The Notary of Gotliss Street

By Angeline Trevena

Everyone knows the devil lives on Gotliss Street. Now, someone's knocking at his door.

For more than 200 years, the harbourside street has existed in isolation, walled off from the city it was once a part of. Its people live happily, never wanting more. Most of them, at least.

Erinyth has never felt like she belonged. When she gains an apprenticeship under the notary, she uncovers how deep the secrets run, and just how much of an outsider she is.

After two centuries, the cracks in the wall are beginning to show. Erinyth needs to decide who she can trust: the boy who loves her, the girl who sees everything, or the man they say is the devil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bogus Caller Press
• Release date: Feb 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386622222

Book preview

1

Erinyth leant forward, past the harbour wall, and looked down at the water below. It was still and clear today, the weeds and plants rising up like an underwater garden. Her shadowy, wavering face was superimposed above it as if she were their God. For a second, she felt powerful, considering whether she might be a merciful God, or a vengeful one. But, between her and her subjects below, hung two pale, skinny legs, and two equally skinny arms rested on them. She was, by any definition, a waif. And what God was a waif?

Leaning further forward, she inspected the limpets that clung to the wall beneath her. A whole mountain range of conical shells. Unassuming as they were, these were the true Gods of the world. Their teeth, more than 100 rows of them, scraped algae from the wall, constantly wearing down and being replaced. Those teeth were the world’s strongest biological material. They were Gods. Not the pale, skinny girl.

Lifting her legs, she turned around, putting her back to the sea. She sat cross-legged, her bony knees jutting out either side of her as if she were a coat hanger.

Gotliss Street was quiet at this time of the morning. The sun had barely risen above the city beyond, and its efforts offered a deep amber light.

Erinyth looked up at her father’s shop. The facade boasted a large window, and two doors. One for customers to enter the shop itself, and another giving her father access to the dyeworks. This door was standing open, and she could see him beyond, sleeves rolled up, his arms stained pink to the elbows.

She pushed herself to her feet, and wandered over, leaning against the door frame, and breathing in the bizarre mix of scents.

Today, her father was dyeing red fabrics, the same shade as Erinyth’s dress. She’d made it herself, with scraps from the shop floor, and it was pieced together like a jigsaw. Everyone who lived in the three hundreds wore red, identifying them to that hundred. When Erinyth was married, to someone in a different hundred, she would have to get used to wearing a different colour. A lot of living on Gotliss Street involved getting used to things. Liking it or lumping it. Putting up or shutting up. It was how Gotliss Street had survived, and it was the only way they knew how to do things. This was not a place for revolutionists or innovators. There were the ways that things were done, and they had always been done that way, and they would always be done that way. No one questioned it, or made suggestions, or looked for improvements. Whether people were too scared, or too stupid, Erinyth didn’t know. Perhaps they were simply too content.

Can I help? Erinyth asked her father.

No, Erinyth, he replied. His voice was like gravel, and he had been suffering from a slight and perpetual cough ever since she could remember. He cleared his throat. It’s not your job. When you’re married, you’ll take on your husband’s profession, and you can find happiness in that work.

What if he’s a pig farmer? she muttered.

Then you’ll never be hungry. He smiled from behind his small, white beard. It was neatly trimmed into a triangle, giving his face a sharp appearance at odds with his personality.

Erinyth rolled her eyes. And what am I meant to do until then?

You should practice being a good wife.

She sighed deeply, involving her whole body in the gesture. But that’s boring.

He braced his hands on the edge of the dye-bath, abandoning his stirring pole like a spoon in a coffee cup. What do you expect from life? he asked her.

I don’t know, just something. Anything more than this.

Gotliss Street is not the place for having adventures.

I’ll just have to climb over the wall then, and find an adventure elsewhere.

What do you think you’ll find over the wall?

Life.

He shook his head. No one’s come over that wall in almost fifty years. The city is dead. It’s empty.

