Dragonfly: A Tale of the Counter-Earth at the Cosmic Antipodes (19 page)

36 The Preacher

In the morning I dressed as a helot worker and went down through the building.

The cavernous lobby was rich in its ruin. Pillars of red porphyry held up a coffered ceiling inlaid with colored tiles. Water poured in sheets from a broken main up above. The foyer beyond the wrought-iron gate was tiled in an age-buckled pattern of marine polyps. I passed through it into a long, pillared portico, emerging upon the terrace that surrounded the tower. Broad flights of stairs led down to the causeway.

When I reached the city I began to work my way toward the temple district. Once I was close to where I had slain the nudibranch I dropped down to Hela and followed the streams of helots toward Sabhenna. Most had gotten off work only a short time before. The byways of the under-city were crowded.

I pushed my way through the throngs and thick air, asking the way to the antique mart. I found it at last at the back of an unfrequented mall. It was the first time I’d seen the entrance from the outside. A few helots were picking through the tables in front.

I went up to a woman with bulging, marble-white flesh. “I heard that the old woman who ran this place disappeared,” I whispered.

“What’s it to you?” she grunted.

“I’ve got something to sell. Is someone else running things now?”

“What’s it look like?”

“Did they keep all the old delvers?”

“How should I know?” She moved off, muttering angrily.

A guard stepped out of the store, slapping the palm of his hand with an iron baton. “Looking for some special party?” he asked.

“Granny’s successor,” I said.

“Who wants to see him?”

“A seller.”

He looked me up and down. “Get out of here.”

*          *          *          *          *

I lost my bearings as I tried to make my way back out. The corridors kept going deeper and deeper, until eventually I stumbled upon a great open space. It was the overarched chasm with its walls of accreted shrines. The helots had gathered to listen to a demagogue, and the floor was packed solid with flesh.

I pushed my way out into the open and up the side. Over the heads of the audience I saw the speaker on a shelf above the main entrance. It was the preacher. He had gained a following, but his message, insofar as he had one, hadn’t changed. His voice was still angry and shrill. He looked like a tiny spider with long legs dancing at the end of a string.

A helot put a pamphlet in my hand and passed on. I looked it over idly. It was printed and covered with crude drawings. The letters meant nothing to me, but the pictures seemed to tell the story of some maligned abhuman race. The figure on the front had a big head with vacuous, glaring eyes and a pointed mouth opened wide in pain or rage. On the back were questions with check-boxes. When I was done perusing the thing I dropped it as though it had tainted my fingers. It fluttered down into a puddle at my feet, where its cheap ink began to spread through the water.

I started to make my way down through the crowd, intending to pass under the balcony. Shoulders and backs serried themselves against me. The atmosphere was humid and rank, like the inside of an unwashed mouth, smelling strongly of helots. I tried to thrust my way between two men. One of them shouldered me aside, and I tripped, starting a confused scuffle. A dozen hands grasped me. A dozen knees and elbows punched me. My hat and gauze were torn away.

The helots drew back. “A phylite,” someone whispered. I had space now to get to my feet. Then a maggot-woman began screaming: “Amroth! It’s Amroth!” They closed in again, mad for relics. Now I really was in danger. Slayers had been torn limb from limb like that.

“Stop!” the preacher screamed. “Lay no hand upon him! Inviolable are the Sons of Taïs! This is him of whom I spoke when I said, ‘I saw him in the wilderness, where he labored as Artificer for the One who is to come!’“

The crowds drew back again, awed by the wizard’s words. I stood there in the clearing, uncertain what to do. I took a tentative step forward, and the crowd parted before me. I continued. The sea of helots divided, closing ranks behind me. I gained the entrance.

“Artificer,” the preacher called. I stopped and looked up at him. “Why have you come here? Did the Vicar send you?”

“Do I know you?” I called.

“I await the day when the One will come to lead us out of darkness into light. From that paradise no man may shut us. Do you wait for that day also?”

“Yes,” I said, just to be quit of him, and slipped through the doorway. I replaced my hat and gauze in the darkness. For a moment I watched the pit from the corridor. The wizard was preaching to the masses again. All eyes were fixed on the balcony. I had already been forgotten. I turned to go.

When I reached the streets I went swiftly but cautiously. After a few blocks I assured myself that I was being followed. I turned into a building and hid in the shadows of its foyer. The room was all red marble and copper. There were big semicircular windows above the doors.

