“Your arrival has been noted,” said the other. “You came from the Emptyside, with questionable credentials.”
“I think you’ll find that this world is under monkey jurisdiction,” I said. “Our papers were accepted by the authorities. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with them. We had nothing to do with the death of your friend.”
“Who would have left the imprint on the floor?”
“How are we to know?” Fura asked, squaring up to the Crawly with her hands on her hips. “We’ve only just arrived. We didn’t ask to be looked after by Glimmery, or get dragged into whatever connects you to him.”
“We have common interests. But we also have points of difference.”
“Mister Cuttle looked like he was pretty tight with Glimmery,” Prozor said.
The aliens turned slowly around, making me think of the wooden figurines that come out of mechanical clocks when the hour strikes. The revolving door was working again. Sneed’s two men came into the lobby, each carrying a pistol. One of them went directly to the slumped clerk, lifting up his head and allowing it to thump back down onto the newspaper. The clerk gave a groan and then came to startled life, throwing out an arm so suddenly that he knocked the flickerbox onto the floor, where it shattered very impressively. The other man addressed the assembled gathering, monkeys and Crawlies alike.
“Mister Scrabble and Mister Fiddle. How many times do you need to be told that you don’t have dispensation to go poking around willy-nilly? You ought to know better by now. Clear off and leave these good people unmolested. They’re the personal guests of Mister Glimmery, don’t you know?”
“Mister Cuttle is no longer animate. His embodiment was on the floor, having fallen from above. Mister Cuttle would not have fallen by accident. There must be a culpable party.”
“He oughtn’t have been here in the first place, not without Mister Glimmery’s say-so. You know how it works, coves. Mister Glimmery’s very happy to have you nosin’ around in Wheel Strizzardy, but it has to be on his terms. The trouble with you devils is you take a league when you’re offered a span.” He made a waving motion with his pistol. “Now scuttle off!”
“What do you want with us?” I asked, as the Crawlies made their departure, seemingly persuaded by Sneed’s man.
“Mister Glimmery wanted your presence. He tried telephoning, but there was no answer from the lobby, so he thought it best to send us around just in case there was trouble.”
“You got here very promptly,” I said.
“We did, yes. Always got your best interests in mind, we have. Now will you come with us? Mister Glimmery’s tram is waiting outside.”
*
He was taking his milk bath when we arrived at the gold-walled palace above the infirmary. It was only a matter of hours since our last audience with him, so I wondered how great his need for that soothing immersion had become, and how much it must have discomfited Fura to see her own future laid out for her so starkly, like a fortune teller’s card predicting only a catalogue of sorrows.
Doctor Eddralder was there as well, kneeling very awkwardly at the edge of the milk bath, while Mister Glimmery offered an arm so that the doctor might take a skin scraping. Eddralder had a black medical case opened next to him, with a selection of devices and potions already laid out on the gold tiles. He was still wearing the same full-length surgical gown, and one of the attendants held his umbrella.
“You’ve done enough for now, doctor,” Mister Glimmery said, withdrawing the arm. “I expect our guests will be anxious for news of their colleague.”
Eddralder packed away his things, then rose from his kneeling position, doing so in a single smooth oiled motion. He collected the black bag, reached for his umbrella—which was presented to him horizontally and double-handed, as if it were some ancient, venerated sword—and then nodded at Fura, Prozor and I.
“I spoke to Lizzil Taine earlier, but I believe she had trouble reaching any of you on her squawk equipment.” He meant Surt, and after an instant’s hesitation we all nodded as if the name was perfectly familiar to us. “I was able to procure a robot and operate on Greben. It went quite well, and I think I was able to cleanse the infectious site reasonably thoroughly.”
“Reasonably?” Fura asked.
“You must make allowances for the state of our equipment, and the fact that some of our medicines are in short supply.”
“The doctor is seldom satisfied,” said Mister Glimmery in his liquid voice, before submerging his head beneath the milk.
“I have done what could be done, to the best of our abilities,” Eddralder said. “The next couple of days will be crucial. The wound will be monitored, and if all is well she will be spared the loss of her limb. But I stress that there can be no guarantees.”
