“Why not? We don’t have to gallop. And if I have to be outside, I wouldn’t mind having a little room to move about.”
“The summit?” Edith repeated, the frozen smile on her face thawing into something like misgiving.
“Have you ever been?” he asked.
“No, and I don’t know how far it is either.”
“It can’t be that far. It seems obvious the Brick Layer, or the Sphinx, or whoever our host is claimed the penthouse for himself. I mean, we could spend the next few hours circling about, hoping to stumble upon a shelf, trying not to get noticed by the doorman, or we could just make a beeline toward level ground. Unless you’re one of those who thinks the Tower goes on and on forever?”
“Don’t be stupid,” she said with a withering look.
“Then why not? We’ve come this far already.”
As they spoke, the wall-walker continued its pitching approach of the cottony air, and the closer they came to it, the more navigable it seemed: the mist churned and parted and showed a little ground. It was navigable, if not a touch foreboding.
“All right,” she said, depressing a switch by her foot. Twin headlamps came on at the engine’s fore. “We’ll go to the top.”
The fog was warm as rising dough. And though its density and presence vacillated, little more than the immediate ground was ever visible. The sandstone glistened like a tideline in the wall-walker’s lamps. The low thrum that permeated the Sphinx’s lair could be heard here, too, though more mutedly.
There is no stranger privacy than the one supplied by a cloud. It is as containing as a room and as open as the sky. A cloud is intimate and exposed at once. A cloud puts a soul in a confiding mood, which is why old aeronauts stand apart when their ship hits a cloud: to keep from spilling their secrets.
After some moments of marching into the murk and thinking, Adam asked, “Were you joy riding out here with Captain Lee?”
Edith squinted into the fog and adjusted her grip on the shivering throttle. “It’s really none of your business, airman.”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry.” He said nothing more for a moment and then. “What if we exchanged secrets? I’ll tell you about my plans, and you tell me what went on with Lee.”
“Just like that? Swap secrets like two diners at a table: white meat for dark, butter for jam, that sort of thing?” She didn’t add that he had nothing to trade, regardless. The secret he was so gleefully keeping from her would inevitably include rivers of gold and trees of silver. Or was it the other way around? She had heard both. Many times. There was only one reason anyone ever wanted to go to the top of the Tower.
But she felt sorry for him, sorry for the disappointment they were hurrying towards even now, so she decided to give him part of an answer he wasn’t owed. “I’ll say this: the experience left me suspicious of the kindness of strangers.”
The bench jostled beneath them as the walker got down to three anchored feet in the midst of stepping over a crack in the edifice. They held their breath as the engine beneath them began to pull away from the wall. Then the fourth foot caught again, and cinched them back to the bosom of the Tower.
“I learned that lesson, too,” Adam said, loosening his grip of the rail. “I learned it so well, I taught everyone I met to be distrustful of strangers. And I was very convincing, that is, at least until the Captain came along.” He mulled the memory. “That’s the trouble. I still owe the man. His flaws don’t absolve me of my debt.” Snapping his mouth closed, his jaw began to work as if he were sucking the stone of a fruit. Edith could see he was trying to force himself to say more. “But it’s just hard to have absolute faith in a man who has given in to the crumb. I am…” He searched for the most diplomatic word. “Concerned.”
The internal hum of the Tower, which had been little more than a muffled thrum a moment before, was discernably louder. Soon, it drowned out the rattle of the engine beneath them. The air, warm before, was now nearly steaming. Into the sphere of their frail lamplight came a new feature, a vertical curb. Edith steered a little nearer, and they saw the iron slats of an immense vent. They could only guess its size by the torrent of hot air and the roar it made. It seemed a vast gill in the neck of the Tower.
They climbed a little further, and the curb disappeared. The roar receded into a bark and then a grumble. They, seasoned airmen that they were, practiced a steadfast dispassion, devoid of amazement, as if a lack of surprise, a superiority to awe, could protect them from the unknown.
