Souls in the Great Machine

by Sean McMullen

  "Where's the train?" he said to nobody in particular, but was not surprised to be answered.

  "Long gone," a woman's voice purred from the other side of the tent. "Was I right? Was my tent indeed more comfortable than the train?"

  Glasken raised his head, to see the veiled face of a kneeling, naked woman across the other side of the tent.

  "Wilpenellia?"

  "Oh, Fras, but you hold the spirits rare well. What a rare and wonderful time we had." ' Glasken considered. His head was muddled rather than splitting with a hang over, but his lusts seemed as rampant as if he had been abstaining for days. She slowly raised herself to her knees, confirming that she was naked except for the veil. Her skin was faintly honey-brown. Glasken got to his knees as well, noting that he too was naked.

  "Frelle, you'd best remind me," he said, affecting a suave leer. Some people never forget a face, a voice, or a pair of eyes, but for Glasken it was breasts that always burned themselves indelibly into his memory. Before him was a smallish yet perfectly formed pair of breasts in the Davantine classic shape. Theresla. He had suspected as much from the first.

  "Wait!" she said, holding up a hand. "Wait, please, Fras..."

  He sat back, selected a grape from a bowl, and ate it.

  "It's only a cramp, it will soon pass," she added, surprised by his sudden indifference. Glasken had no doubt that a Call was close. Theresla would wait until it was nearly upon them and say, "Come to me, Jack Orion. Come do what you will." "Ah, the pain has passed. Come now, Jack Orion, do what you will."

  "Actually I'd rather prepare for the Call, Frelle Abbess," he said as he sat back in a lotus position. Glasken slammed down mental shutters developed and nurtured in him by the abbot of Baelsha over many, many celibate years. He squeezed desire from himself like water wrung from a sponge as the Call's front rolled over the tent. Glasken was torn by allurement that he did not think possible clawing at every thing that made up his being, yet he remained hunched over with his fists clenched, shivering and gasping for breath. It's getting easier, he noted. Theresla stared down at him in amazement.

  "You resist it," she whispered. "A human resisting the Call."

  Glasken did not reply. There were hours to go.

  "You now resist the Call by yourself, my allure has nothing to do with it,"

  Theresla continued. "How can you do it?"

  "Sheer spite," whispered Glasken. Slowly she tilted his head up. His eyes were open. He was aware of her nipples a tongue's length from his face, yet she no longer allured him.

  "Spoiled," she said glumly as she sat back. The trailing edge of the Call passed the tent, and Glasken slumped to the blanket, limp and exhausted.

  "That was amazing, Fras Glasken," breathed Theresla. "Getting easier," he panted. "Please, have a drink." "More sleeping potions?" "I'll partake first."

  "You probably drink a little every day to become immune." "Oh take it, damn you!" shouted Theresla, flinging the waters king across to him. "You have nothing I want anymore. How? You must be the only human in the world who can remain aware and awake during a Call." "I've had lessons." "From who?"

  "Truly horrible people. Eventually I surpassed them. Where are we?" "Not far from the Edge itself, the very spot where I did my experiments with you over five years ago. We can return to Maralinga whenever you like." "I like now," said Glasken.

  He caught sight of his clothing in a corner and crawled across to retrieve it. Theresla frowned with the strain of some decision, then tossed her veil aside and stretched out among the cushions.

  "We are far from anywhere and alone," she said simperingly. "I have in experience on offer--" "You'd better let another relieve you of that inexperience, Frelle," he said as he checked that his purse and pockets had not been looted. "No slight on your wonderful body of course, but I cannot trust anything you say. Not after what you did with me five years ago, and just tried to do again."

  "Nobody has ever denied me!" snapped Theresla, abruptly sitting up. Glasken shrugged, pointedly holding his bundle of clothing across his loins. "Still, it's happened," He reached for his flintlock pistol, then presented it to her butt first. "Here, kill me. Prevent the world from learning that a man has rejected your advances."

  Theresla pouted and echoed, "Still, it's happened." She slumped back on her haunches, her head turned to one side. "Get dressed, I'll leave you alone."

