He came towards Hiresh at a fast walk, his mad eyes fixed on his victim. People along his route woke from their Dreams and rolled out of his way.
The monster looked almost as tired as Hiresh. Medicine made great demands of its host and required lots of food to keep working. But that wasn’t all – Chakrapani was now Elite, with millions of tiny machines infesting his body. They had joined their strength to his as he smashed a path through grown men and women. These machines needed energy too, and they had gorged themselves on the last of Chakrapani’s body fat, as well as much of his muscle. He looked no bigger than a Crisis baby himself.
But Hiresh wasn’t fooled by this. His training at the Academy had taught him enough to recognize that his master had a good hour of mayhem left in him. More than enough to crush the object of his hatred.
Hiresh watched his doom move closer and closer. Where was the clean-up squad? Where were the Wardens? He felt the eyes of the refugees on him. They leaned forward, their talk all stopped. Am I the entertainment now? Every single muscle in his body was shaking and his stupid mouth worked like that of a stranded fish. All sounds had a sudden perfect clarity: the squelching of Chakrapani’s footsteps, the final panicked beating of his own heart.
Out of nowhere, a stone flew and struck Chakrapani on the temple. He staggered. Blood seeped from the wound, but the Medicine that still swam in his system closed it up immediately.
‘Hey, Chakrapani!’ cried Tarini. ‘Your brother got what he had coming. He was a coward, a dirty coward. A meat-lover!’
She had crept up close to taunt him. Far too close.
Before Hiresh could do more that cry out, Chakrapani leaped five metres in a single bound to land right in front of her. He lifted her little body and threw her up, out and away.
Luckily she landed in the soft mud of a dying lake. But Chakrapani hadn’t finished with her, and strode after her prone body. Many people had woken up from the Dreams now – what some called ‘surfing’ – and they all watched in fascination. Hiresh couldn’t believe it.
He stumbled past them, desperate to come to Tarini’s aid. She was gasping in helpless panic, too winded to move.
‘Help me!’ cried Hiresh to the people all around him. ‘This isn’t a virtual, gods crush you all! He’s going to kill her! A girl – he’s going to kill her!’
And it was then the miracle happened – he’d never heard of such a thing before – but a dozen brave men and women jumped to their feet. Secular or Religious, it didn’t matter – they all threw their feeble, clumsy bodies at the Elite. Chakrapani didn’t even bother shaking them off but, in his rage, tried to keep walking through the mud towards Tarini.
By the time Hiresh got there, the monster had toppled over, and that might have been the end of it if Chakrapani hadn’t managed to get one hand around Tarini’s neck.
Hiresh never paused to think that what he was about to do would destroy everything he had been working towards since he had run away. All his promises, all his fears. The scars, the terrible scars. His whole world had come down to one decision that his body took of its own accord. He pulled the dart out of his pocket, saw the weak spot, as he always did, and stabbed.
The dart passed straight through Chakrapani’s eye and into the brain and, although the Medicine in the Elite’s system probably worked to save him right up until the end, it made no difference.
Those who had been holding down his master fell away, covering their mouths. They’d been trying to save a girl. None of them had expected to be involved in a murder. They melted away, and when the Wardens came a few moments later, Hiresh was still there in the mud.
4. THE RACEHORSE
STOPMOUTH’S WHOLE TORSO slid into the Yellowmaw’s bucket mouth, his arms pushed out ahead of him. It burned! Oh ancestors! The creature’s insides scorched every part of him they touched. Like landing in fire. Arms and belly; his face, his back. Thrashing and arching and screaming. Even the air tore at his throat and poked hot needles deep into his chest.
He clawed with useless fingers at the inside of the monster’s throat. He couldn’t find anything to scratch, anything to hurt, although he could hear its great heart thundering nearby, maddeningly close.
And that was all. Or almost all. Before the end, his mind raced with images of Indrani and Wallbreaker. His mother’s lap; the scent of her hair. His father’s laughter, overheard at night. But these memories boiled away with the last of his air. And then his whole world flashed bright green. And that was all.