Edith returned to his last statement as if some minutes had not passed. “It’s perfectly reasonable to be concerned. If you find you can’t have faith in the Captain right now, then have faith in me. I am determined to help and support the man, but if it becomes apparent that his responsibilities are making things worse for him, then I’ll help and support him by intervening. And that’s all we’re going to say on that subject.”
“Ayesir. Thank you,” he said, feeling satisfied for the moment.
“Now, do you want to tell me about your treasure map or not?”
“You’ve been going through my things!”
“No, I haven’t,” she said, rolling her head in exasperation. “And that was far too easy, Adam. If someone asks you about your treasure map, the only answer is ‘what treasure map?’”
“It’s a diary, not a map,” he said sulkily. “And how did you know?”
“No one wants to just have a gander around the roof. As for the map, I’ve seen dozens of them, and diaries, and divining rods, special goggles that sooth a hidden path, even an astrolabe that funnels the wisdom of the stars and points the way to gold. Wherever there are aging air wolves trying to stuff their brains into a bottle, there are treasure maps for sale. Everyone has heard of the treasure atop the Tower.”
“Well, if it’s so famous, why hasn’t anyone claimed it?”
“Because it’s not there! The summit is just a roof, shrouded in an inconvenient cloud. That’s the real culprit of the ill-fated crews: they ran afoul of the fog. They were dashed to bits.”
“But have you never heard of the sparking men?”
“You mean lightning?”
He gave a frustrated grunt. “But the trees of silver—”
“—and the rivers of gold,” she finished. “Adam, I don’t enjoy ruining your plans, but there is absolutely nothing there.”
Unconvinced, he turned under the rope a little so he could more directly address the mate. “All right, say those ships did crash into the Tower. That won’t happen to us. Isn’t it possible that we’ll be the first to surmount the Tower? Unless you went there with Lee?”
“No, of course not,” Edith said. She saw no point in arguing. Adam would have to see the summit for himself before he would be convinced. And since they were more or less near it now, what harm was there in indulging him? “Perhaps I have it wrong. You’ll have plenty of time to scout about and tell me what you find.”
“You admit to the possibility, then. Which means there’s at least a chance that I will encounter some danger. I might never see you or my sister or anyone ever again.”
“Granted. If there isn’t peril, then it isn’t an adventure.”
“Exactly. So, it’s not unreasonable for me, as your crewman and your friend, to make a last request.”
“Go on.”
“I’m very curious to know, did you have a romance with Captain Lee?”
“This is your parting favor? To stick your nose into my business?” Edith huffed, but privately felt a little flattered by the young man’s curiosity. Still, she wasn’t prepared to indulge his cheek. “I can’t believe you don’t have a message for your sister. That’s what you’re supposed to ask for with a last request. ‘Tell my family I love them,’ that sort of thing.”
“Oh, she wouldn’t believe that,” he said with a dismissive swat of his hand. “Besides, you have to understand, part of the reason I’m so happy to be out here in the fresh air is that I don’t have to try to figure out what to
say to her. We never had a thing in common. That’s the truth. We rarely talk. She doesn’t know who I am.” He paused to consider, feeling surprise at the admission. “And I’m not sure I know either. But I do know that I’m tired of being a nag. I’m tired of being the unneeded mother. I think she’s tired of running away from me, though I can’t really blame her any more. So now I just think maybe it’s my turn.”
When he looked up, Edith could see how tormented he was, how battered by guilt, and exhausted he was. And like a flush runs up the neck and floods the head, she recalled how it felt to be his age, what it was like to live for ill-fitting obligations.
She took a deep breath.
“After the Sphinx gave me my arm, while I was recovering, Lee started paying a little attention to me,” she said with some difficulty. “You have to understand, it had been a long few weeks.”
“Were you in love with him?”
