Under the Burning Clouds

by Steve Turnbull

  Constance looked suitably shocked. “She was stabbed and he committed suicide, I remember.”

  Of course she did. On their first meeting, Constance and her friends had been all over Maliha because she was the only thing interesting in their lives—except for the Guru. They read the newspapers avidly and gossiped about everything.

  Maliha nodded.

  “I’m worried Timmons has someone on the vessel committing crimes that mirror my cases,” she said. “He’s taunting me and challenging me.”

  Constance was quiet for a few moments. “You think I was brought on board on a pretext.”

  “Yes.”

  “You think I’m in danger?” Her voice had become taut and her grip on Maliha’s hand tightened.

  “Or someone close to you.”

  “Your second case was the murdered teacher?”

  “She was someone I knew from school,” said Maliha. “Not a friend, but I knew her vaguely. She was older by a couple of years.”

  “You think he might use me to represent the friend?”

  Maliha nodded. “Yes, or perhaps save you to be accused of murder later.”

  Constance sat back and sighed. “Don’t that just take the biscuit,” she said. “I could be a victim or a patsy. I always did enjoy following your adventures, Maliha, but I never wanted to be on the bad end of one of them.”

  “Alice.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So am I, for getting you into this trouble.”

  “It ain’t your fault, honey,” said Constance. “I know how to cut blame so it fits.”

  They were quiet for a time. Maliha’s thoughts began to turn to the children—they were with a maid, but she couldn’t leave them too long. Especially not Lilith.

  “I have to go, Constance.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I thought we might stick together. You know, best pals, and we’ll be safer in numbers.”

  “I’m with someone.”

  “And they’re more important than me?” Constance exploded and grabbed Maliha’s arm, digging her fingers in painfully. Maliha looked into her friend’s eyes and saw terror. She put her hand on her knee.

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” said Maliha. “I’m sorry.”

  Constance’s face dissolved into tears. “No, you’re right. I’m being selfish.”

  “Come with me.”

  “No, you should go to whoever needs you.”

  Maliha did not think the overt emotional blackmail in Constance’s words had been intentional. She was trying, despite her fears, to acknowledge Maliha’s right to her own life. But that did not mean she wasn’t moved.

  “No, come with me,” repeated Maliha. “It’s all right, really. They’re children. I can’t leave them too long. One of them is not well.”

  “Oh,” said Constance and visibly changed her thinking. “Sure.”

  They stood and made their way back down through the vessel.

  “Where did you pick up a couple of kids?”

  “In South Africa.”

  “Never been,” said Constance. “What are their names?”

  “The boy’s name is Izak and the girl is Lilith.”

  Constance floated to a stop. “They’re not Jews, are they?”

  Maliha put out her hand and dragged herself to a stop, turning at the same time. The fire in her belly burned again. She had found it so easy to get angry since Johannesburg.

  “What if they are?”

  Constance caved in on herself. “Nothing.”

  “I’m half-Indian, Constance.”

  “I know.”

  “My maid was a man who wanted to be a woman.”

  Constance’s face paled as what that meant seeped through her mind.

  Maliha glanced round to ensure they were alone. “You allowed a man to relieve your frustrations.” She spoke in forceful but low tones. She hesitated, but the anger burned too strong. “And I have bedded a woman.”

  Constance’s expression was turning to one of fear again, but this time the cause was Maliha, who did not stop. “I, too, let the Guru have his way with me, in order to make him confess his crimes. I have witnessed men loving one another tenderly and I have seen children who have been abused for another’s pleasure.” She paused for a breath. “Do not presume to judge others, Constance Mayberry. Not if you want my protection.” Assuming I can provide it.

  Constance nodded and they continued in silence.

  vii

  Lilith shot across the room like a cork from a champagne bottle as Maliha entered. The girl ricocheted neatly off the ceiling, hit Maliha around her middle and clung. “Goddess!”

  So much for being ill. Maliha sighed inwardly. The girl was young; she could never remember not to call her that in the presence of strangers.

  Maliha introduced the very quiet and severely chastised Constance to Lilith and then a sulky Izak. She deposited Lilith on the floor and went to the door with the maid—Indian, like herself, perhaps in her late twenties, low caste by her skin and unmarried by her hair.

  “How were they?”

  “They are children, Miss,” she said.

  “How was the girl?” Maliha did not like asking leading questions, but she was unlikely to get anything volunteered.

  The woman’s eyes flicked in Lilith’s direction and she hesitated.

  “The truth,” said Maliha. “Not what you think I want to hear.”

  “Yes, sahiba,” she said. “She scratches sometimes as if she has lice, but there are no lice to see.”

  Maliha nodded; she had noticed the scratching.

  “You are Durga Maa?”

  Maliha weighed answers in her mind. “There are those who say so.”

  The woman fell to her knees, though in the low gravity it was a gentle descent, and touched Maliha’s feet. Without even thinking, Maliha touched her head in blessing. She knew it was pointless to hope Constance had not seen it.

