Crossing the bridge and following the river to the coast was the Research building. That one looked like a creature half-sunk in the water; it had an ancient vibe, with the columns having slight cracks and overgrown plants. No, sorry, they weren’t just overgrown plants, but hanging overgrown plants from rows and rows of pots coming down from the roofs and ceilings by iron chains. But the place seemed to be more than that, like it was two entities fused together, but both had the same middle eastern, Ancient-World style.
Then it dawned on me. The Research building was two very old and mythical buildings: Nebuchadnezzar II’s Library and the Babylonian Hanging Gardens.
—Doesn’t it seem to you that is…breathing? —Iggy said by my said, which made me look at the construction again.
It wasn’t breathing, thank goodness. It was a trick made possible by two things; the light clashing with the tainted-glass windows, which made them glimmer, and the water passing below a part of the sunk columns, which ruffled the vines and other plants. I said that to her and we both had a quick laugh before Mugsy started the car again and we were flying through the road.
The, if I see the map with the top as a north, north-western corner of the island was the largest section of them all; extended all the way to the edge of Marina Bay. It was just labelled as “The Forest”, and gave honour to its name. It didn’t really have any buildings that could be seen from either of the two roads that went around it. Had all the markings that, if we wanted to see beyond the rows and rows of pines, we had to get out of the car and walked through the green patches of moss and bushes. None of us really was in the mood to do the small expedition, so I made a note in the map as the area as unexplored and continued the way.
Next was the north-eastern corner. This was the place more familiar to us, since was Marina Bay, where the house was. The headquarters of the Protection department was a Georgian-styled church with two lighted lanterns coming from one of the higher windows at the bell tower. I had no idea what it was, but Iggy filled the blanks for me. The building was the Old North Church of Boston, the place from where Paul Revere had seen the lights and had known from where the British troops were arriving to the area.
—One by land, two by sea? —she said, as if it was something I should know verbatim— No? Huh, that’s Britain to you in a nutshell. Let’s keep our losses at a minimum.
I was about to ask if she was an American, but I hadn’t the time for it. Mugsy had began her race against herself again, and we stopped at the house, but the place marked as the headquarters was across the street. It was the lighthouse. Oh, it was that lighthouse; Flannan Isles’. Remembered my mother reading about it when I was young, she even showed me a map and a picture, which is a strange thing to share with a five-year old, but I digress. We saw the building at a distance, and since we were living right in front of it, didn’t think of going up there.
Old Town, the region south of Marina Bay, was a proper mid-19th century European city. It was filled with these continental four-story buildings of crème bricks and blueish windows and floors. Reminded be of the paintings of the Belle Epoque Paris we had at the Academy. The place also wasn’t good for the back, since the streets were mostly cobblestone and a couple of those were already lose.
Nonetheless, if Old Town belonged to the Baron Haussmann’s era, New Town, at the south, was the lovechild of Le Corbusier and Sant’Elia. Large white squared buildings with small windows and golden abstract statues and decorations, all neatly arranged with smooth black pavement roads. New Town was something out of a science fiction book from Mr. Wells. There were times when I was sure Martians on tripods were after us, especially with the way Mugsy kept driving.
The corner south-eastern were mostly different era mansions and large buildings. The place was called Blackstone, and had curvy roads that matched the name. Nothing there either, but I saw a mailbox for Mr. Darbinyan, so I assume its where he’s living inside the island.
The next one was the only place there to reminded us we were under the frozen continent of Antarctica. The region south of Town Square was called The Tundra. It was the complete opposite of The Forest, nothing but a frozen landscape of ice and snow. We stopped, thank all the gods, for a couple of minutes of Brigitte and her mother making a snowman, while Iggy entertained herself lifting snow with magic and creating small ice figurines to accompany the others.
—Middle of a false winter and I don’t have a coat with me— Ursula complained—.
—Actually— I added—, we are in a real winter. We passed the Equator line on our way here, so August is the middle of winter.
—If you say so— she made a muff appear in her hands—. My sister’s tail will keep me warm.
I decided against asking, for now, since the other three were coming back to the car. The icy road was the only deterrent for Mugsy’s driving. As soon as we were out of there and on the sturdy motorway of the Outer Zone, she stepped on the accelerator as hard as she could. However, the vehicle began moving again in a slow pace, no mattered how much Mugsy tried. A small folded piece of paper, the size of a player card, landed on everyone’s lap, even the infant’s, though I doubt she could read at all.
— “Thank you for keeping the Outer Zone safe (maximum speed at 30 mph)”— I read from its block letters—. Seems you’re not running here.