“That is the most repulsive word you could have chosen for it, Adam. No. It wasn’t a romance; it wasn’t love. That’s the Captain rubbing off on you. I was—” She stumbled on the word, and that sent her eyes rolling at her own awkwardness. “I was recently disfigured, and feeling unattractive. No, that’s not the word. I was feeling ruined. I wondered who was ever going to see past this.” She nodded at her empty sleeve. “Lee just had good timing. And Tom—” her voice cracked. “The Captain had been so kind to me in the Parlor, it made me think there might be other kind men in the Tower. And perhaps there are. Lee wasn’t one.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I— enjoyed myself. It was restorative. And then we left here, and it was finished. It turns out, as far as he was concerned, I was the only skirt in port, and he had made do. Which was only fair, because I thought I was making do.”
She felt a little rewarded by how shocked Adam looked.
“Was that worse than you guessed?” Edith said.
“No, so much better. It makes me like you more,” he said, smiling. “It gives me hope to think—”
Edith jerked back on the stick. The engine staggered for footing in the pocked and weathered stone, and then fell quiet when she released the throttle. The walker stood upon a sheer edge.
They had run out of Tower to climb.
Chapter Eleven
“When introductions are made, never be first in the reception line. ‘First to curtsey, first forgot,’ or so the saying goes.”
- The Wifely Way by the Duchess K. A. Pell
Edith would later recount to captain and crew her initial impressions of the oft-speculated about and seldom seen summit of the Tower of Babel, and in so doing, she would discover just how firmly the scene had been embossed upon her memory. How did the air smell? Like geraniums and metal. What was the hour? It was just before sunrise, and the fog purpled with the light. You stole a mount, but why not any weapons? Because there was no need! There wasn’t any danger. It was just a barren roof.
Far from it, though the pinnacle did not reveal all its wonders at once. Had there been no fog, Edith would never have agreed to a quick look around. Had there been no fog, surely they would have fled.
She had to give Adam credit: he took his illusions seriously. To avoid detection, he insisted that they proceed on foot, despite how easily they would have been able to survey the summit from the bench of the wall-walker. He further insisted that the machine be parked below the lip of the edge, to disguise their means of arrival. This necessitated that they stand upon the bench back, scrabble over the grate of the engine, and pull themselves onto the rocky verge, a process that the spectacular height and one missing arm made quite harrowing.
Edith agreed to all of this, and bit down on her impulse to patronize the youth for his exuberance. Why couldn’t she just enjoy his anticipation? Why must he suffer for her disillusionment? Reality would confront him soon enough, and it would be absolutely shameful of her to anticipate his disappointment with anything but remorse. She decided whatever happened, she would be supportive.
It would prove a difficult resolution to keep.
Beyond a narrow perimeter of unremarkable stone, the ground turned to metal plates that were fitted together as tightly as a weld. The metal resembled polished, toughened silver, but its luster was unfamiliar to Edith. Whatever the material, it apparently resisted the formation of rust, and perhaps the accumulation of spots. And dust. The ground was perfectly clean.
It was this inconsequential detail that tied the first knot in her gut. Shouldn’t there be a buildup of dust, bird droppings, and the silt left by rain? There were none.
She pondered this as they walked deeper into the clouds, their progress shuffling and tentative. Edith had begun to itemize all of the types of natural phenomenon that might clean a roof when the silver tree emerged from the fog.
It was as tall as a tulip poplar, the trunk perfectly round, and the branches few and high and half-veiled by the clouds. The wind shifted subtly, and the top of the tree came into clear view.
The blades of the turbine did not turn in the wind. In fact, the windmill they had taken for a tree did not stir at all.
Hurrying to its base, Adam grabbed the mirage before it could disappear. It was real. The pole was silver, recently polished, and perfectly reflective. He ran his hands over it, his heart shaking his chest. Amid his joyful scrutiny, a second gleaming surface at his foot caught his eye.
He looked down to discover that he stood upon a vein of gold, flat as a plank, but wandering as a stream. It forked with tributaries that split and switched across the steely floor.
At his side now, Edith gaped with him at the gilded sinews running into the fog and nearer the shrouded hub of the summit.
“I’ll be hanged,” Edith said, touching the silver post.
