Souls in the Great Machine

by Sean McMullen

  With a kick to his buttocks she sent him sprawling, then walked from the calculor hall without another word. The following morning Glasken and his companion lay together on the narrow bunk in compartment A1, she watching the brightening sky and almost featureless panorama of the Nullarbor Plain through the window of the compartment, regarding the shape of her breasts pressing against his chest.

  "Can you be breathing under my weight, Fras Jack?" she asked yet again.

  there, pretty Frelle, please. I can feel you all the better from below,"

  "Stay he said as he caressed her long and sinuous back.

  "I'm two hundred pounds." "So? I'm two hundred and thirty." He peered at a passing milestone and frowned to see the train making good time. "So, is your clock maker husband in Kalgoorlie?"

  "No, he's in Rochester doing contract work for big library." She stretched out with her hands against the bulkhead. "He heard of need for clockwork in Kalgoorlie but was worried about leaving secure employ. I said I'd go see what was what. I've skill in clockwork, as Dada was a clock maker

  "Oh, so will you be needing someone to tend the springs of your clock work?"

  "Yesss. Be your key free for winding, Jackry?" Glasken rolled on top of her. "Aye. You'd best send your husband bad reports of Kalgoorlie while you are there."

  "Pah, I'm never going back to Southeast. Damn strutting Dragon Librarians and Constable's Runners."

  "Surely you've not been a felon, Frelle?" asked Glasken, at once nervous about his bag full of gold on the floor.

  She put a hand theatrically to her forehead, then flung both arms in the air before squeezing Glasken again. "No, but my sister's as you'd never believe. Brains of Family, that's as Dada called her. Went about with damn stupid depressed poets. I hate poets. You're no poet, are you, Jacky?"

  "Not damn likely." "Dada made me his apprentice and saved money for schooling her to median level. "What of me then?" I asked. "Oh no," says teachers to Dada. "She's too dim, look at her." What the fykart did they expect? I was six feet tall when I was eleven! I looked eighteen and stupid, while being eleven and bright." "Dummart bastards," Glasken sighed.

  "Unfair, Fras, unfair. It really--There's a thought. Where's privy in Aclass?"

  Glasken rolled to one side and pointed to what she had taken for a wardrobe. "All self-contained luxury in here, Frelle Jemli." She rummaged for something in her bag, then sidled through the narrow door of the privy. Within her now open bag Glasken could see three books. Suddenly he sat up on the bunk with a start. It was not so much the title, Encyclopedia of Mechanical Physistry, that had alarmed him, as the embossed red letters declaring LIBR1S READING ROOM REFERENCE: DO NOT REMOVE. Jemli emerged and washed her hands in the demi-drench with a little bar of scented soap.

  "Are you a Dragon Librarian traveling incognito?" demanded Glasken. "Absolutely not, Fras."

  "But there's books from the Libris Reading Room in your bag."

  "Oh those?" she said dismissively. "I stole them."

  "But, but, but--you can get shot for picking your nose while reading in there, and you stole books?"

  "Aye."

  "Gak--" Glasken was speechless for a moment. "But why? You can't sell them."

  "I needed them for studies! I'd no money for transcript sheets and no time for scribing what I needed for studies."

  "Studies? For your guild?" "My guild? Pox take guild, though no guilds men could raise it long enough to catch pox. It's Rochester University I was in, studying by night and tending clockwork by day. Eight years, eight subjects."

  "Extraordinary." "I'm transferring to Kalgoorlie University, I'll graduate in four years. Then it's divorce and into the beam flash service for me. Tower captain, I'll be on day, you mark it. I love the towers, they're like us, Jacky: damn-hell tall and proud of it!"

  "Uh, divorce?" "Aye, Dada matched me to one of his smelly old guild friends. He died, and his money went to my sister. Ach, what a waste, Jacky."

  She put out a hand and stroked his head gently. Glasken immediately snaked his arms around her and held her tightly, his chin resting over her shoulder.

  "You're just beautiful, beautiful all the way through, the most beautiful woman I've ever met," he said with tears in his eyes. He pulled back a little and rested his forehead against hers, gazing into her chocolate-brown eyes. Jemli rubbed his temples, feeling both confused and nervous. Glasken was no less confused. What am I doing? he wondered. I have the Mayor of Kalgoorlie's sister waiting for me when I return, yet my heart is slipping away to a clock maker wife with hardly a copper to spare. Damn you, Theresla, you cursed me to fall in love.

