Dragonfly: A Tale of the Counter-Earth at the Cosmic Antipodes (11 page)

21 City Streets

I was wandering the streets of Enoch, wrapped in the shift I’d bought off a helot that morning. I’d spent the night in the swamp.

Now I was tramping along the grated promenade where I had tried to enter the first time, past revolving doors of apartment foyers, markets, dealers of jewelry and machines, theaters, perfumeries, accounting houses, glittering shrines and fanes, all scenes of silent, bustling activity.

The current of phylites no longer parted for me. My invisibility was more pointed than it had been, for I was a helot in their eyes. I had to slip along the gaps as best I could.

They seemed hardly to notice each other, though, gliding past one another, or through one another, almost. Occasionally two would stop and quietly exchange news, like termites meeting on a trail, but even then they talked past each other. Most had tiny music boxes trapped to their ears. When a rail-car passed by I observed that the passengers were all wearing mechanical masks and had vacant, silly grins on their faces.

The irregular foundation rose up to meet the promenade, after which I went forward on solid pavement, still following the tracks. Soon, though, I found myself forced gradually off the popular corridor into side streets. Eventually I decided to leave both railway and crowds behind, and began to make better progress.

Now the city seemed nearly deserted. The buildings, though of high workmanship, were mostly vacant, their windows like the blank eyes of gutted souls, their fixtures and doors thickened with verdigris, their clocks unwound, their furniture crumbling with dry rot. The streets were filthy, narrow, and laid without plan.

All morning I climbed up and down these winding defiles. I crossed cobbled quadrangles whose fountains lifted dry stone spires to the sky, slipped down steam-filled alleys where machines hummed behind carved lattices, tramped over metal trapdoors that echoed down into the throbbing bowels of the city. In forgotten corners I pushed through terraced moss-gardens, all long-forgotten and overgrown, with pools that were stagnant and choked.

Morning became afternoon. A strange sound met my ears as I went down an alley. It was a scraping, jangling noise. I drew my anlace and ran to the corner.

Sliding along the street was a giant slug.

*          *          *          *          *

It was beautiful in its way, all flame-colored and scarlet, with rows of bulbous sacs down its back, and huge, soft devil-horns. The edge of its foot was coated with scraps picked up in the streets. That was what made the noise.

Two girls with pale pink hair were coming down the street, hand in hand, making for the nudibranch. I watched without understanding. They walked right up to it until they were hidden from my sight. The nudibranch’s horns waved, and then it continued on its way. The girls were gone.

Now it began to feel its way up a tower with a fossil-flecked limestone veneer. One of the square windows in its path was lit. There was a man inside, bent over something that threw a yellow glow over his face. The nudibranch halted when its head covered the window. There was a muffled tinkling and then a yell cut short. Its lip undulated and its horns waved. And then it moved on.

It was making for one of a line of balconies set into the wall. A young woman clutched at the wrought-iron railing, swaying listlessly, oblivious to the creature’s approach. She had long, green-gold hair like a naiad’s, bound in a golden net. There was no one else in sight.

“Look out!” I called.

The girl stirred. “What?” she moaned, as though in a trance, or drugged. “What is it?”

“Look out! Look down!”

Her head rolled on her shoulders, and she looked down. Her eyes widened. She shook herself, staggered to the door, and pulled at it. It didn’t budge. She looked back down, shook her head, then looked to me. “Help!” she cried.

“Can you break down the door or smash a window?”

“No!”

I thought about having her drop directly onto the nudibranch’s head. From there she could lower herself down the sacs to the tail, and then drop into my arms. But the thing was slippery, and I suspected that the sacs were filled with poison.

I recalled having seen something in the alley. “Wait!” I shouted.

A moment later I returned with a metal rod. I took aim and cast it like a javelin. It vanished without a trace. The nudibranch appeared unaffected.

Desperate now, I looked up to the crown of the tower. Carved grotesques lined the parapet that surrounded the square colonnade of the turret. “Can I get to the roof?” I shouted.

“Take the lift! What are you doing?”

“The lift? I—”

“Please just hurry!”

The gastropod had almost reached her. I sprang into action. The iron doors of the building were huge and heavy but hung ajar. I slipped between them, crossed a square foyer shrouded in cobwebs and greenish gloom, and passed through a wrought-iron gate into an unlit, opulent lobby. A trail in the dust led me to a dark hallway beyond the desk.

A vertical shaft with a sliding gate was open to the corridor. The air that wafted out of it was musty and unpleasant. Suddenly a box dropped down out of the darkness. A handsome young man opened the gate, stepped out, and went past without seeing me.

I entered the box. There was no light. My roving hands touched a crank. I swung it, and the car lurched into motion. I drove it as high as it would go.

A tiled hallway ran the length of the top story. I dashed along it, found a service stair, and climbed to the deck.

I ran to the edge, afraid that I was too late.