  Glasken unlaced the tent flap and stepped outside, looking around as he began to dress. It was the flat, treeless semi-desert of the Nullarbor Plain, and off to one side were the Edge cliffs. The dark blue of the ocean horizon lay beyond. Nearby was the crude Call wall that he had built back in 1700... and close by was the flat stone covering the hole in the ground that was the entrance to Ilyire's treasure cave.

  An incredible stroke of luck, he thought. Theresla had brought him to the very place that he had been seeking, the place to which Ilyire could not return. Theresla emerged from the tent fully dressed.

  "Apparently Ilyire has a treasure cave somewhere nearby," she said as she joined him. "Darien mentioned it in a letter."

  I'll wager it's well hidden," replied Glasken casually.

  "We could search for it."

  "Plunder my friend's treasure? Not I."

  "Your friend? Ah yes, you got him rolling drunk then had him laid abed with a couple of hopsicles at the Green Dragon's Tankard."

  "You shot him."

  "The man was a toad. Now he has changed, too." Glasken walked over to the camels and checked the gear and harnesses. "Bloody camels," he muttered. "Even when they're standing up you feel like you're falling."

  Theresla was packing the tent away as he returned, but he stopped dead as she pointed his own flintlock pistol at him. He raised his hands.

  "More nuttery in the name of scholarship?" he asked wearily. "Fras Glasken, I've tried to give you my body, I've tried to give you wealth, but now you are going to get my third gift whether you want it or not. Walk toward the Edge. When you enter the narrow Calldeath region, do whatever you do to resist it."

  Theresla put the gun down as Glasken entered and began to fight the weaker, permanent Call. Theresla walked beside him, ready to trip him if he suddenly lost control. They reached the edge of the cliff. It dropped sheer to rocks pounded by the ocean waves.

  "Stop here, Fras Glasken, and look out across the water. Those dark shapes out there, note them well. They are the source of the Call. See there, one breaks the surface and blows water into the air. No human has ever seen such a sight as this, and not many avia ds have either. Look near the rocks, see that great dark thing? It is one of the Call creatures' livestock, a fanged fish as long as a windtrain carriage. The Call creatures are even bigger. Come back now, and I shall take you back to Maralinga. There will be no more tricks."

  On the streets of Glenellen there was apprehension as the first day of the month of Gimleyat began. As the eastern horizon brightened the vendors in the market were already doing a heavy trade in foodstuffs, particularly food that could be stored. Nuts, dates, sultanas, dried mutton, candied apricots and figs, salted whitefish, rice and seed flour commanded outrageous prices from customers who were nonetheless relieved to buy anything at all. The vendors of cloths, perfumes, utensils, and Call-anchor belts sat idle at their respective stalls, watching the nearby bedlam over their red cotton veils as the sunlight spilled over the horizon, painting the towers and cliffs fluorescent red.

  "So, the great day is here," said Emzilae, the nomad cloth merchant. "The mighty Commander Lemorel rides into the city at the second, hour past dawn." Heczet, the vendor of Call-anchor belts, reached over and set a clockwork release to one hour. "One hour, then I pack my stall and hide. There will be looting."

  "Looting? How so?" asked Emzilae, brushing at a moth with his emu-feather whisk. "The Commander's Neverlanders," drawled Zeter from his perfume stand. "They're barbarians, they've never been in a city. They don't understand money, they take whatever they want."

  "One hour," declared Heczet
again. "Then I pack my stall and hide it. When I watch the parade enter the city gates I'll be wearing rags and have a pox badge."

  "Ah, but the city will be full of beggars when the Commander enters," said Emzilae. "I saw it happen at Gossluff, Tempe, and Ayer. The same thing, every time."

  Emzilae stood up, stretched, then clapped his hands. A youth with a wispy, pubescent beard scuttled around from the back of the stall. He was unveiled, the sign of an apprentice who has as yet no means or skill to guard a sanctum of his own.

  "Master?" "It's time, Da. I want twelve dozen camels, twenty handlers with their own weapons, and six strong eunuchs to pack and carry. All to be here in two hours." "Aye, Master."

  When the boy had disappeared into the bustle of the market Zeter sauntered across to Emzilae's stall and fingered a bolt of deep blue cloth.