  "I'm sorry if I shot off my mouth a bit there, Jacky, but I've had nobody to tell all that to for eight years. Once it started, out it came."

  Jemli wiped his eyes with her brown hair, then draped it over his shoulders.

  "I've always wanted to do that with someone, but nobody's been special enough until now," she said, stroking his head.

  "Your hair is exquisite." "It's nice enough, but it's also three months of University fees if the trade in Kalgoorlie is not up to promise. Long hair is a blessing, it's like a purse nobody would think to steal."

  "Never!" exclaimed Glasken angrily. "Don't say it, don't even think it!" He put his hands over his ears. Jemli shrank away, alarmed. Glasken swung his legs off the bunk, undid the laces of his roll pack and rummaged within it for a moment. To Jemli's ishment he pulled out a gold coin and dropped it into her open bag.

  "Here's gold, say when more's needed," he said in a parody

  Highlands accent.

  "Fras! That is gold. It could keep me in food, fees, and rent for a month."

  He cupped her jaw in his hands and looked into her eyes. "Jemli,

  wonderful. Wanton but canny, brave but sensible."

  ' Fras Jack, that's all the things I see in you."

  "Ah well, we must be suited to each other. Will you stay?"

  "Stay? Jacky, even without such fittings as you it's heaven in here. Are sure? I'm not used to getting things free."

  "I meant with me, after we arrive at Kalgoorlie."

  "Oh, Fras, do you really mean that? If you do, my heart is as big as the of me." Glasken swallowed and walked two fingers along the edge of the bunk, took a deep breath.

  "I... may have a few nights occupied ... sometimes. Business contacts of a female kind. In the mayoral palace. Would you be jealous?"

  "After what we've been up to, and me a married woman? Business contacts are to be cultivated." "Done!" exclaimed Glasken. "I rather fancy myself owning a tavern, actually. Let's look over the prospects when we arrive in Kalgoorlie."

  "Done! Then we can have a really big revel for free. Ah Jacky, you're my hero and you're such fun to be with." A hero and fun to be with! So it really was possible, he thought hopefully. Perhaps all the real people in legends had been expunged by dour, boring scholars.

  Lemorel was forced to undergo purification and penance for shooting a man in the head, an act proscribed under the Orthodox Gentheist religion of the Alspring cities and Neverlander nomads. The head was seen as the link between the Deity and the human soul, and as such was held sacred. Enemies could be poisoned, shot through the heart, even decapitated, but the head itself could not be harmed. Lemorel's sacrilege was tempered, however, by the romance of the circumstances in the eyes of her followers. She had found her long-lost beloved, but he was dead--and she had shot his murderer. A great commander was expected to be passionate, so the incident had actually worked in her favor.

  Within a week she was again with her army, leading them east to Alspring's checkerboard walls of red and white stone blocks. As this was the last of the great cities of the inland region, her Council of Overhands was anxious to know what would happen after it had fallen. Lemorel had also made her Council of Overhands members of her personal sanctum. She gathered them in her circular tent of red ochre and yellow stippling, and as the tent flap was drawn she slipped the ties of her veil, then let her outer robes fal
l to the ground. The effect was startling for the Ghan men, both Neverlanders and those of the Alspring cities. Straight hair cut sharply at shoulder level, painted red lips, and eyes traced out in ebony liner. Her skin was powdered a slight shade pink, rather than the tusk white of Ghan erotica, and she wore black riding trousers and a black shirt unbuttoned to display her cleavage as did no other Ghan woman. Two double barreled Morelacs and two daggers were at her belt. Seductress and daughter, child and warrior, nun and fiend, protector and protected: to them Lemorel was all these in one. Although she was entrancing, they could not see her as one of their own women or comprehend her by any familiar values.

  "A drive south, to conquer the fat, soft lands of Woomera and the Southeast Alliance," she told the gathering as they sat cross-legged before her.

  There was no muttering, but an uneasy shifting and rustling of the men in their varied but colorful styles of robes, head windings, and veils. "But Commander, where will the time be to enjoy what we have conquered asked Baragania. "Even the Neverlanders among us are hungry to enjoy the newly won lands and riches."