  “Get up,” she said, not unkindly. “Your first service is to the ship.”

  The woman did so with practised ease and did not fly up towards the ceiling. “The man and woman who died, was that your vengeance, Goddess?”

  “My vengeance will be on the one who killed them,” said Maliha. There was little point in telling the woman not to talk about her; it would only make her fear the wrath of the goddess when she let it slip. “Go along now.”

  The woman half-bowed and pressed her palms together at her forehead, then left. Maliha locked the door behind her.

  “What was that about?” asked Constance.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Maliha.

  “You talk funny,” said Lilith to Constance.

  “That’s because I’m an American. You know where that is?”

  Lilith shook her head.

  “I do,” said Izak. “It’s on the other side of the world.”

  “Sure,” said Constance. “But for me your country is on the other side of the world.”

  Maliha sat in the armchair. Movement on the ship was exhausting despite the low gravity. Sir Isaac Newton’s inertia was still in full swing. One had to expend the same amount of energy to make the body move, but now one had to exert the same force to stop it again. Back on Earth one automatically relied on friction and gravity to do much of the ‘stopping’ for you.

  There was also something comforting about being in the seated position.

  She closed her eyes.

  * * *

  “They’re asleep.”

  Maliha jumped and opened her eyes. The main lights in the room had been switched off and just the side light on the dressing table left on. Constance was crouching at her side. The forms of Izak and Lilith were lying in the bed.

  “I sleep in the bed with Lilith,” said Maliha.

  Constance shrugged. In an easy movement, keeping hold of the side of Maliha’s chair, she stood up. “Having all the furniture screwed to the floor makes things a mite inconvenient,” she said.

  “What sort of things?”

  “Min
d if I squeeze in beside you?”

  Maliha shuffled over. The seat was wide enough to take both of them, though they were pressed together. Maliha could smell a lemon scent from Constance’s dark hair, and her arm was only comfortable wrapped around the other woman’s waist.

  “I never bedded a woman,” said Constance. “What’s it like?”

  “How have you been dealing with your hysteria?” asked Maliha. She did not put it past the American to want to use Maliha for her personal relief.

  “Oh, I got one of those devices,” she said. “The ones that vibrate?”

  Maliha nodded; she had seen the adverts. “Does it work?”

  “Oh yes, quite satisfactory. Though”, said Constance, smiling, “not as rewarding as the personal touch.”

  “You miss the Guru?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t miss the man, just what he could do.”

  Maliha suppressed the words of agreement she had been about to utter. She could feel them coming out with far too much enthusiasm. The man had been very knowledgeable and experienced. Instead she reached around Constance’s waist with her other arm and held her tighter in silent acknowledgement.

  “You avoided my question, Miss Anderson.”

  Maliha sighed. “It is different but equally pleasant.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Could we...?” said Constance. Her voice was almost pleading and Maliha wondered whether her mechanical stimulator was as effective as she claimed.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I did it because I was angry with myself for driving Valentine away,” said Maliha. “It was like a justification.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “No.” And it means I’m as human as everyone else.

  There was another silence. The throbbing of the ship’s engine filtered through the walls and floor. It permeated the ship, but only when there was complete quiet was it noticeable.

  “Am I going to die, Goddess?” said Constance.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Your Lilith calls you that, and so did the maid.”

  “For a start, Mrs Constance Mayberry, you are an American and no doubt ostensibly a Christian, if you believe in anything at all. And that means you’re just being hypocritical.”

  “I won’t deny it. I perform the required actions, but my soul is not in it.”

  Maliha laughed quietly at the joke.

  “But,” Constance paused, as if trying to force her thoughts into words, “perhaps I just need something to believe in.”

  “I don’t think I’m a safe bet.”

  “At least you’re real. I can touch you. Maybe that’s what people really want from their deities.”

  “That’s very philosophical.”

  “I think you get a right to be philosophical when you’re under a sentence of death.”

  They both looked up as a knock came at the door.

  viii

  “Miss Ganapathy,” said the doctor at the door. “You did not make your appointment. I was concerned for you.” He glanced through and saw her guest. “And Mrs Mayberry, good evening.”

  “Doctor.”

  Maliha frowned. She had been so distracted by Constance she had entirely forgotten her scheduled meeting with the doctor. She was not concerned that she had failed to turn up for her appointment, but forgetting was entirely unlike her. She did not forget anything.

  He stood at the door, clutching a blue pillbox and his bag. “Perhaps I should return another time?”

  “No, Doctor, please come in.”

  He entered the dimly lit room and took in the forms of the sleeping children.

  “I’ll be brief, of course,” he said. “Your sleeping pills.” He handed over the box, which rattled. He hesitated and glanced at Constance. “Perhaps if you could come by the surgery in the morning?” he said. “For the other matter we discussed...?”

  “It’s all right, Doctor,” said Maliha. “Mrs Mayberry is an old friend and is aware of the matter. You have some documents for me?”

  He glanced at Constance again and then fiddled with the clasps on his bag. Once open, he removed several sheets of paper and handed them over.

