The Gods and their Machines

by Oisin McGann

  Even as it did, Benyan himself collapsed. He had been badly damaged. The will of the ghosts urged him on to his target, but his body was failing. He could hear a bubbling in his chest and felt bone grinding against bone in his hip. He dragged himself blindly across the floor of the flat, but his strength finally gave out under the front window that faced a light-well below the street. He clung desperately to the image of the two men and the boy, the rage of the ghosts bruising his spirit, but it did not matter now. He had failed Shanna. He had lost paradise.

  The voice on the telephone had a Bartokhrian accent and Thomex immediately sensed that it was the voice of a man with purpose, someone serious.

  ‘Thomex Aranson?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Listen carefully. Do not interrupt. We have your grandson. He landed his little yellow biplane in a field when he ran out of fuel. He is now in our hands. He will suffer if you do not do as we say. He will suffer if you try to involve the authorities. He will suffer if you try to deceive us in any way. Say “yes” if you understand.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Be in the Victovian Commerce Museum in one hour. Be alone.’

  There was a click and then the dull tone that told him the other end had disconnected. Thomex put the receiver back on its hook. He sat there for a few minutes, deliberating. Then he picked up the phone again. Two minutes later, he put on his hat and coat and wheeled himself out of the office. One of the company drivers helped him into a car and drove him to Stock Market Square, leaving him outside the Commerce Museum. He rolled himself in and stopped in the main aisle by the telegraph exhibit. It was nearly closing time and there were very few people there.

  After he had finished pretending to read the narrative for that exhibit, he started pretending to read the one for the elevated railway. A man came up behind him, acting as if he was reading over Thomex’s shoulder.

  ‘Don’t look around. Just listen. I am putting a piece of paper in your pocket. It has a radio wavelength, frequency and instructions for the use of a code. You will use these instructions to inform us of any military operations that will affect the Hadram Cassal. Any violence suffered by our people from now on will be visited upon your grandson. There will be further instructions in the future, but that is all for now. Say “yes” if you understand.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. We’ll be hearing from you, Mister Aranson.’

  Thomex waited for a minute and then looked around. The man was gone.

  They had not heard the dogs or any other sign of pursuit for some time. The night was clear and well lit by the moon, so they kept walking after dark, careful to avoid any farms or other settlements that they came across. When they came to a stream, they waded up and down it for several hundred yards, getting out and back in again to leave a few false trails before following it east as far as they could and then settling down for the night at a bend where the water grew deeper and trees overhung a small clearing. Chamus hung up the parachute again and then dashed off into the bushes as his bowels threatened once more. When he came back, he was surprised to find Riadni building a fire.

  ‘We need to wash as often as we can,’ she told him. ‘Dogs find a clean quarry harder to follow. Wash your socks and your underwear too, dry them by the fire. If we’re going to be doing a lot of walking you need to keep your feet and your … you need to keep clean and dry, or you’ll get foot-rot and the … the other …’

  ‘I get the idea,’ Chamus held up his hands, ‘although I think I’ll wait until after we’ve eaten. Isn’t the fire a bit of a risk?’

  ‘We’re sheltered here, so the fire won’t be seen,’ she replied as she took out some of the food they had gathered and prepared two pots that she had in the saddlebags, ‘and there isn’t much wind to carry the smell of smoke or food. We need it, or we won’t eat.’

  Riadni took a burnt piece of wood from the edge of the fire and ground it down between two stones. She brushed the powdered charcoal into a canteen half full of water, put the cap on and shook it. Then she handed it to him.

  ‘It’ll help … with your diarrhoea, I mean.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said and took it with an awkward smile.

  The taste made him gag. It was like drinking burnt chalk.

  The food took some time to prepare and Chamus was ravenous by the time it was ready. There was a stew made up of mushrooms, potatoes, onions, basil and some other herbs he didn’t recognise, and to go with it they boiled some eggs and had some wild plums for afterwards. It was not what Chamus would have considered a lavish meal at home, but after a day of walking on an empty stomach, it was a banquet.

