Invisible Icecream

by Karen Goldrick

Deep in the black of endless space there hangs a small but significant grey-blue planet. Grey for the clouds which hover above and blue for the icy sea below. At the top end of this planet floats a large bulbous lump of ice and snow. If we look closely we can see the ice thrown up into a series of ridges and caves. If we enter one of these caves — the cold glare is soon left behind for the shadowy filtered green light which reveals the cave walls — convoluting and twisting into a narrow tunnel. As we go down this tunnel time passes — a small piece of infinite time. We get warmer with the exercise as the light slowly fades.

The walls become wetter, and at some point the smooth glassy snow is replaced by hard wet brick. The tunnel becomes wider. No longer tubular, now a rigid straight square. We pass rusty iron ladders — moist from the heavy air — leading no-where. If we climb one of these ladders — one which looks the same as all the others-we would climb up briskly until eventually gravity and weariness fill concrete in our limbs. Then more slowly,passing each rung and stopping often to gain our breath and despair. At last we reach a muddy iron grate — through which a softer gentler light beckons. If we can move the grate — for it will take all our strength — the smell of the air will break over us like an ocean wave. Looking out of this hole we see a long smooth white road — infinite and smouldering in the reflection of the yellow street lamps and the rain.

Now, if we had emerged from this grate at just the right point of time in the history of this strange land Under Iceland Iceland-we would have seen a pair of pale orange lights coming towards us. So pale they might almost have given up hope. These would have been followed, hesitantly, by a rusty green little Honda Scamp — also ready to give up hope.

This particular car was shuddering and smoking, almost in a straight line, along this never ending white road. It had come a long way — but had not much further to go. Up ahead lay the amber glow of a large building. The word building did not really justify this peculiar structure. — built as it was over at least three different architectural periods. The first tier rose straight and noble skywards — of large mud brown bricks with a frosty white mortar. This collided sharply with the smooth white curves of the domed second tier. The final layer — dating from the Connicular era — consisting of four dull brass cones each leading up to a crimson glass sphere.

Tiny fingers of fog tickled the white road as the Honda shuddered to a halt. The orange headlights dimmed. In the quiet there was a pause — then the driver door squeaked open. Lenny Dwyer stepped out.

There was nothing extraordinary about Lenny. If you had passed him in your main street you would probably have ignored him. You might have been vaguely aware that he was tall; thinnish; dressed all in black and had longish black hair. You probably would not have noticed his too close green eyes; slightly overlarge nose and anxious skin. You might have noted the glasses — square and black framed — with a vertical fracture down the left lens. You would probably assume — quite correctly — that he was somewhere between 25 and 30 of your years. You would probably be too concerned with your own life story, to noticed his shaking hands clad in black velvet gloves — and his quick shallow breath.

On this particular night it was cold and wet. Cold was nothing new in this deep Under Iceland. It was always cold — either cold and snowing, or cold and wet. And not friendly soft fat raindrops either — but burning piercing icy raindrops. Lenny stood in the stinging rain and regarded the steep chocolate stairs before him. They lead up and up and up — and finally connected with two forbidding white doors sealed with an iron grey bolt. Reflected in each lens of his glasses was the distorted luminous sign above the doors:

“U.I.B. Flavour Auditions.”

Lenny walked up the stairs, slow and hesitant. Any onlooker could see that he was almost to the point of turning back to the waiting green car. But he continued up. At the doors he knocked — a hollow echoing thud. Slowly the bolt grated across and the doors moved open. Two figures — also dressed in black — guarded the door. These were the Enforcers — men and women recruited to maintain law and order as designated by the UIB. They wore thick black rubber skinsuits, and a matching skap covered their hair. It was usually impossible to tell their age or their sex. A menacing glass rod swung from a belt at their hips.

Lenny handed over his entrance form. They regarded it with well trained suspicion. Eventually — almost disappointed — they handed him his number. Number 52. Almost disappointed — Lenny took it — and walked down the vestibule which lead to the big frosty hall.

If you were to have stood at the entrance to the hall — as Lenny did at this time — the first thing

you would have noticed was the expansive stage. And above this stage another brightly lit glittering sign:

“Universal Ice cream Board Flavour Auditions.”

Lenny read this slowly — tasting each word.

