‘My poor best will be hardly good enough, Ma’am.’ He gave her an admiring look. ‘The outfit becomes you.’
‘So long as I don’t become the outfit.’ She laughed. ‘Having got into it, there may be some difficulty getting out. The outfit and I may be inextricable. You’d better not call me “Don” this evening. That might give our truancy away. Call me Tella. My brother always called me that.’
‘Very well, Tella. My name is Fyne Iron Blanchet, and my close friends call me Fibe. Or Fibey.’
‘Fyne Iron?’
‘Family names both. I don’t think my mother ever thought what it would sound like.’
‘Well, it sounds very … metallurgical.’
‘So I’ve always felt.’ He offered her his arm and they went down the lift to ground level where a city car awaited them. The gawkers were still staring up at her window. None of them seemed to notice her. ‘Shall I drive?’
‘Please. You know Splash One far better than I. It keeps growing! Every time I’ve been here before I’ve gotten myself hopelessly lost.’
He suited himself to her mood, not talking merely to make conversation but concentrating on his driving. Splash One had grown explosively in recent months, so much so that concentration was a necessity. She stared out at a city raw and gawky in its burgeoning adolescence.
Half the streets were torn up, more were barricaded, though no one paid any attention to the barricades. Stiff, square-cornered new buildings of reinforced brick thrust up beside curvilinear older ones of rammed earth, the hard burnt brown making harsh edges against soft gray. The older buildings were covered with signs offering bargains in entertainment, in used equipment, in new and used clothing, new and used furniture, apartments, rooms. Most of the staff at the military base just outside of the city had dependents housed here in Splash One, and domiciliary space was at a premium.
The newer buildings were labeled with small directories at the entrances; government offices, BDL division offices, purchasing agents, suppliers’ representatives, research labs. Every sidewalk was jammed with people; every window had one or two persons leaning out of it, waving, talking to those in the street. Some of those in the streets were engaged in trade of an unmistakable kind, and Don stared.
‘Prostitutes?’ she asked, breaking her preoccupied silence. There had never been prostitutes on Jubal. At least, none that were visible.
Blanchet nodded. ‘Recent imports. They say that somebody high up got paid off.’ He didn’t need to specify which somebody. The word among BDL employees was that the Governor had both hands out for himself, which was unnerving. PEC appointed governors were supposed to be unimpeachable, and it made one wonder how high the rot had spread.
At the end of a short side street a building loomed, gleaming like gold and culminating in a high, ornately curved dome. Crowds of people passed in and out through the monstrous doors.
‘What in Jubal is that?’ she asked, turning to peer over her shoulder.
‘Crystallite Temple.’
‘It’s huge!’
‘It’s huge and there are about four more like it up and down the ’Soilcoast. You don’t have one in Northwest City yet?’
‘No. And I don’t look forward to having one. Where do they get the money?’
‘Pilgrims. Contributions. If you haven’t seen some of the evangelical cubes the Crystallite hierarchy sends out, you’ve missed something. Very slick, Tella. The money pours in as though it were piped. The people at the top aren’t like the ones you see running around on the streets. The assassins, fanatics, and insurgents are a scruffy lot, but those in charge of the temples are something else again. Very smooth. You ought to see them.’ His mouth compressed into a grim line.
‘Well, let’s. We’re not in any hurry, are we?’
He gave her a surprised look, but obediently brought the car to a halt and walked with her back toward the Temple yard. The paved area was scattered with small groups of pilgrims, each wearing a knot of orange ribbon to identify his status, each group led by a soberly robed guide. Blanchet inconspicuously attached himself and Donatella to the rear of one straggling group as they followed the orange ribboned ones into the enormous structure.
Donatella only with difficulty kept herself from exclaiming. Around them were towering pillars, vaulted ceilings high above, dazzling fountains of light and smoke. ‘Where do they get this kind of equipment when we’re still short of medical supplies and simple things like computers or lift machinery?’