* * *
But after death his eyes opened again. They saw that the afterlife was nothing but a bone-coloured dome, ten steps wide, with a platform in the middle for him to lie upon. He sat up, rising without effort. He felt … he felt … hungry. More hungry than he’d ever been in his life … And his skin! He’d expected a scorched and shrivelled patchwork, but instead, his hands shone like a child’s, free from a lifetime of scars, cleaner than he could have imagined.
He stood, trembling, starving.
Am I a spirit? he asked himself. Would he hear his people if they prayed to him? And what would he be able to do for them if they did, trapped as he was in this tiny space?
‘Hello, Stopmouth.’
He spun round, marvelling at the complete lack of pain he felt from even old injuries. A man stood against one of the walls. The hunter hadn’t heard him come in.
The newcomer grinned, bright teeth shining in a face as dark as any in Stopmouth’s new tribe. But unlike most of them, his features were as perfect as Indrani’s – a straight nose, prominent cheekbones and deep black eyes. He was tall and wore a form of clothing that sat snugly over the body of a great hunter.
‘I’m in the Roof,’ said Stopmouth in sudden realization. He’d made it! Although he was supposed to be dead. The Yellowmaws had killed him. He hadn’t even reached the mountain.
‘Who are you?’ he asked the stranger. ‘Where’s Indrani?’ The second question slipped out of his mouth before he remembered that the chiefs of this place were her enemies. But the man seemed not to have heard it.
‘Oh, really, Stopmouth, is that all? Who am I?’ He smiled with one side of his mouth. ‘My fellow Rebels swore you would launch yourself at me as soon as I spoke.’
‘Fellow Rebels?’ So the man was not one of her enemies, after all.
‘They said you would try to gut me with your savage fingernails!’ The man laughed, his teeth whiter than the walls of the room.
‘I have never killed another human except to end their pain,’ said Stopmouth. His mind was racing again. The man claimed to be a Rebel, the people Indrani was going to try and contact. Did that make him a friend? But the hunter had no idea who he could rely on here, and he felt certain he was being made fun of. A lifetime of stuttering had given him practice in dealing with that. He turned his back on the visitor and lay down on the platform again.
The man cleared his throat. ‘I told them you were almost civilized, yes? This was when I suggested we rescue you from the Yellowmaws and patch you up. “Risk is what we need,” I said. “A bit of risk.” And they should have known they could trust you! Most of us have followed your life since you were born, Stopmouth. You have billions upon billions of fans, yes? And these friends of mine, my fellow … Rebels … Well, some of them worship you. Not as a human being! But as your own ancestors might have worshipped a fine racehorse. Athletic, even beautiful. How lovely to watch them run, to pet their sleek flanks. But who wants to stand behind one in a moment of confusion? Ha! Who but me? I would gamble the world. That’s what they say about me. That’s what got me where I am today.’ He stepped closer, muscles rippling under the uniform he wore.
Stopmouth sat up again, causing the man to flinch. ‘How do I understand you?’ the hunter asked. ‘I see your mouth move, but with a Talker the sound wouldn’t match your lips. Also, you speak about racehorses. How do I know what a horse is? I do know! I can picture it if I close my eyes. I’d love to see one. To hunt it. It would be amazing.’
> The man smiled as if delighted. ‘Of course you’d love to see a horse. To eat it! The squeal of it as it died! Oh, you’d love that!’ He walked over to Stopmouth – gingerly, for all his earlier talk about ‘gambling the world’.
‘We brought you here to help you find Indrani. We Rebels, that is. She used to be on the side of the Commission, of course, but—’
‘The Commission?’
‘The government. Rulers of the Roof – big chiefs, yes? Big chiefs and Secular like her. But since they tried to have her killed …’
‘So you really are a … a Rebel?’
The man sketched a bow with his palms pressed together in front of him. ‘My name is Dharam.’
Stopmouth didn’t return the gesture. ‘Where’s Indrani? Why won’t you tell me that?’ He placed one firm hand on his visitor’s shoulder.
