‘This is a memory, of course,’ his younger self said, waving one hand. ‘We don’t know what the upper sections of the fast-tower look like now. When Serehfa was still called Acsets, this was part of the control apparatus.’
They entered the circular area in the centre of the room; a collection of couches, seats, desks and ornately decorated wood and precious-metal consoles and dark screens of crystal.
They sat on facing seats. Alan looked up at the glaring image of the sun, his face shining. ‘We’re safe here,’ he told Sessine. ‘I’ve spent subjective millennia exploring, mapping and studying the structure of the Cryptosphere and this is as secure as it gets.’
Sessine glanced around. ‘Very impressive. Now.’ He sat forward. ‘Answer my question.’
‘The King. He ordered your death.’
Sessine sat very still for a moment. Then I am lost, he thought. He said, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Entirely.’
‘And the Consistory?’
‘They approved it.’
‘Well,’ Sessine said, running a hand round the back of his neck, ‘that would appear to be that.’
‘That depends on what you want to do,’ the construct said.
‘All I wanted was to find out why I was killed.’
‘Because you have doubts about the conduct of the war, but most especially because you were starting to doubt the motives of the King and the Consistory and their dedication to the cause of saving people from the Encroachment.’
‘I think others feel that way.’
Alan smiled. ‘Most of the Consistory doubt the wisdom of the war, and many people think the King and his pals seem less concerned than they ought to be about the Encroachment - a lot of people suspect they have their own space-ship, though they don’t. Most people can’t do anything about their suspicions; you can - or could have. You have the honour of being the most highly placed and popular potential dissident, the one they felt they might benefit most from making an example of. They were still uncertain whether actually to do it - Adijine himself spoke for letting you live - but you made their minds up for them; you pulled strings to go on that supply convoy to the bomb-workings. Adijine had left strict instructions only somebody with implants could command it.’
‘I know. It seemed ... wrong.’
‘You used your influence, somebody high up enough to know of the King’s decree but with a grudge against you let you swing the commission, and when the King and the Consistory found out they didn’t even consider trying to order you back; they just had you killed by activating a Chapel spy whose code they had already intercepted.’
Sessine considered this. ‘That seems a little desperate.’
The construct shrugged. ‘These are desperate times.’
‘And who do I have to thank for the decision to let me go in the first place?’
‘Flische. Colonel-to-the-court. He’s fucking your wife.’
Sessine thought for a moment, staring at his vague reflection in the matt blackness of screen on a console opposite. After some time he sighed.
‘What is happening at the workings?’ he asked.
‘Last year they found a mesturedo, a substance which can attack the fabric of the mega-structure. They’ve used it to eat through the floor of the solar. From there they built a tube track between the floor and the ceiling along to the wall between the solar and the room above the Chapel; they’re currently on the last lap, burrowing through the fabric of the false ceiling directly above Chapel City. When they succeed in opening it they’ll drop bombs through.
‘The mega-structure fabric tries to defend itself through the crypt. It sends visions; ghosts and demons which attempt to prevent the soldiers and engineers doing the digging. The only way the Army’s found to keep their personnel functional - if not sane - is to flood their minds with a loyalty signal; a song of captivity that blanks out everything else and turns the men into automatons.’
‘So I would not have been susceptible to this song; so what?’
‘So what they are doing there is not only destroying Army personnel, it’s destroying parts of the crypt itself.’
‘How so?’
‘The mega-structure houses filaments of the crypt’s hardware. Contrary to popular belief, the Cryptosphere is not a function of some buried horde of super-machines; the whole fastness is permeated with it. There are elements deep inside the structure, but the primary structure itself houses most of what we know as the crypt.
‘What the bomb-workings are doing now is destroying an important nexus of that Cryptospheric structure; it’s madness, and it encourages chaos. The crypt-time has slowed down locally by an appreciable additional degree. What is left of humanity is caught between the threat of the Encroachment above and the chaos within the crypt below. The course Adijine and his Consistory are following would seem to ignore one and aggravate the other. At the very least you would have been concerned, sceptical and questioning on discovering all this. They could scarcely risk that, let alone what might have been your most extreme reaction.’
Sessine gave a small, humourless laugh, and shook his head. ‘And the war with the Chapel?’ he asked matter-of-factly.
‘Genuine enough. The Engineers do have something we need, though it’s not the information on how to make spacecraft.’
‘What is it?’
The construct raised his eyebrows. ‘Here we reach the limits of my research. I am not certain.’ He shrugged. ‘But it is something Adijine and the Consistory consider to be of the utmost importance.’
