“Not all of them.”
“Mademoiselle Second is a special case.”
Ophelia tried to follow this conversation that she had interrupted. So, Lady Septima had suddenly just remembered that she had a daughter. It seemed to her, however, that it wasn’t really the mother speaking here through her. More like an owner.
“We offer you all our sympathy, my lady,” said the observer, sounding understanding, “but Mademoiselle Second belongs in the Alternative Program. You can see her within the framework of authorized visits.”
Lady Septima pursed her lips. Dazzling in the LUX uniform, and haughty in her chair, she was acting the mistress of the house. But Ophelia sensed that, of the two, it was the lizard man who had the advantage. As for her, she found them just as daunting as each other. Despite the relief she had felt on seeing Thorn, the deep foreboding hadn’t left her. Maybe it was the aroma of the lemon trees, but the atmosphere on this verandah was as bitter as you can get.
And there was something else. Shards of windowpane glinted on the floor, as if they had just lain there since the hail following the last landslide. When Ophelia glanced through the cracked panes, she saw paths that were still damp, despite the sweltering heat of the evening. The windows of the elegant Standard Program buildings were almost all broken, and yet, like those of the verandah, their shards had still not been cleared away. She spotted a swarm of airships moving off in the sky. The only airship still moored in the gardens was under the watch of the family guard, and bore the LUX sun emblem.
Ophelia clasped her hands together, as much to calm herself as to stop reading her own gown. Was it possible that what, to her, had seemed to last days, in the depths of the second protocol, was actually just a few hours here? Did time pass differently in a spatial loop? Had the Good Family only fallen this morning?
Her attention was brought back into the verandah when Lady Septima clicked her tongue with impatience.
“The circumstances have changed; Second’s place is henceforth with LUX. Don’t force me to order you to go and get her.”
“Notwithstanding all the respect we owe you, my lady, the Deviations Observatory no longer takes any orders from LUX.”
The lizard man’s voice was soft, but intransigent. Lady Septima might not be naturally pale, but Ophelia could see her blanch from the other end of the table.
“You have benefited from more than generous subsidies—”
“Subsidies duly put to good use; Sir Henry, here present, can testify to that. The observatory was recognized as being of help to families, it contributed to rectifying a great many deviations, and to forming exemplary citizens. We are irreproachable. That was not the case for you, and we lament that.”
Ophelia shrank into her chair, battling more than ever the temptation to look at Thorn. She should have expected as much! The observers were going to denounce them to Lady Septima. And what if they declared to her here, now, not only that Thorn was not a lord, but also that he had disfigured her daughter? That the pupil whom she had personally trained had never given her her real name? No more Sir Henry, no more Eulalia, no more pretense. Lying was deemed a misdemeanor in Babel; theirs was serious enough to be a crime. They would end up in prison, within touching distance of Eulalia Gonde’s and the Other’s ultimate secret, when the world could collapse at any moment.
Why, in God’s name, had that train not taken her to the Horn of Plenty?
The lizard man shook a bell. Answering his call, a collaborator waiting outside entered the verandah. In a resigned way, they removed their gray hood to reveal messy hair. Elizabeth. Her eyes were in as parlous a state as the observatory’s windows, and her swollen lips still hadn’t gone down since being elbowed by Cosmos. She was a pitiful sight. And yet she stood tall as she clicked her heels and brought her fist to her chest:
“Knowledge serves peace.”
Lady Septima slumped in her chair. As talented as Elizabeth was, she had never found favor with her.
“Are you going to summon all my former pupils?”
“This one infringed the principle of containment and divulged confidential information,” said the observer, not losing his dimple. “She did so on behalf of LUX.”
Lady Septima’s fingers stopped drumming the armrests. Her astonishment seemed sincere.
“That’s a très serious accusation.”
“It’s a très justified accusation. Here are some reports we intercepted that she intended to give to you.”
The man passed a file to Lady Septima, which she gingerly flicked through, as if fearing her reputation could be tarnished from this contact alone.
