An Artist's Eye (Dica Series Book 5)

by Clive S. Johnson

  “In ... indeed,” was all Nephril managed before Prescinda could contain herself no longer.

  “So, there still is a city here then?” she enthused.

  Falmeast looked confused but then clearly realised the error. “Ah, no, Prescinda. Eyesgarth has long been a ruin, if indeed anything now remains at all.”

  “But the towers?” She frowned. “Aren’t they part of the city?”

  “Towers? Ah, right, I see. Yes, they would indeed outlast all else, and must still be there I suppose.” Falmeast evidently saw the enquiry on their faces, and a glimmer of interest seemed to seep across his own.

  “Are you all fit enough for a bit of a climb?” he asked as he poured Falmeard’s cooling tea down the sink.

  Falmeast filled the mug with tap water and placed it on the drainer. A few steps took him to the opposite corner of the room where he slid back a recessed bolt. When he leaned his shoulder against the wall, a fine line appeared in the shape of a door, dust falling from its lintel.

  “It’s open to the elements behind here,” he said, putting more weight to his shoulder. The door grated a few inches as yet more dust showered in, turning his tunic’s shoulder light-grey. Eventually, the door stood open wide enough to get through, a scraped arc now evident in the thick layer of dust beneath.

  “It’s not lit and it’s very steep I’m afraid,” Falmeast warned, dusting his shoulder, “but there are handrails on both sides.” He stepped through and quickly vanished from sight.

  Prescinda hesitated at the threshold, felt for the handrails and stepped onto the first tread as she peered up the black shaft. “Blimey,” she said before following the sound of Falmeast’s fast rising tread.

  For a moment, Nephril and Falmeard stared at one another. “I’ll tell you later,” Falmeard said, ushering Nephril ahead.

  The climb took quite a while, enshrouded in both darkness and a thickening cloud of disturbed dust. They trusted to the regular spacing of the steps, each climber secure in their sliding grasp on the handrails. Falmeast got well ahead - his practice showing - but his diminishing form slowly revealed a patch of daylight high above.

  Prescinda eventually had to stop; her breath ached against her chest and her legs felt like cowheel jelly. “Just a minute’s rest,” she blew into the darkness, and between breaths quietly listened to Falmeast’s now distant climb.

  “How high...” she began but had to take another deep breath. “How high do you reckon this ridge is, Nephril?”

  “Too high to think on. Just stay in the here-and-now and let the end come of its own accord. One foot in front of the other, eh?”

  The freshness in Nephril’s voice made Falmeard wonder, a freshness he himself would have shown had he spoken. The Bazarran, the Galgaverran and ... yes, and even the High Dican, he thought. Certainly not a Sodbuster, though, and he sighed to himself, but with understanding not exhaustion.

  The sound of Falmeast’s quick and regular climb had long since subsided when Prescinda began to see the outline of an open doorway above. A last rest and a final push, and she soon raised her eyes above its threshold to see Falmeast leaning idly against a leaden wall a few yards away.

  She stopped, stunned, whilst impatience grumbled at her back. As though in a dream, she climbed the last few steps, stepped out onto a broad terrace and stared about her as she slowly came beside Falmeast.

  The towers clearly strode around a vast crater, whose shallow slope swept away from the base of the wall’s far side, some thirty feet below. Like the towers, the crater’s surface glistened in the early morning sun, as though encrusted with a deep layer of broken glass. Dark within, a seeming spider’s web set a regular pattern beneath the mass.

  Being but a stone’s throw away, it was now clear just how enormous the towers were, their broad bases straddling the mile or so of the ridge top now behind them. At the far side of the crater, however, they looked more slender against a pale-green early morning sky.

  “How far is it?” Prescinda asked, her voice itself seeming miles away. Although Nephril and Falmeard stood beside her, only Falmeast answered.

  “Ceosana - our own long dead Leiyatel if you would - once rose from her lair down there, sixteen miles away at the centre of Ulbracar’s once great red eye.” He pointed at a shallow, desolate mound at the centre of the crater, a blister long dried to dull grey.