The second thing you would have noticed was the smell. Overwhelming, overpowering almost bringing tears to the eyes and nose. A cold brittle kaleidoscope of nutmeg, cinnamon, sweet gooey toffee,coconut, vanilla essence, fresh roasted coffee grounds, cedar, deep velvety chocolate, fresh strawberries and mango. And that would lead you to notice the third thing.

A long wooden trestle table stretching the entire length of the hall. At regular intervals along the table a large white pasteboard card with a bold black number. And behind each number — the contestants — anxiously willing to risk all for a chance at Everlasting Prosperance. Civilians awarded Everlasting Prosperance never had to work for the Dairy Co-operative again. They were awarded new domestics near the

Official Castle. Being so newly prosperous — they rarely associated with Civilians ever again.

Lenny noticed that numbers one through forty-six were ominously vacant. He walked slowly down the hall — the trestle on his left. He passed Number 68 — with long luminous black hair braided in two silken plaits. Her face was small and pale, her eyes black, her lips black and her slight skeletal frame draped in treacly black velvet. Vapours of dry ice rose from the floorboards around her.In a large copper cauldron she stirred a tarry black paste. Scattered about her space, an assortment of open boxes and jars each labelled with a skull: arsenic, mercury. lead, intense chocolate flavour, extreme chocolate colour and large chunks of the darkest black chocolate.

Lenny read her Title Plate and shuddered: “ Horrible Gruesome Murder By Chocolate.” That particular flavour hadn”t been tried before.

Two small plump boys giggled and snorted at Number 67.Periodically one would deposit a schlock of spittle in their green plastic mixing bowl — while the other exploded with another round of mirth. “Great Grimy Green Gobs Flavour”. Lenny shuddered again. He wondered if they were taking this seriously. Behind Number 66 a tall wiry ageless man stared at an overpowering computer screen. — muttering under his breath as endless reams of formulae ran away from him. A red liquid in a glass conical flask simmered over an old copper bunsen. His title Plate read : ‘E4726d’.

Lenny could see his place now: Number 52. An empty space on the long trestle amid the chaos and clutter of large wooden bowls and equally large wooden spoons, complicated chemistry apparatus, piles of fresh fruit, dried fruit, nuts, seeds, bottles of flavoured oils,glass jars crammed full of coloured confections, large drifting piles of white sugar and melting cubes of ice, electronic mixers, disused cement mixers and a number of small threatening unlabelled vials. The official stores — generally off limits to ordinary Civilians, had been widely purged for todays auditions.On his right every seat in the hall was filled with a rapt and attentive audience. Almost every Civilian must have been in attendance.

Lenny immediately realised his mistake. He should have walked down the other side of the table. Now he would have to go under to be on the contestant’s side — adjacent the long brick and windowless wall. Glancing nervously at the Enforcer guarding rows K through M he ducked under the white linen cloth and crawled to the other side. The floor was grey and grimy and left a murky residue on his black velvet gloves. Lenny quietly hoped he would not have to go there again.

The Auditions were well underway. On the stage — seated at another long table were the twelve Universal Icecream Board (UIB) Officials — all dressed as only UIB Officials could in tricoloured suits of caramel cream and raspberry — topped with cream bowler hats. They were older members of society — dignified by their age and achievement. The task of choosing a new flavour for the Ice cream Register taken very seriously indeed. Most of the contemporary Officials had held their post for many cycles. It was popularly believed that one or two of them may have been in residence during the initial Rationale — (when ice cream became the only legal nutriment and all other foodstuffs were forbidden.) Tired and frazzled mother”s had used this tale to send reluctant to children to bed.

Lenny watched the scurrying Assistors in banana yellow skin suits and matching skaps — collecting finished samples, washing crystal bowls and silver spoons, wiping dregs of ice cream from wrinkled chins. Assistors were invariably enthusiastic if not occasionally a little self important. They were newly promoted from the regular Civilians — their purpose being to ‘assist’ the UIB Officials in the day to day running of Under Iceland. Their jobs were usually repetitive and non challenging — and did not deserve the importance most Assistors tended to place on them.

As Lenny watched a young female Assistor carried a bowl to the left end of the table and placed it in front of the First Official — tall and straight man with severe eyes a motionless face.The crystal bowl was filled with a mound of orange-yellow bubbly ice cream. Silence fell — and in a soft strangled voice the Assistor announced:

“Number 47: Passiona.”