Dharam yelped. ‘Please!’ His voice rose to a higher pitch than any man Stopmouth had ever heard. ‘Don’t hurt me!’
‘Indrani,’ said Stopmouth. ‘I just want—’
The hunter found himself lying on his back with his head ringing. He had no idea of how he’d got there. Dharam had disappeared. He climbed back up onto the bed, unsure of what had frightened his visitor so badly. All he’d done was put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
He shrugged and then smiled. Indrani lived. So what if he’d scared off one of the Roofpeople. Indrani was stronger than any two men like Dharam. Sooner or later she’d come for him. They’d made it. Both of them had made it to the Roof alive.
He slept and woke again many times. There was always food waiting for him. Disgusting tiny white pellets – vast quantities that he scooped desperately into his mouth. It was never enough for this strange new hunger.
There was no trench in the room for a toilet so he went against one of the walls. The floor drank his waste as though greedy for it.
The longer he waited, the sorrier he became that he’d frightened his visitor away. The Diggers were coming and his people needed Indrani’s Roof magic to save them. How long did they have? he wondered. How long before the invincible enemy crossed the hills and established tunnels for themselves? He saw them in his mind’s eye, triangular heads bobbing blindly as they streamed down the slopes. His people running, but slowly, far too slowly.
He jumped to his feet, suddenly afraid. ‘I’m sorry!’ he cried. ‘Dharam, I’m sorry! Come back! Come back!’
Hiresh had killed somebody, really killed him. And not in an accident or with the help of a tidy poison. Blood caked his fingers and stuck them together – Elite blood, the most precious of anyone in the Roof.
His first instinct was to run away. He had a talent for that, at least. With every public space heaving with refugees, and the Roof, following rules laid down by those who had grown it, refusing to share personal secrets with the authorities, he could have disappeared within moments, never to be found again.
He pulled Chakrapani’s fingers away from Tarini’s neck. She was still breathing, but he didn’t like the hoarse sound of it one bit. He logged on and asked for advice on helping her, but it seemed that without Medicine there was precious little he could do except wait and hope for the best.
Dr Narindi arrived moments later with the clean-up squad.
‘You’ve wasted my Elite.’
The boy nodded. He had Tarini’s head in his lap.
The doctor crouched down beside Chakrapani’s body and pulled free the bloody dart. Hiresh shuddered, as though it had come from his own eye. ‘Do you have any idea how rare the Elite are these days? Any idea?’
Hiresh did.
‘I asked you a question,’ said the doctor.
Hiresh dared to raise his head and was surprised to see that the man was actually smiling at him, as though they were old friends sharing a joke.
‘The cannibal killed an Elite too. Did you know that, Hiresh? Chakrapani’s brother, of all things!’
Hiresh lay back in the mud, holding Tarini and checking her condition in Roofspace all the time. The Roar of the crowd seemed to fade a little in the doctor’s presence, and even the smell lost its edge. Or so it seemed. He looked up at the artificial clouds and watched them blur in his vision.
‘It would be a waste to destroy someone of your resourcefulness,’ said Narindi. ‘And there is no need. None at all. Do a special job for me, Hiresh, and you will have what you’ve always wanted. You will be Elite. I can’t afford any more knuckle-heads in the programme after this. Are you content?’
‘What about Tarini?’
‘There’s no Medicine for the likes of her, but I am the only person you will ever meet who knows how to take care of her properly without it. Me. Ask the Roof what a doctor is and you will see.’
Hiresh already knew what a doctor was, but his eyes widened at the possibility that Narindi really was part of that ancient profession, from the days – centuries ago! – before Medicine had been perfected. He wanted to ask the doctor how old he was but his nerve failed him. Instead he said, ‘Mind her for me, and I will do anything you ask … Doctor.’
‘Anything?’ asked the smiling man. ‘I might require you to tell a few lies.’ The smile broadened. ‘How would you like to meet a real live cannibal?’
Stopmouth tried everything to escape from the white room, but two precious days passed before his visitor returned, seeming to just walk straight through the wall like a spirit. ‘Well, my fine racehorse,’ he said.