Blanchet kissed his palm in a derisory gesture and she subsided. Obviously someone had been paid off. And why did it surprise her? She turned as Blanchet nudged her, pointing unobtrusively at three figures that had just come onto an elevated platform at the top of a broad flight of stairs. Two men, one woman. The men could have been brothers, both with extravagant manes of white hair, both tall and well built, robed in glittering, vertically striped garments and wearing high domed crowns. The combination made them appear to be about twelve feet tall. The woman, on the other hand, glittered in quite another way. Her breasts were exposed under sparkling necklaces of gems, and her draped skirt seemed to be woven of gold thread, the extensive train slithering behind her like the body of a heavy snake. She, too, was crowned and plumed.
‘Chantiforth Bins and Myrony Clospocket,’ Blanchet whispered. ‘Half brothers, I understand, with a long, slippery history. Now Supreme Pontiff and High Priest. And the High Priestess, Aphrodite Sells. The three of them are the real power behind all the Crystallites on Jubal.’
‘Are they the power behind the assassinations, too? And the terrorism?’
‘They claim not. Though they say they “understand” the frustration that leads their followers to commit such acts.’
On the high platform the glittering woman called out a short phrase, which brought the congregation to immediate silence. She had a voice like a knife, as cutting as a shard of crystal.
Don watched for a short time as the three sparkling figures began a ritual that was obviously familiar to most of those in the audience who were cheerfully bellowing the responses. ‘I’ve seen enough,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
They returned to the car, unspeaking, and continued the interrupted trip, passing the farmer’s market, a bustling enclave of trucks, mule wagons, booths stacked high with produce, milling vendors, customers, and sightseers, all in one swirling, noisy throng. Across from the market were the fish stalls, a long line of booths fronting the enclosed ponds of the local fish farms, smelling richly of the sea. Beyond the ponds stood the tilting masts of the merchant fleet. Don remarked at the number of ships. ‘There are more private boats than BDL has!’
Blanchet nodded solemnly. ‘BDL isn’t the sole power in Splash One and Two anymore. At least that’s the inside word. More than half the traffic last year was noncommercial. Military, a lot of it. Plus all the pilgrims the Crystallites bring in. And they’ve added some staff to the Governor’s office.’
Don started to say, ‘That’s silly, he doesn’t do anything,’ then thought better of it. Her friend Link had been attached to the Governor’s office. She contented herself by asking, ‘Why?’
‘Because of the Jut Massacre.’
That was six years ago!’
‘Well, you know how long it takes the Planetary Exploitation Council to move.’
‘I wasn’t aware that the PEC moved at all. I thought they merely existed, like the Core Stars.’ It was safe to say that, she thought. Lots of people said things like that.
‘The story is that the Jut Massacre moved them. Somebody up there had a son or grandson among the slain, and it made them take the Crystallites seriously. You know they’re reopening the question of native sentience.’
It was safer for her to say nothing at all. ‘Look at that building,’ she marveled. ‘It’s all of six stories tall. It’s a fortress!’ The huge gray structure looked like a monolith, almost windowless, surrounded by high, crenelated walls.
‘You’ve s
een it before, but probably not from this angle. It used to have an open square in front of it, right at the eastern edge of town. It’s the BDL Headquarters. Behind it is the Tripsingers’ citadel, and the Governor’s official residence is adjacent, there.’ He indicated a palatial, terraced edifice set among gardens. ‘The reason they’ve added to the Governor’s staff is to take care of this upcoming PEC inquiry. And they’ve beefed up the military in case of further threats from the Crystallite rank and file, though what earthly use we have for this many troopers is anybody’s guess. In the process they’ve made Jubal the garrison planet for the entire system. Everyone assumes someone bribed someone, because the base on Serendipity has been closed and transferred here. And the military have brought their spouses and kids and intimate friends. All of whom need housing and services and food. The town is a mess.’
‘It certainly is,’ she agreed.
‘Splash Two isn’t any better, from what I hear. Nor are any of the smaller cities. Population of the ’Soilcoast cities is supposed to be in excess of two million. Since we haven’t the resources to build up, we’re spreading out. I’m told at this rate of growth, deepsoil space will run out in a few years. The farmers are already screaming at the cost of land, and we need all the farmlands to feed the people. The whole thing doesn’t make sense.’