Footsteps came down the street, slowed, and stopped. One of the copper doors slowly swung open. A man thrust his head through and looked around. His body followed a moment later, and he eased the door shut with his hand.

A stray beam of reflected light showed up his face, which was handsome in an artificial way, but had a large, unsightly mole on one cheek. His wavy hair was stiff with pomade. He was peering uncertainly into the shadows.

“What do you want?” I said.

The man started. He turned toward my voice and shielded his eyes, trying to locate the source. “Amroth, I presume?”

“Possibly.”

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Hamil, of Hamil Promotions and Ludarium. I’m glad to have run into you. I’m a great admirer of your work.”

“My work?”

“I saw every fight. Surely you recognize my voice?”

“Why, you’re the announcer,” I said, surprised. I hadn’t known it before I said it. I stepped out of the shadows so he could see me.

“Correction,” he said. “I was the announcer. It was fine work in its way, but there was no artistic merit in it. I’m hiring myself out as a lanist for auctorates now. I want to get my hands dirty, ha ha. Seeing you today was a dream come true. You’re a new breed of beast-slayer, Amroth. The people love you.”

“I’m not going back to those dungeons.”

“My dear sir, no one has suggested such a thing. You would perform only in the most respectable arenas. One day soon the fights will be totally legitimate. Even now half the spectators are phylites in disguise. We’ll make a fortune, I tell you. A fortune! How does fifty rods a week sound? Ha ha! Four parts out of six of the take, plus all the tips! Most competitive rates in the industry. What do you say? Eh? Ha ha!”

“Does the Cheiropt permit these fights, Hamil?”

“My dear sir. Call me Ham, by the way.”

“My life as a slayer is over, Ham. I’ll not fight the children of seraphim for the helots’ entertainment.”

“You’re thinking of the cyclops. They weren’t supposed to have that there. Trouble with anakim is, they’re tricky devils. They tend to escape.”

“What do you mean? Did that one escape?”

“You didn’t know? No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Killed three of its guards. No one knows what became of the fourth. It’s on its way back to wherever its kind comes from, perhaps, or wandering the city somewhere, gobbling up vagrants. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were whole tribes of them up north of here, where the population’s thinner. Anyway, that’s precisely the reason you want a lanist. I would prevent things like that from happening.”

“Oh, you are. Well, if you live in Enoch you’ll be wanting rods, and you’ll not make rods running about dressed as a helot. What were you doing down there today?”

“I might ask the same of you.”

Ham shrugged. “What can I say? I happen to like hobnobbing with helots. I also like a good show, which that madman always provides. He knows how to yank their chains, that’s for sure. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“If you want to know,” I said, “I was down there to see what had become of Granny’s business.”

“I could have told you that,” said Ham. “Her backers withdrew their protection, and the Cheiropt got her. No one knows exactly what happened, but she’s gone now. There’s a new manager, under the same, ah, franchise.”

“Did he keep the delvers?”

“Some, I think. Strange how he seemed to know you. The preacher, I mean.”

“He’s addle-brained,” I said. “I have seen him once before, but I was part of a crowd, dressed as I am now, and there’s no way he could have remembered my face. Unless he came to watch me fight, of course.”

“That he did not,” said Ham.

“Well,” I said. “I’ll be seeing you.” I turned to go.

“Wait,” said Ham, catching my elbow. “It’s your life, but I think you’re making a mistake. If you do happen to change your mind, find me in the Red Building on the street called Short. Hamil Promotions and Ludarium. Known from the Golden Horn to Panormic Styrrhena.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said. We shook hands. Ham’s palms were cold and greasy.

I went out and continued down the street, circling around a few blocks to make sure I wasn’t being followed, then headed for my island. It was midday. I climbed up to my room and went back to sleep.

37 Night Voices

Now I was whirring through the darkness again like some huge night insect. Making for the apex of the pyramid, I dipped a little below its level, bounded upward, and caught at the roof. I folded my wings and crouched there, listening. Complete silence reigned. Sentries paced the courtyard below. Guttering torches cast their ruddy light upon the terrace. But the throne room was empty.

I stood up, angry at myself for not having gotten more specific information. There were no cars on the viaduct. I continued to peer into the darkness in all directions. The airships in their scaffolds caught my eye. No work was being done on them tonight. But a single pinpoint of silver-green light peered out from an embrasure in the smallest of them.

