122
IT WAS DARK in the basement of the cinema. With me, Zephyr, the Scrutator, and five hundred humming robots crammed in there, it was crowded too.
“What now?” Zephyr said. Her voice was still hoarse, and she had to lean on me for support, but she sounded stronger than before.
“We spread out,” I said. “See what we can find.”
“What are we looking for?”
One of the robots found it: a line of spider silk stretched taut across the floor at ankle height. One end was sealed to the wall with a gobbet of resin. The rest vanished into darkness. Perched on it like a swallow on a telegraph wire was a small blue bird.
“This string is how the kingfisher came and went,” I said. “How we got here too. This is the single thread of Arachne’s web that found its way to the Pennyman’s prison, the only thing connecting Beyond to the rest of the cosmos.”
The kingfisher hopped along the silk, which was only visible once you knew it was there. We followed it to a door. The Scrutator pushed it open and we filed outside. The floor ended, but the silk went on. We moved along it, wirewalkers all. The lonely white cube of Beyond dwindled behind us, alone in the void. Somewhere far ahead was everything we knew.
“How long have you got?” I asked the doppelganger.
He showed me the compact. There were twenty-eight seconds left on the timer.
... twenty-seven... twenty-six...
“I could put it on standby again,” I said.
“Not an option,” the other me replied. “For either of us. You have to cut the string, you know that, right? Otherwise the Pennyman might find a way back.”
“But he’s asleep forever.”
“Nothing’s forever, buddy. You know that.”
I rummaged in my pockets. “I don’t have a knife.”
“But you have something explosive.”
I nodded. I knew it, just didn’t want to admit it. Eyes stinging, I opened the compact, bent and snapped it shut over the silk tightrope. I flung open my coat, expanding the lining seventeen times until it was big enough to envelop every last one of the refugees strung out along the line. Then I pulled the drawstrings and folded everybody inside.
Everybody except the doppelganger.
“You should stand back,” he said. “This thing’s going to whip.”
“I know,” I replied.
He took a step back. Now it was just the two of us, each balanced on a thread of cosmic string, the compact ticking silently down between our feet.
... fifteen... fourteen...
“Couldn’t have done it without you, buddy,” I said.
“You’re so lame.”
“I wish there was another way.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“You won’t. You’ll see me every morning in the mirror, and you’ll curse the day you brought me into this pitiful excuse for a life.”
... nine... eight...
“I just wish there was something else I could do.”
“There is.”
“What? Name it!”
... six... five...
“You already know what it is.”
“Don’t play games!”
... three...
“This isn’t a game.”
... two...
“You think I don’t know that?!”
... one...
The doppelganger’s eyes rested on mine. “Just go home, buddy.”
... zero.
The compact’s self-destruct mechanism went off with a magnesium flash and the doppelganger vanished. It was a pitiful explosion, really, the last damp firework in the box. But it was enough to cut the cord.
The line of cosmic string, the single thread of silk woven by Arachne, the only connection between the cosmos and Beyond, snapped. The short end coiled away, wrapping itself three times round the cube before finally coming to rest.
The long end lashed, flicking me away into the void with the precious payload of my companions buried deep inside the tails of my coat. My arms made windmills as my hands tried to gain purchase on the speeding weave of the world. But the world was gone. All the worlds were gone. I was nowhere. There was nowhere to go.
I spread my arms wide. Blue wings whirred beside me. The kingfisher bored through my slipstream, rolling and somersaulting, its black eyes filled with ecstasy. It was in its element, alone and free as it cavorted through the one true place it was always destined to be. For that single lost breath we flew together in the emptiness, the kingfisher and me, neither here nor there, neither lost nor found. Already, Beyond had slipped from sight. The cosmos felt very far away.
I opened a flap of my coat.
“You can come with us, if you want,” I told the kingfisher.
The metabird grew a thousand pairs of wings and buzzed like a sawmill. Then it contracted back into its singular state, flicked its electric blue tail and vanished into the aether.
I rummaged in my pocket. My fingers closed on a small cube. I pulled it out, held it up. The shape of the Dimension Die reminded me of Beyond. But Beyond was long gone.
One black face remained active on the die. One last chance. I wondered if I’d ever regret using it up. Was there a future version of me waiting somewhere ahead, trapped in perilous straits, wishing he’d planned a little harder, thought a little deeper, found another way? I’d met another me once already, and let him down badly. Could I bear doing it again?
My coat billowed in the unseen wind, heavy with its payload.
I rolled the die.
Epilogue
123
I FILLED A paper cup with coffee and stared out at the rain.
It was busy outside. Folk were weaving through the puddles, making lines outside the stores. The store windows were mostly still boarded up, but basic supplies were coming through again at last. There were bread lines, meat lines, dairy lines—you name it, folk were queueing for it.