“I’m sure you’ve done all you can,” I said, looking to my colleagues for affirmation. “Might I ask something, Doctor?”
Mister Glimmery was still beneath the milk.
“By all means.”
“The other patient—the girl. Merrix, wasn’t it?”
I observed something tighten in his face. “What of her, Tragen?”
“I just wondered if there was a … likeness, that’s all. To yourself, I mean. Mister Glimmery said she had a neurological condition, an illness that responded to a similar treatment regimen as the glowy …”
Mister Glimmery was resurfacing. The milk was cascading off the crown of his head as it emerged into view. He came out slowly, his eyes closed, and an impassive set to his features.
“There’s no likeness,” Eddralder said, in such manner as made it plain that there was to be no further enquiry along those lines.
“Likeness to what?” asked Sneed, stepping into the room from between two of the gold partition screens.
“Nothing, Mister Sneed,” Eddralder said. “We were discussing the weather.”
Sneed swaggered over to us. He still had his big brown coat on, his face sunk down into the collar, merely his nose and eyes showing above the rim. He pinched at his nostrils and wiped the resulting offending substance onto his sleeve.
“You really should have taken Mister Glimmery up on his offer of accommodation, Cap’n Marance. I hear there was a terrible goings-on at the hotel.”
“Is that something stuck to your shoe, Mister Sneed?” Fura asked.
Sneed frowned, lifted up his right foot, and picked at a gluey green mass that had adhered to the sole. “Right you are, Cap’n, and very considerate of you to point it out. I must’ve trod in something unspeakable on my way here.”
Mister Glimmery came out of the milk bath, two of his attendants presenting him with his gold gown.
“Show our guests to the private area, Mister Sneed. I will be there directly. Doctor Eddralder: you are free to return to the infirmary. You have been very helpful.”
Eddralder turned to us, snapping open his umbrella in readiness for the stroll down the connecting walkway to the infirmary. “I will endeavour to keep you informed about your friend. Is there a message you’d like me to pass to Lizzil?”
“Tell her we’ll be along shortly,” Fura answered.
“I hope that is the case,” Eddralder said, and his eyes locked onto mine with what I took to be some wordless imprecation, one that felt to me very much like a warning, offered sincerely. More a plea, perhaps, than a threat.
We were in danger in Glimmery’s company. I had sensed it from the moment we met him, but until now I had not quite triangulated Eddralder’s place in things. Now I had a better sense of it. I believed that Merrix was his daughter, and that Eddralder was under some degree of coercive control. He had refuted the likeness, but in the paleness of her eyes, and her long-boned looks, I believe I put the lie to his denial.
We were taken to the same enclosure where we had been introduced to the late Mister Cuttle. The wine was gone now, and so was the complex glass apparatus that had served the Crawly’s requirements. Now there was just a tea urn and some small shot glasses.
> “Sit yourselves,” Sneed said. “There’s news, coves, and it’ll gladden your hearts, I’m sure.”
“What would this news be?” Fura asked.
Sneed poured the tea before answering. “It’s about that shadow hanging over you—that cloud of suspicion we alluded to.”
“I don’t recall any such allusion,” I said.
“Well, never fret, because it’s about to be dispersed in any case. That ship that squawked in, the one that was in need of help?”
“What of it?”
“You’re all going to be extriculated from under this cloud I just mentioned. Exonerised. And in pretty short order, too.”
Mister Glimmery joined us. He was just wearing his gold gown now, cinched loosely across his chest, and he still gave off a delicate milky smell, seasoned with rare spices. “I see Mister Sneed has begun to speak of the matter I felt was worth your attention. We have had renewed contact with the damaged vessel I mentioned—the one operating under the letter of marque of the recent bounty. With which you are amply familiar, I am sure.”
“Amply,” Prozor said.