Diving off the roof, I spread my pinions and winged my way toward the ships. They were warlike things, with tiered decks for fighting and loopholes for firing and great metal beaks at the prows. The envelopes had yet to be attached. I made for the window, alit on the scaffold outside it, and swung myself over to the intricate hull.

The man called Derrin thrust his doughy head out. I was just below. If he had looked down, I would have been spotted immediately.

“What is it?” came Jairus’ voice from within.

“Did you hear something?”

“What?”

Derrin shook his head. “It was like a giant insect. I don’t hear it now. It’s these dealings of yours. They’re giving me ideas.” He withdrew. I crept a little closer, so that my head was just beneath the sill.

“They’ll give all Enoch ideas,” said Jairus. “But never fear. You’ll know the day and the hour of the purifying fire. We wouldn’t want the Cheiropt bereft of its most useful pair of hands.”

“Eh? What was that? Oh, a jab. It isn’t just that, my friend. The Cheiropt will put me to sleep soon in any event. It’s these ova, or whatever they are. They give rise to monsters, you say. But then what comes?”

“Diversion on a large scale.”

“But what happens after your people are gone? Eh?”

“That isn’t my concern.”

“Does it not disturb you not to know where they come from?”

“I’ve told you. My supplier finds them under the Deserits.”

“And they’re just waiting there for someone to pick them up.”

“They’re war machines from antediluvian times, conceived in the void beyond Kronos-El.”

“There are moments, Jairus, when I wish I weren’t helping you as I am.”

“You’ve not found it without its benefits, I hope,” said Jairus.

Derrin snorted. “You think I’m just a corrupt ghularch. Perhaps I am. But let me tell you something, my friend. You don’t buy the Cheiropt. The Cheiropt buys you.”

“That remains to be seen. At this point I’m asking very little of you. All I require is noninterference.”

“What do you mean? How will you get them here?”

“The Sun Mage will provide the transport himself this time. He doesn’t want any more unfortunate incidents.”

“Transport!” Derrin exclaimed. “Here? To Enoch?”

“Yes. The ova will be farther along than before. The Sun Mage’s lackey, Zilla, will accompany them.”

“Suit yourself. How he intends to get past the Tartassus Gate is beyond me. But I’ll see to it that the way is open down here. Just give me a week’s warning.”

“You’ll have it,” said Jairus.

“That’s fine. Considering what…inducements…you’ve used to keep
me
in your train, I can only imagine what you’ve done to these Sons of Taïs.”

Jairus laughed out loud. “Our relations are amicable enough,” he said. “These wide-eyed fanatics and herders of chebothim only need to feel that they’re being taken seriously.”

“You laugh at them,” said Derrin, “yet the Cheiropt thinks them threat enough to begin amassing ghulim on the Deged.”

“Vaustus? A threat? Faugh. Trust me. The Sun Mage spends his days wandering from one end of North Eblis to the other. He’s getting nowhere. He’s been out there for years, running after figments of his brain, beginning much, accomplishing nothing. Even the Druins are starting to laugh at him, now that he’s gone through all the recruits he could get. No. The Cheiropt would do better to keep its million eyes on me.”

“All I know is that ghulim are the pus of Enoch,” said Derrin. “When I see them gathering, I know that trouble is brewing. The Cheiropt makes no mistakes. You’re a splinter in Enoch’s eye; there’s plenty enough ghulim around here, to be sure. But you should see the Deged. There’s a threat out there, and it’s a serious one. If I were you, I’d think twice about how I was getting those ova here. You have to have a special pass from the Cheiropt to get out there these days. The Polemarch isn’t going to let just anyone through.”

“Hm,” said Jairus. “And yet Zilla assures me that there’ll be no difficulty. He’s a queer one, but he’s generally well-informed about such things. You must have heard wrong, Derrin.”

“Or there’s more—much more—going on here than meets the eye. Watch out, Jairus. You know the saying: ‘Beware priests bearing gifts.’“

“Don’t misunderstand me, Derrin. I trust neither of them, nor their messenger boy, that eel, Secherim. But it’s not in their interests to deal falsely with me in this.”

“And what exactly are their interests? Eh? That’s what worries me, my friend. Wasn’t your whole ‘princess’ set-up supposed to be part of the price? We all know what happened with that. And yet they’re still helping you.”

Jairus made an impatient noise. “As to that, nothing has changed, except that we have more bargaining power.
She
knows her best interests, if no one else does. Use your imagination, Derrin. One of these days he’ll come down for her. Then we’ll really have the Sons where we want them. What did you find out about him, by the way?”