Sessine shook his head and looked up at the vast orrery hanging silently overhead. It had moved, while he had been listening to the construct. Saturn hung overhead now, immense and gassy, attended by its moons.
‘Madness, chaos, crypt-time slowing,’ Sessine said, sighing. He stood up and walked round some of the ancient equipment, drawing a hand over the surfaces of the desks and consoles, wondering if this virtual environment included dust. He inspected the tip of his finger. It appeared it did, though only just. He rubbed his fingers together and looked back at his younger self. ‘Anything else you want me to assimilate this afternoon?’
‘My speculation as to the nature of the prize the Chapel and the King compete for.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘Can you keep a secret?’ His younger self smirked.
Sessine shook his head again. ‘Was I really this tiresome?’
The construct laughed. ‘This is a secret you must keep even from yourself, for a time at least.’
‘Go on,’ Sessine said tiredly. ‘What is the glittering prize we all pursue?’
The construct grinned broadly. ‘A secret passage.’
Sessine looked levelly at him.
4
I stair @ thi big blak beest cumin up thi branch 2wards me.
Av got a gun! I shout (this iz a ly).
... Ah veri mush dout that, thi thing sez. It stops ol thi saim, smilin & showin its teef agen. But nway, it sez, shtop being shilly. Am heer 2 help u.
I’l bet, I sez, glancin roun & stil tryin 2 figir out a way 2 escape.
... Yesh. If ahd wantid 2 harm u ah cude ½ shaken u out ov thare 5 minitsh ago.
O yeh? I sez, hangin on titer. Wel mayb u doan wan 2 kil me mayb u juss wan 2 capture me.
... In whish caysh ahd ½ dropt on u from abuv, u shilly boy.
O u wood, wood u?
... Yesh. Yoor Bashcule, arnt u?
Praps, I sez. & who or whot r u when yoor @ home then?
... Am a shlof, it sez proudly. U can col me Gashton.
So am bein led thru thi babil plants by a slof calld Gaston whot has a kinda mutant lisp & takes such pride in his appeerinse heez got fungus growin on his bak; thats whot thi green streeks r. He ofird 2 let me ride on his bak hangin on2 his fur but I declynde.
We clime thru thi babil, goan doun & roun thi towr.
Hoo sent u then? I ask.
... Shame peepil shent thi jericule lasht nite, Ga
ston sez, tokin ovir hiz sholder.
Whot, that big bat?
... Thatsh rite.
Whot happind 2 him nway, do u no?
... Hir, Gaston sez. No.
O.
I follow Gaston doun thru thi babil branchiz. Followin Gaston iznt difficult on account ov him bein a qwite remarkibly slo moovir. If he had bin cumin 2 atak me I cude probly ½ juss gon doun thi branch he woz on & climed rite ovir him b4 he cude ½ startid 2 react.
Nway. Hoo woz it sent u heer then?
... Frenz.
U doan say.
... No, I do shay; frenz.
Wel fanks, thats prity enlitenin.
... Payshinsh, yung man.
We negoshayate a few more branchiz.
Whare u takin me nway?
... 2 a plaish ov shafety.
Yeh, but whare?
... Payshinsh, yung man, payshinsh.
I can c am not goan 2 get nuffink out ov this slof so I juss shut up & content myself wif makin sily faces @ its big blak green-streekd bak.
Iss a long slow jurny.
... Thers fings goan on, Mr Bascule, thass ol I can sai; thers fings goan on. Frankly I dont no xactly whot they r myself, or whethir Id b abl 2 tel u about them if I did, but as I dont I cant nway, u c?
Not reely, I sez, witch is thi troof.
Thi slof-geezir whot can onli sai, Ther’s fings goan on, is calld Hombetante & heez thi cheef slof; heez got implantz & is actule considerd a bit ov a lyv wyr by slof standirds tho u cude stil go off & ½ a p, wosh yoor hans & brush yoor teef in thi time it taks him to blink. Heez fat & old & gray & his fungus lukes moar lyvli than he duz.
Am in a ½ runed bit ov thi saim towr whare thi big bat cald a jericule dropt me last nite. Me & Gaston thi slof got heer aftir about a our in thi babil, comin in thru a tol windo ½ ovirgroan wif babil branchiz.