  When they had eaten their fill, they rested for a while, then took discreet turns to bathe and do their laundry further downstream. With that done and the embarrassing ordeal of hanging the offending items out to dry achieved, Chamus took first watch. Riadni loaded the pistol and showed him how to use it, then spent some time in prayer before crawling into the tent.

  The night grew overcast and dark and Chamus stoked the embers of the fire as a chill set in. His eyes were next to useless in the gloom, but he listened intently for any sound that was out of the ordinary. The quiet was unsettling and at the edge of his hearing he could hear the damned whispering again. It was barely audible, a breathy, haunting collection of voices. On the positive side, his bowels were returning to normal. Riadni’s remedy seemed to have done the trick.

  Careful to avoid staring into the fire and losing his night vision, he thought glumly about what his parents must be going through. He wanted to be able to tell them he was alright. He knew his mother in particular would be going out of her mind with worry. He checked his watch. It would be time to wake Riadni in another hour. He wondered what she would have been like if she had grown up in Victovia – probably just as stubborn and wilful, but maybe more relaxed; she always seemed to have a point to prove. He thought she would have made a good pilot. It was a pity she would never get to know the world outside Bartokhrin.

  Chamus’s head jerked up. He had fallen asleep. Something had changed about the night. Everything was that little bit more still, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. He slowly turned around, peering into the darkness, and his gaze came to rest on a pair of eyes reflecting the glow of the dying fire. Whatever the creature was, it was beyond the light cast by the flames. But those eyes were hungry and far enough apart to suggest a large head, which would have large jaws and be mounted on a huge body. The thing made no sound. But it was coming gradually closer. Chamus’s breath came in strained, short gasps. Forcing himself to move, he reached carefully for the pistol, which stood with its barrel propped up against a rock. The creature prowled around him in a circle that grew ever smaller. It came slowly into view, drool hanging from jaws full of saw-like teeth, a high arched back bristling with stiff hair, a coat of mottled black and brown camouflage, ears that lay flat back against its skull as if to push its gaping mouth further forward. He wanted to call out to Riadni, but was afraid to do anything that might trigger an attack. He lifted the pistol, but had forgotten not to drop the barrel.

  The small lead ball rolled down the length of the barrel and dropped out the end in a small shower of black powder. And with it went his life. He saw the dark shape of the animal squat, its powerful haunches drawn up and he knew it was about to leap at him. There was no time to reload the gun. Aiming the empty weapon, he cocked it and fired. There was enough powder still packed in the chamber to let off a small explosion. The beast let out a frightened snarl, turned and lunged back into the darkness.

  Riadni’s head poked out of the tent.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘The biggest bloody dog I’ve ever seen,’ he shuddered. ‘I think we’d better get going, somebody’s bound to have heard that.’

  He held out the pistol in a shaking hand.

  ‘And reload this bloody gun for me. Quick.’

  They walked for another hour that night, lighting their way with
a carefully shielded candle Riadni had brought with her. When they set up camp again, they were both tired and in bad moods. They went without a fire and the tent, Riadni bedding down under her poncho and leaving Chamus to take first watch again as penance for falling asleep last time. After his encounter with the howler, he was in no shape to sleep anyway.

  In the morning, they broke camp at first light and got moving again. They were only a few miles from Naranthium and Riadni used the time to explain some more of the local customs to Chamus, so that he would not embarrass her in front of her cousins, two young men who ran a farrier’s, making and fitting horseshoes. She had no idea what Chamus did and didn’t know and she didn’t want to take any chances.

  ‘There’ll be a basin of water by the door. Take off your shoes and socks and wash your feet. Don’t enter a building with your shoes on.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘There’ll be a prayer before we eat. Cover your eyes when you pray. Don’t lift your head or uncover your eyes until you hear everyone say “Glahmeth”, that’s the end of the prayer.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Don’t refuse food if it’s offered. Thank them and eat all of it. It’s rude to refuse food. Wash your hands before you eat, and don’t use a knife at the table. It’s a sign of hostility. Food will be cut up before it’s served.’

