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THE UNDERWOOD SEE
Book Three of
THE ALDOUS LEXICON


Conversation between Aldous U and Alaric Underwood:

'As life generates life, reality fosters reality. We're all clones of clones of clones, developing in different ways, responding to stimuli of every kind and variety. Very little that you see, hear or sense in your home reality is wholly original.'

'Doesn't sound like there's much room for God in all this,' Alaric said.

'God? Don't make me laugh.' Aldous U laughed anyway. 'You might as well believe in reincarnation, fate, destiny, or imagine there's some meaning to life. There's no meaning, there's no divine plan, no glorious heavenly paradise full of dead relatives where we swan about for all eternity doing sweet bugger-all while managing not to be bored out of our skulls listening to harps. We're born, we live out our pitiful little lives, we're scattered on the roses, end of story. Care for a Darjeeling?'


The Aldous Lexicon is a continuous narrative in three volumes. Confusion will almost certainly arise if these three are not read in chronological order, which is: A Crack in the Line, Small Eternities, The Underwood See.

 THIS BOOK. In an old stone house in an empty world a traveller yearns for a Withern Rise haunted by tragedy. In two identical realities there are glimpses of people who shouldn't be there, and whispers in the night. In the tangled heart of a dying forest a seventeen-year-old outcast plots bloody vengeance. Life-changing resolutions are in the air, in the realities of the Underwood See. 


 

The Underwood See

Sample


His childhood at Withern Rise so filled Aldous’s mind these days that he was sometimes hard pressed to separate past from present. He would be strolling around the garden, stop suddenly and close his eyes, smell flowers that were no longer there, hear the squeals of Mimi and Ray scampering nearby, or their laughter as they pushed one another on the swing that hung from the old apple tree. Then – as this morning – the creak of the wheelbarrow, iron wheels on gravel. Opening his eyes, he expected, for a happy second, to find everything as it used to be, as it should be, with him allowed to act like a kid again, run about, climb trees, be as silly and loud as he liked, Maman at an upstairs window, Father chatting to Mr Knight, the future still waiting its turn.
      But no. It was gone. All of it.
     The wheelbarrow that crunched by on the path, though the same wheelbarrow, was pushed by today’s Mr Knight who, uncharacteristically, merely grunted in passing. No Mimi and Ray, no swing, no apple tree, no more childhood.  
     Aldous blinked several times, then dragged disconsolate feet away, as if from the past, across the bland south garden to the strip of wilderness that ran from the river to the main gate – all that remained of the array of trees and bushes that had once covered this portion of the grounds. Virtually untouched since the Underwood name was returned to the deeds in the early nineteen-sixties, this ribbon of chaos, this untamed link with Withern’s history, was rarely entered, though it would never have occurred to anyone to tidy or clear it, it being all that remained of the old south garden. Aldous had loved the south garden as it was back then. So had the others. Riding their trikes and scooters through it, hiding in it, having little picnics together in secret bowers, small worlds away from grown-up regimes and bedtime.  
     When he heard Naia’s voice raised in a shout, Aldous turned to see her breaking out of the bushes that lined the drive. Mr Knight, way down in the vegetable garden now, must also have heard her, for he looked up from his work, which currently seemed to be pummelling the earth with the heaviest spade he could find.  
     ‘What’s up?’ Aldous called.  
     ‘There was a man in the drive!’  
     They started towards one another.  
     ‘What did he want?’  
     ‘He didn’t stop to say. I only wanted to speak to him.’ They met in the middle of the lawn. ‘I’ve seen him before,’ Naia said. ‘Watching the house, taking pictures. And looking through these.’  
     There was an old pair of binoculars in her hand. Brass binoculars.  
     ‘You took them off him?’  
     ‘No, he dropped them as he skedaddled.’ 
     ‘I had a pair like that,’ Aldous said.  
     ‘Did you? Well, I suppose they were quite common a few years back. Now I think of it, I’ve seen some myself, somewhere…’ 
     It came to her even as she said it. It was back in February, her first time in this reality, when it was still Alaric’s. There was no one at home and she’d taken the opportunity to look around, found them in the double wardrobe in the master bedroom. She hadn’t seen them since, or given them a thought.  
     ‘May I see?’ 
     She handed them over. ‘Look.’ He indicated the letters ‘LU’ engraved between the eye-pieces. 
     ‘Maker’s initials?’ Naia said. 
     ‘My Aunt Larissa’s.’ 
     ‘Your aunt’s?’ 
     ‘These are the glasses she gave me on my eleventh birthday.’  
     Naia stared, at the binoculars, at him, back at the binoculars. Then she whirled about and raced to the Family Tree. She felt in the message hole and found an envelope which, as before, had her name on it. She did not go back to Aldous, but round the side of the house, to the landing stage, where she sat to read the directions to the reality of Aldous U. 

* * * * *

 And extracts from the first two volumes:

A CRACK IN THE LINE

SMALL ETERNITIES