“Forerunner, what have you to say in your defense?”
“The accusation is deserved, my lady. I broke professional secrecy.”
Ophelia stared at Elizabeth, whose freckles were fading along with the sun. Was that it? Wasn’t she going to explain to them that she had done it because the Genealogists, and thus, through them, LUX, had ordered her to? This was no longer loyalty; this was stupidity.
The man’s dimple deepened further, without the hint of a smile on his lips.
“You will understand that this incident damages the bond of trust between the Deviations Observatory and the Lords of LUX. Henceforth, we will expect no further subsidies from you, just as you will no longer have any right to oversee our activities. Be assured, we are the first to be very sorry about this.”
It was a veritable declaration of independence. In fact, this man didn’t seem at all sorry, and Ophelia realized that it was thanks to her that he felt so superior. The Deviations Observatory no longer needed either LUX’s patronage or Elizabeth’s services. By supplying it with a new Other, Ophelia had offered it boundless possibilities. A power far too great in hands far too unworthy.
She stood up so energetically that her chair, thanks to animism, also lifted off the ground.
“I, too, have a declaration to make.”
“Ah, yes,” the observer cut in, “let us return a little to the case of Mademoiselle Eulalia. She was admitted here before the new decree on residence permits for Babel reached us. We offered hospitality to an outlaw. To maintain cordial relations with LUX, despite our differences, and to prove to you that we will always cooperate to benefit the general interest, we are, today, making amends for that mistake. We are handing Mademoiselle Eulalia over to you.”
Casually, he passed another file to Lady Septima. Ophelia took advantage of their brief exchange of looks to do the same, finally, with Thorn. Silently, he indicated to her to keep quiet. He himself was stiff as a board, clenching his watch in his fist, as if he feared the slightest creak of metal, the slightest click of a cover might make the situation even more catastrophic.
On his uniform, nothing remained of Second’s blood, apart from a tiny stain that his animism hadn’t removed. A scarlet stain that hadn’t had time to fade. Crazy as it might seem, Ophelia’s stay in the nave of the second protocol really had taken place in the space of a single day.
“Sir Henry,” said the observer, politely offering Thorn his hand, “this also brings your inspection to a close. Do pass on all our best wishes to the Genealogists.”
Lady Septima made her way to the exit, indicating herself that the meeting was over. She clicked her fingers to make Ophelia, Elizabeth, and Thorn follow her, with no longer a word or a look in their direction. Outside, the family guard now formed a guard of honor, which promptly closed up in their wake.
Ophelia was leaving one trap for another. She felt duped, and stupid.
Beside her, Elizabeth marched on. She shed her monk’s habit on the lawn, revealing the midnight-blue-and-silver frock coat of the virtuosos, which she had never stopped wearing underneath. A citizen to the tips of her boots. What did the punishment awaiting her matter, she had already accepted it.
That wasn’t Ophelia’s case. She was building up strategies, ea
ch more risky than the last. She thought, painfully, of her lost mirror-visiting power when she saw the sunset reflected in the puddles. Pushed by the guard, she went up the gangway of the airship and discreetly directed her glasses at Thorn’s big back. Did he, himself, have a plan?
On board the airship, there were many civilians with suitcases bursting at the seams. Their conversations stopped the moment Lady Septima cast her flashing eyes over them. It was disconcerting to see such a small woman having such a big influence. She didn’t need to issue orders to proceed to take-off; each member of the family guard played his part, and then returned to his position in total silence.
Thorn was the only one who dared to break it:
“Drop me off in town with your two pupils. The Genealogists will have questions to ask them, and I myself must give them my report.”
Lady Septima examined the insignia pinned to his uniform, and then the tiny bloodstain to the side.
“Your appearance doesn’t conform to regulations, Sir Henry.”
That was her only comment. She indicated a banquette to Ophelia and Elizabeth, and then settled herself in the cockpit. She had a final look at the Deviations Observatory, with a quiver of what might be regret, and then seized the helm with controlled rage.
