Danny agreed. He slipped down from his chair and ducked out the back of the tent while Magada too disappeared The outside washing station consisted of a large table with two big fifty gallon drums filled with water. He dived under the table, behind the drums. He heard the sound of horses going by and then in the gap between the drums he saw the other man who had entered with Stavros come out of the tent to check around. He gave only a quick glance and vanished back inside again.
Danny edged his way to the corner of the tent and looked up and down the canyon. He could see two of the riders with the horses over at the cantina and kitchen. The others had cantered down to the junction of the canyons where the dark scar left by Magus' cabin could be seen. He waited until the riders at the kitchen had gone, heading up toward the men's cabin, and the other two had disappeared beyond the corner of the canyons, and then he shot across to the cantina. He ran through it, out a back door and got in between the kitchen building and the canyon wall. He stayed crouched in the narrow space waiting for the coming darkness. It didn't look like the agents were doing a thorough search. They were too fascinated with Pascale and the offered refreshments.
Stavros and the other rider, who had introduced himself as Ryker, were sitting opposite Pascale and Jonas. They were firing questions, having downed two straight shots of Magus' best. What did she know about Palmiro? Where was he? Pascale answered she thought he was possibly hiding in the badlands but she didn’t know where. Why did she think that? Because the canyons were the best place to hide. Why would he want to hide? Well, they would know the answer to that, they were the ones looking for him.
They turned to Jonas and asked when he had arrived at the Ranch. He told them this morning. Why did he come here? Because he loved Pascale and wanted to be with her. How had he found the way? He was an Historian. He’d researched and found a map. Where? In some neglected archives. How long had it taken to get here? A couple of days. Had he stayed in the canyons overnight? Yes. What about the dogs? He hadn't been troubled: lovers' luck. Still suspicious but back now to Pascale. Had Palmiro been here? Yes. When? About four or five days ago. How had he found the place? He said hed followed the waterline. What? He'd figured out that if the Ranch had the same water supply as Heaven there had to be a line. Stavros wanted to pursue this but at that point Ryker could not contain himself. Did Palmiro tell you what he was going to do? Pascale replied he had a plan to infect the water supply but she'd argued to dissuade him.
Stavros and Ryker looked at each other with undisguised alarm. Was that what Palmiro was doing? Pascale didn't know but thought it unlikely to have happened, because they were still drinking the water here and no one was ill. OK, that makes sense. But, regardless, why had she not informed the authorities? Because that was the day Magus had shot Zena and had himself fallen from the cliff top. The residents had then burned his cabin and there was no way of contacting anyone. OK, what about that day. What exactly happened?
Pascale had been waiting for the opportunity. She glanced around and saw that Danny was no longer in the tent and was likely hiding. She did not want to implicate him, especially as Jonas had left him out of his story. So she began to give her account omitting mention of her brother. As she was starting, the riders who had searched the men's cabin returned to the tent saying they had found nothing. She invited them to sit while Jonas filled their glasses, and replenished Stavros' and Ryker's. Then she told them about her lookout spot, and how that had been the point where Palmiro had discovered her, when the gates were locked below. The two of them had talked and she had tried to dissuade him from his plans. Later, Magus had arrived with a gun, grabbing and threatening her, and ordering them both to descend to the canyon. Totally unexpectedly Zena had climbed to the clifftop and Magus shot her point blank. Palmiro then made a lunge for Magus' gun and while they were struggling Magus had staggered back and fallen from the edge. She had then returned to the canyon while Palmiro escaped. Directly after the whole drama of Magus' cabin had unfolded. A search was made inside and its torture chamber and victims had been found.
She introduced the agents to Greta, Francisco and Elise and spoke of their existence at Magus' whim during the endless years of immortality. The agents looked blankly at the three survivors, and saw, as if for the first time, the infinitely abused bodies of Francisco and Elise, and the weird, doll-like preciousness of Greta. There began to dawn on them a sense of the horror that had been going on in the canyons south of Heaven. Whatever suspicion they had of Pascale's story, it was pushed to the back of their minds by the account of atrocities and the revolution that had exposed them.
They began to lose the thread of their investigation. It had been such a long time since the agents had known a world with any sense of struggle or protest at injustice, it was like an earthquake under them to feel there was something radically wrong with the whole set up in Heaven. The dark in the canyon was thickening rapidly and Zoltan was lighting flares of oil-soaked rags tied against stakes in front of the tent. The writhing flames in the belly of the canyon increased the sense of being out of their depth.
The other two riders had returned saying there were six horses in the corral but they'd found nothing else of note. They all felt there was more going on here than they knew, but in these circumstances it seemed impossible to get to the bottom of it. They could wait until tomorrow to do a thorough search, but no one wanted to spend the day at the Ranch, especially now they had heard its story. Above all they were also anxious to return to Heaven to find out what was happening there. Their one clear achievement was to have Pascale in custody. They had their prisoner. If they could return with her at first light to the Anthropology Colony there would be the chance of a proper interrogation and a hope of finding Palmiro.
