Kitabı oku: «Imajica», sayfa 17

3

Leader called Oscar on the morning of 17 January, with the news that his brother’s estranged wife was asking for information on his whereabouts.

‘Did she say why?’

‘No, not precisely. But she’s very clearly sniffing after something. She’s apparently seen Estabrook three times in the last week.’

‘Thank you, Lewis. I appreciate this.’

‘Appreciate it in hard cash, Oscar,’ Leader replied. ‘I’ve had a very expensive Christmas.’

‘When have you ever gone empty-handed?’ Oscar said. ‘Keep me posted.’

The lawyer promised to do so, but Oscar doubted he’d provide much more by way of useful information. Only truly despairing souls confided in lawyers, and he doubted Judith was the despairing type. He’d never met her - Charlie had seen to that - but if she’d survived his company for any time at all she had to have a will of iron. Which begged the question: why would a woman who knew (presuming she did) that her husband had conspired to kill her, seek out his company, unless she had an ulterior motive? And was it conceivable that said motive was finding brother Oscar? If so, such curiosity had to be nipped in the bud. There were already enough variables at play, what with the Society’s purge now underway, and the inevitable police investigation on its heels, not to mention his new major domo Augustine (né Dowd) who was behaving in altogether too snotty a fashion. And of course, most volatile of these variables, sitting in his asylum beside the Heath, Charlie himself, probably crazy, certainly unpredictable, with all manner of titbits in his head which could do Oscar a lot of harm. It could be only a matter of time before he started to become talkative, and when he did what better ear to drop his discretions into than that of his enquiring wife?

That evening he sent Dowd (he couldn’t get used to that saintly Augustine) up to the clinic, with a basket of fruit for his brother.

‘Find a friend there, if you can,’ he told Dowd. ‘I need to know what Charlie babbles about when he’s being bathed.’

‘Why don’t you ask him directly?’

‘He hates me, that’s why. He thinks I stole his mess of pottage when Papa introduced me into the Tabula Rasa instead of Charlie?’

‘Why did your father do that?’

‘Because he knew Charlie was unstable, and he’d do the Society more harm than good. I’ve had him under control until now. He’s had his little gifts from the Dominions. He’s had you fawn upon him when he needed something out of the ordinary, like his assassin! This all started with that fucking assassin! Why couldn’t you have just killed the woman yourself?’

‘What do you take me for?’ Dowd said with distaste. ‘I couldn’t lay hands on a woman. Especially not a beauty.’

‘How do you know she’s a beauty?’

‘I’ve heard her talked about.’

‘Well, I don’t care what she looks like. I don’t want her meddling in my business. Find out what she’s up to. Then we’ll work out our response.’

Dowd came back a few hours later, with alarming news.

‘Apparently she’s persuaded him to take her to the Estate.’

‘What? What?’ Oscar bounded from his chair. The parrots rose up squawking in sympathy. ‘She knows more than she should. Shit! All that heartache to keep the Society out of our hair, and now this bitch comes along and we’re in worse trouble than ever.’

‘Nothing’s happened yet.’

‘But it will, it will! She’ll wind him round her little finger and he’ll tell her everything.’

‘What do you want to do about it?’

Oscar went to hush the parrots. ‘Ideally?’ he said, as he smoothed their ruffled wings. ‘Ideally I’d have Charlie vanish off the face of the earth.’

‘He had much the same ambition for her,’ Dowd observed.

‘Meaning what?’

‘Just that you’re both quite capable of murder.’

Oscar made a contemptuous grunt. ‘Charlie was only playing at it,’ he said. ‘He’s got no balls! He’s got no vision!’ He returned to his high-backed chair, his expression sullen. ‘It’s not going to hold, damn it,’ he said. ‘I can feel it in my gut. We’ve kept things neat and tidy so far, but it’s not going to hold. Charlie has to be taken out of the equation.’

‘He’s your brother.’

‘He’s a burden.’

‘What I mean is: he’s your brother. You should be the one to dispatch him.’

Oscar’s eyes widened.

‘Oh my Lord,’ he said.

‘Think what they’d say in Yzordderrex, if you were to tell them.’

‘What? That I killed my own brother? I don’t see much charm in that.’

‘But that you did what you had to do, however unpalatable, to keep the secret safe.’ Dowd paused to let the idea blossom. ‘That sounds heroic to me. Think what they’ll say.’

‘I’m thinking.’

‘It’s your reputation in Yzordderrex you care about. isn’t it, not what happens in the Fifth? You’ve said before this world’s getting duller all the time.’