‘Amazing,’ she murmured, shaking her head. ‘Simply amazing. I think of Northwest City as fairly urban until I come down here. We’re really cushioned from all this growth up there, and I can’t say I’m not glad. What’s that ruckus down there?’
‘Hmm. There’s a Crystallite street demonstration going on. Well, you’ve seen the temple. Might as well see the other side of it. Hear the singing?’
She heard the tuneless wailing, not something that either an Explorer or Tripsinger would have considered singing. ‘What are they up to?’
‘I’ll drive slowly enough that you can see, but put your mask in your lap and don’t stare at them. These are the shock troops, and they aren’t averse to civil disorder. They throw things at people who look like they might be enjoying themselves. As far as they’re concerned, anyone enjoying himself on Jubal is bound to be a heretic!’ The car moved smoothly down the avenue, and Don watched the mob from the corners of her eyes.
Half a dozen cadaverous figures clad only in loin cloths and sandals were haranguing a scanty and fluid crowd of sightseers. Don caught the words, ‘blasphemous impertinence’ and ‘the day of punishment is coming,’ and ‘we cannot be moved!’ As the car came even with the crowd, one of the chanting figures lit a torch, held it high for a moment, then threw it down. Behind the crowd, flames leapt up in a blue hot cone.
People screamed and fled, and Don stared in disbelief at the cross-legged figure burning on the sidewalk, its wide white eyes shining in ultimate agony through the flames. ‘My God,’ she said, retching. ‘My God. They’re burning a person!’
‘An immolation?’ Blanchet asked, mouth drawn into a rictus of distaste and horror. He speeded the car to move them away. ‘Sorry. It’s been a moon or more since they did one of those here in the city. Are the soldiers on top of it?’
She looked back. Uniformed figures were moving purposefully through the crowd, one with a fire extinguisher.
‘Soldiers are there. Why do they burn themselves?’
‘To show the authorities they aren’t afraid of death, or pain, or torture, or imprisonment. To show they can’t be controlled by police methods. We’ve got a small scale holy war on our hands. It’s just that no one in government seems to realize it yet. People are taking bets on whether the Governor has been paid not to act. And these public immolations are bad enough. The secret, ritual killings are worse….’
‘Ritual killings?’ she faltered, afraid of what he was going to say to her.
‘Killings by torture. Women carved up …’
‘Blanchet, don’t. Please don’t. One of them was a friend of mind. Gretl Mechas. She was cut to ribbons. They said it took hours for her to die. I had to identify her body and I couldn’t identify anything except her clothes. Oh, Lord, no one in Northwest called it a ritual killing.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t. Sorry, Tella. Your friend wasn’t the only one. There have been others. Always women or young boys.’
The horrible sight of the immolation, the hideous memory of her friend, as well as Blanchet’s comments on the current political scene had ruined Don’s desire for dinner or entertainment. Oh, Gretl! Lovely, warm, friendly Gretl. Why! And she couldn’t take time to grieve over Gretl tonight. She had to remind herself that there were other, urgent reasons for her to be abroad in the city.
‘Where are we going for dinner?’ she asked, keeping her voice flatly matter of fact and not caring what the answer might be.
‘The Magic Viggy,’ he told her, shaking his head. ‘I’d planned it as an appropriate place to take someone with red hair and a very blue dress. I’m afraid it will seem rather trivial, now.’
It did seem trivial. They ate imported food at extortionate prices. They drank, albeit abstemiously. Blanchet would have been quite happy to fill her glass more often, but Don let it sit three-quarters full during most of dinner. She didn’t need to be more depressed, which the wine would eventually do. They chatted. Though Blanchet was a well-informed and interesting companion, she had trouble later recalling what they had discussed. Magicians and clowns moved about, playing tricks, distributing favors. A neighboring table was occupied by a noisy crowd of elderly sightseers. There was a lot of clutter. When they were ready to leave, Don missed her bag and found it on the floor, half buried under a bouquet of flowers that a magician had pulled from her hair.
‘Like a circus,’ she said. ‘Like a carnival.’