The slug was directly beneath me. The girl was screaming. I threw myself against the nearest statue, rocking it on its rotten base, and toppled it over. It plummeted toward the gastropod, vanished just as my spear had. But the creature found it less easy to absorb. It peeled away from the wall and dropped to the street, writhing and curling in agony.

“Hello!” I shouted. “Hello! Are you there?” There was no answer. “Hello!” I called again.

“Yes,” came the faint response. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“Will you meet me down below?”

“I’m locked out. Remember? Just come find me. One one four three.”

I had no idea what she meant. I hoped she was patient.

22 Phylites

It took a long time to find the apartment. The corridors were dark and I didn’t understand Enochite numerals; the building was apparently empty apart from the girl, so there was no one to ask for directions. But at last my shout was echoed by a voice coming faintly through a locked door. I threw myself against it and burst the latch.

It swung slowly inward, revealing a cluttered room with a coffered ceiling and carved stone walls. It was dim and full of the scent of stale incense. The tiled floor was heaped with rugs. There was a big four-poster bed, dark hardwood furniture, a brazier on a tripod, and, in a corner, a mechanical console with a scale screen.

An unwound clock sat on a dresser. Painted silk adorned the walls. A small altar with a glowing plastic god occupied a curtained alcove. Dark doorways opened on either side of it.

The door to the balcony was opposite the threshold between two windows. I went across and unbolted and opened it.

“Hello,” the woman said. She stood against the railing and took a good long look at me before she came in.

She had large, dark brown eyes, and thick green-gold hair that tumbled onto her shoulders; the golden net hung now from her delicate fingers. She wore a diaphanous gown of green byssum with a golden girdle and straps sweeping over her shoulders. Her skin was white and almost translucent. She had on long gold earrings.

She stepped past me and went over to a vanity. “Thank you. I don’t know how that happened. I’m afraid I’ve been some trouble to you.” Her reflection watched me from the mirror.

“Not in the least,” I said.

“I—I’ve never spoken to a helot before.”

“And I’ve never spoken to a phylite,” I said. “But, to be honest”—and I tore off my hat and gauze.

The girl spun to face me, looking me up and down. “To what phyle do you belong?” she demanded. “Why do you dress like that?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” I said. “I have no phyle. I’m an alien.”

Disgust, fear, and interest vied on the girl’s face. “I thought misfits were coarse and violent.”

“Violent I may be, but I hope I’ll never be called coarse.” I gestured toward the balcony. “When I saw you out there, it looked like you didn’t know you were in danger.”

“Well, perhaps I didn’t. Perhaps there was a reason for that.” She picked up a tumbler, sniffed at it, and wrinkled her nose. She took it over to one of the dark doorways. A tube lamp on the wall flared into life, shedding its harsh, greenish glow over the lavatory. She poured the cup down the sink and examined herself in the mirror. Her gown was flecked with dried mucus. She slipped the straps over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then laved her hands and arms in the basin.

“But you know,” she said, watching me in the mirror, “those things live on ennui. They rove these empty neighborhoods looking for lonely souls, and when they find one they tranquilize it and come at their leisure to devour it.”

“Are you lonely?”

“Yes. Aren’t you?” She came out. A lace-lined silk slip hung from her shoulders to her hips. She manipulated a box on her dresser. A cylinder began to rotate, producing a moody melody.

“I am,” I said. “But I wouldn’t just wait to be eaten.”

The girl shrugged. “It’s almost time for me to sleep the sweet sleep. A year more or less wouldn’t have mattered much.”

“You mean you think you’ll die soon?”

She colored as though I had uttered some obscenity. “You see?” she said. “You
are
coarse.” She looked as though she had swallowed a toad.

“I don’t mean to be,” I said. “What did I say?”

Her expression softened a little. “Sweet sleep is not…what you said. What you said is…what animals do.” She caught sight then of the rusty spots that stained the gauze on my neck and shoulders. “Oh! What is that?”

“What?” I said, craning my neck. “Oh. Just some scratches. I’ve had a hard time of it here in Enoch.”

“You mean your skin is broken? How awful!”

“It could be worse,” I said.

“But you’re not just going to leave it like that, are you? What are you going to do?”

“Well, what can I do?” I thought about it. “Do you have spirits of any kind?”

“I have a bottle of mescat.”

“That will do, if it’s strong enough. What sort of ointments do you have?”

“I’ll show you,” she said. A moment later she was assisting me in peeling the gauze away from my wounds, bathing them in mescat, and applying a perfumed unguent. She gagged several times, but her fingers were tender and careful.

“So,” I said as I wrapped myself up again, “this…sleep…of which you speak…you undergo it willingly when the time comes?”

“Would a phylite be willing to let decay sneak up on her? Would she be so selfish?”

“Well, but—how old are you?”

“Ah, you
are
coarse! Did I not tell you that I would sleep sweetly soon? And am I not an elusid?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

She sniffed. “I’m one year less than forty.”