This seemz 2 b Slof Sentril; iss lyk a hole room fool ov scafoldin & hangin 10ts & hamox & stuf. Thers rubbil on thi floar & no glas or anyfin in thi windos & thi wind blos in thru a windo on thi otheir syd ov thi hooj circulir room & thru thi scafoldin & makes everfin sway in thi breez & thi slofs doan seem 2 tak ver gude care ov thi plais no moar than thay do ther oan selfs, but @ leest thai gaiv me sum woter 2 drink & ½ a qwik wosh in & then gaiv me sum frute & nuts to eet. Id ½ preferd sumfing hot but I doan fink thi slofs r grate fans ov fyr so heetin stuf up mite b a problim.
Weer in a big spais in thi sentir ov thi scafoldin whare thi slofs aparently hold ther meetins. Bet thos r a bundil ov lafs.
Hombetante is hangin upside down from a bit ov scafoldin on a low staje @ 1 end ov thi meetin spais, thi floar ov which is coverd wif simla curvd lenths ov scafoldin like ver tol railins. Theyve given me a sorta sling thing 2 sit in suspendid from Hombetante’s scafold pole. Thi only othir slof presint is Gaston, whose hangin from anuthir bit ov scafoldin alongside, munchin sloaly on sum particulerly un-yummy lookin leefs.
... U r welcom 2 stay heer, Hombetante sez, until thingz settil down.
Whot u meen, settil down? I ask. How r they settled up @ thi momint? Whot xactly is supposed 2 b goan on?
... Juss things, Mr Bascule. Things witch need not consern u @ thi momint.
Whot about a certin ant who goes by thi name ov Ergates? U no anyfin about hir fate?
... U r juss yung & doutlis hedstrong, Hombetante sez, very much like he hasnt herd whot I juss sed ... I woz yung 1nce myself u no. Yes I no u mite find that hard 2 beleev but it is tru; I wel remember ...
I woan bore u wif thi rest. Whot it boils doun 2 is thers trubil @ kript & sumhow Ive got mixd up in it. Mite ol b cleerd up soon, mite not. Hooevir is supposed 2 b thi good gies in ol this r bhind thi jericule pikin me up yesterday & Gaston cumin 2 find me 2day. Now am heer wif thi slofs am been told 2 lie lo, & not go neer thi kript.
& - ov coarse - 2 ½ payshins.
Aftir my odyince wif Hombetante during which he tels me ½ his life story & I neerly fol asleep twice Gaston takes me 2 a playce neer thi outside ov thi scaffoldin whare thers a room wif a hamok & a sling chare & a ole fashind screen workin off brodcasts. Thers a sorta cubby-hole in 1 corner with a pipe stikin up which is suposed 2 b a toylit. 2 floars abuv thers a place whare thi slofs gathir 4 food evry evenin. Also in thi room is a boal ov frute & a jug ov water. Thers a windo in 1 wol whot lukes out 2 thi big vertikil towr windo we came thru. Gaston shows me how thi screen wurx & sez if I get board I can always go frute & nut gatherin with him.
I say thangs, maybe 2morrow, & he goes & I get in2 thi hamok & pool thi cuvirs ovir & go strate 2 sleep.
I juss no am goan 2 go crazy heer, + I no that am goan 2 ½ 2 visit thi kript sooner or later, 2 luke 4 Ergates & fynd out whots goan on, so when I wake up in thi late afternoon I splash sum water on my face, ½ a p & 1nce Ive decided I jenerili feel awake & refreshd, I get rite down 2 it, on thi principil that thers no time like thi presint.
I try 2 cleer my mind ov ol things slof-like (cant fink ov anyfing less usefil 2 take in2 thi kript than eny semblence ov sloffoolniss) & plunje rite in.
I think I lernd a thing or 2 during ol that time I spent in thi kript as a bird so I hed bak in that direcshin onli this time am not fukin about wif wee dainty sparos or hoks or nuffin; am goan as a big bastardin burd; a simurg. Thare so big ther branes can cope wif a hoomin mind without much finessin, which meens I doan ½ 2 spend moast ov my time rememberin what I am or disgysin ma wake-up code as a ring. Iss a bit ambishis but sumtimes thass thi only way 2 get nywhare.
I close ma Is.
/Check out thi immediet locality furst; nuthin out ov thi ordinary in thi neerby kript-space. ½ a shufty @ thi arcitecture ov thi towr juss on jeneril principils - this ole towr iz a interestin place rite enuf - then look a bit furvir out. Thi trafic aroun thi Littl Big Bros’ monastry is juss about bak 2 normil but I doan go eny neerer 2 find out moar.
Zoom in2 birdspace.