Oscar pondered this for a while, then said: ‘Maybe I should slip away. Kill them both to make sure nobody ever knows where I’ve gone - ‘

‘Where we’ve gone.’

‘- then slip away and pass into legend. Oscar Godolphin, who left his crazy brother dead beside his wife, and disappeared. Oh yes. That’d make quite a headline in Patashoqua.’ He mused for a few moments more. ‘What’s the classic sibling murder?’ he finally asked.

‘The jaw-bone of an ass.’

‘Ridiculous.’

‘You’ll think of something better.’

‘So I will. Make me a drink, Dowdy. And have one yourself. We’ll drink to escape.’

‘Doesn’t everybody?’ Dowd replied, but the remark was lost on Godolphin, who was already plunged deep into murderous thought.

CHAPTER TWENTY
1

Gentle and Pie were six days on the Patashoquan Highway, days measured not by the watch on Pie’s wrist but by the brightening and darkening of the peacock sky. On the fifth day the watch gave up the ghost anyway, maddened, Pie supposed, by the magnetic field surrounding a city of pyramids they passed. Thereafter, even though Gentle wanted to preserve some sense of how time was proceeding in the Dominion they’d left, it was virtually impossible. Within a few days their bodies were accommodating the rhythm of their new world, and he let his curiosity feast on more pertinent matters; chiefly, the landscape through which they were travelling.

It was diverse. In that first week they passed out of the plain into a region of lagoons - the Cosacosa - which took two days to cross, and thence into tracts of ancient conifers so tall clouds hung in their topmost branches like the nests of ethereal birds. On the other side of this stupendous forest the mountains which Gentle had glimpsed days before came plainly into view. The range was called the Jokalaylau, Pie informed him, and legend had it that after the Mount of Lipper Bayak these heights had been Hapexamendios’s next resting place as He’d crossed through the Dominions. It was no accident, it seemed, that the landscapes they passed through recalled those of the Fifth; they had been chosen for that similarity. The Unbeheld had strode the Imajica dropping seeds of humanity as He went - even to the very edge of His sanctum - in order to give the species He favoured new challenges, and like any good gardener He’d dispersed them where they had the best hope of prospering. Where the native crop could be conquered or accommodated; where the living was hard enough to make sure only the most resilient survived, but the land fertile enough to feed their children; where rain came; where light came; where all the vicissitudes that strengthened a species by occasional calamity - tempest, earthquake, flood - were to hand.

But while there was much that any terrestrial traveller would have recognized, nothing, not to the smallest pebble underfoot, was quite like its counterpart in the Fifth. Some of these disparities were too vast to be missed: the green-gold of the heavens, for instance, or the elephantine snails that grazed beneath the cloud-nested trees. Others were smaller, but equally bizarre, like the wild dogs that ran along the Highway now and then, hairless and shiny as patent leather; or grotesque, like the horned kites which swooped on any animal dead or near-dead on the road, and only rose from their meals, purple wings opening like cloaks, when the vehicle was almost upon them; or absurd, like the bone-white lizards that congregated in their thousands along the edge of the lagoons, the urge to turn somersaults passing through their colonies in waves.

Perhaps finding some new response to these experiences was out of the question when the sheer proliferation of travellers’ tales had all but exhausted the lexicon of discovery. But it nevertheless irritated Gentle to hear himself responding in clichés. The traveller moved by unspoilt beauty, or appalled by native barbarism. The traveller touched by primitive wisdom or caught breathless by undreamt-of modernities. The traveller condescending; the traveller humbled; the traveller hungry for the next horizon, or pining miserably for home. Of all these perhaps only the last response never passed Gentle’s lips. He thought of the Fifth only when it came up in conversation between himself and Pie, and that happened less and less as the practicalities of the moment pressed more heavily upon them. Food and sleeping quarters were easily come by at first, as was fuel for the car. There were small villages and hostelries along the Highway, where Pie, despite an absence of hard cash, always managed to secure them sustenance and beds to sleep in. The mystif had a host of minor feits at its disposal. Gentle realized: ways to use its powers of seduction to make even the most rapacious hosteller pliant. But once they got beyond the forest matters became more problematical. The bulk of the vehicles had turned off at the intersections and the Highway had degenerated from a well-serviced thoroughfare to a two-lane road, with more pot-holes than traffic. The vehicle Pie had stolen had not been designed for the rigours of long-distance travel. It started to show signs of fatigue, and with the mountains looming ahead it was decided they should stop at the next village, and attempt to trade it in for a more reliable model.

‘Perhaps something with breath in its body,’ Pie suggested.