Lenny could sense the jittery excitement coming from contestants 47 — two older plump ladies several places to his left. Number 1 Official slowly lifted his silver spoon — and tasted a mouthful with practised indifference. He then passed it to Number Two Official — a jolly rotund woman who seemed to find it difficult to remain impartial. And so on down the line — each of the Twelve Officials solemnly taking a mouthful and passing the bowl on. Finally it reached the Number Twelve Official-a small insectoid woman with large beady eyes and a long probiscus. There was a low murmur of assent and agreement amongst themselves — their lips barely moving. The audience twittered with uneasy anticipation. Finally there was silence, as the Insectoid woman stood up.

“Rejected.”

A low murmur erupted from the waiting audience and Ice cream makers. The two Number 47’s drooped in disappointment and resignation — and waited for and Enforcer to lead them out. Lenny knew they would join countless others in the Eternity Room. He searched the length and breadth of the hall, looking for a familiar face. Cordelia was supposed to be working with the Assistors. She was thinner than all the others — and should have stood out despite the uniform banana yellow skin suits. For a moment he though he saw her — with a group up the back of the hall-waiting their turn to present Ice creams.

“Number 48: Lemon and Garlic.” This voice was crystal clear, and almost too superior for the job. Lenny fumbled with the belt of his coat, and slowly removed from his inner pocket a dusty wooden box. It would be his turn soon. He felt a spasm of panic when he could not find the gold chain that was supposed to be around his neck — then sighed — remembering it was tucked under his skivvy. Flicking it loose, he used the large brass key suspended from it to unlock the box.

“Rejected.”

Lenny watched with the rest of the civilians as an Enforcer approached Number 48 — a defeated grey man who could only be in his forties. Lenny heard a despairing cry from isle K, where a young mother struggled with two children. The Enforcer removed his glass rod from his suitbelt and held it to the man”s neck, immediately his eyes glazed over and his facial muscles relaxed. He turned and followed the Enforcer out of the hall.

Lenny lifted the top off the box. A cloud of grey dust burst over his face — coating his skin. glasses, throat and nasal passages. Coughing, spluttering and trying not to swear — he removed his glasses and cleaned them with his coat sleeve.

“Number 49 — Thistle and Ragwort.”

Without stopping to check out Number 49, he removed a bright purple square of silk from the box an placed it on his table space — smoothing it with his gloved hand.

“Rejected.”

What was almost a cheer burst from the far corner of the hall. Lenny looked up to find that Number 49 was no other than Finneus Whitworth — the smug ex — school master. Lenny felt a brief glimpse of vaguely remembered humiliation and revulsion — and watched as an Enforcer approached . But Finneus made a run for it — in a moment of inspired impulse that was probably the bravest of his life. Despite himself, Lenny instinctively cheered him on.

It was rare for anyone — civilian or otherwise — to openly defy Official Control. Old Finneus was lacking in fitness and exceeding in weight. Inevitably the Enforcers had him surrounded — and three glass wands were levelled at his bobbing throat. The three became one. There was an icy flash — and old Finneus was no more.

Almost too quickly the crowd settled, as proceedings resumed. Lenny stood chewing his gloved fingers. He glanced at his neighbour : Number 52. Archibald Frogmouth was a short solid man, more used to lifting and carrying than clerical work. His eyes were wide set and grey — his mouth was wider and more grey. Lenny smiled nervously at him — a small gesture of solidarity. Archibald did not smile back.

He carefully added five drops from a bottle labelled: “ Everlasting Essence” to his “ Liquorice Allsort” flavoured ice cream. Slowly he stirred — his nose dripping as the vanilla and lemon mint vapours tickled his face.

“Number 50: Cedar”

Lenny paced in his spot — was it too late to leave?His hands did their own thing: smoothing his hair; scrunching the silk square and removing his glasses. The cedar flavour was slowly passed down the official line.Insectoid woman wasted little time rejecting it.

Hearing this Lenny slowly released his breath. Beside him, the annoyingly calm Archibald watched as his entry — a large shining crystal bowl filled a myriad of colours -was carried to the Official table.

“Number 51: Liquorice Allsort”

Number one Official lifted his silver spoon with his spidery fingers and gently scraped a layer of icecream from the top. He draped it under his long nose. One disdainful sniff — and without bothering to adjust his face opened his small lipless mouth and.swallowed the spoonful. Then it happened — as he lifted the bowl to pass it on. He stopped. Bowl mid-air. The crowd gasped. Unblinking, he replaced the bowl and tasted a second spoonful. The gasp became a murmur of anticipation. Archibald Frogmouth remained calm and impassive.Lenny had to cross his legs to stop peeing.