  He frowned. “Are you sure the deaths were committed by a third person?”

  “I am afraid so.”

  “The first murders in the Void.”

  Maliha thought of Valentine but chose not to disagree with Leeming.

  “Well, I’ll be moving on then,” he said as Maliha studied the sheets. She flipped from one to the next, scanning across the double columns of names, addresses, nationalities and cabin numbers.

  “Please take these with you,” said Maliha as she finished the final page and thrust the sheets at him.

  “But I thought you needed them.”

  “I have a total memory, Doctor,” she said. “I only have to see the list once and I can recall every detail.”

  He looked at her as if he didn’t believe her.

  “On the third sheet, second column, fourth name down.” She waited while he wrestled with his bag and the sheets. “You’ll find Francis Gray, British, country of birth, France.”

  She stopped. Francis Gray?

  “That is quite amazing.”

  He continued to speak, but Maliha wasn’t listening. Why had that name stuck out? She did not know a Francis Gray but it sounded a little like ...

  “Françoise!”

  Animated into sudden motion, Maliha pushed past the doctor and used the impetus to drive herself towards the door, throwing him backwards and off-balance. She pressed her left hand against the wall, arresting her motion, and yanked open the door with her right.

  She pulled herself forward into the doorway, then lifted her feet and thrust against the frame as if jumping sideways. She flew along the corridor like an avenging angel, heading for the nearest shaft between floors.

  Her destination was two decks up. This shaft was the down one, but she had no time to waste.

  She barely touched the floor as she cannoned through the corridors, twisting and bouncing at the corners. She caught hold of the central cable of the shaft and brought herself to a halt. She was breathing hard with the exertion and her corset pinched.

  She glanced up as she pulled hard, launching herself upwards. She careened past a man in a brown suit, who uttered an indignant epithet at her.

  On the correct level she stopped for a moment to take stock. The rooms were similarly numbered to her own deck and the one she wanted was nearby to the right, but the concierge’s desk was in the other direction.

  There was no point going to the room if she could not get in.

  She controlled her breathing and was grateful that her complexion would hide the flush from her exertions. She pulled herself to the left briskly but not too fast.

  The man at the desk smiled as she approached.

  “Lost, Miss?”

  “Francis Gray in room 34.”

  “Yes?”

  “I believe she may be ill—”

  “Mr Francis Gray?”

  Maliha’s head span. It had said ‘Francis’ in the document, the man’s spelling of the name. She had been so certain. It made such perfect sense. It fitted.

  But a man and not a woman.

  The giddiness had not left her. The concierge and his desk seemed to turn upside down as she stretched out her arm to prevent the impact with the floor that was slowly approaching her.

  * * *

  “Miss Ganapathy?”

  Maliha opened her eyes. It was the doctor. She was in a small cabin with administrative notices on the walls and a pile of linen on a desk. The concierge’s backroom, then. There was a clock on the wall; less than five minutes had passed.

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “Can you sit up?”

  There was some residual dizziness eddying through her head, but she nodded and allowed the doc
tor to assist her onto a chair.

  “This is the second time you’ve had a fainting spell,” he said and took her wrist in his fingers to take her pulse. He pulled out his watch and counted for ten seconds. “A little high but not too much. As I said before, you should be resting.”

  “I am not ill,” she said. I cannot be ill.

  “Weightlessness can affect people in different ways,” said the doctor. “Some never take to it at all. I insist you rest for at least an hour after meals. Your friend, Mrs Mayberry, says she will ensure your cooperation in this matter.”

  If it means Constance stays close by, that would be helpful, thought Maliha, then she said, “You still haven’t said how you found me so quickly.”

  “One did not need to be a detective,” he winked. “Obviously you were intending to visit the cabin of this Francis Gray. I was intercepted by a crewman who had been sent in search of me.”

  “I see.”

  “Mrs Mayberry is waiting outside,” said the doctor. “She’ll see you back to your room.”

  Maliha stood up and gripped the bolted-down chair to ensure she remained steady. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Chapter 5

  i

  The following days passed without event. Maliha remained in her cabin with the children between meals. Constance stayed with her most of the time.

  The minimal gravity lessened as they progressed. This was a problem with the ether-propellers. For a given propeller there was a limit to how much force it could exert through the ether itself. This translated into a maximum velocity for any vessel. It took Atacama Sea seven days to accelerate to its maximum and the same to reduce back to nothing. The middle section of any voyage was, therefore, spent in complete weightlessness and, for this trip, that period was eight days.

  As they approached the vessel’s maximum velocity, what little gravity there was became less.

  In very low and zero gravity the passengers were encouraged to remain in their cabins, strapped down whenever possible. The majority complied, since the experience was quite unsettling. Food was supplied directly to cabins by the stewards and consisted of paste in flexible containers.

  Izak was difficult to manage; he fretted at the confinement. Constance took him under her wing and found reading books in the library. She attempted to instruct him in his letters, but writing was difficult in this environment. However, she managed to get some of the fundamentals of reading into him.