The Man-Made Summer

Prologue: Moswen

"Moss." I am roughly shaken from a slumber, "Moss." Weaver is at my bedside, arrogantly brunette beside his unfairly redheaded, younger brother. He gets whatever he wants. He thinks he's special, he's the better looking brother. He doesn't have crooked teeth, an even more crooked nose, uneven, pasty skin and carrot red hair. "Get into your overalls, we have jobs to do."

I sit up and rub my dusty eyes. "Like what?"

"We need milk, some vegetable oil, ecosteam kohl and we're running out of remedy. I'll get the milk, oil and kohl from the farms and you get the remedy from that girl down the road." June Penner. Petite, with ash blonde hair and round, thinly-framed spectacles. A bit of a recluse. She hasn't left her cottage since her father passed away a few years ago. A lot of folk wonder who she is and what's her story. I'm one of them.

"Ugh, Weaver." I roll out of bed, still half-asleep. He leaves the room. I pull on my white shirt, blue overalls and bottle green gumboots. Weaver has already left the treehouse. I climb down so I'm treading on our land. I can hear the gentle buzz of the ecomachines harvesting our crops. It's slower than usual, Weaver is right, we do need some more kohl.

Ecosteam was invented by June's father, Androxander Penner and it is an environmentally-friendly, clear vapour that smells slightly of raspberries. Since it's creation thirty years ago, everywhere from our humble agricultural village of Ahyamoor to the capital city, Baskerstone has gone green. Well, purple. We were always a farming hot-spot, but our plants were dying and it was all due to the excessive use of steam in places like Baskerstone and Frostbrook. Professor Penner gave us the answer to all our prayers before he passed away five years ago his creation took hit the market.

I knock on the round, wooden door of the quiet thatch cottage. Unlike most, her cottage has an attic, and presumably a cellar. When she opens the door, she won't look me in the eyes. She has prominent cheekbones and slender shoulders. "Good morning, Miss Penner."

"June Vanessa. Are you here to make business, Moswen Clover?"

"Indeed. I need your remedy." June created the remedy. She is the only person you can get it from, but when it's used, the harvests are bountiful. It contains the chemical retinal, which replaces chlorophyll. It alters the crops so that their green colour is replaced by a bright purple hue. Retinal is better for the plants than its original counterpart, so when it is used, they grow three times as quickly in higher quantities and have longer lifespans. Also, fields upon fields of purple trees, lilac tomatoes and indigo watermelons are spectacular. "And I prefer Moss."

Villages like Ahyamoor pride themselves upon the colour of their crops because it's pretty much unique to them. If you go all the way to Frostbrook, about a day and a half carriage ride from here, everything is green again. They are a booming city built on a strong industry of arms dealing, ship travel and the underground secret of sex workers. They receive their crops from Ahyamoor and would have no use for June's remedy.

"Come in, please, Moss. I will make a note of your preferred name, my apologies." She looks me directly in the eyes for the first time. Her eyes are cold, stone grey. She immediately turns away and disappears up the stairs, into her attic. I wait for her. He returns with an enormous, purple vial in both of her hands. She places it on a table. "Fifty magrari, please." I hand her two twenty magrari notes and one ten. "Thank-you, Moss." She helps me get the vial into my sweaty palms. To say she's so tiny and bony, she's sure as hell strong. Our hands touch for a brief moment, and I swear the slightest tinge of strawberry red creeks onto her cheeks. It's gone in a mere moment, regardless.

Before I leave I say, "Oh, June! One last thing!"

"Yes?"

Who is this girl? I want to find out. I'm desperate to. It's almost like I'm drawn to her, "Will you be at the festival?"

"The festival? Me? Well I feel out of place at such social gatherings and anyway, a party tonight is practically treason."

"Treason? What are you talking about?"

"It would be so very disrespectful to Queen Felicity to attend a celebration."

"I'm still confused. Why? What's wrong with the queen."

She stares at me, dead-eyed, "Moswen, the queen is dead."