Once again Jonas filled the glasses and asked Katoucha and Elliott to bring out any left-over food. Ravel had started up his incomparable guitar solo and Greta had turned Elise's chair away from the company and was making her comfortable for sleep. Pascale asked Stavros what was it actually that Palmiro had done. What was his crime? At this point Stavros was only too willing to let her know. He described the report from Blair telling of the physical condition of Sarobindo and some of his disciples in the aftermath of the Font Eterno. Blair had said it was as if something was eating them away from inside, and it was happening in a matter of hours. The Anthropologist believed the outcome would certainly be fatal and that he and the two agents were also infected. He had said the only way to contain it was to quarantine the whole Font Eterno area, including himself and the two agents inside the cordon.
It was unthinkable. Heaven had never experienced anything like this in the hundreds of years of its existence: a disease of Immortals, ruthless, swift, and deadly. The only new factor was Palmiro. He had entered the Sea of Chaos along with Sarobindo, and before that he had studied with Adorno, giving him privileged knowledge of Immortals' biology. He had the opportunity, the likely means, and as for motive, well, the whole scandal of the philosophers' banquet showed clearly where he stood. It was not he who had spoken, but it was his point of view that had been expressed.
By now Stavros was too drunk and confused to notice he was talking to the very person who had voiced the subversive opinions at the banquet. Although he and his fellow agents were happy to have Pascale as their trophy from the canyons, they were also seeing at her as their peer, and even more than that. They had begun to feel she was a noble prisoner able to protect them from the horrors around them, even somehow the ones they were recounting.
Their ambiguous attitude was not a comfort to Pascale and Jonas. They were both appalled to hear what Palmiro had caused, for they had no doubt it was him. Earlier Jonas had said he supported whatever Palmiro was planning, but now he heard the actual details he was repulsed. Even worse than this was the fact that the agents clearly saw Pascale as implicated, despite showing her so much respect. They were bringing her in as a stepping-stone to Palmiro, someone connected to him and his atrocity. Both Pascale and Jonas
remembered the way the philosophers' banquet had turned so quickly to hatred against her and they were terrified.
Jonas told Stavros he and Pascale were going to bid goodnight to Elise and Greta and would come back directly. Once they got to the other side of the chair he whispered to her fiercely. “You cannot let them take you. If they sent you here for disrupting the philosophers' banquet, what will they do if they see you as party to murder?”
“I know, I know, Jonas. I am so scared of what might happen, but I don't have a choice, do I? My promise is the only thing that kept the peace here. But, you, you have to escape. They have not yet linked you to Danny and Palmiro, and they're this close to doing so. You have to get to Danny's camp so you can be safe, and Danny and you can look after everyone here.”
“But, wait a moment. What about you? It sounds like you're just giving up. You escaped before from the north. You can get out of this!”
Stavros was standing up looking for them and motioning to Ryker. Pascale spoke in a hiss. “Jonas, this is it. Everything has led up to this. I've got to get the agents away from the canyons before they decide on another Magus. They don't understand anything at the moment but when they do... Please, you've got to go. And you must remember, I love you!”
Stavros and Ryker stumbled round to where Pascale and Jonas were crouching, leaning over Elise's sleeping form. “Listen, we don't want you wandering off like this. We're leaving before first light, so you stay close.”
Jonas' mouth was open. The day that had begun so blissfully was crashing into a bottomless pit. Reinforcing the feeling the once festive tent had become a house of ghosts. A few residents had disappeared, drifting off when no one was looking. Others, including Pepin and Cormac, were crashed out on the tables in the old cantina fashion. Francisco had his eyes firmly closed and had been like that ever since the agents arrived. As for the latter they were slumped apart at a table on their own while one of them stood guard, watching blearily for Magada who was nowhere to be seen.
Jonas followed Pascale back to the table and observed her sit down. She was still radiant, seeming to give off light even as Zoltan's flares were sputtering their last. She was also a million miles away, suddenly and permanently removed from him by her own decision. His heart crumbled inside him, like land sinking into the sea. He could hardly bear to look at her but neither could he tear himself away. It had all happened so fast that he was unable to be angry with her, just infinitely shocked and undone. As he stood there he was conscious he was drawing attention to himself, and to her. At any moment Stavros would begin to get suspicious and ask what was wrong. He had to make a decision and do so now.
With a gigantic effort he turned his face away, as in a dream, one of those dreams in which a farewell is made, the kind that goes with a death. Then you wake up and the death did not happen. But right now, here, it was happening. He moved directly out of the tent and kept walking, or stumbling, into the night. He thought he would in fact die, the giant sucking void was so much an agony inside him, a weight and physical drag on his heart. He continued to go forward, gulping for air, falling on his hands and picking himself up, until at last he got to the cliff wall and collapsed behind a boulder. He lay there in near paralysis, unconscious of everything except the wound his soul had undergone.