  "A-he, fine Northmoor cotton," said Emzilae. "A fine, fine bargain at--" "You have only enough to pack two camels." "Alas, such cloth is rare, my friend."

  "So, a pack beast for Da and another camel for you, others for the handlers and eunuchs: that leaves a hundred and fourteen excess camels."

  "A-he, they are needed to carry dried fish, candied fruits, roasted almonds, spiced walnuts, and the like." Zeter jerked a thumb at the melee across at the food stalls, then gestured to the blue cloth between them. "You would be lucky to trade a whole bolt of this cloth for a single dried fish."

  "A-he, but within two hours I will buy that same fish for a copper. Nomads know the cities better than you think, my worthy per fumier He gestured to his chest, his fingers spread. "This nomad has seen the Commander enter half a dozen cities. Her warriors are highly disciplined, and to show that nobody should dare attack her she never has more than a hundred of her personal guard escorting her."

  Now Heczet walked over to the stall. "But only yesterday you were standing on a fish barrel, shouting to all who would listen about scenes of bloody horror in Gossluff. Youths cut down in the street for sport, girls stripped and raped in their very sanctum rooms, looting and burning, followed by starvation for those who survived. What of that?

  "People listened. Just look at the boom in foodstuffs across the way."

  Zeter suddenly straightened, his hands on his hips. "Oh so, then what is to come may not be so bad?"

  "A-he, such suspicion."

  "What really happened in Gossluff?" asked Zeter. Emzilae's face split in a wide, knowing grin. "Why, the Commander entered with a few dozen lancers and rode through the boulevard to the Palace of the Makulad. She was met there by the Makulad and his College of Elders, who surrendered the city. Without dismounting she shot the Makrulad through the heart, then killed his son. The rest of his family and some of the Elders were led off into slavery, but that was the worst of it: two killings. No looting, no rape, no murder."

  "By the noontime heat!" exclaimed Zeter. "So who rules Gossluff now?" "An exiled pretender, whose family lost power in that city centuries ago. The Commander said she was reinstalling him as the rightful Makulad. Later this morning the fugitive Prince Alextoyne will ride through the gates at the ri hand of the Commander, and when she has shot your Makulad he will ascend the throne. There will be new taxes to fund her wars--"

  "Prince Alextoyne?" exclaimed Heczet. "The descendant of Makulad Moyr zenko, who lost the throne for love of the beautiful Ervelle?"

  "None other."

  "An inspired choice. This is a legend coming alive, the Golden Age of three hundred years ago being restored."

  Emzilae smiled enigmatically, looking across to the crowds fighting over dwindling stocks of food. "You have no broad vision, friends. In two hours those fools will that the Commander will do no more than tax them. Those who have spent savings on food will want money for the tax, especially since those with no must provide mounts, weapons, or sons for the Commander's army." patted the coin bags of his float. "When they come streaming back with bags of dates, rice, and dried meat, I shall be here to buy, and what I buy I take to Alspring to sell at twenty times its value when the Commander to the city."

  Heczet and Zeter stood back, stunned.

  "But such a rich caravan, you will have. Surely freebooters would you without a ruinously large escort."

  "My friend, no freebooter would dare touch me. I am under the of the Commander." "She uses you?" "But of course. I spread fear, then she enters and shows mercy. The mood of the people becomes one of great relief. The Commander gets another undamaged city to support her wars. A pillaged city is of no value to a conquerer."

  "So the great Lemorel is not such a demon after all," said Heczet, stroking his beard. Emzilae frowned. "Demon she can be, rest assured. There is a nameless town, a place of five thousand souls not far from Olgadowns. It was proud and fortified, and they resisted her for five weeks. I passed through the place two months after the fall, and it was a horror such as I could never describe. Not a man, woman, child, or beast was spared, and the surviving officers were tortured to death before the rulers of Ayer, Olgadowns, and Tempe as a warning. Every pot was smashed, everything that would burn was torched, then the town was left just like that, as an example. Bones lie in the streets still, and the houses are all burned-out shells. Commander Lemorel has an evil temper when resisted."