‘Speaking of which,’ Gentle said, ‘you never asked me about the Nullianac.’

‘What was there to ask?’

‘How I killed it.’

‘I presumed you used a pneuma.’

‘You don’t sound very surprised.’

‘How else would you have done it?’ Pie said, quite reasonably. ‘You had the will, and you had the power.’

‘But where did I get it from?’ Gentle said.

‘You’ve always had it,’ Pie replied, which left Gentle nursing as many questions, or more, than he’d begun with. He started to formulate one, but something in the motion of the car began to nauseate him as he did so. ‘I think we’d better stop for a few minutes,’ he said. ‘I think I’m going to puke.’

Pie brought the vehicle to a halt, and Gentle stepped out. The sky was darkening, and some night-blooming flower spiced the cooling air. On the slopes above them herds of pale-flanked beasts, relations of the yak but here called doeki, moved down through the twilight of their dormitory pastures, lowing as they came. The dangers of Vanaeph, and the thronged Highway outside Patashoqua, seemed very remote. Gentle breathed deeply, and the nausea, like his questions, no longer vexed him. He looked up at the first stars. Some were red here, like Mars; others gold: fragments of the noonday sky that refused to be extinguished.

‘Is this Dominion another planet?’ he asked Pie. ‘Are we in some other galaxy?’

‘No. It’s not space that separates the Fifth from the rest of the Dominions, it’s the In Ovo.’

‘So, is the whole of planet Earth the Fifth Dominion, or just part of it?’

‘I don’t know,’ it said. ‘All, I assume. But everyone has a different theory.’

‘What’s yours?’

‘Well, when we move between the Reconciled Dominions, you’ll see it’s very easy. There are countless passing places between the Fourth and the Third, the Third and the Second. We’ll walk into a mist, and we’ll come out into another world. Simple. But I don’t think the borders are fixed. I think they move over the centuries, and the shapes of the Dominions change. So maybe it’ll be the same with the Fifth. If it’s reconciled, the borders will spread, until the whole planet has access to the rest of the Dominions. The truth is, nobody really knows what the Imajica looks like, because nobody’s ever made a map.’

‘Somebody should try.’

‘Maybe you’re the man to do it,’ Pie said. ‘You were an artist before you were a traveller.’

‘I was a faker, not an artist.’

‘But your hands are clever,’ Pie replied.

‘Clever,’ Gentle said softly, ‘but never inspired.’

This melancholy thought took him back, momentarily, to Klein, and to the rest of the circle he’d left in the Fifth; to Jude, Clem, Estabrook, Vanessa and the rest. What were they doing this fine night? Had they even noticed his departure? He doubted it.

‘Are you feeling any better?’ Pie enquired. ‘I see some lights down the road a little way. It may be the last outpost before the mountains.’

‘I’m in good shape,’ Gentle said, climbing back into the car.

They’d proceeded perhaps a quarter of a mile, and were in sight of the village when their progress was brought to a halt by a young girl who appeared from the dusk to herd her doeki across the road. She was in every way a normal thirteen-year-old child, but for one: her face, and those parts of her body revealed by her simple dress, were sleek with fawny down. It was plaited where it grew long at her elbow and her temples, and tied in a row of ribbons at her nape.

‘What village is this?’ Pie asked as the last of the doeki lingered in the road.

‘Beatrix,’ she said, and without prompting added, ‘There is no better place in any heaven.’

Then, shooing the last beast on its way, she vanished into the twilight.

2

The streets of Beatrix weren’t as narrow as those of Vanaeph, but nor were they designed for motor vehicles. Pie parked the car close to the outskirts, and the two of them ambled into the village from there. The houses were unpretentious affairs raised of an ochre stone, and surrounded by stands of vegetation that were a cross between silver birches and bamboo. The lights Pie had spotted from a distance weren’t those that burned in the windows, but the lanterns that hung in these trees, throwing their mellow light across the streets. Just about every copse boasted its lantern-trimmer - shaggy-faced children like the herders - some squatting beneath the trees, others perched precariously in their branches. The doors of almost all the houses stood open, and music drifted from several, tunes caught by the lantern-trimmers, and danced to in the dapple. Asked to guess, Gentle would have said life was good here. Slow, perhaps, but good.

‘We can’t cheat these people,’ Gentle said. ‘It wouldn’t be honourable.’

‘Agreed,’ Pie replied.

‘So what do we do for money?’

‘Maybe they’ll agree to cannibalize the vehicle for a good meal, and a horse or two.’

‘I don’t see any horses.’

‘A doeki would be fine.’

‘They look slow.’