Slowly, Number 51 was passed down the line — each official taking a second spoonful — each that is except the insectoid woman. She had three. The hall was becoming noisy and undisciplined.Perhaps at last, this cycle — after the twelve now passed — a new Official Flavour would be decreed. A long low heated discussion took place on the stage. Most of the Officials were nodding vigorously — even number one bowed his head and tapped the table.But it was she — the insectoid woman who would not let this pass.For a flavour to become official there must be universal assent. Lenny closed his eyes and held his breath. Eventually he heard the noise echoing around the hall trickle to a stop.

“Rejected”

The crowd erupted in mayhem and disbelief. There was a long loud “ Boo “ from a more rowdy section ,quickly hushed by and impending Enforcer. Lenny opened his eyes. They connected with those of a haughty superior Assistor — waiting for his entry. Lenny inhaled, long slow and deep. There was no going back. He reached into the wooden box and lifted out a crystal bowl — placing it on the silk square. He willed his face to remain calm as the Assistor took his entry to the Judgement table.

“Number 52: Invisible”

By now the hall was settled — and all watched as the short Assistor placed the bowl in front of the Number one Official. With his much practised indifference the official raised his spoon. Then

He froze — his spoon suspended near his nose. He replaced the spoon. Those lucky enough to be seated in the front row noticed a shallow tick periodically rattle his left cheek. He bent his head down low over the crystal bowl until his beady eyes all but disappeared. The remaining officials glared outwards.

Tapping his silver spoon gently on the table — the number one official beckoned a now less confident and trembling Assistor close to the table. Lenny willed his ears to gather fragments of the muffled conversation.

“Don’t know anything , Sir.”

“Empty?”

“No Sir.”

“Joke?”

“No Sir.”

But before Lenny could interpret proceedings the restless mutterings of the crowd took over. Lenny began to panic. His legs wanted to run back down the hall and out those great white steel doors. The rest of him wanted to follow. He really wished he’d taken the time to have a pee outside. Now people were starting to look and point at him. He could feel the remaining competitors silently shifting further down the table. A familiar sense of knowing foreboding sank in his chest — and stayed there. He’d always known this was a bad idea. How had he let himself be persuaded. Maybe if he quickly ducked back under the table ...

Before he could consider facing the grime on his gloves, he realised it was too late. Two enforcers — one from each end of the hall — were converging. Lenny walked — was walked — trembling and hyperventilating to the front of the hall. He suspected at some point his bladder had emptied. Of one thing he was now certain — he was off to the Eternity Room. Maybe Cordelia would like the Honda Scamp.

Finally he stood before the first UIB Official — who had two tiny beads of sweat peeping out from a skewed bowler hat.

“Explain yourself, Number 52!”

They both looked at the empty crystal bowl.

Lenny opened his mouth to explain , but all that came out was a cracked whine. Number one Official stared right through him.

“The bowl is empty number 52. Please explain.” This coming from Number Two.

“It”s Invisible Ice cream, your Frostiness. Ice cream that you-err-cannot see.” Lenny licked his dry cracked lips. “ You cannot see it — very well ... umm ... — but it is there. It comes from an ancient recipe. You”ll find references to it in the official records.” Lenny was on a roll. “ I can find them — these references — I you wish — Sir. Try it — your number one Frostiness. It’s good.” Lenny finished. Somewhat lamely.

He looked down the line of Officials. — trying to read their faces. The grip of the enforcers was tight, and he squirmed to loosen it. He tried to turn and find Cordelia — maybe she”d have some idea. “You realise what we must do.” The voice cold and thundering.

But their seemed to be some disagreement — and before long there was a closed circle of Officials — all standing and arguing behind the Judgement table. Lenny again strained his ears, but he could hear nothing over the rising hum from the crowd. There was good reason for such excitement. Ice cream auditions were usually placid affairs. Official flavours were rarely decreed. And it had been several years since the last controversy.

What seemed an infinite but was truly a finite time the officials regained their seats — all staring solemnly to the front. Only the Number Twelve Official remained standing — the small, insectoid women. Once again the audience was silent and waiting. Once again Lenny held his breath — and as he did he felt the enforcers lighten their grip.

“Disqualified!” The voice of Number 12 was a cruel guttural rasp.

“No!”. Lenny could not believe he was arguing — but he went on. “No. You haven’t tried it yet.”