“Let us be sure we are equally up to date.” Mister Glimmery sipped at a measure of tea, the glass pinched delicately between his thumb and forefinger. “A few months ago, a consortium of banking and shipping concerns, spread across many worlds, agreed to do something about Bosa Sennen. Now, you may have your own opinions as to whether that name connotes some actual figure, or serves instead as a catch-all for all the miscreant elements who ply the high processionals and the low vaults of the Near Empty, making an easy living by bauble jumping and the reckless plundering of honest vessels. I myself have no fixed view on the matter. What I do know is that there are losses to shipping and profit, and criminality is almost certainly a factor.”
“A terrible thing, criminality,” Fura stated.
“Quite, Captain Marance. I am pleased that we are of one mind on the matter.”
“The thing is,” Sneed chipped in, “they’ve had enough of it.”
“There was a spate of losses near the end of ’99,” Mister Glimmery said. “Rackamore, Trusko and others. Honest captains, honest crews lost, we presume, to violent action. The combines and privateer fleets have lost their patience, and who can blame them? Now there is a push to strike back. It begins in modest fashion. An incentive—a bounty, in plainer terms. A select number of privateer captains were invited to take up the hunt, within stipulated terms of action and engagement. They have been given good equipment and compensated for the loss of ordinary earnings while they sweep the hunting grounds most favoured by their illustrious quarry. Two of those captains were Restral and Chemaine. Old rivals turned friends, and in command of two excellent, swift sunjammers: the White Widow and the Calenture, operating out of Causterant, and lately plying within ten million leagues of our present location. It was the Calenture that met with recent misfortune, though—attacked without provocation. Not just a disabling shot as may be permitted within the terms of civil engagement, but hull-piercing slugs, and by the accounts transmitted she came to a gory end, with only a few survivors who have suffered greatly. Chemaine died. The White Widow was close by and was able to effect a partial rescue, but she did not escape undamaged, for the same attack took its eventual toll on Restral’s craft as well, damaging rigging and sail-control gear, and he himself was very gravely injured.”
“And you mention this … why, exactly?” I asked.
“The whole affair has Bosa’s hallmark, you see,” Mister Glimmery said. “Which is very unfortunate for any innocent ships that just happened to be operating in the same volume of space, as you yourselves evidently were. You saw and heard nothing, and who would doubt such a claim? Yet you can understand why there might be … let us call them reasonable grounds for suspicion, shall we? Now I, having enjoyed your company, am fully settled as to my own opinion of your innocence. But not everyone will have the luxury of hearing things from your own lips, and we must make allowances for those less fortunate. As Mister Sneed has likely intimated, though, the means to clear your names will shortly be at hand. Go ahead, Mister S.”
“They’ve taken a right hammering, Restral’s lot,” Sneed said. “That ship’ll limp in eventually, but she ain’t anywhere speedy enough to help her injured parties. Just like you, with your poor chum, they need to use our excellent facilities, and not be too slow in getting here.”
“Then,” Fura said, “it would appear they have a problem.”
“But one,” Mister Glimmery said, raising a finger, “for which a partial solution lies within our reach. They have put their most severely injured personnel into a rocket launch and sent them on ahead. It has cost them their entire supply of fuel, and the launch will speed by us unless one of our own is sent out to intercept. But that we can arrange very easily. In thirty hours we hope to effect that rendezvous, and very shortly after that, Restral’s party—the injured, and those deputised to care for them—will be here.”
Fura nodded slowly. “I’m very happy for them.”
“As are we all, Captain Marance. But for you especially this is welcome news, is it not? So much nuance is lost over the squawk. When Restral’s party arrives, we will at last have a coherent account of what happened to those two ships. I am in no doubt that Captain Restral’s crew, once they have spoken to you, and clarified the position and course of your own ship at the time in question … and perhaps satisfied themselves with a visual inspection of the Grey Lady … why then they will be more than willing to clear you of any possible involvement.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Sneed asked.
“I did not realise I was required to prove my innocence,” Fura said.
“You are not, Captain, and let no one cast any unwarranted aspersions.” Mister Glimmery took the opportunity to recharge his shot glass. “But tongues will be tongues, and a lingering … rumour … could be disadvantageous to fair commerce. Restral is a respected authority, and once he has underscored your honest credentials, and those of your ship and crew, you will have the tacit blessing of all the concerns united behind that letter of incentive. Credit will flow your way. The banks and ports will rush to your assistance, secure in the knowledge that you operate a ship of excellent reputation.”