—Darn it! —she hit the wheel, and a golden glow blew from her hands—. Let’s just make ourselves scarce and get back on the road.
The Outer Zone was a thin strip of motorway between The Hub on one side, and The Tundra and The Haywire on the other. The buildings were just on one side of the stripe, and were all unassuming and grey; even the Security Department HQ. Or not. The thing with that particular building was that if you weren’t looking directly at it, it blended with the surroundings. Perhaps had to do with the fact that the entire construction was painted in the same colours as the background.
—Looks like the work of Handerson Thayer— Ursula said, looking at the building—, we have a couple of his oils at the villa. I had to pry one from the late Freer, but it was worthy.
—I think I’ve read about him— Iggy said, playing with Brigitte—, he’s the one who began studying camouflage, right?
—That’s the one.
Joyfully for Mugsy and stressing for everyone else, she turned to the south-western corner of the map, the twisted area from where we entered and that was a hillside ending in a steep cliff. The Hub. It was a collection of metallic buildings, all crowned with glass domes. All except for one, or two, depending on how you look them.
Transportation was on the right of the road, while Magical Resources was on the left. They were both connected by a sky bridge made of the same sandstone as them. They were twin buildings, in the same neoclassical style, reminded me of Grand Central Station, which I’d saw in New York City on our way to the base. Tall, with large windows, cylindrical columns with no base at the end of the steps. If it weren’t for the large names sculpted on the façades, it would be impossible to determine which department go into which building just by looking at their outsides.
—What is a train station without the trains? — I asked out loud.
—Is that a philosophical question or a real one? —Iggy asked instead, and I wasn’t sure how to answer, so we let it go.
To much chagrin of Mugsy, we were back momentarily to the Outer Zone; the only reason being it was the only way to access the rest of the island. So, we went at a normal pace, though to Mugsy it must have been a glacier one.
In the western coast, with the Outer Zone to the south and Archive City to the north, it was The Haywire. It was another metallic place, but with wires and cables and towers connecting all the buildings together like a hive. The centre of this hive, though not at the centre of the region, was a large tower a couple metres in the freezing sea waters away from the shore. It was connected to the island by a bridge, so it wouldn’t look like an oil rig, but all the cables went through the middle of it.
—Oh, I recognized this one! —Mugsy said, looking at the tower— It’s the British Broadcasting Corporation Tower! I see the letters!
It was not difficult to see why she guessed correctly with just a glance. On the side of the tower looking at the coast, there were the large neon letters of BBC. I got slightly scared due to electrical sparks shifting from coil to coil, so we went quickly on our merry way, avoiding the buildings and the people of communication who seemed to be arriving in their shuttle bus.
—I don’t think we have people to spare, be careful! —Ursula yelled to Mugsy.
Town Square, as the name implied, was a town square in the centre of the island and a few blocks around it. It was a quaint little town of American design with shops, a barber, a courthouse, and a police station. I was quite sure most of the places were just a part of a Potemkin Village, but three things didn’t seem to belong there. A large limestone tower, which didn’t have any markings; an Old Wild West type of store that didn’t really fit in the place it was; and the large red-white pole in place of a statue at centre of the plaza.
—Those have to be Maintenance— Ursula said—. It seems to be a J.C. Penny’s, and I’m sure they are not making this place a franchise.
—And that’s Babel. It doesn’t look like the pictures, but the stones match the ones at the demonstration of Mr. Darbinyan— I added—. I’m not too fond of my speech being scrambled, I hope we don’t have to go to Support…
The Factory, to the north of Town Square as an unassuming place, filled with factories and the increasingly irritating sound of clashing metal. Due to Brigitte making a fuss because of the noise, we went the hell away and back to Marina Bay.
In our way, however, I saw a building that didn’t belong to any of the regions. It was in the corner between other four: Old Town, The Factory, the Forest and Marina Bay. It was a large ornamented hexagon of lawn filled with fruit trees and marble sculptures with a small white building in the centre of it all. It was three stories with short windows and a glass double door.
It was a lot of details for what I should’ve seen at the speed we were, but that piece of street had the same limitations than the Outer Zone. While Mugsy cursed at the road, I looked around.
We arrived at the house a few minutes later.
I made a mental note to look if the house itself had something special about it, but at that point, while running to the half bathroom, I had only one thing in mind. With all the speeding, twisting and twirling we did in the car, my lunch, breakfast and yesterday’s dinner was waiting frenetic for a way out.
—Damn you and your car, Mugsy— I said before hurling my guts out—.
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