  ‘Right, no knives.’

  ‘Eat your own food with your hands, but serve yourself from the communal dishes with the ladles and spoons. Never touch food that someone else has to eat. There won’t be much talking during the meal, but afterwards there will be tea, and then we’ll talk. Don’t interrupt the host when he’s talking. My cousins are not married, but if there is a woman there, don’t speak to her unless a man introduces her. Never, never stare openly at a woman…you’re doing it to me right now. You’re not supposed to do that.’

  ‘Right, sorry.’

  ‘My cousins smoke tobacco, which is forbidden under Shanneyan law. Don’t tell anybody about it and if they offer you a pipe, refuse it politely …’

  They walked on, Chamus listening to his guide and soberly wondering if he would ever understand all the rules and customs. There seemed to be an infinite number of ways to offend someone in Bartokhrin.

  They crested a low hill and Naranthium came into view once more. It was a medium-sized town with a population of several hundred and there were a number of three- and four-storey buildings in the centre of the town, which Riadni told him was unusual for a region that suffered from the occasional earthquake. All of the buildings were whitewashed adobe with protruding rafters and small glass windows. Her cousins’ workshop was on the near edge of town and as they approached, she could see riders outside in the yard. They drew closer, and Riadni stopped short, and then dragged Chamus down behind an overturned, rotting cart.

  ‘That’s my father,’ she said, pointing out one of the men on horseback. ‘The man standing beside him is called Quelnas. He’s from the Hadram Cassal. There are two of my brothers with him as well.’

  Chamus groaned.

  ‘So your father is in with these sods too? He’s going to know everything you know, isn’t he? He’ll be able to guess where you’ll go.’

  Riadni was still reeling from the sight of her father helping their hunters, but she could guess what had happened. They would have promised to go easy on her in return for his help. They wanted Chamus. She didn’t matter to them. Papa had no choice. Being so close to her family again made her feel desperately homesick and she yearned to just go home with them and go back to her life the way it was. But she knew she couldn’t. Things had gone too far for it ever to be the same again. She leaned back against the bed of the cart and thought about what to do next. They had to avoid Naranthium. In fact, they had to avoid anywhere her father might be able to find her. She didn’t know what to do.

  ‘There’s vehicles coming,’ Chamus said. ‘Trucks, I think.’

  Riadni peered around the edge of the cart and saw some lorries leaving town in a cloud of dust and coming towards them on the road. Bartokhrians used trucks, but a group of them together was still an unusual sight in the countryside. Chamus squinted against the sun, holding his hand up to his forehead.

  ‘They’re flying some kind of flag,’ he commented, ‘a white cross inside a red one. I think I know it from somewhere …’

  He frowned, staring hard at the approaching vehicles. Then his face lifted.

  ‘They’re from Advocate! It’s an aid convoy. They’re from Victovia!’ he exclaimed excitedly. ‘They’ll get us out of here.’

  Riadni looked back to where her father was, but the farrier’s yard was obscured in the dust cloud. The aid convoy was coming up fast, but she had mixed feelings about asking the strangers on the trucks for help.

  Chamus ran out and waved down the lead truck, which slowed and rumbled to a halt. A woman leaned out of the cab’s window and looked down at the boy. She was dressed in a shirt and jacket, not in Bartokhrian clothes and Riadni was taken aback by the fact that she was not wearing a wig or make-up. At the same time, Chamus noticed that each truck had men hanging from the back and sides, Fringelanders armed with revolvers and semiautomatic rifles. He was suddenly struck with doubt. Were these Hadram Cassal who had taken over the trucks?

  ‘Hi, you’re Altiman, aren’t you?’ the woman greeted him. ‘What are you doing out here?’