  "Then you can enjoy them under infidel rule," she said in a carefully understated voice.

  All of them knew her ways of speech by now. When a thing was so because it was beyond her control, she always said it softly. When Baragania did not reply, she took a small white cylinder from her sleeve. She slipped the string from its rim, and it unwound a long streamer of paper tape, all punched with little holes.

  "This is a machine message taken by my spies in the Woomera Confederation The former Abbess of the Scalattera Convent in Glenellen has just married. the consort of the Overmayor of the Southeast Alliance, to become their invelspouse. The wedding was in Kalgoorlie."

  Again she was silent, and she paced before them while they muttered among themselves and speculated about the consequences of such a union.

  "Do you know what that means?" she suddenly shouted, flinging the streamer of tape at the cross-legged half-circle of men. "It means that

  Zarvora can claim associative rule in Glenellen. Since the Abbess' father died she is the heir to his seat as an Elder, and the Overmayor can claim the right to restore her as a member of the College of Elders." Lemorel paused again to her words be discussed and assimilated. "I shall not restore any part of the vious Makulad's dynasty or College of Elders, so the Overmayor has the excuse she needs to attack."

  "Commander, the rights of the Abbess Theresla are forfeit because she deserted the protection of her sanctum keeper, the Marshal of the Convent," began Baragania.

  "Wrong!" shouted Lemorel. "Under the convention of the Forgiveness Ervelle, one of your most respected laws, any woman who deserts her keeper under the protection of a male member of her family, and in order marry for love into a union above her station is--come on, someone tell me who can tell me?"

  "Is blameless under the eyes of the Deity and the rule of law," came quavering voice of an aged overhand from Ayer. Lemorel stood with her hands on her hips, triumph in every angle of posture. "Theresla has opened the way for the southern Liberal to stream north. Her invel-sister the Overmayor has already gathered into her mighty web of alliances. She wants wants nothing less than rule of entire continent."

  Now the muttering and hand-waving of the over hands was bright with at Lemorel's breadth of vision and foresight.

  "I have no particular liking for a bloody conquest of the South. It was

  SOULS IN THE GREAT MAC HIRE home, my dear parents and brother are buried there. My surviving sister dwells in contentment there with her devoted husband, and doubtless there are many children clinging to her robes and looking to her for protection. I do not want to attack my home, but I have no choice. The safety of my new home and you, my people, comes first. The Deity cries out for it. The Deity is even slowing the winds that drive ieir wind trains as a sign of disapproval. What other sign do you want? Mirrorsun torn asunder?"

  By Coonana the Nullarbor Plain had given way to open eucalypt forest that was interspersed with patches of grassland and dotted with water holes. Nomads were visible from the wind train, me with camel caravans, others in painted wagons drawn by mules. The town itself was a major interchange for the wind trains, one of the places where eastand westbound trains were able to pass on the par aline The par aline rail sides such as Maralinga and Naretha were exotic and isolated, but Coonana was the cultural beachhead of the Western Mayorates. Jemli marveled at the colorful pageant beyond the wind train as it slowly rumbled into the rail side The eastbound train was in a bypass, waiting for a clear line.

  "Kalgoorlie is much warmer, drier, and windier than Rochester," Glasken explained. "Coonana is a foretaste."

  "What are all those colorfully dressed people?" "The locals and nomads have a market whenever trains arrive. They stay for only a few hours, but a lot of money changes hands. It is said that the latest fashions always arise among the stalls of Coonana before they are seen on the streets of Kalgoorlie."

  Jemli stared longingly through the window as Glasken stood behind her, thoughtfully running a finger along the drab brown cloth on her back. "We should dress you in Kalgoorlie style." "Oh, Jacky, how could I pay?" "By letting me pay."

  They visited the sugar-fruit stalls, then bought small bags of nuts and pastries for the remaining journey. Jemli discovered the metalwork stalls next, some of whose products had traveled as far as the Libris Calculor, to be incorporated in the mechanisms in Zarvora's study.

  "Fras Glasken--er, Orion--fancy meeting you here!"

  Glasken closed his eyes before he even began turning. He knew Theresla's voice all too well.

  "The day's fortune to you, Frelle. Travelling east, I hope?"