Pie directed Gentle’s gaze up the heights of the Jokalaylau. The last traces of day still lingered on the snow-fields, but for all their beauty the mountains were vast and vanishing.

‘Slow and certain is safer up there,’ Pie said. Gentle took Pie’s point. ‘I’m going to see if I can find somebody in charge,’ the mystif went on, and left Gentle’s side to go and question one of the lantern-trimmers.

Drawn by the sound of raucous laughter. Gentle wandered on a little further, and turning a corner he found two dozen of the villagers, mostly men and boys, standing in front of a marionette theatre that had been set up in the lee of one of the houses. The show they were watching contrasted violently with the benign atmosphere of the village. To judge by the spires painted on the backcloth the story was set in Patashoqua, and as Gentle joined the audience two characters, one a grossly fat woman, the other a man with the proportions of a foetus and the endowment of a donkey, were in the middle of a domestic tiff so frenzied the spires were shaking. The puppeteers, three slim young men with identical moustaches, were plainly visible above the booth, and provided both the raucous dialogue and the sound effects, the former larded with baroque obscenities. Now another character entered - this a hunchbacked sibling of Pulcinella’s - and summarily beheaded Donkey-Dick. The head flew to the ground, where the fat woman knelt to sob over it. As she did so, cherubic wings unfolded from behind its ears and it floated up into the sky, accompanied by a falsetto din from the puppeteers. This earned applause from the audience, during which Gentle caught sight of Pie in the street. At the mystif’s side was a jug-eared adolescent with hair down to the middle of his back. Gentle went to join them.

This is Efreet Splendid,’ Pie said. ‘He tells me - wait for this - he tells me his mother has dreams about white, furless men, and would like to meet you.’

The grin that broke through Efreet’s facial thatch was crooked but beguiling.

‘She’ll like you,’ he announced.

‘Are you sure?’ Gentle said.

‘Certainly!’

‘Will she feed us?’

‘For a furless whitey, anything,’ Efreet replied.

Gentle threw the mystif a doubtful glance. ‘I hope you know what we’re doing,’ he said.

Efreet led the way, chattering as he went, asking mostly about Patashoqua. It was, he said, his ambition to see the great city. Rather than disappoint the boy by admitting that he hadn’t stepped inside the gates, Gentle informed him that it was a place of untold magnificence.

‘Especially the Merrow Ti’ Ti’,’ he said.

The boy grinned, and said he’d tell everybody he knew that he’d met a hairless white man who’d seen the Merrow Ti’ Ti’. From such innocent lies, Gentle mused, legends came. At the door of the house, Efreet stood aside, in order that Gentle be the first over the threshold. He startled the woman inside with his appearance. She dropped the cat she was combing, and instantly fell to her knees. Embarrassed, Gentle asked her to stand, but it was only after much persuasion that she did so, and even then she kept her head bowed, watching him furtively from the corner of her small, dark eyes. She was short - barely taller than her son in fact - her face fine-boned beneath its down. Her name was Larumday, she said, and she would very happily extend to Gentle and his lady (as she assumed Pie to be) the hospitality of her house. Her younger son Emblem was coerced into helping her prepare food while Efreet talked about where they could find a buyer for the car. Nobody in the village had any use for such a vehicle, he said, but in the hills was a man who might. His name was Coaxial Tasko, and it came as a considerable shock to Efreet that neither Gentle nor Pie had heard of the man.

‘Everybody knows Wretched Tasko,’ he said. ‘He used to be a King in the Third Dominion, but his tribe’s extinct.’

‘Will you introduce me to him in the morning?’ Pie asked.

‘That’s a long time off,’ Efreet said.

‘Tonight then,’ Pie replied, and it was thus agreed between them.

The food, when it came, was simpler than the fare they’d been served along the Highway but no less tasty for that: doeki meat marinated in a root wine, accompanied by bread, a selection of pickled goods - including eggs the size of small loaves - and a broth which stung the throat like chili, bringing tears to Gentle’s eyes, much to Efreet’s undisguised amusement. While they ate and drank - the wine strong, but downed by the boys like water - Gentle asked about the marionette show he’d seen. Ever eager to parade his knowledge, Efreet explained that the puppeteers were on their way to Patashoqua ahead of the Autarch’s host, who were coming over the mountains in the next few days. The puppeteers were very famous in Yzordderrex, he said, at which point Larumday hushed him.

‘But, Mama -’ he began.

‘I said hush. I won’t have talk of that place in this house. Your father went there and never came back. Remember that.’

‘I want to go there when I’ve seen the Merrow Ti’ Ti’, like Mr Gentle,’ Efreet replied defiantly, and earned a sharp slap on the head for his troubles.