/& am a hooj wild bird floatin on thi currents slidin wifin thi driftin wind, hangin lazily loosed on ma outstretchd wings cantileverd acros thi singin air. Ma wingtip fevirs r eech thi size ov hands; they flutir like a lam’s hart flutirs when ma shado folz ovir it. Ma feet r steel-tipt grapples hung on thi end ov ma hawser legs. Ma talins r unsheethd razers; onli ma Is r sharper. Ma beek is harder than bone, keener than juss-broke glass. Ma keel bone is a grate nife cozend in ma flesh & cleevin thi soft air; ma ribs r glistnin springs, ma mussils sleek bunchd fists ov oily powr, ma hart a chambir fild wif slo thunder, qwiet & unstressd; a towrin dam triklin powr, tikin ovir, hedwaters ov charjed blud pent & latent.
Wel, YES! This is moar like it! Why did I evir bothir been a hok? Why woz I so bleedin unambishis? I feel feers, I feel powerfil.
I look about, surveying. Air evrywhare. Clouds. No groun.
Othir birds flyin in vast Vs, climin in hooj colums in thi air, gatherid in ther own dark clouds, wheelin & collin. I think 2wards roosts.
/& am in thi midst ov them; spherikil trees floatin in thi grounles blueniss like brown planets ov twigs in a universe ov air, surrounded by a sqwakin atmosphere ov birds toin & froin.
Thi parlyment ov crows, I think.
/ & am thare, in bitter air between layers ov white cloud like mirr’rd landscapes ov snow; thi grate dark winter-trees r massd 2 thi density ov blak clifs agenst thi icy billos ov frozin cloud. Thi crows’ parlyment is in thi tollest, gratest biggist tree ov ol, its brown-blak twigs like thi sooty bones ov a millyin hands clutchin @ thi chil blank fayce ov hevin. Thi meetin brakes up when they c me & they cum skrawkin & screetchin out 2 mob me.
I beat, pushin down thi air, risin ovir the pesterin burds, seekin 1 who stays bak, directin.
Thi crows swarm up aroun me. A few land blows on ma hed but it dozen hurt. I laf & stretch ma nek, swivelin ma hed an rippin a few ov ther litl toyish bodies from thi air. I toss them aside; red blud beeds, pulverized white bone pushes thru ther coal blak fevirs & they tumbil torn 2 thi snow-cloud billows. Thi rest screem, pull flutrin bak a momint then mob in agen. I stroke 4wards. Air snaps swir
lin undir ma wings, rollin thi pursuin birds roun like bubbles under a waterfol.
I c my prey. Heez a big grey-black fellir perchd on thi topmost twig ov thi topmost branch ov thi parlyment-tree & heez juss reelised whots goan on.
He rises, cawin & shreekin in2 thi air. Foolish; if he’d dived in2 thi branchiz he mite ½ had a chance.
He tries sum aerobatic stuf but heez old & stiff & I snatch him so eesily iss almost disapointin. Snap! & he’s neetly encased in one cage ov foot, flappin & screemin & loosin fevvirs & pekin @ ma toes wif his litl blak beek & tiklin me. I slice anuthir cupil ov his fellos out ov thi air, spredin ther blood like a artist wude, paint on a white canvas, then I think eyrie
/ & am alone wif ma litl crowy frend abuv a tawny plane ov sand & rok, beatin 2wards a fractchird clif whare a narled fingir ov rok juts out, its summit topt wiv a jiant nest ov sunbleechd timbirs & splintered white animal & burd bones.
I land & fold thi soft clokes ov ma wings & stand upon thi brittle nest - timbers creek, branchiz burst, pikd-cleen bones snap - lookin doun @ ma bolld foot wif thi old gray-blak crow imprisind in it, flappin an beetin an hollerin.
Skreek! Skrawk! Awrk! Gerout!
O shut up, I tel it, an thi rok-crushin weight ov ma voyce stuns it 2 qwiet stilniss. I balince on that leg, compressin thi trapt crow & reechin thru thi bars ov ma talins wif a talin from thi other foot, tiklin thi bird’s grey-blak frote while thi breth wheeziz out ov it.
Now then my litl chum, I say - & ma voyce iz acid on a slicin blaid, boilin led doun a opin frote - Ive a few qwestchins Id like 2 ask u.
SIX
1
She stood on the piazza of the landing tower, looking west towards the heights of the structure.
The curtain-walls - easily two kilometres high and punctuated by the tall half-cylinders of the mural towers - curved away to either side, rising and falling over the gentle undulations in the landscape to diminish and disappear into the misted distance. Within the vegetation-strung cliffs of the walls lay a broad rolling landscape of wooded hills, sparkling lakes, manicured parkland and broad fields, all dotted with the spires and towers of small villages and towns.
Feersum Endjinn Page 15