Ophelia pressed her face to the porthole. In the ever-extending shadow of the colossus, she glimpsed the observers who had gathered to watch takeoff. They were all smiling. Almost all. The young girl with the monkey was sending grand gestures of farewell to Thorn, who didn’t notice her behind the window, so entirely focused was he on the new equation confronting him.
The last moorings were released. The airship took off in a flurry of propellers.
IN THE WINGS
Titan has lost three skyscrapers, Pharos its boating resorts, Totem its chimera farms, Leadgold its industrial district, and The Serenissima a quarter of its network of rivers. He leaps from one ark to the next (oh, Heliopolis no longer has its South Station). Wherever he goes, lands fall apart, time accelerates, space is retrieved. Many men, women, animals, and plants got sucked into the holes (farewell, Zephyr’s great windmills). Those who remain don’t dare to leave their homes anymore. If one’s going to disappear, might as well do so convivially, with one’s family, one’s house, and the dog. Clearly, from his point of view, events are becoming increasingly interesting (and Vesperal’s deserts increasingly deserted).
He thinks of Ophelia, of her eyes full of anger and confusion. She took him for a world destroyer, him, really, what a bizarre idea . . . She came so close to discovering everything, understanding everything! Fortunately, she failed—again. Ophelia’s defeats are more decisive than her victories.
He strides across several thousand kilometers, and returns to distant Babel, to the Deviations Observatory, at the top of the colossus, inside the directors’ apartments.
He arrives at just the right time. The observers have all gathered to congratulate themselves. At the center of the room stands a large glass cloche, from which the muffled sound of a small artificial parrot emerges:
“WHO IS I? WHO IS I? WHO IS I?”
Around it, hands are being shaken, shoulders patted, cups of tea being raised to the directors, who are conspicuous by their absence. Within this assembly, clad all in yellow, half don’t know that the directors don’t exist, and the other half still don’t know who pulls the strings.
But he does. False modesty aside, very little is missing from what he knows.
He takes care to hide where no one will notice him. Without their dark-lensed pince-nez, the observers can’t see further than the ends of their noses; with the pince-nez, however, they see a little too well. They would discover not only his presence, understated though it might be, but also his true appearance. He’s acquired a taste for anonymity.
He notices two special young guests, sitting quietly in the midst of the observers. The Knight is swamped by his thick glasses, cross tattoo, and braces; Second has disappeared behind her crooked fringe, the enormous bandage across her face, and the sheet of paper she is drawing on.
He could almost laugh at it.
Little by little, the effusiveness dies down, the conversations dry up. Best not to stay up tonight, ladies and gentlemen, tomorrow the real work finally begins! The observers leave, one after the other, but not without a final look, full of hope, at the parrot under its glass cloche:
“WHO IS I? WHO IS I? WHO IS I?”
Soon, only the lizard man, the beetle woman, the Knight, Second, and the echo remain in the directors’ apartments. And him, obviously.
The atmosphere has lost some of its joviality; this should be even more interesting. He takes the risk of stepping out of the wings a little, to get as close as possible to this reality that isn’t really his own. Second almost spots him out of the corner of her eye, hesitates a moment, then returns to concentrating on her drawing. Apart from her, no one detects him.
The Knight puts his cup of tea down in a way that’s meant to be aristocratic.
“Let’s talk business. If this echo has deviated, it’s in part thanks to me. I’ve fulfilled my contract, I demand my share of plenty. Here are my demands.”
He hands an envelope to the beetle woman, who reads its contents.
“An entire ark?”
“That can’t collapse,” specifies the Knight.
“That’s a pretty large territory for you alone.”
“Oh, I won’t live there without company. When there’s nothing left of the Pole, Lady Berenilde will have privileged access. Without her daughter, preferably.”
The beetle woman and lizard man exchange blank looks.
“You will have to show patience, jeune homme. Our echo isn’t mature enough to reveal all its secrets to us. It’s still short on vocabulary.”