“Forty!” I cried. “Why, I wouldn’t have thought you past sixteen!”

The girl—I couldn’t think of her otherwise—made a face. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said. She poured two drinks, handed one to me, and settled into a velvet settee with the other. She patted the cushion beside her. I complied, taking a sip from the glass. The mescat was stronger that what we’d distilled in Arras.

“You’re an elusid,” I said. “That’s your phyle?”

“You mean you haven’t heard of it?”

“I told you. I’m an alien.”

“Oh. I’m not used to talking to…that is… Yes, I’m an elusid, of the phyle of Joram Elusis. Soon they’ll start letting us into Bel. We’re practically all elusids now, you know. I hardly ever see members of other phyles when I go out. That’s a good thing, because non-elusids are all so queer. You’re queer, too, but not in the same way.”

“No?”

“No. You’re more like a meteor that fell from the sky, or something. Listen, if you’re really an alien, why did you come here? Haven’t you heard that all misfits are troublemakers? Why, take that robber who skulks in the old necropolis. There are hoplites in the streets now because of him. Hoplites! In Enoch!” Her eyes were wide; the subject evidently agitated her. “Whatever made you come here?”

I sighed. “From a high place I saw a palace set among the stars, Narva, which hangs in the sky over Bel. I came here to find the way to it.”

The girl stifled a laugh, her alarm already forgotten. “Bel!
You’re
trying to get to Bel? Why, what will someone like
you
do there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, a little sullenly. “I don’t suppose you’ve been there.”

“Well, no,” she said, coloring, “but, as I said—”

“Yes, soon you elusids will be admitted. That’s wonderful.”

“I’ve got just the thing for you, though,” she said. “A little foretaste of your”—she giggled—“your future residence. A new picture disk. I just bought it yesterday.” She took up a hard plastic stereoscope, slid a film disk into it, and handed it to me. “Look into the eyepieces,” she said.

I held it up before the window and looked. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced, a sequence of hand-perfected emulsion images like bright shards of pure knowledge, windows upon silent, immutable worlds where no shifting shadow or trouble of change came to disturb. I stepped through those spheres, of which there were six, utterly forgetful of my surroundings, as though the girl at my side had dropped into the void.

The first was merely introductory, and showed a structure like a huge scaffold rising out of the open sea. The picture had been taken at dusk, and the skeleton was gemmed with silver lights. It was a tiny commercial city, a stopping-off place at the intersection of two viaducts that disappeared into opposite vanishing points at the corners of the horizon. The disk had doubtless been purchased there.

The main subject showed itself in the second picture. There I glimpsed for the first time the world-tower with its gently sloping base rising out of the waves of the deep sea. I would have taken it for a mountain had its peak not been so unnaturally steep. It shone over the waves with the tarnished glory lent by the level rays of a golden sunset, and upon its stratospheric crown sunlit corpuscles ascended and descended like fiery sparks. The viaducts converged upon it like so many slender spider threads. Here and there tiny argent lights winked in the darkened faces.

That image was followed by one taken from the floating gardens. In it the tower stood against a crisp blue sky dotted with small white clouds that partly obscured its upward leap. Its sea-stained sides were mirrored in the pacific waters that opened between the undulating mats.

The fourth depicted the tower’s crown, a glittering forest of steel standing out against a blue-black sky. Cranes and exposed girders bespoke its unfinished state. Huge elevators slid up and down along cables suspended from the very sky, with passengers boarding at landings in glass-walled structures.

The next picture was taken from within a car and showed several men and women looking out over the sunlit face of the earth spread beneath a star-strewn sky.

And the sixth and final image showed the interior of a vast toric space curving up and out of sight, its twilit ceiling and sides hung with verdure, its floor a captivating moss-garden dotted with pleasure-houses of steel and glass. In the shadows consorted the happy and beautiful Narvenes, eating, drinking, making love, served by shaved ghulim.

I lowered the viewer and sighed.

“I know,” the girl said. “I’m sorry I laughed. Maybe one day you, too, will be able to…”

I laid the viewer down on an end table. “Maybe,” I said, shaking my head. “But today I happen to be looking for the temple district. I don’t suppose you know where that is.” I took another sip of mescat. My head was beginning to feel like a balloon tethered to my neck by a thread.

“Why, that’s where you are right now,” she cried, clapping her hands. “Are you going to the procession? I am. There’s a new float that everyone is dying to see, and the princeps today is very handsome. We should go together! I want to show you to my friends.”

“You wouldn’t mind going with a helot?”

“Why—not as a joke! We’ll play a joke on them. I’m known for my jokes.” She looked me up and down. “After all,” she said softly, “I owe you something for saving me.”

I looked at her. Her eyes burned; her lips ripened. She pulled me to her. I put my hand on her breast.

Just then I became aware of a dark figure standing in the hall doorway.