‘Enough,’ Larumday said. ‘We’ve had too much talk tonight. A little silence would be welcome.’

The conversation dwindled thereafter, and it wasn’t until the meal was finished, and Efreet was preparing to take Pie up the hill to meet Wretched Tasko, that the boy’s mood brightened and his spring of enthusiasms burst forth afresh. Gentle was ready to join them, but Efreet explained that his mother - who was presently out of the room - wanted him to stay.

‘You should accommodate her,’ Pie remarked when the boy had headed out. ‘If Tasko doesn’t want the car we may have to sell your body.’

‘I thought you were the expert on that, not me,’ Gentle replied.

‘Now, now,’ Pie said, with a grin. ‘I thought we’d agreed not to mention my dubious past.’

‘So go,’ Gentle said. ‘Leave me to her tender mercies. But you’ll have to pick the fluff from between my teeth.’

He found Mother Splendid in the kitchen, kneading dough for the morrow’s bread.

‘You’ve honoured our home, coming here and sharing our table,’ she said as she worked. ‘And please, don’t think badly of me for asking, but …’ Her voice became a frightened whisper. ‘What do you want?’

‘Nothing,’ Gentle replied. ‘You’ve already been more than generous.’

She looked at him balefully, as though he was being cruel teasing her in this fashion.

‘I’ve dreamt about somebody coming here,’ she said. ‘White and furless, like you. I wasn’t sure whether it was a man or a woman, but now you’re here sitting at the table, I know it was you.’

First Tick Raw, he thought, now Mother Splendid. What was it about his face that made people think they knew him? Did he have a doppelgänger wandering around the Fourth?

‘Who do you think I am?’ he said.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘But I knew that when you came everything would change.’

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears as she spoke, and they ran down the silky fur on her cheeks. The sight of her distress in turn distressed him, not least because he knew he was the cause of it, but he didn’t know why. Undoubtedly she had dreamt of him - the look of shocked recognition on her face when he’d first stepped over the threshold was ample evidence of that - but what did that fact signify? He and Pie were here by chance. They’d be gone again by morning, passing through the millpond of Beatrix leaving nary a ripple. He had no significance in the life of the Splendid household, except as a subject of conversation when he’d gone.

‘I hope your life doesn’t change,’ he said to her. ‘It seems very pleasant here.’

‘It is,’ she said, wiping the tears away. ‘This is a safe place. It’s good to raise children here. I know Efreet will leave soon. He wants to see Patashoqua and I won’t be able to stop him. But Emblem will stay. He likes the hills, and tending the doeki.’

‘And you’ll stay too?’

‘Oh yes. I’ve done my wandering,’ she said. ‘I lived in Yzordderrex, near the Oke T’Noon, when I was young. That’s where I met Eloign. We moved away as soon as we were married. It’s a terrible city, Mr Gentle.’

‘If it’s so bad, why did he go back there?’

‘His brother joined the Autarch’s army, and when Eloigh heard he went back to try and make him desert. He said it brought shame on the family to have a brother taking a wage from an orphan-maker.’

‘A man of principle.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Larumday, with fondness in her voice. ‘He’s a fine man. Quiet, like Emblem, but with Efreet’s curiosity. All the books in this house are his. There’s nothing he won’t read.’

‘How long has he been away?’

Too long,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid perhaps his brother’s killed him.’

‘A brother kill a brother?’ Gentle said. ‘No. I can’t believe that.’

‘Yzordderrex does strange things to people, Mr Gentle. Even good men lose their way.’

‘Only men?’ Gentle said.

‘It’s men who make this world,’ she said. ‘The Goddesses have gone, and men have their way everywhere.’

There was no accusation in this. She simply stated it as fact, and he had no evidence to contradict it with. She asked him if he’d like her to brew tea, but he declined, saying he wanted to go out and take the air, perhaps find Pie’oh’pah.

‘She’s very beautiful,’ Larumday said. ‘Is she wise as well?’

‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘She’s wise.’

‘That’s not usually the way with beauties, is it?’ she said. ‘It’s strange that I didn’t dream her at the table too.’

‘Maybe you did, and you’ve forgotten.’

She shook her head. ‘Oh no, I’ve had the dream too many times, and it’s always the same. A white, furless someone sitting at my table, eating with me and my sons.’

‘I wish I could have been a more sparkling guest,’ he said.

‘But you’re just the beginning, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘What comes after?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe your husband, home from Yzordderrex.’

She looked doubtful. ‘Something,’ she said. ‘Something that’ll change us all.’