  Falmeast sighed. “At one time she filled the view from here with her infinite branches, each of which spread their own countless twigs yet further still, far out into the sweet and favoured air that life itself could once so freely breathe.” His eyes lifted, tipping his head back, as though he saw the memory before him still.

  “When did she die?” Nephril quietly asked, halting Falmeast’s lofting gaze and setting his head on one side.

  “I used to look out from here every so often you know, in the early days. Maybe once every few hundred years. But then, when each time revealed little change, I left it longer.” He gently swept his hand along the wall’s coping, as though wiping away dust. “I suppose I fell out of the habit eventually.”

  “So when did you first notice a change for the worse?” Prescinda prompted, making Falmeast turn and hold her in his absent gaze. It lasted long enough for Falmeard to frown and finally again wave a hand before his twin’s face.

  “It was the lights I remember,” he startled them by saying, “the bright, almost painfully bright canyons that carved their way through a once dense spread of towering buildings, all stark beneath a night sky’s myriad stars”

  Prescinda seemed to see it reflected in his eyes. “It sounds wonderful,” she breathed.

  “Wonderful?” he said, sharply, and again stared her hard in the eye. “Are you sure you’re a Galgaverran?”

  “Yes, of course,” she lied, but Falmeast narrowed his eyes, although they soon darkened.

  “Nigh on six thousand years from when Ceosana first gazed upon this land, by which time the night shone with no better light than a full moon at best.”

  “Only six thousand!” Nephril exclaimed. “Gone in only six?”

  “It’s not really surprising, Guardian, for the place teemed with millions of unfettered humans. What would you rationally expect, eh? Eyesgarth wasn’t designed to last forever, unlike Dica. A final fling perhaps. Life’s last binge. After all, this part of the universe was in safe hands by then, or so they’d thought. At least we can now give Dica another chance, eh? Something that was quite sensibly denied Eyesgarth itself.”

  “Where was the city?” Prescinda asked.

  “It spread for a hundred miles out from here, in all directions but the west of course - to keep Dica in its own splendid isolation. Although Eyesgarth’s towers and boulevards, its spires and parks and all manner of wonders sprawled to the very horizon, the best view from here was that way.” He pointed towards the distant, hazy spread of desert, far beyond the bounded plain’s southern ridge, and beyond a lower range of hills a little further to the south.

  Falmeard felt a nudge from Nephril, his nod and stare directing Falmeard’s own gaze towards the slope down the ridge on the far side of the plain. Although it was some twenty miles away, Falmeard didn’t need to search long before spotting the cloud of dust. It snaked behind something fast descending to the plain below.

  “Phaylan of course,” Nephril muttered and flicked his eyes towards the west, his raised brows and the tilt of his head signalling urgency. “Is there much still to be done here, Falmeard?” he openly asked, drawing Falmeast’s gaze.

  “We’re all done, Guardian,” Falmeast said. “Falmeard has everything he needs. The folder and cask await you below. He glanced into Ulbracar’s vast crater, although wistfully it seemed.

  “My wait is now over, my job done,” he said, “so the future of the universe rests in your own good hands. In which case, I will fare thee well. May Dica’s stock of humans not cock it up this last time.”

  He smiled - perhaps for the first time ever - then turned away and leaned aga
inst the leaden wall. His gaze lingered on the desolate crater below, upon the long-blind eye of Ceosana. For a moment, Falmeast’s eyes glistened, as though threatening a tear, but their lids only slowly lowered as a final slumber stole his breath away forever more.

  39 As Long Ago Intended

  Falmeard closed the outer door behind him with a resounding thud, the absence of the embossed figure seeming to signify finality. Briefly, he rested his hand against where it had been but felt no warmth. When he stood back, it was hard to see the door had been there at all, the cut to it now no more than a dead-end.

  When he came away from it for the last time, he saw Prescinda and Nephril settling themselves in the cab of the camper van. Prescinda was rubbing her hands together, clearly against the chill still lingering in Ulbracar’s shadow.

  Beyond it, through the morning sunlight, Eastern Walk ran a stark white line across the bounded plain, scribing a prominent mark up the apparent wall of the distant ridge.