  Zeter was wringing his hands nervously, glancing to the crowd then back to his own stall. "I, ah, should make a presentation to the Commander, a blend of my rarest fragrances in a phial of Carpentarian porcelain. I will say that it is to refresh her after the heat and dust of her ride."

  "A-he, she will like that," said Emzilae with a shallow nod. He inclined his head toward Heczet. "I also happen to know that she is a great judge of fine lenses and clockwork."

  "Truly?" exclaimed Heczet. "Then I shall buy a fine chronograph and sex tant set. Morgyo has one to sell at a very low price, what with the silly panic about buying food."

  Later that morning Lemorel Milderellen rode into the city on a war camel at the head of ninety lancers. As Emzilae had predicted, she shot the Makulad dead, dispersed the women of his family into various convents, and had the men and boys gelded before being taken to the slave markets. Prince Alextoyne was made the new Makulad of Glenellen, and for his gift of perfume Zeter was made Royal Hospitalier in the palace. Heczet's gift had him appointed official agent of Glenellen to supply Lemorel's army, a position which brought him wealth, property, a royal title, and--eventually--the attention of loyalist assassins.

  Emzilae did indeed spend the afternoon buying food stores at the market at a fiftieth of what had been charged in the morning, being ever careful to undercut the local vendors who were charging even more ruinous rates. The city was almost back to normal by then, except that Neverlander guards were in charge of the palace and their wardens were stationed at every watch house

  Servants thronged about Emzilae's stall, laden with sacks of food to be sold for coins to pay the war tax, while camels carried sacks away to the pens just outside the gates of the city. Emzilae supervised, sometimes bargaining, some times carrying sacks, and even driving camels through the crowds. The citizens wore an odd mixture of beggars' rags, disguises, and fine robes, and most were in a festive mood. The mud hovels, redstone houses, and even towers were decked out with Neverlander pennons and colors, while veiled women waved coyly to passing nomads from balconies, some throwing flowers.

  The journey back to the par aline took Theresla and Glasken several days. They exchanged stories of the preceding five years, ranging from her explorations in the Calldeath lands to Ilyire's first night on the town. Glasken was reluctant to talk about his time in Baelsha, but under persistent questioning he eventually outlined some of his training, trials, and torments.

  "I begin to understand," Theresla said as their camels swayed along together. "The monks taught you to meditate on an object like a mandala, something that symbolized the Call's greatest hold upon you. That symbol, that was almost certainly me."

  "Perceptive," agreed Glasken. "You, Fras, are highly, even grotesquely oversexed. I
once used your drives to attune myself to voices within the Call. Now you have been trained to use my image as a channel to divert the allure of the Call past you. You know within the deepest recesses of your mind that you will never let yourself have a consummation with me. That is your strength."

  Glasken nodded agreement and sat up a little more erect in the saddle. He knew that he was exceptional in his resistance to the Call, but to be considered unique was something more like an honor.

  "The Baelsha monks and the Kooree nomads merely drop down unconscious at the touch of the Call, but I can remain awake. Why is that?" Theresla thought about this for many minutes, staring straight ahead. surreptitiously dropped yet another length of white ribbon weighted at one end: with lead shot.

  "Because you are extraordinary. Live long, Fras Glasken," she concluded, "Do not get yourself killed for a very long time." "Well, the same to you too, Frelle." "And don't trust me. Never trust me." They both began to laugh.

  "I went to a lot of trouble over you, Glasken."

  "All the girls say that." "It took the word of Mayor Bouros himself to convince the Great Western' Paraline Authority to depart from their precious schedule for even one hour."

  A white smudge was by now visible on the straight-edge horizon, and Glasken realized that they were approaching Maralinga. He hurriedly checked a little: compass concealed in his hand while pretending to cough.

  "Tell me now, if you were a woman, and were you interested in... initiation, what would you do?" Theresla asked.

  "Find a man."

  "By my age, the alluring men are all taken. Those that are left have been left for a variety of very good reasons." Glasken thought for a moment. "Theresla, if you're really determined to bed someone for its own sake, then just select a nice Fras who is already taken. Get him to a hostelry one afternoon with a couple of jars of the great leveler."