“Nothing you didn’t already know, most likely. Let’s see. He has a palace of his own in a rather remote part of the Gardens. He refuses to take part in ritual meals, has a special diet, and makes a general nuisance of himself. They’re all terrified of him. Supposedly he’s making some kind of secret weapon for them.”

“Why would Narvenes need a weapon?”

“I’m only telling you what my contact told me, my friend.”

“Sounds like an interesting man to have about. Getting up to Narva is a feat unparalleled. I can see why Vaustus would want him back. Perhaps I’m playing this all wrong.”

“He sounds like more trouble than he’s worth,” said Derrin. “Anyway, I suspect he’s too fastidious for your kind.”

Jairus gave his strange, low laugh. “Perhaps you’re right.”

I had heard enough. I’d started to reach out for the scaffold when my armor clanked against the side of the hull. “Now I did hear something,” said Derrin. I froze and tensed. The ghularch put his head out the window. He smiled down at me. “Jairus,” he said, “I thought your quantum of nuisance took himself off for a cure.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” said Jairus. “Was my information lacking?”

“It would seem so,” said Derrin. He opened his mouth to say something more. Like lightning, I reached up, took hold of his tunic, and dragged him through the window. He dropped a few levels before he succeeded in catching hold of the scaffold.

I was already scaling the side of the ship. I reached the deck just as Jairus emerged from the hatch. He wielded a great double-handed steel sword. He was grinning, and the moonlight glinted on his sharp teeth.

*          *          *          *          *

Without issuing a challenge I threw myself against him. I fought to kill. Jairus was bare-armed and bare-chested, but he put aside my thrusts with languid ease. He seemed almost bored.

Enhanced by my armor, my strength was more than a match for his, and my speed and agility made up for the length of his reach. But his longsword seemed three blades at once. I was continually finding it someplace I didn’t expect it. I couldn’t pierce the circle of his defense. Time and again I found myself beaten back, so that my armor was like to have been burnished by blows. Soon I was streaming with blood from many small wounds.

“My boy,” he said at last, “you’re fast and you’re strong, but it’s plain that you don’t know how to handle a sword. Go back to your vermin in the desert, where you belong.” And with that he struck me such a buffet on the helm that I staggered back five paces. Blood burst from my nose, and my senses swam.

The Misfit pressed home his advantage. He aimed a blow like to swap off my head, but it caught on a projecting point of my cuirass. I crashed sideways to the deck, nearly breaking my neck. Rolling out from under the descending sword, I made a great leap for the opposite side of the deck. Jairus came bounding after me, eyes aflame, teeth bared. I jumped to the railing.

“Ach!” he cried. “Running away? I thought you had more honor.”

“Honor,” I said, “is a game for princes. We’ll meet again soon.” I sheathed Deinothax and dove off the edge.

The Misfit’s men, roused by Derrin, had begun to position themselves around the vessel. I shot over their heads, making for the western wall of the pit. Volleys of fireballs streaked through the night like lost meteors. One bounded off my shoulder, singeing my hair and burning my neck and the side of my face. I faltered and dropped toward the earth but regained my trajectory.

Another projectile passed along one of my wings. It didn’t touch the veins, but the membranes were melted. I went into a spin. The wall flew toward me. I folded my wings in mid-air and braced myself for impact. With a tremendous crash I collided with the foundation and dropped to the staircase below.

I struggled to my feet and looked out. The fighters were streaming toward the base of the wall. Fireballs pelted the masonry around me. Using the balustrade for cover, I scrambled up the steps, leaving a trail of fragrant resin.

The Misfit’s men gave up the chase when I reached the top. That should have warned me, but I ran heedlessly on, dodging the derelict furniture and machinery that littered the streets. The great wall of the Cheiropt loomed up out of the darkness. A challenge rang out in the night. Deaf with bewilderment, I leaped to the parapet with a single bound.

Something struck my chest with unbelievable force and threw me on my back. The wind had been knocked out of me. I felt as though my insides were crumpled flat. I staggered to my feet. A blow on my helmet laid me prostrate again. Dimly I saw two hoplites in black armor racing toward me from far down the wall.

A huge, pale shape dropped silently from the shadows. It seized one hoplite by the neck and shook him as though he were a rag doll. The other guard leaped off the wall in panic and vanished into the night.

I closed my eyes and knew no more.