The crowd seemed good-natured. Most just stood under umbrellas with their ration cards, chatting quietly, patiently waiting for their turn. Further down the street, a couple of ogres were lifting up a sign. They pinned it to a shop-front, stood back to admire their work. The sign read Diana’s Deli—Opening Soon. Nearby, a team of municipal golems was filling in the craters. On the corner, a gardener was digging a fresh bed of soil. It was hard work in the rain, but he was sticking at it. Also to it. A big old dame with tree-bark skin was directing him. She was Eurydice, the hamadryad madam. Knowing the girls would soon be back gave me a warm feeling.
Screw the apocalypse. Things were going to be okay.
Beyond the street, the String City skyline was rising once more. With the thunderbirds gone, it was safe to fly construction rocs again. The giant birds were everywhere—erecting scaffolds, fitting I-beams on tower block skeletons, dropping tiles on newly-built roofs. I’d never seen so many buildings go up so quick. Well, in the weeks after the end of the world, you’ve got to welcome a little urban regeneration.
The office door opened and a bronzed mechanical man walked in. It shook off the rain, stood ticking for a moment.
“Scrutator,” I said. “Thanks for coming.” Through the gaps in its cheeks, I could see all the little gears moving in perfect harmony. I wondered if Arachne’s thread was still rattling around in there somewhere.
“You told me you needed help with an important job,” said the Scrutator.
“Two jobs actually. You sure you can spare the time? What with keeping the wind factory running and everything?”
“The automatic systems are performing at optimum capacity. Besides, what else are friends for?”
First stop was the cellar. On the way down the steps, I asked the Scrutator the question I hadn’t yet dared to ask it.
“You think there’s any way the Pennyman can get out of that bind we put him in?”
The robot’s gears spun like little dynamos. Its ticking echoed round the cellar. “I believe that we have increased the net security
of the cosmos. Previously, the entirety of creation revolved around a Still Point that was kept under heavy guard in the heart of this very city. As a result of our actions, a new Still Point has been created that is confined to an isolated appendix of reality that is unreachable by any reasonable definition of the word.”
“So we did good?”
“I believe that is what I said.”
I slapped the Scrutator’s shoulder. “That’s all I wanted to hear, metal man.”
“I am not made of metal. I am made of...”
“Cosmic string, right. So, you want to know what we’re doing down in the cellar?”
“I confess to a certain level of curiosity.”
I pulled out something from my coat pocket. “I want you to help me get rid of this.”
I turned it in my fingers. It sparkled in the tokamak light.
A silver penny.
The Scrutator’s gears started whining.
“Relax,” I said. “It’s just the penny I got from Arachne. I had it in my pocket all the way to Beyond and back. I thought maybe it would be useful—turned out it wasn’t.” I held up my hands. “Don’t worry, this one wasn’t laid by the Pennyman.”
The whining sound settled. “In that case, what are you going to do with it?”
“What do you think? This is net profit, buddy. It’s going in the safe.”
The Scrutator watched as I dialed the dimensional ultralock on the wall safe. I opened the door and took out the scrap of paper that was lying inside. I placed the penny on the shelf, and closed the door again.
“You said you needed my help,” said the Scrutator. “I cannot see how...”
“Reset the dial,” I said.
“Please repeat the instruction.” The Scrutator’s cogs rattled in confusion.
“It’s simple. I’m going to turn my back. While I’m not looking, I want you to reset the combination of the safe.”
“But then you will not be able to get into it.”
“Precisely.”
The Scrutator focused in on me with glowing eyes. “If the Pennyman did not lay this penny, who did?”
I tried to hold its gaze but couldn’t. “Just do it, buddy.”
I turned away, heard a rattle, then a series of tiny clicks.
“You may look again,” said the Scrutator. “However, I must inform you that I am not entirely comfortable knowing this secret.”
“Can you live with it?”
“Of course. Discomfort does not preclude...”
“Then so can I.” I picked the little brass key off the hook on the wall and dropped it in my pocket with the scrap of paper. “Now for the second part. Shall we go?”
“There is something else I wish to ask,” said the Scrutator as we climbed the stairs out of the cellar.
“For a guy that doesn’t want to be a detective,” I said, “you’re full of questions.”
“I am curious as to the whereabouts of Zephyr. I see no evidence of her continuing employment here. Indeed, your office looks much as it did when I first made your acquaintance, namely it has only one desk. If it is not impertinent to ask—what happened to her?”
“She’s meeting us there.” I took a deep breath. “At least, I hope she is. I need both of you for this second part.”
124
NUKATEM STREET HADN’T changed much. There were the same white clapboard houses, old elms, tired picket fences. The street climbed a hill roughly a hundred yards outside the city limits, and there was a hell of a view. As we ascended, we saw the dark sprawl of the railhead, the ripple of light on the River Lethe, the new downtown quarter with its jackstraw forest of gothic towers and swiveling cranes, a new moving sea of steel and glass, concrete and willow, brownstone and daub. Traffic swarmed. The whole city was in motion. Dancing.
Halfway to the top of the hill we stopped. The rain had eased off and the sun was peeking through the clouds.
“That’s my place.”
I pointed across the street to the little house with the big porch. It looked just the way I remembered. A little more sag in the roof, maybe. A skinny girl was huddled in the porch. She waved, and we waved back.
