‘I see,’ I said. (This did indeed put things in a slightly different light.)
‘And personally,’ continued the Other, ‘I think that this search is so important, so absolutely vital that I have to keep going. No matter what. I don’t have any choice. If your decision is to stop looking – well, in that case I suppose we’d no longer be colleagues. Our meetings on Tuesdays and Fridays – we’d no longer have them. Because what would be the point? I’d be pursuing my researches and you’d be off’ – he gestured vaguely –‘doing whatever it is that you do. This isn’t what I want of course, let me be very clear about that, but it is the way things would have to be. So that’s the second reason.’
‘Oh!’ I said. It had never occurred to me that he and I would cease to be colleagues. ‘But working with you is one of the great pleasures of my life!’
‘I know,’ said the Other. ‘And of course, I feel the same way.’ He paused. ‘Now I need to tell you the third reason. But before I do that, I need you to hear something else.’ He gazed intently and searchingly into my face. ‘This is the most vital thing I have to say. Piranesi, this isn’t the first time you’ve told me that you want to stop the search for the knowledge. This isn’t the first time I’ve explained why that’s not the right course of action. Everything we’ve just said? We’ve said it all before.’
‘I … What?’ I said. I blinked at him in astonishment. ‘What? … No. No. That is not correct.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid it is. You see, the labyrinth plays tricks on the mind. It makes people forget things. If you’re not careful it can unpick your entire personality.’
I sat dumbfounded. ‘How many times have we said it?’ I said at last.
He thought for a moment. ‘This is the third time. There’s a pattern. The idea of stopping the search for the knowledge seems to occur to you roughly once every eighteen months.’ He glanced at my face. ‘I know. I know,’ he said, sympathetically. ‘It’s hard to take in.’
‘But I do not understand,’ I protested. ‘I have an excellent memory. I remember every Hall I have ever visited. There are seven thousand, six hundred and seventy-eight of them.’
‘You never forget anything about the labyrinth. That is why your contribution to my work is so valuable. But you do forget other things. And, of course, you lose time.’
‘What?’ I said, startled.
‘Time. You’re always losing it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know. You get days and dates wrong.’
‘I do not,’ I said, indignant.
‘Yes, you do. It’s a bit of a pain, to be honest. My schedule’s always so packed. I come to meet you and you’re nowhere to be seen because you’ve lost a day again. I’ve had to put you right numerous times when your perception of time has got out of sync.’
‘Out of sync with what?’
‘With me. With everyone else.’
I was astonished. I did not believe him. But neither did I disbelieve him. I did not know what to think. But in all my uncertainty one thing was clear, one thing remained that I could absolutely rely on: the Other was honest, noble and industrious. He would not lie. ‘But why do you not forget?’ I asked.
The Other hesitated for a moment. ‘I take precautions,’ he said carefully.
‘Could I not take them too?’
‘No. No. That wouldn’t work. Sorry. I can’t go into the whys and wherefores. It’s complicated. I’ll explain it to you one day.’
This was not very satisfactory but just then I did not have the energy or mental capacity to pursue it. I was too busy thinking about what I might have forgotten.
‘From my point of view this is very worrying,’ I said. ‘Suppose I forget something important, like the Times and Patterns of the Tides? I might drown.’
‘No, no, no,’ said the Other, soothingly. ‘There’s no need to worry about that. You never forget anything like that. I wouldn’t let you go wandering about if I thought you were in the slightest danger. We’ve known each other for years now and in that time your knowledge of the labyrinth has grown exponentially. It’s extraordinary, really. And as for the rest, anything important you forget, I can remind you. But the fact that you forget while I remember – that’s why it’s so vital that I set our objectives. Me. Not you. That’s the third reason we should stick to our search for the knowledge. Do you see?’
‘Yes. Yes. At least …’ I was silent a moment. ‘I need time to think,’ I said.
‘Of course. Of course,’ said the Other. He patted me consolingly on the shoulder. ‘We’ll discuss it again on Tuesday.’
He rose to his feet and went over to the Empty Plinth and examined the little shining device lying there. ‘In any case,’ he said, ‘I need to get going. I’ve been here almost fifty-five minutes.’ Without another word he turned and set off in the direction of the First Vestibule.
The World does not bear out the Other’s claim that there are gaps in my memory
entry for the twenty-third day of the sixth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
The World (so far as I can tell) does not bear out the Other’s claim that there are gaps in my memory.
While he was explaining it to me – and for some time afterwards – I did not know what to think. At several points I experienced a feeling akin to panic. Could it really be the case that I had forgotten whole conversations?
But as the day went on, I could find no evidence of memory loss to support the Other’s claim. I busied Myself with my ordinary, everyday tasks. I mended one of my fishing nets and worked on my Catalogue of Statues. In the early evening I went to the Eighth Vestibule to fish in the Waters of the Lower Staircase. The Beams of the Declining Sun shone through the Windows of the Lower Halls, striking the Surface of the Waves and making ripples of golden Light flow across the Ceiling of the Staircase and over the Faces of the Statues. When night fell, I listened to the Songs that the Moon and Stars were singing and I sang with them.