Stopmouth took a step towards him, but paused when Dharam flinched.
‘I wasn’t trying to hurt you that other time. I’m sorry. And thank you for saving me from the Yellowmaws. I owe you my life.’
One half of Dharam’s mouth rose in that funny smile of his. ‘Think nothing of it,’ he said. ‘I’m the one who is sorry. You are unused to civilized ways, you see. And probably always will be. It must all be so confusing for you …’
‘I was only worried about Indrani,’ said Stopmouth.
‘Oh, I know,’ said Dharam. ‘I know that, and I am worried about her too, believe me. I was hoping we might work together to help her out before her enemies find her.’
The man kept more of a distance between them than he had previously, and his skin-tight clothing showed muscles bunching in the backs of his legs.
‘Indrani was very … stressed when she got here. Enemies were looking for her and we needed to shield her. Do you recall the time you stole her from your brother’s house?’ Stopmouth nodded. He knew now that the Roof spied on his people, but it was still a bit of a shock to hear such a secret deed spoken about knowledgeably by a stranger. ‘The first time she woke up after the rescue – do you remember that, Stopmouth?’
‘She didn’t recognize me,’ said the hunter.
Dharam smiled, as though delighted at Stopmouth’s ability to remember things.
‘That’s how she was when we brought her here, you see? She seemed afraid of us and ran off down a public corridor.’
The young hunter surged to his feet.
‘Oh, don’t worry! Don’t worry! You’ll find no creatures here who want to hunt her!’ Dharam’s way of smiling and speaking slowly made it difficult for Stopmouth to judge the sincerity of his words. But Indrani had told him herself that flesh wasn’t eaten in this place, and if that were true, the beasts here would have no motive to kill her. He forced himself to sit down, aware that he’d almost frightened off his visitor again.
‘Good,’ said Dharam. ‘That’s better. Now, the last time she suffered so, you were able to bring her out of it, yes?’
‘I thought she just got better by herself.’
‘No, my fine savage, our records tell us that the sight of a loved one is often the best cure for such a malady. But listen now – I need to know one thing that might let us help her, and maybe get you to her more quickly.’
‘Yes?’
The side of Dharam’s mouth twitched. ‘Did Indrani … did she ever explain why she was shot down over the surface? It’s how she got to you in the first place,
yes? She must have said why it happened.’
Certainly Stopmouth remembered her fall from the sky. How could he not? But all she’d said about the incident was that her attacker had been ‘evil’.
He shook his head.
‘Not a thing? You’re absolutely sure? She didn’t mention … she didn’t mention …’
‘She said nothing. But I don’t see how this can help us find her anyway.’
Dharam froze, and his eyes seemed to lose their focus. ‘What’s that?’ he said. Stopmouth didn’t know how to answer, but Dharam wasn’t even looking at him. ‘Where?’ he continued, followed by a pause. And then, ‘All right. I’m coming straight away.’
Then he turned and walked out through the exact same place in the wall from which he’d entered, leaving Stopmouth trapped behind it. The hunter ran after his visitor, hitting the wall with full force and bouncing off again onto the floor. All he could think of was his poor feverish woman, and the fear she must be feeling as she ran through some never-ending nightmare.
He grew angry. He didn’t understand why Dharam had left him here if he was the only one who could help her. It seemed perverse, mad even. He rose again and leaned against the wall.
‘Let me out,’ he whispered. ‘Please just let me out.’ And that was all it took, it seemed. He’d only had to ask. The wall dissolved before him and he passed through to the other side.
5. THE FAN
STOPMOUTH GASPED.
Immediately, people were bumping into him. Dozens of people, hundreds of people. More than a mind could hold. Their pungent overwhelming stink filled his nose: sweat and filth and a dozen odours unknown.
The first to notice his sudden appearance among them recoiled – or tried to recoil – in horror against the crowds around them. As though Stopmouth would try to hurt them. As if he’d want to! He was far more terrified than they were, shocked by the noises, the sights, the smells. An endless sea of strangers babbling in dozens of languages which were all comprehensible to him, and all at once.
The Deserter Page 6