Silence met his plea. “It is decreed that all flavours presented for Judgement will be tried.” He had little to lose now.

“Tell us Number 52 — is this the work of the melters?”

A horrified gasp from the crowd

“No!” Lenny shook his head convincingly as he could. He could hear the whispers.

“Melters:

“Not for the last seven cycles.”

“Remember last time”

The number Twelve Official peered around the hall — as if the ‘Melters’ might reveal themselves and surrender. Lenny could feel the flush rising from his neck — up the back of his ears and over his cheeks. He visualised Cordelia, unflappable — cool as the frosty air, never giving anything away. He tasted a little resentment but pushed it away.

“Take him to the Eternity Room”

Before the Enforcers could retighten their grip — and before that glass rod had touched his neck, he dived. Not sensibly under the Judgement table as he should have — but on to it. Face first in the crystal bowl, his tongue furiously seeking, thrusting and finding nothing but dusty glass. Then, just as he felt the chill tingle from the dreaded glass rod, he found that cold familiar taste.

Lenny sank his teeth into the invisible mound of ice cream. He felt the sharp cold shooting up his tooth roots to the front of his skull. He felt rather than heard the shocked amazement of the Officials, Enforcers and crowd behind him — and knew it must be working. He had never before seen invisible icecream in action — and did not know how it looked as the cold feeling spread. Down from his lips — to his palate and then the rest of his head from front to back. The audience watched — amazed. It was as if the molecules of his body drew apart, causing him to vanish. As the sensation of the cold ice cream reached each part of his body — it would disappear. He felt it as it slid down his oesophagus, the ache as it reached his stomach and the waves of cold spreading out, touching his fingertips and his toes. Within twenty seconds he was gone.

Lenny was so stunned by this he forgot to move. It was only when he felt the desperate flailing arms of the Enforcer, that he remembered to dive — this time under the table. He crawled quickly despite the long overcoat. Commotion. Another horrified amazed gasp from the audience. Commands barked as enforcers arrived from all directions. Indecisive twitters from the Assistors — unsure of their role in this crisis. Nothing from the UIB Officials.

Lenny crawled to the furthest end of the table and ducked back out from under the cloth — hoping no-one noticed it move. He half walked half ran to the back of the hall. He could see the driving rain, almost obliterating the waiting green Honda Scamp.

Then he saw her.

She was standing up the back of the hall. Even in that appalling yellow fitout, she was devastatingly gorgeous and appropriately superior. Lenny almost resented her attraction — for it had certainly ruined his life. It was her piercing grey blue eyes from behind his chilly desk at the Dairy Cooperative. A comfortable if monotonous job — Lenny had been happy. He bothered no-one and no-one bothered him.

Cordelia had changed all that. Her snowy pale skin and ice red hair had lead him to that first group meeting. Her softly whispered suggestion had kept him there. Deep down Lenny had always been a fence sitter, minding his own business. Now here he was: invisible, hunted and confused — all because of Cordelia. Now here she was. Her steely grey blue gaze pierced through him. This was unfortunate. Now he would be unable to complete his escape. He watched as the doors slowly closed. .

By now the Enforcers were acting on vague orders — methodically searching the hall. The doors were sealed and guarded. They moved in an unbroken line from the front of the hall to the back — waving their wands, crawling under seats and over tables. Most of the Assistors — trying to look important — had gathered whispering and watching up the back of the hall. The crowd remained seated — watching the performance unfurl The Twelve stood: unmoving; unswaying — their faces neutral.

“Lenny — is that you?”

How had she known? “Yes.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes it’s Lenny.”

“What are you doing?”

Lenny paused — how to be subtle? “I’m leaving.”

“But Lenny — it isn’t finished yet”. Cordelia continued to stare through him.

“Cordelia,” his most convincing tone, “It is finished. It is done. It is over. They did not fall for it. We tried. We failed. That’s the end of it. Now if I don’t leave soon I will end up in the Eternity Room.” Lenny turned to go.

“It’s time for the other plan.”

“What other plan?” Why hadn’t he left yet?

“The other plan Lenny. We didn’t tell you before. The Melters felt it was ”safer. Its in the back of my boot — the left one. Cordelia was rubbing the heel of her yellow boot on the inside of her right leg. Lenny felt trapped. Trapped by that frozen gaze Trapped by those damn Melters who had hooked in their claws and never let go. Trapped by those solid white doors only an Enforcer could open. Trapped by the line of Enforcers moving steadily toward him.