  ‘I’m from Victovia,’ he told her hesitantly, glancing up as another man opened the driver’s door of the truck and leaned over to get a better look at the two fugitives. He was a tall, lean, hard-bitten man with long hair tied back and several days’ growth of beard on his face, which was unusual for a Bartokhrian. They didn’t go in for facial hair. Most of them did not even need to shave.

  ‘Don’t mind them,’ the woman waved generally at the men around them. ‘They’re just guards for the convoy. They won’t hurt you.’

  ‘My plane ran out of fuel,’ Chamus went on. ‘I’m trying to get home.’

  ‘He’s the one the Hadram Cassal are looking for, Leynid,’ the driver said. ‘They’ve got people all over the area out hunting him and the girl. The word is out everywhere.’

  ‘We’d better get you off the road, then. We’re on our way to Yered, but you’ll be better off there with us than wandering about here,’ Leynid said to Chamus, her face going from amused to serious and back again. She opened her door. ‘Hop in.’

  ‘That’s a bad idea,’ the driver shook his head, ‘if they’re found with us, we’ll be up to our necks in trouble.’

  ‘What are we going to do, Paronig?’ she asked him. ‘Leave two children to fall into the hands of Lakrem Elbeth?’

  ‘Better that than the whole team,’ he grunted. ‘I’m responsible for your people’s safety. They’ll put us all in danger. I say leave ’em here.’

  ‘Oh, you are ruthless,’ Leynid chided playfully, ignoring his icy stare. She then turned to Chamus and Riadni. ‘Don’t mind him. His heart was removed at birth and replaced with a hand grenade. But he does what he’s paid to do. Hop in.’

  She got out and stepped down, so that Chamus could climb in. Riadni followed more reluctantly. She was bothered by Paronig’s hostility and did not know what to think of Leynid. She had never been in such a large, modern truck before either. The cab was big, but even so the four of them had to squeeze together on the leather seat, Chamus next to Paronig, then Riadni and then Leynid next to the door. Riadni was uncomfortable being so physically close to these strangers. It was not proper. She risked a covert glance at Leynid, fascinated by the way she was not ashamed to bare her skin and the fact that she seemed to be in charge of the men. It was alien and exciting at the same time.

  ‘This is going to make things bad for us,’ Paronig muttered, as he shifted the truck into gear and started it forward.

  ‘Well, I’d hate to think your men were carrying all those guns for nothing,’ Leynid said primly. ‘We’ll radio the Bartokhrian army base in Maskadrin when we reach Yered. They’ll ta
ke them off our hands.’

  ‘If we announce this over the radio, we’ll have every Hadram Cassal group in the area jumping us long before the army can get to us,’ Paronig shook his head. ‘We’re not going to say a word about this. Not a word.’

  Chamus and Riadni listened to this exchange and looked at each other for a moment. It felt good to be among friendly people, but it sounded like they were still a long way from being safe.

  Daruth sat on a steel-framed chair that was bolted to the floor of the small, bare concrete room. He had gone back to the flat after meeting Thomex Aranson and walked in to find Benyan dying on the floor of the front room. Helthan and Mance lay in dead and broken heaps in the back room, no doubt at Benyan’s hand. He should have taken care of it himself. Armed men had burst into the flat a minute later and fired tranquilliser darts into him before he could turn his gun on them, or himself. He had woken up in this room.

  He knew that this was not a police station and the men who held him were not police. He also knew that Thomex Aranson had betrayed them and the realisation surprised him, he would not have credited the old man with that kind of strength. His hands were handcuffed to a bracket on the back of the chair and his ankles shackled to the front legs. Daruth knew what was to come and he was frightened, but he focused his mind on nothingness, distancing his consciousness from his body. They would get nothing from him. A man in a dark grey suit opened the door and walked in, followed by another dressed in the same way. Both carried leather cases. They closed the heavy metal door behind them.

  ‘I have two questions for you,’ the first man said. ‘Answer them and this will all be over very quickly. Where is Chamus Aranson, and what do you know about Operation Heavy Rain?’