  “We couldn’t do a better job if we sent up flares,” Falmeard muttered to himself and glanced towards the south. The thought of seeing the steward’s party put a spring in his step, and so he was soon climbing aboard the camper van.

  It took a while to get it turned and facing the right way - back west towards Dica - but when they had, Falmeard pressed on as fast as it would go. “Is the cask safely stowed?” he asked.

  Prescinda assured him it was, “Strapped in at the foot of my bunk, along with the folder and frame.”

  “Good,” he said, his voice now wavering against the shuddering passage of the wheels over the road’s loose gravel.

  “Aren’t you worried we’ll use too much naphtha at this speed, Falmeard?” she likewise warbled.

  Despite having less than half a tank, Falmeard reckoned they’d have enough. “I just want to get us out of Phaylan’s sight as soon as I can. We can return to being frugal once we’re clear. If they do see us, they’ll not be drawn too far in a chase, not far from their main interest.”

  “Which is?”

  “I don’t rightly know, but the steward clearly sees some promise of profit. Whatever it is, it’s now fast falling behind us. I’m hoping, if we are spotted, to make us a diversion too far.”

  “We must be kicking up a cloud of dust, though. They’re bound to notice us.”

  “Not if they’ve got close in to Ulbracar they won’t. Its mass should stand between us, hopefully long enough to get us out of sight over the ridge.”

  When they got to it, Falmeard had to slow for the start of the climb, for the road’s sharp change from the level plain to the steep ridge demanded a crawling pace. He didn’t want a repeat of the bone-jarring they’d suffered on their way down. Nephril took the opportunity to open his door so he could peer back across the plain.

  “No sign of pursuit,” he assured them, “but they are bound to see the road. I doubt there be a simple way into Ulbracar, so it will certainly tempt their interest.”

  They all slid back against their seats as the camper van angled onto the slope. Its engine growled the more when the rear wheels joined the climb, the whole thing juddering alarmingly.

  “It’s not got a very low first gear,” Falmeard complained, and to prove the point the engine expired. The camper van squealed against its brakes as it rolled the short way back down the hill to the bottom. In a flash, Falmeard was out, sliding the cranking-handle from its rest and soon firing the engine again.

  On their next attempt, Falmeard stoked the engine to run as fast as it would go but only partially engaged the wheels. It slowly edged them up the incline as he feathered the union. Although they still kept climbing, it was painfully slow.

  To add yet more fraying to their nerves, a strange smell slowly began to fill the cab, making Prescinda wrinkle her nose. Even when a high pitched screech sang out, above the engine’s baritone rumble, still they managed to keep on edging up the hill.

  Eventually, and less than half way from the top, Nephril again turned to stare out across the plain. “They must have spotted us,” he shouted. “I can see them heading this way,” but his words were almost drowned out by the camper van’s now raucous screech. Falmeard heard but was more distracted by smoke thinly billowing in from beneath his door.

  Their progress became pitiful as the smoke blackened and grew in volume, its acrid smell becoming almost unbearable. With only a few yards left to the top, the high pitched wail stopped and the camper van lurched to a halt before starting to roll back down the hill.

  Falmeard yanked on the holding-brake and this time it held, although not without complaint. He eased the engine back to a gentle burble. The black smoke and the stench subsided, leisurely drifting away along the ridge.

  “Shit,” Falmeard growled, “shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” and thumped the steering wheel enough to bend it. “That’s all we need.”

  “What’s the matter?” Prescinda said.

  “That’s it,” Falmeard spat, “we’re going nowhere now.”

  “What do you mean? We’re only yards from the top.”

  “A yard or a mile, it makes no difference. Without a clutch we’re buggered.”

  “Buggered?”

  The urgency in Nephril’s voice brought them up short. “Now listen,” he said, gravely, “we have little time and cannot risk our new cargo getting into the steward’s hands. The cask and folder must remain hidden, at least until we have decided what best to do - and without interference.”

  They stared at him, expectantly, but his attention fell to Falmeard. “Get thee upon thine original purpose, mine friend. Complete thy return in the way the ancient engers envisaged, and without delay. Phaylan and his party will soon be upon us. Thou must be well gone by then.”