“Take the vial Lenny — as discreetly as you can. It will take a few minutes to work — which will give you plenty of time to go back up to the Judgement Table”

Wait a minute.”

“Shhhh ...” Cordelia licked her lips. Lenny”s became dry. “Go under the Competitor’s table. It”s not being searched yet. When it works ...” she paused and Lenny waited. “When it works Lenny you will feel some discomfort. Listen. It’s vitally important that you’re facing the Officials when the time comes. We’re not sure — but we think it may be the number 10 Official who is the Link. Try to be near her. When it happens.”

“ Cordelia!” Lenny was horrified. He really had thought his part in this was finished. “Cordelia, what are you talking about? Vial. Discomfort. Officials Linked. And what do you mean discomfort? I’ve already felt some considerable discomfort. Those Enforcer’s weren’t actually comfortable you know. And as for that ice cream yours ...”

“Your ice cream, Lenny.” Cordelia reminded him.

“OK my ice cream then — but it still hurt.” More regret, more what ifs. If only he had never found the recipe (in a disused ledger at the Dairy Cooperative). If only he had never suggested quietly to Cordelia on that cold icy night that he knew how to make it. If only she hadn’t told the other Melters.

“Lenny, there is no other way.” Cordelia sighed. A long quiet sigh echoing reverberating and quietly toppling Lenny’s resolve. Somewhere deep within himself he felt that anger and resentment fading away. The knowing foreboding however — remained.

Cordelia smiled. Lenny melted. She leaned over and kissed him. Later Lenny would wonder whether she had actually meant to kiss his nose — or was that the first bit with which she connected. He stooped down and removed the small green vial from that back of her boot. “Elixir of Emesis”. As he ducked back under the Competitor’s table — he wondered what that meant.

Once away from Cordelia he hesitated again — desperately trying to think of another way. But she was right — there was no other way. Especially now the doors were closed. The background hum from the crowd suddenly evaporated. Lenny presumed this meant the Officials had come to some decision. He crawled — as quietly and quickly as he could to the front of the hall — passing the many and varied legs of the remaining Competitors on his left. Reaching the front he lifted up the tablecloth — number Twelve Official was standing. The rest were seated.

“In accordance with the Third Decree we now declare a state of Deep Freeze.”

A shocked silence landed in the great hall — then slowly drew away. The Third Decree had only been used twice before. The first time — so long ago it had faded into legend — occurred after the disappearance of the then Number 5 Official. This had lasted five days until she was found — dazed and confused — wandering along the Great White Road. She had been hurriedly replaced.

The second time — more recently, had occurred when the Melters first made themselves known. A group of them had sabotaged the great Temperature Regulator, resulting in the loss of a whole cycle’s ice cream supply. This particular Deep Freeze had lasted several months — ice cream supplies further reduced because the civilians were confined to their domestics thus depleting production. There was an almost catastrophic undersupply. Finally it had ended — with the incarceration into the Eternity Room of several civilians accused of being Melters .

Lenny nearly fainted — surely this was overreaction. Did the Officials really perceive he — Lenny — was such a threat to this cold ordered society? He looked at the small green vial — it was almost comical seeing it held in his invisible hand — suspended just above the floorboards. He could feel it burning into his hand. The Elixir of Emesis. Some discomfort ...

Time was running out. Since the declaration, the Enforcer&;s had wasted no time emptying the hall. Every citizen, young, old, and in between had to be confined to their domestics. Presumably this would last until Lenny was caught and ... he shuddered — turning the vial over. Through his porthole in the tablecloth, he could see the Enforcers now arriving at row C. Each Citizen was made to stand — and frozen by the wand. Then the whole row was lead quickly and quietly down the isle and out the back entrance. Nobody protested. Nobody tried to escape. The memory of Finneus Whitworth was still vivid and fresh. There would be no difficulties.

By now Lenny had realised that he could actually escape. The doors were opening. He’d have to leave the car, of course. Maybe Cordelia would look after it. But he could leave the hall and go out into the quiet rain. Maybe even go back to his domestic. No one would know he was there if he was careful. He wondered vaguely how long he would remain invisible. As he fantasised he squeezed the vial so it lacerated his gloved hand — and he could feel a stickiness which might be blood between his fingers.