Adam, already on his hands and knees, felt for seams around the vein of gold. If he could just get his fingers under the lip of it, perhaps he could pull it up. Of course, that presumed the gold was plated or tiled rather than fused. “Help me,” Adam said. “How much weight can the walker carry?”
“No,” Edith murmured. “This is not good.” She peered into the fog.
“Why? How is this not the very definition of good?” Finding his fingernails too weak, he began rifling through his pack for some more useful tool. Why had he not thought to bring a chisel or a hammer? What good were an old book and a bedroll now!
“Because if the gold is real, that means—”
“Your hair is standing up,” Adam said, squinting up at her.
“We should get back on the rock.” She felt a tingling in her ears. “Now, Adam.” She pulled at him and was frustrated by how heavy he was. How she wished for her arm!
The plates beneath them began to knell softly, like a doorbell rung in an adjoining house. They froze, harkening to it.
“Sounds like marching,” Adam said.
“Run,” she whispered.
There are several disadvantages to fleeing through a mist near the edge of a cliff. One is that you’re never exactly certain where the edge is, and so it is difficult to convince your limbs to move with any alacrity. Another disadvantage is the effect that looking over your shoulder has on the internal compass: the more you look back, the more you get turned around.
So, they were all but immobilized by their disorientation when the first seething, blue bolt flew overhead. The lightning seemed to snag upon the fog, and went fraying into sparks. Their skin tingled almost to burning, and Edith’s dark hair stood out like a lion’s mane.
Gripping each other with the grim conviction of drowning souls, they lurched helplessly under a second and third salvo of jagged light.
The men came at them directly, unflustered by the cloud. They wore uniforms of black rubber and red copper. Their shining conical helmets were slit at the mouth, the line curling up on one end in a stylized smirk. The lenses over their eyes stood out like a chameleon’s. Black galoshes and a heavy apron protected them from the electricity that still crackled from the tips of
the wands in their hands. The thick wands were tethered to ornate packs on their backs, and these emitted a constant, dispassionate hum.
Attempting to shield Adam from the squad of eight, Edith put up her hand and said, “We are not armed. Don’t fire! Don’t fire!” even as the sparkling light at the tip of their wands began to bloom.
Adam pressed around to her side, determined not to be struck down while cowering, and said, “We haven’t taken anything. We just made a wrong turn. We’re lost.”
One of the sparking men stepped forward, and the coil around the barrel of his wand brightened with a fatal charge.
The foremost figure extended a glove-fattened hand and turned down his compatriot’s weapon. This apparent leader hung his own wand from a hook at his belt, put his hands to his head, and twisted the helmet free of its collar.
He was not much older than Adam, but was his opposite in nearly every other way. His eyes were a light blue; his complexion was as pale as glue. His long hair and full beard were the color of fresh straw.
“Adam?” the handsome soldier said.
In the realm of pirates, no good ever came from being recognized publically. Indeed, there were few sounds less pleasing to a pirate’s ear than their own name emerging from a stranger’s mouth. Still, Adam could think of no benefit to denying the fact.
“How do you know my name? Is it some sort of trick?”
“A trick?” the officer scoffed, tucking his helmet under his arm. The others in his troop began loosening their own helmets, their vigilance softening. “I was wondering the same thing.”
“Do you recognize me?” Edith asked, trying to discern the meaning of all this.
The blond officer surveyed her face briefly. “No. Perhaps you’re part of the later story.”
“Later story?” Adam said, but received no answer.
Now out of their helmets, the troop had begun an animated argument over what they should do with these trespassers. They seemed as surprised to have found Adam Boreas during their rounds as he was surprised to be recognized. Perhaps Adam and the one-armed woman were the bait of a sinister trap, which was already sprung. Perhaps there were more of them coming even now. Perhaps they should raise the general alarm. Perhaps they should shoot them both or jog one of them off the side to stir a confession from the other.
Arm of the Sphinx (Books of Babel Book 2) Page 29