  It only took Falmeard a moment’s thought before he dashed from the cab to the camper van’s rear door. As he snatched it open, he noticed the craulena now lay but a mile away, steadily cutting its way across the plain towards them.

  With hardly a fumble, Falmeard had the cask and folder secured within its frame and strapped to his back. When he emerged, the craulena was already joining Eastern Walk, little more than a quarter of a mile away.

  Quickly slipping back to the cab, he stared in only to meet Prescinda’s wide eyes. He yanked open the door. “What about Prescinda, Nephril?”

  “Worry not. I am sure Master Dialwatcher will soon be with us. Now be off,” and he urgently waved Falmeard away.

  He paused but then nodded as he heaved the cask more comfortably onto his back and glanced one last time at Prescinda. The look on her face stayed with him long after he’d leant into a sprint for the brow, and the long walk home that lay beyond.

  40 Perhaps an Issue Explained

  “Morning, Lord Nephril. We thought it might be thee,” Dialwatcher hailed through the door at where Nephril now sat in the driver’s seat. Seeing Prescinda sitting at his side, Dialwatcher made his way around the camper van and climbed in on her side, taking the empty seat beside her. He slammed the door shut behind him.

  “Thee’s clearly on thee’s way ‘ome, or were by t’look of it.” He sniffed the air. “Don’t smell too ‘ealthy in ‘ere. Were that smoke we saw coming from this thing?”

  “We can no longer join the engine to the wheels,” Nephril informed him.

  “Good job we saw thee then, and good job we’ve enough room to get thee aboard t’craulena. I can’t imagine t’walk back would do this lass much good.”

  “Indeed not, Master Dialwatcher. We be most indebted to thee for thy kind assistance.”

  Dialwatcher stared at Prescinda. “And thee is?”

  “This be Prescinda, mine assistant.”

  “Oh aye, if thee say so,” and his eyes fell appraisingly upon her. “Think I remember thee from t’meeting at t’college.” He dragged his eyes back to Nephril. “Thee two got much to transfer?”

  “Just some personal items,” Nephril assured him, “not much. There be stew and fresh water too, to offset our extra mouths.” />
  “I’ll give thee an hand then once we’ve got Mistress Prescinda settled in t’craulena. Don’t want thee breathing more o’ this air than need be, now do we?” and he gave her a thin smile to which she eyed him back coldly.

  Behind the camper van stood the craulena, its windows filled with staring faces. Nephril recognised Breadgrinder and Phaylan sitting at the front, and clearly some of the steermaster’s crew peering out from behind them. Although Prescinda’s face soon joined them, Nephril hung back and stared at the craulena whilst he waited for Dialwatcher to give him a hand with their things.

  He’d known about the steward’s strange carriage of course, through his own dealings with Melkin, but this was the first time he’d seen the crawler in the flesh, so to speak. The camper van looked like a crude toy beside it. The craulena’s huge, soft wheels sat at the very edge of the road, held out on insect-like legs - creaking and squeaking as people moved within its long carapace.

  It looked, to Nephril, as sinister as Steward Melkin’s intentions had always hinted at being, despite the man’s many assurances. “How, though,” Nephril wondered, “would Melkin’s mission here be effected now they’d have himself and Prescinda aboard?”

  He was soon joined again by Dialwatcher. “Better get thee’s stuff together then,” the man said, nodding towards the camper van, and so Nephril led him into the back.

  Prescinda’s bedclothes now lay disturbed, where Falmeard had hastily retrieved the cask, making the other bunk look unused. “Cosy in ‘ere,” Dialwatcher said and grinned.

  “I wilt get our things together,” Nephril said, and whilst he did so, Dialwatcher nudged the door to and sat on the apparently spare bunk. He watched Nephril for a short while before saying, “Does thee know what t’steward’s up to, sending our party ‘ere?”

  Bent over a bag, Nephril paused, turned his head and stared at Dialwatcher. “I had naturally assumed thou wouldst know that better than I,” and he straightened up.