The World feels Complete and Whole, and I, its Child, fit into it seamlessly. Nowhere is there any disjuncture where I ought to remember something but do not, where I ought to understand something but do not. The only part of my existence in which I experience any sense of fragmentation is in that last strange conversation with the Other. And so I have to ask Myself: whose memory is at fault? Mine or his? Might he in fact be remembering conversations that never happened?
Two memories. Two bright minds which remember past events differently. It is an awkward situation. There exists no third person to say which of us is correct. (If only the Sixteenth Person were here!)
As for the Other’s claim that I lose time and muddle days, I do not see how this can possibly be true. I invented the calendar I use, so how could it get ‘out of sync’ as he put it? There is nothing for it to get out of sync with.
I wonder now if this is why he asked me that strange question three and a half weeks ago? I mean the question with a strange word in it. Turning back the pages of my Journal I see that the strange word was ‘Batter-Sea’.
And then, in an instant, the solution presents itself! All I have to do is read through my Journals and discover if there are any discrepancies, any events recorded there that I no longer recall. Yes! This will certainly decide the matter. In fact, the only drawback with this idea is that it will take a substantial amount of time – my writings being lengthy – which I cannot just now spare from other projects.
I am resolved to read through my Journals at some point in the coming months and in the meantime shall proceed on the assumption that it is the Other’s memory, and not mine, which is incorrect.
I write a letter
entry for the twenty-fourth day of the sixth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
The following is a transcript of the letter that I inscribed in chalk on the Pavement of the Second South-Western Hall.
DEAR OTHER
ALTHOUGH I CANNOT ANY LONGER REGARD THE SEAR
CH FOR THE GREAT AND SECRET KNOWLEDGE AS A LEGITIMATE SCIENTIFIC ENDEAVOUR, I HAVE DETERMINED THAT THE CORRECT COURSE OF ACTION IS TO CONTINUE TO HELP YOU AND GATHER ANY DATA YOU REQUIRE. IT IS NOT RIGHT THAT YOUR SCIENTIFIC WORK SHOULD SUFFER SIMPLY BECAUSE I HAVE LOST CONFIDENCE IN THE HYPOTHESIS. I HOPE THAT THIS IS ACCEPTABLE TO YOU.
YOUR FRIEND
The Other warns me about 16
entry for the twenty-sixth day of the sixth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
This morning I went to the Second South-Western Hall to meet the Other. I confess that I was a little anxious about how the meeting would go. Sometimes when I am anxious, I talk a lot, and so I immediately launched on a long speech, elaborating quite unnecessarily on the letter I had chalked on the Pavement.
It did not matter. Halfway through I realised that the Other was not listening. His head was bent in thought and he was absent-mindedly turning over some small metallic objects in the pocket of his jacket. Today he wore a suit of a dark charcoal colour and a black shirt.
‘You haven’t seen anyone else in the labyrinth, have you?’ he said suddenly.
‘Someone else?’ I said.
‘Yes.’
‘Someone new?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘No,’ I said.
He studied my face intently as though for some reason he doubted the truth of what I had just said. Then he relaxed and said, ‘No. No. How could you? There’s only us.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘There is only us.’
A short silence.
‘Unless,’ I added, ‘there are other people in other Parts of the House. In Far Distant Places that you and I have not seen. I have often wondered about that. As a hypothesis it is impossible to prove one way or the other – unless one day I come across signs of human activity, signs that cannot reasonably be attributed to our own Dead.’
‘Mmmmm,’ he said. He was deep in thought again.
Another silence.
It occurred to me that I might already have come across such signs. The fragments of paper with writing on them that I had found in the Eighty-Eighth Western Hall! They might belong to our own Dead or they might belong to Someone as yet unknown to us. I was about to tell the Other all about it when he began speaking again.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I want you to promise me something.’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘If you ever see someone in the labyrinth – someone you don’t know – I want you to promise me that you won’t try to speak to them. Instead you must hide. Keep out of their way. Don’t let them see you.’
‘Oh, but think what an opportunity will be lost if I do that!’ I said. ‘The Sixteenth Person will almost certainly possess knowledge that we do not. He will be able to tell us about the Distant Regions of the World.’
The Other looked blank. ‘What? What are you talking about? The sixteenth person?’
I explained about the Thirteen Dead and the Two Living, and how someone new would be the Sixteenth Person. (I have explained this many times. The Other can never seem to keep this important information in his head.)
‘I agree that “the Sixteenth Person” is rather a cumbersome designation,’ I said. ‘We could, if you prefer, call him “16” for short. My point is that 16 has information about the World that we do not and therefore …’
‘No-no-no-no-no,’ said the Other. ‘You don’t understand. It’s really important that we keep as far away from this person as we can.’ He paused and then said, ‘You see, Piranesi, I’ve met this person. This person you call “16”.’
‘What? No!’ I exclaimed. ‘Then there really is a Sixteenth Person in the World? Why did you never tell me this before? This is wonderful! This is a cause for celebration!’