“WHO IS I? WHO IS I? WHO IS I?”
Second, silent for once, is drawing with eyes wide open, possessed by a new vision of the future.
The Knight gets up without a glance either at her or at anyone.
“I will wait a little, but not too much. I will go and fetch plenty myself, if need be. After all, I know where to find it. Good night.”
There are just four of them left. The lizard man, the beetle woman, Second, and the echo. Five with him, the invisible witness, spectral spectator, Shadow among the shadows.
“Was that the right choice, dearest colleague?” the woman observer suddenly asked. “Handing her over to Lady Septima? Knowing all that she could divulge to the Lords of LUX?”
“The Horn of Plenty rejected her, dearest colleague. Let its will be respected.”
The lizard man’s reply rings true. At that very moment, all the lamps in the apartments go out, and then come back on again. Electrical endorsement.
“Such a thing had never happened before,” admits the woman. “The Horn of Plenty always accepted the candidates who boarded the train. It’s certainly the first time . . . But all the same, dearest colleague,” she adds, getting a grip on herself, while adjusting her pince-nez, “did you also have to hand over that collaborator? Mademoiselle Elizabeth was on the verge of decoding the Books.”
“Precisely. I got rid of her before she knew too much. The last time the Genealogists sent us a spy, our mistake was to put him on the third-protocol train. He didn’t deserve such an honor, and his disappearance just made the Genealogists pay more attention. Rest assured, dearest colleague, Mademoiselle Elizabeth is no longer of any importance. Her work will save us considerable time. We will merely have to wrap it up without her . . . and with it.”
The lizard man places a hand, respectful and possessive, on the glass cloche containing that very echo.
“WHO IS I? WHO IS I? WHO IS I?”
The beetle woman gazes pensively at the rose windows, through which daylight is fading.
“Come, come, dearest colleague, you have nothing to fear from
those young ladies. They can no longer harm us from outside our walls. Just look at Mademoiselle Second! She’s been doing that drawing for hours.”
The two observers lean over. He does, too. Under Second’s precise pencil, a flying ship is falling from the sky.
He smiles at the sight of it. Everything’s perfect. Ophelia’s story, the story of them all, will finally reach its veritable conclusion. He must be ready for the grand denouement.
But before that, he has one last little thing to accomplish here.
“WHO IS I? WHO IS I? WHO IS I?”
He takes advantage of the observers’ distraction to approach the large glass cloche and slip inside it, like the shadow he is. He flicks at the echo, trapped inside the automaton’s mechanism. Fly off, my friend.
“WHO IS I? WHO IS . . . ”
The lizard man looks aghast. The beetle woman blanches. Second stops drawing.
The parrot has fallen silent.
THE AIRSHIP
Through the porthole, the Deviations Observatory was now but an island surrounded by a stormy sea of clouds.
Ophelia was appalled. She was leaving behind a Horn of Plenty that couldn’t be found, an unidentified shadow, an emancipated echo, and a terrible feeling of unfinished business. Why had the Deviations Observatory given her the illusion of choice, only to go against her decision? Why speak to her of all those things, in the crypt? Why show her the train? Why dangle before her the chance of an answer to all her questions?
So great was her frustration, she could feel it growling inside her like a caged animal. Those observers had made a fool of her, to the very end.
Outside, night fell for good. The portholes turned into mirrors. The reflection of Elizabeth, who was sitting beside her, was exasperatingly expressionless. As for Ophelia, she couldn’t sit still. She turned around to stare at the passengers. Judging by their dress, there were some descendants of Pollux here, but also, surprisingly, several of the powerless.
At a sign from Lady Septima, a guard lowered a switch, turning off all the lights onboard. Ophelia understood why when, after a moment getting used to it, she saw the stars through the porthole. Because of the echoes, radio communications were no longer reliable; navigating had to be done visually. It was easier to distinguish land when not projecting light everywhere.
The Storm of Echoes Page 29