At last—he wasn't sure how long—his head cleared a little and he felt the ache of his body, the numbness and stiffness of the side on the ground. He pulled himself up painfully and sat back against the cliff. All the flares were out and the tent was in total darkness except for what looked like a single flashlight inside. Up above, a few stars were twinkling in a dirty sea of ink. There was no Orion, no constellation. The emptiness inside him was bigger than the dark reaches of space, but strangely he knew he also would live.
Suddenly there was movement and from the bend of the canyon came two riders leading a band of horses from the corral. They brought them up to the tent and a flurry of activity followed as people mounted up. After a moment round the side of the tent nearest him burst the company of riders stretching at once to a gallop. Six men and a woman. He clearly saw her as she went by, hanging on tightly, her wedding dress cut in rags up one side to enable her to sit astride the horse. Nobody looked over as they went by but just as they got past she turned her face and she saw him. The antique silver pin was clinging to her hair and there was fear on her face. But strength, too. She smiled at him, with love, and she was gone.
Not quite. Almost as soon as the riders had passed four single pistol shots rang out followed by wild cries and a tremendous volley of other shots. There were three more shots, then one. A period of near silence followed and then once more the sound of horses' hooves, this time drumming away to nothing. Jonas stood up and ran up the canyon to the small spur where the steps to Pascale's lookout were. Lying at its base, the spot where all in the canyon came to die, was Magada's bullet-ridden body. He knelt beside her and held her hand. She was not breathing. Looking away, out into the middle of the canyon, he saw something glinting. He stood and walked the twenty or so paces to where the object was. It was Pascale's hairpin, the jewels catching starlight even on the canyon floor. He picked it up and returning to Magada he took the pistol from her hand. He placed the priceless trophy on her breast and folded her hand on top of it.
3. GATHERING CHAOS
Omar traveled through Heaven's night in a state of horrid frustration. He could not believe this was happening. Ever since he arrived here about twenty or so years ago—he had not kept careful count—his life had been an unbroken stream of purest pleasure. He had been a sports star in a Sector which specialized in gymnastics, excelling on the parallel bars and the rings. When he had been inducted to Heaven, it had, of course, been a surprise, but it also made perfect sense. It only seemed right there should be a place where his magnificent physical skills, which had always been part of him, should be celebrated and preserved. Of course they would want to keep him around forever! If anyone should possibly hint that he was lucky or privileged compared to other people, he simply did not understand what they were saying.
Now, literally in an instant, everything had changed. He had been brutally beaten and accused of a hateful crime. The only reason he had escaped was due to the effect of that crime, a deadly illness that was sweeping all before it. It was a nightmare and as he ran and stopped and started to run again he repeated over and over, “I can't believe this, I cannot believe this!”
He was moving along a track between hills covered in low pine and oak. He had already passed a colony, dedicated, he thought, to some kind of technology, judging by the large buildings that looked like machine shops. He thought it was probably vehicle maintenance because of the number of well-kept cars scattered around on the drives of the mansions, and on parking lots around the buildings. There were a few lights on in one or two of the villas but he didn't hear or see anyone. Neither did he want to. He just kept running. This was the higher and more central part of the plateau, suited to colonies that distributed frequent goods and services to the rest. And sure enough, as the track looped over the next hill, he entered a long high valley, an agricultural area planted with sunflower and wheat, and with greenhouses end to end along the low ridges on either side.
As he got to toward the center of the valley, the road passed by a series of big villas approached by drives, and he could see a couple of them were completely lit up, as if for a festivity of some sort. Despite the alarm bells going off inside his head, the brilliant light drew him to take a look. He turned off, jogging up one of the half-circle drives. Immediately and to his intense horror, he found two bodies sprawled in front of the house's open front door. They were breathing in short agonized spasms and their body mass had somehow shrunk dramatically. They looked hardly human, more like animated stick figures. He recoiled as if bitten by a snake, and dashed frantically back the way he'd come.
The sight of the bodies renewed his initial terror. He had no clear idea of how the disease was transmitted. It could
be that the air he was now breathing was full of the sickness. He continued running and walking, waiting anxiously for symptoms to show themselves, but nothing happened. Perhaps he was safe, but it was also possible the infection did not always reveal itself at once. He struggled on, torn by fear, following the track toward the main west-east highway. He knew now he didn’t have the strength to go all the way cross-country: he had to head for the quickest route. After another hour, forcing himself to maintain his bursts of running, there was a glimmer of light on the skyline and he knew the new day was about to begin.
The sun came up quickly and he could feel its warmth on his face and neck. It should have given him comfort but his lungs were tortured and he felt totally exhausted. Rather than a good feeling, the daylight brought him only fury. This was not a night of Doblepoble where there were designer drugs and fun to keep you going, and sunup brought its unparalleled sense of magic. Instead, it was a hell and a horror brought about by the sheer malice of one person. He could only imagine the vengeance he would wreak if he ever got near him. It was only the fierce promise of such revenge that kept him going.
All at once going round a bend there were three persons approaching him. Two men and a woman. He didn't know what to do. He could head off into the brush, but then they could well have information and it might be possible to talk to them without getting too close. He came to a stop and held up his hand in a halt sign, yelling, “Stay where you are.”
Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven Page 48