Fura considered this, took a sip of her tea, then said: “It sounds very reasonable, Mister Glimmery. I have nothing to conceal, so no cause to be concerned. Indeed, I would offer all practical assistance in the matter of Captain Restral’s party, were our own fuel reserves not also depleted.”
“Generous of you to even consider it,” Glimmery said. “But rest assured that all is in hand. Now, setting aside the unfortunate incident with Mister Cuttle—which I trust you will put behind you—is all to your satisfaction? The doctor confided in me that he would like your colleague to remain under close supervision for a number of days, but if my reading of his mood was correct, Eddralder was quietly satisfied with the outcome of the operation.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Fura said. “You’ve had a long working relationship with Eddralder, then, to know him so well?”
“It is fair to say that our acquaintance has grown closer over time. Speaking for myself, I find his services quite invaluable.”
“He seems to know more about the glowy than most.”
“It is a particular interest of his, yes. Did he discuss your own situation?”
“No, it didn’t come up.”
“You still have time. I doubt you were infected more than a year ago? With the right therapies … an aggressive course of flushing agents …” Mister Glimmery halted, and a curious disaffection showed in his face, as if he had been struck by a sudden toothache. “You have much further to go than me. Might we … move …”
“I’ll fetch it,” Sneed said. “Do you want the remedy? We’ve got fresh shots.”
“No … not necessary. But bring the biting stick.”
Sneed stood up, poked his nose beyond the partitioned area, and called fo
r one of the attendants.
“I was just saying …” Mister Glimmery said, shoulder muscles moving powerfully under the gold of his gown, “that we might move onto a more … commodious …”
“Did you send that eye?” I asked.
Sneed was handed Mister Glimmery’s lacquered box, which he set down on the table before the larger man, opening the lid but not going so far as to remove the string-wound stick.
“Eye, Tragen?”
“There was an eye looking at me, just after Mister Cuttle fell. I saw it shoot off, and I wondered if someone had sent it.”
“I did send it, yes,” Mister Glimmery said, after gritting his teeth through a momentary spasm. “A remote security device. Think no more of it. I just wished to know that my … guests … were …” He jerked, stiffening in his chair and arching his spine, the muscles and sinews in his neck writhing like a nest of worms, and even as his own eyes rolled to the ceiling he reached for the biting stick and clutched it as tight as a relay baton. He did not place it in his mouth, this time, but the fact of holding it appeared to offer sufficient solace, enabling him to pass through the eye of this storm. He relaxed by degrees, let out a sigh—more of relief than contentment—and allowed himself to return the stick to its container. “A minor squall,” he said, with a half-smile. “I assure you that it was nowhere near as severe as the attack I embarrassed you with before.”
“You didn’t need the injection this time?” I asked, thinking of Merrix, on whom he had tested the dosage.
“The cure is sometimes worse than the attack, Tragen. If I sense that I have the fortitude to do without it, then I will do my utmost to do so. The efficacy of the remedy decreases with time, meaning that I must steel myself against the day when it does not work at all. Now, will you accept my apologies for this late audience? You must all be very tired, especially after your encounter with Mister Cuttle, but I was most insistent that you be notified about Captain Restral’s party.”
“I’m very sorry about your friend,” I said.
“Mister Cuttle? Yes, we had some enlightening discussions. But you can never speak of friendship where the Crawlies are concerned. They are useful to us, and we are useful to them, and sometimes that dictates a closeness, even a confidence, that might be mistaken for warm familiarity. But it was not friendship. There is a void between our two species as wide as the Empty—wider, in fact, than the gap between the Old Sun and any of the fixed stars. We cannot know them, and deep down they can never, truly, know us.” He paused, studied his still-trembling hands, a certain fond remembrance lingering on his features, as one might reflect upon a lost pet or some kindly but passing acquaintance. “There are always other Crawlies, Tragen—we must ration our mourning to those who deserve it.”
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