‘The most popular place in town,’ he agreed. ‘Now, I have tickets to Chantry.’
‘Not Lim Terree?’ she asked, cocking her head. ‘I really liked him last time I was here.’
‘Oh, hadn’t you heard?’ he asked. ‘It was on the news here a few days ago. Lim Terree is dead.’
She made an appropriate expression of dismay without letting the shock show on her face. She felt herself go pale and cold, but the flickering lights in the restaurant hid that. By the time they reached the street, she was in command of herself once more, able to sit through Chantry’s concert and pretend to enjoy it. When it was over, she asked to return to the Chapter House, and once there, claimed weariness and was left alone, though Blanchet expressed regret for that decision as she smiled herself away from him. How desirable to be alone! Except, she reminded herself, for whatever listening and watching devices were undoubtedly placed here and there in her rooms.
She rummaged in her bag, as though for her handkerchief, her fingers encountering something that crackled crisply. She palmed it in the handkerchief, wiped her nose, then thrust the note under her pillow as she turned down the bed. Nightly ritual, she told herself. The whole bedtime score with all variations. Shower. Teeth brushed. Hair brushed. Nightgown. Emergency kit on the bedside table. No Explorer would ever go to sleep without the emergency kit within reach. Then, pick up the new exploration digest, delivered to her door in her absence, and read the professional news for a while. A new theory of variation. Which wasn’t new. Yawn. Let the eyes fall closed. Rouse a little. Put out the lights.
She let a little time go by, then silently brought the emergency kit under the covers and turned on its narrow beamed light. The note she had put in her purse before leaving, informing her friend that someone had tried to kill her, was gone. In its place were two others. The letters were minuscule, hard to read.
‘Terree informed and supplied as per our plans. He is obtaining Enigma score in Five. Took him some time to set up tour. Should return at end of Old Moon.’
This was dated weeks previously and was on a tiny sheet of paper, no larger than one-quarter the palm of her hand. Folded inside it was another sheet, even smaller, dated a few days prior.
‘Word received two days ago, Lim Terree dead on En
igma. Trying to find out what happened. Make contact.’
Both were signed with a twisted line that returned upon itself to make three links of a chain. She put out the light, replaced the kit on the bedside table, then methodically tore the two notes into tiny pieces and ate them.
In the office of the Prior, Fyne Blanchet finished his report with a yawning comment. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about. She’s all right. I talked about the things you wanted me to, but she didn’t say anything much. There’s no evidence of her knowing anything I don’t. She didn’t gripe about corruption or say she was going to murder the governor or anything, just a few snide remarks, the same as anyone.’
‘She didn’t ask you to stay.’
‘A lot of them don’t. Hell, she’s got it on with that guy at the Northwest Chapter. Five years? What’s his name, Zimble? So, she’s monogamous. Lots of women are. Besides, she was really upset over that burning. She saw the whole thing. She didn’t eat much, and she was pale all through the concert.’
The Prior grunted, thought. After a time, he said, ‘She has some people she usually sees here in Splash One.’
‘So?’
‘So, she would normally want to visit them.’
‘And?’
‘If she doesn’t visit them or any one of them, it might mean something.’
Blanchet yawned. He felt the Prior was clutching at straws. Donatella Furz was nothing to worry about. And what was the Prior so worried about? Blanchet, who kept his curiosity strictly in check when it was profitable to do so, told himself he really didn’t know. Or care.
‘Fibey,’ she said the next morning over her breakfast fish, ‘I’ve got three old friends here in town. I’d like to see them while I’m here. Could you arrange that for me?’
‘Certainly, Ma’am. Any particular order? Lunch dates? Dinner dates?’
‘No. Nothing in particular. Whatever’s convenient for them. There’s an old family friend, actually sort of a cousin of my mother’s. Name’s Cyndal Prince, and last time I was here she lived over in that development south of town, along the bay. Then there’s Link Emert, He’s still with BDL, but he’s recently been attached to the Governor’s office. Liaison of some kind. And then there’s my niece, Fabian Furz.’
The Enigma Score Page 9