“How long is it since you last entered your abode?” said the Scrutator.
“Ten years.”
On the way here, I’d told the Scrutator about Laura, how she’d taken herself off to die. How she’d left me a note saying there was something waiting for me in the house. I put my hand in my pocket to hold the paper scrap I’d taken from the safe. I’d read it many times over. Maybe later I’d read it again.
“I wonder, do you believe this might have something to do with the Big Picture?” the Scrutator asked.
I shook my head. “That was just another one of the Pennyman’s games. Laura’s dead. I know that now. Whatever I saw on that damn movie screen... it was all just smoke and mirrors.” I let go of the note and pulled out the brass key. “The bottom line is this is unfinished business. A great big loose end. Time to tie it up.”
The sun brightened further as we crossed the street. When we got to the porch, Zephyr smiled and hugged us both.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” I said.
“You wanted me to,” she replied. “Besides, I’m in no hurry. Home will still be waiting for me.”
I looked up at the house. “I guess that’s what homes do.”
I delved in my pocket, brought out the key. But I couldn’t bring myself to lift it to the door.
“This box she left for you,” said Zephyr gently. “Have you any idea what’s inside?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? Another note, maybe. But why write a note that leads to more notes? Unless she left a trail. But a trail to what? Could be there’s a gift in the box. She inherited a lot of baubles when her mother died. Most she gave away. She and her mother—they didn’t get on. Could be she kept something special though, something I didn’t know about. Decided to pass it down to me. Could be there was more to her death than I knew—some kind of funny business, who knows?—and she’s left me a clue—documents, maybe. Or some little thing to set me on a scent. You know the kind of thing: a matchbook, a phone number, a gold earring. Whatever it is, it’s something I need to see. Something I should have seen years ago.”
“Why don’t you stop talking now.”
She took my hand and helped me guide the key into the lock.
125
IT WAS PHOTOGRAPHS, just photographs. The box was made from cardboard and it was full of them. Photos of her, photos of me. Photos of the two of us, happy and young. Little pictures from another time.
Zephyr and the Scrutator left me to it.
Most of the photographs made me smile. Some made me sad. Here at last were the memories she’d lost in the river. Not wiped away at all, but safe in my hands. Deleted scenes, restored. Sifting through them was like bathing in the echoes of my former life, and if that’s a sappy thought, sue me. It took me a while to work my way through them all, but that was okay—I had ten years of avoidance to rinse away. When I’d finished, I closed up the box and dropped it in my pocket.
“A lick of paint, and this place’ll be like new.”
I looked up to see Zephyr standing in the doorway.
“You offering to do it up?” I said.
She ran a finger along the mantel shelf, turned up her nose at the dust. “It needs it. If I do a good job, will you reduce my rent?”
I opened my mouth, closed it again. “I thought you wanted me to take you back to your world.”
“I did, but I got to thinking. I do still love my old apartment, but compared to this city everything back there is just a bit too... I don’t know...”
“Quiet?”
“Still.” She smiled at me first with her eyes, then her mouth.
“You mentioned rent. How do you plan to pay it?”
“I suppose I’m going to need a job.” She brushed the dust from her hand and planted her hands on her hips. “Know anyone who’s hiring?”
Back
out on the street, I opened my coat and took them both inside. I opened a way to the weave, grateful that the strings were back to normal at last. When we were riding high, I tweaked the lapels apart and allowed my companions the briefest glimpse of all that there was to see. They gasped, which made me feel warm inside, but all too soon the journey was over and there we were back in the office again with our feet planted firm on the ground and the world turning slowly beneath us.
“It’s good to know, isn’t it?” said Zephyr, her eyes still brimming with leftover wonder.
“Good to know what?” I said.
“That there’s more than just this.” She waved her arms wide, indicating the walls of the office, and the city that lay beyond them.
I crossed to the coffee machine and flicked it on. The smell of hot java began to fill the room.
“There’s always something more.” I turned to the Scrutator. “I guess you’ll be going now?”
But the robot was looking through the window at a woman who was crossing the street outside. She wore a long shawl and a desperate expression, and she was headed straight for the office door.
“I believe I might stay a little longer,” the Scrutator said.
The door opened and in walked the dame.
“Please,” she said. “Something terrible has happened, and I don’t know who to turn to.”
Zephyr glanced at me with her eyebrows raised. I went to the machine and poured four cups of coffee.
“Take a seat,” said Zephyr. “And tell us what happened.”
“I don’t know where to start,” said the dame as she collapsed into the chair.
I placed a cup into her trembling hands. Outside, a pair of fledgling rocs flew side by side over the half-shelled dome of the new city hall, wingtips sparking every time they brushed feathers. A municipal garbage truck rumbled past, a pair of bent clay legs sticking out of the top and three golems running frantically behind. On the far street corner, a silver-barked hamadryad lazily bathed her fruits in the sunshine.
“Start at the only place that makes sense,” I said. “The beginning.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
String City Page 34
