything better to do, she set out for the creche again.

"SITUATION. GREEN." the Dalek reiterated.

Izzy raised her eyebrows. "Then accompany me inside."

Once more, she stepped through the door. And once more, she was somewhere else, and the Dalek was nowhere to be seen.

This time, she knew immediately where she was — not from anything she saw, which was precious little in the mist, but from the sense of paranoia that inexorably crept over her. She was in the Memorial Gardens.

The problem people had with the Memorial Gardens wasn't with the carefully planned flower beds, the rigidly formal gravel paths, the lawns so flat you could calibrate a spirit level with them, or the topiary that looked as if it was made of cast iron rather than yew. It was just that whenever you went in there, you felt watched — as if every leaf, every blade of grass, the very sky itself, were were all keeping a close eye on you and taking notes.

Izzy, determined to make her stay as short as possible, walked briskly along the deserted paths, glancing from side to side. Already the atmosphere in the Gardens was beginning to affect her. Within half-a-dozen paces she was convinced that there was someone spying on her from a nearby faux-Grecian temple, who ducked out of sight whenever she turned in that direction. And were those sounds an echo of her own footsteps, or was she being followed?

Ahead of Izzy, trickling water could be heard, and a circular fountain was beginning to become discernable through the mist. It looked as if there was a statue beside it, a graceful nymph carved in white marble, her hands over her face. A Weeping Angel? That seemed unlikely. They never went near the Gardens. Presumably they found the sensation of being under surveillance the whole time even more intolerable than humans did.

Then the nymph looked up.

"Izzy!" she said, and burst into tears.

"Victoria!" Izzy covered the distance between them at a run. "Whatever are you doing out here? You'll catch your death of cold."

"I'm looking for Jamie," Victoria explained sorrowfully. "He's up to some sort of mischief. But I wasn't well this morning and I got to the Round late and now I can't find him or Gia or Zoë or Isobel or anyone!"

Fortunately, Izzy had got comforting a sobbing Victoria down to a fine art. Although she'd never had occasion to use her technique on the full-sized version before, it seemed to be no less effective.

"There, there," she said, hugging Victoria. "I've seen Zoë and Isobel."

"You have? How were they?"

"To be entirely honest with you, not brilliant. I think they had the same thing as you, only worse. Something to do with jellied eels, from what they told me."

"I'm not surprised." Victoria wiped her eyes. "I didn't eat as many of those eels as they did. Still, I've nearly recovered now, so perhaps they'll be feeling better too."

"Well, we can go and see them later. But for now we're going to the Round."

"Two Lucozades," said François. "François give you medical advice on house: You drink much more Lucozade, you turning orange. Any luck with skirt-boy or zany girl?"

"I found Zoë, but it didn't do any good." Izzy slumped in her chair and wished she could risk drinking something stronger.

"Jamie's reading Shakespeare to the little children, we think," Victoria said. She sipped at her own Lucozade and grimaced. "Do you really enjoy drinking this?"

"It gives you energy, and heaven knows we need it," Izzy said. "I don't know what Jamie's managed to set off at the creche. I can't even get in. Every time I try I end up somewhere completely different."

A hand fell on her shoulder. She looked up into the face of the last person she'd expected to see.

"Sounds to me like you need some technical assistance, love," William Shakespeare said.