‘No.’ He shook his head dolefully. ‘No, Piranesi. I know that this means a great deal to you and I’m sorry to have to break it to you. But this is not a cause for celebration. It’s entirely the reverse. This person – 16 – means me harm. 16 is my enemy. And so, by extension, yours too.’
‘Oh!’ I said and fell silent.
What terrible news. Of course I understand the concept of enmity: there are many Statues in which one Figure struggles with Another. But I had never experienced it at first hand before. A random thought came to me – the phrase kill him on one of the scraps of paper from the Eighty-Eighth Western Hall. The person who had written that had had an enemy.
‘Is there any possibility that you are mistaken?’ I said. ‘Perhaps it is all a misunderstanding. When 16 arrives, I can talk to him and explain that you are a Good Person with many Admirable Qualities. I can demonstrate to him that the attitude of hostility he holds towards you has no reasonable foundation.’
The Other smiled. ‘How like you, Piranesi, to try and find the good in the situation. Unfortunately in this case it can’t be done. This is why I didn’t want to tell you about 16. You imagine that 16 can be reasoned with. But unfortunately, that’s not the case. 16 is opposed to everything we are, everything you and I think is valuable and precious. And that includes reason. Reason is one of the things that 16 wants to tear down.’
‘How dreadful!’ I said.
‘Yes.’
We lapsed into silence again. There seemed nothing more to say. I was shocked by his description of 16’s wickedness. To be opposed to Reason itself!
After a moment the Other continued. ‘But I’m probably stressing us both out for no reason. There’s really only a very small likelihood of 16 coming here.’
‘Why is the likelihood small?’ I asked.
‘16 doesn’t know the way,’ said the Other. He smiled at me. ‘Try not to let it worry you.’
‘I will try,’ I said. A new thought struck me. ‘When did you meet 16?’
‘Mmm? Oh, the day before yesterday.’
‘You have visited the Far-off Places where 16 lives? You never said so before. Tell me about them!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You said you met 16. But you also said 16 does not know the way here. Meaning that you must have met him in his own Halls or, at any rate, in some Remote Region. This surprises me because I do not believe that you have undertaken any long journeys since I have known you.’
I smiled at the Other, awaiting his answer, which I fully expected would be very interesting.
He looked blank. Blank and slightly horrified.
A long silence.
‘Actually …’ he began, then seemed to change his mind about what he was going to say. ‘Actually, it’s not important where we met. And I don’t have time to go into all that now. I’m needed … I mean I can’t stay today. I just wanted to warn you. You know, about 16.’ Then he nodded briskly at me, picked up his shining devices and walked away towards the First Vestibule.
‘Goodbye!’ I called to his retreating back. ‘Goodbye!’
I update my information about 16
entry for the twenty-seventh day of the sixth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
I am very interested in the fact that the Other has met 16 and it is a great pity that he is so disinclined to say anything about it. I would like to know much more about the circumstances and location. But I suppose that the Other does not wish to dwell on a meeting with a wicked person.
The entry which I made in my Journal six weeks ago (See A list of all the people who have ever lived and what is known of them) is now outdated, so this morning I appended a note there directing the reader to this page.
The Sixteenth Person
The Sixteenth Person resides in a Far-off Region of the House, possibly in the North or South. I have never seen him, but the Other reports that he is a malevolent person, hostile to Reason, Science and Happiness. The Other believes that 16 may attempt to come here in order to disrupt our Peaceful Existence and he has warned me that if I should ever see 16 in these Halls, I should hide Myself.
The First Vestibule
entry for the first day o
f the seventh month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
Today I decided to visit the First Vestibule. It is, oddly enough, a place I hardly ever go. I say ‘oddly’ because when I set up my System of Numbering the Halls several years ago I chose this Vestibule as the starting point, the place from which everything else is reckoned. Knowing Myself as I do, I do not think I would have chosen it had I not felt some sort of strong connection with it; yet I no longer remember what that connection was. (Is the Other right? Am I forgetting things? It is an unpleasant thought and I push it away.)
The First Vestibule is an impressive place, larger than the majority of Vestibules and more gloomy. It is dominated by eight massive Statues of Minotaurs, each one approximately nine metres high. They loom over the Pavement, darkening the Vestibule with their Bulk, their Massive Horns jutting into the Empty Air, their Animal Expressions solemn, inscrutable.
The temperature of the First Vestibule is different from that of the surrounding Halls. It is several degrees colder and there is a draught that blows from somewhere, bringing with it a smell of rain, metal and petrol. I have noticed this many times before, but somehow I always seem to forget about it immediately afterwards. Today I concentrated my attention on the scent. It was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but extremely interesting. I followed its path. I passed along the Southern Wall of the Vestibule until I came to the two Minotaurs that flank the South-Eastern Corner. Here I noticed something. The Shadows between the two Statues were producing a sort of optical illusion. I could almost imagine that they extended backwards a long way and that I was in fact gazing into a corridor leading to a distant point where there was a patch of misty light. This patch of light contained other lights that seemed to flicker and move. It was from there that both the draught and the scent seemed to emanate. I could hear faint sounds – a sort of vibration and a dashing noise, like the Waves but less regular.
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