  "Oh yes. My train is on the bypass beside yours." He opened his eyes to see her dressed in the current style of mirror-inlaid cheesecloth dyed dark blue, with a lyrebird picked out in highlight beads. The cut of the cleavage did not suit her, for her breasts were not especially big.

  "Kalgoorlie was wonderful in the autumn festival," she said with her hands on her hips. "I seduced a man!"

  "Poor devil," replied Glasken, folding his arms and arching his eye brows.

  "I think he enjoyed it. I did."

  "Is he still alive?"

  She gave him a little push, and giggled. Glasken suddenly remembered Jemli, and quickly glanced around. She was watching from beside a metalwork stall with large, unblinking, and worried eyes, her hands clasped together. He hurried back to her, reluctantly beckoning Theresla to follow.

  "Frelle Theresla, this is my..." He took a deep breath and gathered Jemli close against him. "My mistress, Jemli." Theresla noted the plain brown dretan and black wood clogs, then looked up at Jemli's very nervous face. Theresla was not a short woman, but her forehead barely came up to Jemli's chin.

  "Frelle Theresla is an edutor, a woman of science, and, ah, quite a lot more besides," Glasken babbled desperately.

  "So this is why you went back to the Alliance, Fras Orion. What a lovely, lovely figure you have, Frelle." i

  "Why, why thank you, Frelle Theresla," stammered Jemli, still nervous and overawed.

  "Frelle Jemli has a husband--" "And you stole her away? Were I a man I'd steal her too. Well, come on Jemli," she said, linking arms with her. "We'll soon have you out of those Rochester drabs and into Kalgoorlie fashions."

  GIasken stood staring after them, then suddenly realized that he was gnawing the butt of his swagger stick. An hour later Theresla returned to join him beneath.: the awning of the vintner's tent. Jemli was still at the clothing run, as most of her purchases had to be altered or custom-sewn. He snapped his fingers for the serving maid and called, "Chilled half-jars, Mergeline white!" They poured the little jars into each other's goblets and toasted Theresla's future. Glasken allowed himself a smile.

  "Your dalliance in Kalgoorlie... did it weaken your psychic ears?" Theresla looked up from swirling her goblet. "Thanks indeed for your concern, Glasken. It changed me, it attuned me differently. We always need t
o change when we think we are perfect. You taught me that."

  She flipped a copper coin into the air. It landed with a splash in Glasken's wine. "Nice shot," he said without moving. "Pure chance," she replied. "Look after Jemli, you never will get another chance like that."

  "I can afford to." Glasken reached slowly for her hand and squeezed it. "Thank you for leading me to Ilyire's treasure cave."

  Theresla snatched her hand back. Her face turned red, then white, then red again. "Consider your face slapped," she muttered.

  "The hardest part was trusting you with my life, Frelle Abbess." "Remind me to be less trustworthy in future, Fras Glasken." The Rochester Overmagistrate banged his staff for order and laid it in the rack across his desk. He took his seat; then the Constable of the Court took the staff and banged it once more for the court to be seated. The Overmagistrate picked up his highlight scroll and adjusted his spectacles. Tarrin sat glumly on the back bench as the representative for the accused.

  "Case of the morning: the Family of FUNCTION 22 against the Mayorate of Rochester, in the matter of false imprisonment for nine years in a device known as the Libris Calculor."

  "Are the assailed's representatives present?" called the Constable after banging the staff on the floor twice. A man and two women stood up.

  "Fal Levey, attorney for the assailant, present."

  "Pakul ak-Temros, Rochester Association for Human Rights, present." "Gemile Levey, wife of the imprisoned, Endarian Levey."

  "Objection, Fras Overlord," exclaimed the man beside Tarrin. "The legal name for this man is FUNCTION 22, and this is a court of law." "Endarian is my husband and not a number, you librarian bastard!" screamed Gemile Levey. "He was christened Endarian James Levey, and if you think--"

  "Order! Order!" bellowed the Constable, pounding the floor with the Overmagistrate's staff until there was silence. "Frelle Levey, another our burst like that and I shall have you expelled from the court until such time as you are called as a witness," admonished the Overmagistrate. "As to the objection, overruled! This court is sitting to determine the legality of ah, the assailed's incarceration, and the name FUNCTION 22 is a product of that incarceration. Henceforth the prisoner will be referred to as Fras Endarian