You can’t possibly know that. Maybe no one comes over anymore because they’re all having too much fun. And, if the city is empty, how come no one’s ever come back? All the people who have escaped Gotliss Street, they never come back. Surely they would if there was nothing out there for them to find.

I don’t know, Erinyth. Maybe they caught a disease, or drank poisoned water, or got lost, or killed by a wild animal. Gotliss Street has everything we need, there’s absolutely no reason to ever leave. For all you know, the city built that wall to protect us from something. To save Gotliss Street.

You know perfectly well why the city built that wall. She shifted her weight and gazed out over the ocean. Did you ever wonder if there’s anything more than this?

No. I didn’t. Now go and find yourself something to do.

Erinyth rolled her back around the ridge of the door frame and dropped off the small step with a groan. She wandered up through the four hundreds, her bright red dress drawing attention from everyone wearing shades of green, and up into the five hundreds, and its wash of purple.

She stopped outside of the Registry, and looked up at the squat, white building. It had ideas of grandeur far above its size, with its domed roof, and pillared facade. The pillars dwarfed the building behind, like a face behind oversized glasses. She climbed up the few steps to the small, purple door that was always slightly ajar, and stepped into the cool, dusty interior.

The inside of the Registry had the same ideas of grandeur as the exterior. The stone walls boasted large panels painted to look like marble. The floor was laid with an intricate and intense pattern that gave Erinyth a sense of vertigo as she walked across it. The glass dome above her flooded the room with sunlight, filtered, and purified to a harsh, white wash. Like ice. At the far end of the foyer were two doors. They were identical except that one was always locked, and the other was always open.

Beyond the open door was a smaller room, it’s only natural light offered by a single window, the air glittering with dust. This stone room was plain and simple, with a small fireplace that burned all year round. Heavy tapestries had been hung on the walls in an effort to trap some warmth, or to make the space feel less like a cell. The tapestries were so faded and threadbare that it was anyone’s guess what the designs were supposed to depict.

Behind a large desk sat the notary, his small body dwarfed by his workspace. He looked up at Erinyth, giving her a warm smile as he leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands across his chest.

Welcome back, Erinyth, he said loudly.

Erinyth had always wondered whether the tiny man had a naturally large voice, or if he had, instead, adopted it to complement the building. Perhaps the Registry had simply imposed its mismatched ideas of scale upon him over time.

I wanted to ask about the people who had come over the wall, Erinyth said. From the city.

The notary nodded. They’d had this same conversation many times before, but he patiently played his part. What would you like to know?

Were they sick when they came over?

No.

Were they scared?

As he pondered her question for a moment, he raised his eyes to stare at a point just above Erinyth’s head.

No, he finally said. All of the ones I’ve met were more confused than anything. Definitely not scared. In fact, they were quite full of wonder.

What about the strange language they were speaking. Has any of it been translated yet?

No. Within a few weeks of arriving, they were all speaking our language quite fluently, with, apparently, no memory of their previous tongue.

Doesn’t that seem odd to you?

He shrugged. It’s survival. The brain is a bizarre implement, and it can do things that may seem unusual if it improves the chances of survival. He cocked his head from side to side. But then, there’s also a theory that their so-called language is nothing more than meaningless babbling. Utter nonsense. The ravings of a mind gone mad. Either from horrors that exist over the wall, or from poisonous toxins. An equally valid theory.

Erinyth took a step forward, her fingers brushing against the edge of the desk. Which theory do you believe?

What does it matter? What I believe doesn’t change which theory is actually correct. It also doesn’t change the fact that we don’t know which theory is correct, or that, in all likelihood, we never will. The truth could be something we haven’t even thought of yet.

But you’ve talked to these people, so I’d like to know what you think. She glanced at the locked door behind him.

Erinyth. You know that I cannot tell you their names, or their hundred.

Erinyth nodded. The records were restricted, accessed only by the notary. Even the other members of the council weren’t allowed access to them. There were secrets behind the locked doors here. Big, wondrous secrets. It felt as if that locked room contained the answer to every question she’d ever asked, or ever would ask. Like it was the only thing that would satisfy the unidentified gnawing that she felt in her stomach every single day. Like, if she could get hold of those answers, she could finally feel that she belonged here.