Lenny held his breath and turned off the annoying voice in his head. With-out further hesitation he opened the vial and threw the contents into his mouth. They had a mild salty soapy taste — not entirely unpleasant. He could feel the granules gently coating and abrading the lining of his stomach. Cordelia had said a few minutes. She’d also mentioned the Number Ten Official, so Lenny moved to get a better look . She was old and small — so old her thin papery skin was thrown into a landscape of parched wrinkles, barely able to stretch and cover the bones of her face. Her eyes — small and lash less — seemed to have no colour. For a brief second Lenny wondered if she was actually alive.

He crawled out from under the table — and careful not to disturb any players or props he made his way to the Judgement table. By now he was starting to feel some discomfort-discomfort manifesting as a warm tingling and burning in his stomach. He could feel the unwelcome movement of gas and juices. Then he remembered what and emetic was — and with appalled understanding realised he was going to vomit. Presumably he was supposed to vomit on one of the Officials — Number Ten. So he stood in front of them, breathing loudly, but invisible. The Twelve stood: united, impenetrable, impassive and unmoving. By now more than half the hall was empty. Was Cordelia was still watching?

Lenny started to feel really quite awful — and he waited for his stomach to turn to ice. It had always been difficult for Lenny to vomit. Other people, after indulging in too much ice cream, seemed to be able to get it over with. But Lenny always had to let the nausea linger and take hold.Other people stuck their fingers down their throats. Lenny could never bring himself to do this.

Cautiously he poked his finger in his mouth and gave his uvula a gentle prod. Nothing. It wasnt going to work. Now what? Was there and alternative, alternative plan they hadn’t told him about. His vision blurred and every cell in his body felt sick. He decided to look for Cordelia: maybe some signal , some clue. Slowly he turned-and as he did his stomach decided to contract and a rush of liquid contents burned up his oesophagus and out. Not in the direction of Number Ten as instructed, but heading straight for the long probiscus of Number Twelve — the Insectoid woman. Lenny was horrified. As he watched , mild surprise registered in those beady eyes, and they slowly dissolved into nothing.

As the buzzing in his ears gradually faded and he became aware of two things. The first: all activity had stopped in the hall — and there was a heavy silence. The second : he could see his boots. The molecules of his legs; torso; arms and face rearranged and solidified. He was visible again. In utter panic he dropped to his knees and scrambled under the Judgement table.

Lenny ran on his hands and knees as fast as he could make them move. Reaching the end of the table he scrabbled out, jumped off the stage and dived back under the Competitors table. There seemed to be no pursuit — but that panicked him still further. His one thought, to get back to the green Honda Scamp and go. He reached the end of the table and again scrambled out. The grime and sweat on his gloves was unbearable and he peeled them off. He ran to the doors. Why was there no pursuit?

“Lenny!” It was Cordelia.

He ignored it.

“Lenny stop!”

“Why?” Lenny turned, irritated. Cordelia stood across the other side of the hall.

“Look.” She pointed to the stage. Every person in the hall: Enforcer, Competitor, Assistor and Civilian — stared open mouthed at the stage. Lenny’s feet still wanted to escape, but he forced them to stop. He too, turned and watched the stage.

There were only two Officials left — both standing behind the Judgement table. A growing puddle of white liquid seeped out from under the table cloth. And as everybody watched it was the jolly Number Two Official — still with her winning smile — starting to melt into the floor. Her smile lingered a few seconds before it too followed its owner into the oemeba like puddle. And then, only the Number One official remained. Even as his feet started to meld with the mess — his face remained rigid. His eyes defiant — still able to strike incredulous fear into the audience. And as he, too finally merged with the flowing sticky mess, a quiet whisper reverberated around the hall. : “It is finished”.

It was finished. The silence lingered — for a while — then lifted. A child squealed. Another laughed. Soon there was a chorus of incredulous wonder. One Enforcer, who had been in the process of leading row P out the hall — noticed his glass wand dripping small drops of water. It drooped downwards — releasing its hold . All the glass wands sagged. Eventually nothing remained of these tools of compliance but several pools on the floor. The Enforcers powerless and confused. Some threw off their constricting black skaps and shook their hair free. Other skulked quickly out the steel doors, only to be confronted by another wonder. A harsh silver light broke through the grey clouds. Small ribbons of steam rose skywards as the ground started to dry.

