Mardy told Rachel about her conversation with Mrs Hobson that morning, and the intruder in her room. 'I keep thinking I've got a double following me about.'
Rachel nodded. 'That's likely enough. Fetches, we call them. Like the one we just saw. It's a copy, made when the Mayor played the Reverberant Chord. Right now he'll be nursing it up, getting it ready to take your place.'
'Take my place?'
'That's the idea. You wane, it waxes. It's not a straightforward process, mind. You'll probably find it fades in and out for a while. But make no mistake, in the end the Fetch will be Mardy Watt, and you'll be a slave forever here in Uraniborg. And none of your friends or family will know that anything's changed.'
'Of course they will!' protested Mardy. 'Do you think they wouldn't notice the difference between me and a Fitch?'
'That's "Fetch",' corrected Rachel. 'Oh, I don't say they won't see any change at all. "Mardy's in a strange mood today," they'll say. "She's just not herself. And hasn't she gone off her food? I hope she's not sickening for something."' Rachel did her impression in a high adenoidal voice, which made Mardy furious. 'She's not even taking it seriously!' she thought.
'The copy's never perfect - but it'll probably be good enough while it's needed.'
Mardy sensed some hope in this. 'So the Fetch won't take my place forever?'
'How could it? It's not a real person, you know. More like a very clever clockwork toy. And eventually it will run down. That's the way it works. Everyone thinks you're getting sick - and sicker. No one knows what's wrong. The doctors are baffled - nothing seems to help. A few days, a few weeks maybe, and it's all over. Your family thinks you're dead - but you're not. You're really up here, a slave for the Mayor. All that they bury is a body. But of course you mustn't let it get to that stage.'
Rachel paused, apparently unwilling to broach some unpleasant detail. Mardy asked reluctantly: 'What do you mean?'
'Once the Fetch is dead, that's it. There's no way back. As far as the world's concerned, that's the end of you. Your soul will be stuck here for ever, here with the Mayor as your master. So you've got to act fast.' Rachel thought for a moment. 'Is this the first time you've seen Uraniborg?'
'Yes.'
'Absolutely sure?'
'It's not something I'd forget!' exclaimed Mardy impatiently..
'And you'd never seen your Fetch before? Till just now, I mean?'
'Not till just now - no.'
Rachel looked relieved. 'Then the spell's not too far advanced. With luck. Let's hope for the best-'
Rachel was about to say more, but something behind Mardy's back had caught her attention. Mardy turned - to see a large, cumbersome vehicle coming down the street towards them. It was still some distance away, but Mardy could already see that it ran on caterpillar tracks like a tank. There did not seem to be anyone driving it. It was wide, too - wide enough to fill the entire street. Slowly as it came, there was no escaping it.
'It's the street cleaner,' said Rachel, and she sounded more nervous than she had since Mardy had entered Uraniborg. 'The Mayor must have spotted us. Prepare to get wet.'
Mardy saw what Rachel meant. Fitted at intervals along the sides of this contraption were jets of water, and big tumbling brushes like those in a car wash. Everything in the street was getting soaked. There was something so relentless about it that there seemed no point in even trying to run away. In fact, as the machine grew closer (and already it was surprisingly close) Mardy saw through the jets that the street itself was melting at the touch of water. Between her and the street cleaner lay Uraniborg, a smoky yellow suburb of nowhere at all. Behind it Bellevue Road itself was springing back into being: the school, snow-bound trees, Hal's parents' Splash of Colour. And now the machine was upon them. Rachel's smokescreen dispersed instantly as a spurt of water crashed into it. At the last moment Rachel took her hand: 'Just close your eyes and try not to make a noise,' she hissed.
Then Mardy felt the water burst onto her and through her. It was worse than she could have imagined. She had expected to get wet, and had been gritting her teeth for the feeling of ice-cold water on her skin. But she had not expected the water to jet right through her body, melting her lungs and heart and bones and brain, or to leave behind it (the last thing she noticed before her nose too disintegrated) such an oily, chemical smell. There was no pain. But the atomizing fear was worse than any pain. 'I'm a ghost!' thought Mardy. Then there was no Mardy any more; and nothing more to be thought.