Hire me. The words were out of her mouth before she even realised they were coming. She blinked in surprise, her hands locking behind her back.

The notary blinked back at her. What?

Take me on as an apprentice. She’d turned the tap on now, and she couldn’t stem the flow.

But you’re a girl.

That’s fine. It’s fine. Take me on as an apprentice. I’ll work harder than any man ever would.

Fine, he said, his face shocked as he said it. Come back tomorrow, first thing, and we’ll start your apprenticeship. He swallowed, but it was too late. The words had already escaped, and they couldn’t be recaptured.

Erinyth nodded and backed away slowly, frightened that any sudden movement, any noise, might break whatever magic had happened here. She stood in the foyer for a moment, before running from the building. She ran back to her hundred, confused, excited, carrying her new appointment like a heavy rock in her pocket. A rock she was desperate to conceal for fear someone might take it from her, and toss it into the sea.

2

Erinyth hung on her wardrobe door, swaying forward and back. What exactly would the notary’s apprentice wear? She finally decided on a pair of red trousers, a cream blouse (the only other colour she was permitted to wear), with a red scarf tied around the collar, but not after half of her clothes had been discarded across her bed.

She glanced up at her clock. It was still early, far earlier than she would normally be up and about, and it was bound to arouse suspicion.

She crept down the stairs, taking care to avoid the worst of the creaks and squeaks, and peered over the banister into the small living room. It was crammed in behind the shop, but her mother was some kind of mage when it came to making small rooms seem larger. It was cosy, without being cramped. A wide archway gave way to the kitchen beyond, which ended in large, glass-panelled doors that opened into the garden. She’d also worked wonders out there, creating a relaxing sanctuary among the plants and trees grown for dyeing, and the ugly snail house that sat, oozing, up against the wall.

Luck was on Erinyth’s side. Both of her parents were busy in the garden, tending to the crop. She slipped quietly out through the shop, and into the weak morning sunshine.

She walked up through the four hundreds, and into the five hundreds. The sun had barely risen above the wall, stretching its light across the sea, as if testing the temperature with an outstretched toe. She was early, and the Registry was still locked.

Sitting herself down on the harbour wall, she gazed into the water below. It was cloudy this morning, and dark, keeping hold of its secrets. She leant forward and looked at the limpets clinging to the wall. Unmoving. Immoveable. There was nothing else in the world as permanent, as impenetrable, as a limpet. Twisting around, she looked at the wall that rose up behind the buildings. Why couldn’t she be as equally content with staying in one place? Why did she, instead of simply consuming the world she knew, let her curiosity consume her? Everyone in Gotliss Street was content, happy with their lot. Why couldn’t she be? Why did she want more? Perhaps her father was right; perhaps there was nothing more. Gotliss Street could hold the last humans on the entire planet, and they wouldn’t even know.

The wall had been in place for more than two hundred years now, having appeared one night without warning. The city cut Gotliss Street off, and left it to fend for itself. Over the years, the reasons and the theories had become muddled together, less clear, like silt stirred up in water. But one thought had remained strong along Gotliss Street: that evil lived among them, unseen, unidentified, and the city had wanted no more to do with it. Everyone knew that the devil lived on Gotliss Street, they just didn’t know what number was on his door. He could be anyone, and, while contentment was on every menu here, suspicion was served up as a side dish.

She looked around for the notary, realising she didn’t know what time the Registry actually opened each morning. Perhaps there was no official opening time, and he simply turned up when he liked. What time did tiny old men wake up in the morning? Maybe this was a test; to make her wait, to see how serious she was. In which case, she would be like a limpet; unmoving. Unless he’d changed his mind about hiring her. Apprentices were always hand-picked by their masters, not simply taken on because the master was caught by surprise. He may have said yes just to get rid of her, or out of politeness. What if he’d changed his mind, and had no intention of opening the Registry today? Maybe he hadn’t even agreed to take her on, maybe she’d misunderstood the conversation. She ran over it again in her mind, analysing every word, every tone, every inference. She searched for meanings that she might have missed, or misinterpreted. And, as she replayed the moment, it became less real, like a word you’ve written too many times. Perhaps it hadn’t happened at all. Perhaps she’d imagined it. Or dreamt it.