Lenny was still suspicious. This could be another trick — a way to trap him and lead him to the Eternity room. He considered ducking back under a table when Cordelia arrived — all breathless hair and eager mouth. She was followed by a group Lenny recognised as some of the core Melters — ready to slap him on the back and offer amazed congratulations. No one seemed to remember that he had vomited on the wrong official. No one seemed to remember that they had got it all wrong. What’s more — he wasn’t sure if he really liked this sudden disorder — this unknowing. Who was ion charge now? Would he still have his job at the Dairy Cooperative? Would Cordelia have any further use for him?

The hall was heating up and Lenny wasn’t sure he liked the sticky sensation of sweat under his armpits and on his neck. What would happen to the ice cream supplies? Outside he could see his green Honda Scamp bright and gleaning in the warm white sun.

By now both entropy and enthalpy reigned. Two small boys — last seen gobbing into entry Number 67 — ran up and down the Competitor’s table. Pocketing carrots, apples, nuts and cheese — and eating as much as they could.

“No more Ice cream. No more Ice cream” they yelled to anyone who would listen. Some of the Foundation civilians were shocked at the irreverence — but soon others joined in: nibbling cashews, seeds, sultanas; currents, spicy curried potatoes and hot chili eggs, handfuls of salty olives and dried fish, cubes of white cheese covered in fresh dill and basil, large juicy cloves of garlic dipped in lemon juice — all the ingredient for ice creams which would now never be tasted.

In a society only used to cold, rigid order and ice cream this behaviour could not last indefinitely. Eventually people subdivided into groups, trying and find some direction. A small group of yellow Assistors — still full of ambition and importance, made their way to the stage. A more hesitant group of Enforcers, unsure of their reception, but wanting to quell any resentment or revenge seeking, also moved stage wards. The core Melters — exuberant and confident with their success after cycles of failures — felt leadership was their job. And a small group of civilians — lead by none other than Piebald Head (a previously staunch Foundation Civilian) — tried also to take their place at the Judgement table — wiping the sticky mess off their feet.

Lenny decided to ask about the second plan. Cordelia seemed distracted and was intently watching the stage.

“What happened?”

“Sorry?”

“What happened — to the Officials I mean?”

“Oh that.” Cordelia didn’t even turn to look at him. “It was the Everlasting Essence.”

“What?”

This time she turned to look — so exasperated Lenny wished she hadn’t.

“The Everlasting Essence Lenny. Number 51. Liquorice Allsort. Archibald Frogmouth”

“Oh”. Lenny looked around for Archibald — but he would miss the celebrations — having been sent to the Eternity Room. No one seemed too concerned.

“How?” This time he really regretted the question.

“What now ?”

“How did it work?”

Cordelia sighed , a long sigh which echoed in her yellow boots. She patiently explained — as if to a two cycles child. “They all ate the everlasting essence. And you vomited on Number Twelve. The synergistic effect of everlasting essence and regurgitated invisible ice cream made her disappear — which broke the link. Apparently Number Twelve was the link. Our sources indicated it might be Number Ten but ... Oh well. Unlike you —” she added — “ they won’t become visible again.”

“Oh.” Lenny was glad that explanation was over — and again looked out to his green car. The stage was becoming crowded with budding leaders and politicians. Light from windows previously submerged in snow filled every corner and inlet — and the temperature was rising. Lenny walked over to the Competitor ’ s table — now ravaged and sparse — and idly sucked on a stray peanut. He watched Cordelia gliding up to the stage — her yellow skap removed and her warm red hair long and gleaming.

Lenny removed his long black coat — and watched as small droplets of water dived gracefully front the tall white ceiling. Soon the floor was dangerously slippery. Shouldering his coat and removing his fogged up glasses, Lenny walked out the doors — now damp and mouldy. He almost fell down the glassy brick stairs. His car waited in a growing puddle of water. The Honda started after the third try. Lenny drove along the now muddy white road — his wipers frantically trying to remove the fog and scum from his windscreen.

And if we stand in this place at this point in time — watching the small car disappear into the road on the horizon — we can hear the beginnings of a low rumble. At first we would be cannot locate it — but it becomes more intense and we feel a vague tremor in our shoes. It comes from beneath. The noise gets louder — eventually drowning out all else. Until there is nothing else in our existence but and insane growl and the shaking of the earth below. We might try to run — but there is nowhere to go. And even as we do run, we feel rather than see the iron grate jump out of the white road. It is chased by a long turbulent column of angry brown water. No matter how far or how fast we run — it will get us. And slowly, inevitably this water will fill the place once known as Under Iceland.