She looked down at the cones of the limpets, almost indistinguishable from the harbour wall. Part of the world itself. Undeniably belonging. She should go home.

She pushed herself to her feet and turned around. The notary nodded to her from the steps of the Registry, cocking his head, beckoning her over.

Bright and early, he said. That’s a good start.

Just as relief swam into her chest, it was chased out by fear. She was the notary’s apprentice, and she had no idea what she was doing. She had spent her whole life being unsure of herself, she was quite an expert in self-doubt, but this was a whole new level of insecurity. Because this mattered. This really mattered.

Follow me, Adnah-Notary. The notary said, pushing the door of the Registry open. He moved surprisingly quickly on his little legs, his shoes clattering across the tiled floor. Erinyth skipped to catch up with him, her arms flying out to either side to keep her balance as the mosaic induced its usual dizziness.

But it wasn’t just the floor making her head spin and her heart race. She’d walked into this building so many times before, but today was different. Today, this was partly hers.

The notary unlocked the door to the office, and Erinyth gazed hungrily at the small bundle of keys in his hand. One of them led to the registers. To all of the answers. To the knowledge she had been starved of. And now, she would have her own set of keys. Her own access. And all of her questions could be satisfied.

The notary crossed to his desk, rounded it, and settled himself into the chair. He looked up at her with a smile. Are you ready?

She nodded earnestly, suddenly worrying that she might seem too eager. She stopped the motion, and clamped her hands behind her back.

He unlocked the top drawer of his desk and rummaged inside. Slowly, reverently, he drew out a key. He held it up as if it were made of crystal, and extended it towards her with a nod.

One of Erinyth’s hands drew out, inching towards the key. She was scared to touch it, in case it somehow disappeared at the slightest brush of her fingers. The notary nodded again, his smile widening.

She lifted the key from his hands, and cradled it in her own. It was unassuming enough; cast in a dull grey metal, the bow nothing more than a simple ring, the shaft neither engraved nor twisted, the bit rising up in no particular pattern. But its plainness, its modesty, simply made the secrets it would reveal all the brighter.

She moved to step behind the desk, towards the door that loomed before her.

The notary rose up into her path. Not that way. Not yet. He cocked his head back towards the foyer. It’s a tradition that a new apprentice uses the other door first time.

He pattered out of the office, with Erinyth trailing behind.

She looked at the locked door in the foyer. What did it matter? It was the same room beyond, the same registers. The same answers. She looked at the key in her hand, and rubbed it with her thumb.

After all, the notary continued, the Registry is all about tradition. Gotliss Street is all about tradition. Even after the reasons have been long forgotten, we still do things the way they’ve always been done. He swept his hand towards the door, inviting her to open it.

Erinyth stepped forward, her whole body tingling with an excitement she was struggling to contain. She wanted to burst, scream, dance, bury herself in books, toss them from their shelves and have the pages fall around her like blossom.

She inserted the key, and turned it slowly, pushing it only when it met the resistance of pins inside. It clicked, and the door was unlocked. She took hold of the handle, round in the palm of her hand, and twisted, drawing the latch bolt back.

The door opened towards her, and she stepped back to accommodate it.

The room beyond was in darkness, absolute darkness, and she could see nothing more than a single line of tiles beyond the threshold.

Go on inside, the notary said. There’s a cord just to your right there, pull that to illuminate the room.

Erinyth reached up in the darkness, swinging her hand back and forth until it snagged the cord. It was a string, a rat’s tail, not the grand, thick rope she’d imagined. She pulled it, and the mechanism above her clicked. A