Theatre of the Gods

by M. Suddain

  *

  Circles, upon circles, upon circles.

  *

  Fabrigas looked up. He’d been writing in his journal, but all he’d written was page after page of nonsense. But he looked up now because standing on the far side of the clearing was a man.

  *

  Miss Fritzacopple, wandering among the trees, could not make sense of any of it. She had a specimen jar in her right hand but nothing really to put in it. She’d pulled up a clump of red moss and plopped it in a jar, noting, as she did, that the earth below was a fine, pale sand, dry and uniform. The music of the needles had become a deafening chorus to her now. It ruffled her consciousness and made her think, as she stared at her arms and hands, that they were ugly: that they belonged to an alien creature. When she’d walked to the other side of the clearing and looked back at the hole in the mossy ground it had looked like a terrified mouth screaming at her, so she’d put the divot back in its hole and patted it lightly into place. The bark of the trees was hard and white with calluses of black. When she pulled the bark away she found a raw, red wax. She pressed the bark back into place. Patted it lightly. She felt an urge to throw off all her clothes and wander like a child through this landscape, but she quickly checked herself.

  She noticed something strange: the jar which had held the moss had a layer of golden goo in the bottom. She held it up, noted the tiny air bubbles. It looked so familiar. And then she did something so shocking that later, when she thought back on it, she’d shudder. She took her finger, dabbed it lightly in the goo and touched it to her tongue. She let out a cry of delight.

  *

  The stranger wore the remains of an expensive suit. It was the first thing that struck you. Despite the fact that both trouser legs had been shredded to the knees – as if by the claws of a wild beast – despite the fact that his jacket was stained and rumpled, and that one of the breast pockets was torn back so that a red nipple peeped out like a rising sun, you could tell that, originally, this had been his best suit. But now his long hair was slicked over with some kind of luminous goo, though without a mirror he’d created a parting as fiercely crooked as a lightning bolt. The stranger was mad-eyed and emaciated. The stranger had dead butterflies in his hair. The stranger said, ‘You have to leave!’

  ‘Who are you?’ said Fabrigas, snapping out of his reverie. The others swooned awake. Lenore had been dreaming that she was being eaten, piece by piece, by butterflies while a madman read her stories.

  ‘You have to leave! My God, you have no idea. If only you knew.

  If only you could grasp the situation – My word, my God, is that the DX9100?’ and the man skipped alarmingly fast among them to where their capsule sat, embedded in the moss, its chute strung along the needles like drying laundry. Kimmy noticed that she had cocoons hanging from her nose, her earlobes, the captain too. She plucked one off and showed it to him. He wrinkled his nose, then scrabbled at his head with both hands. The stranger was poring over their capsule, running his hands up and down its surface. Then he tapped the fuselage with a bony knuckle and listened as it boomed. Then he kicked it, hard, and listened again.

  ‘Hey!’ said the captain. ‘Would you mind not kicking our property? And who are you?’

  The strange man’s head swivelled slowly, like a carnival clown, and he stared wide-eyed at the captain. Then, slowly, he began to walk backwards, like a man retreating from a dangerous beast; he raised his palms and stepped, slowly, one foot over the other, until at last he was safe behind a tree.

  The captain and Fabrigas looked at each other, expressionless.

  ‘We can still see you!’ said the captain.

  The strange man pulled his spine straight and buttoned his jacket. ‘What about now?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kimmy. ‘We can see you very clearly.’

  ‘Right!’ said the stranger as he purposefully clapped his hands together. ‘I’ll give you thirty thousand rupits for the DX9200. I don’t have it on me,’ slapping his breasts, ‘but I’m good for it. I come from a fine family. Tin miners. Twenty thousand if I can take it now.’

  ‘You said it was a DX9100.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Yes, when you first saw it you said, “Is that the DX9100?”’

  ‘Yes, note the interrogative, my boy: is that the DX9100? On closer examination and extensive tests –’ tong! – ‘it turns out that it is, after all, the DX9200.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, why does it say “DX9300” on the side?’

  ‘Ah,’ said the man, ‘but that’s just what they want you to think.’

  FORBIDDEN ZONE

  ‘Loneliness,’ said Fabrigas, ‘is harder on the mind than the fiercest opium. Strange things happen to the mind when you spend too long alone, and unlike other brain maladies it cannot be undone. The damage cannot be fixed.’ He spoke as if he knew well, but none of the others noticed. They were all staring at the man.

  ‘If you untie me,’ said the stranger, ‘I’ll reduce my offer to twenty-five thousand.’

  The captain had tackled the stranger and tied him up after it became clear that they’d get little sense out of him otherwise.

  ‘I am sorry I tried to dance with you,’ the man added, his head bouncing from side to side as he spoke, his restless eyes roaming the cloudless skies. ‘It was unprofessional for a man of my standing, and I apologise for any offence my actions might have caused. Now if you’ll only untie me I’ll take my ship and be on my way.’

  ‘We’ll let you go soon,’ said the captain. ‘First, tell us why you called this the “Forbidden Zone”.’

  ‘Because it is!’ cried the stranger.

  ‘What makes it forbidden?’

  ‘What doesn’t?! There are dangers innumerable here.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Oh,’ said the man, dropping his voice to a whisper, ‘some men have been driven mad by the butterflies, others have done themselves nasty injuries on those needles, look,’ and though his hands were bound by his sides he was able to raise an index finger to show the tiny red puncture wound on the tip.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘The moss conceals deep pits!’ the man continued.

  ‘Right, and what is at the bottom of the pits?’

  ‘More moss!’

  ‘So, sharp trees and comfortable traps. That’s the Forbidden Zone?’

  ‘Yes. And bears.’

  They had managed to get a small amount of information about the man. His name was Corpram Boniver; he had been a scientist of some note, apparently. He’d been a pioneer in the field of feline interreal zoology, the science of putting cats in boxes and then guessing what they’re up to. Then, after an incident about which the man refused to speak, he had been banished, exiled into the Forbidden Zone, a sentence which held a great irony, for among Boniver’s many significant achievements he had helped design and build the Forbidden Zone.

  ‘You designed this whole dimension?’ said Fabrigas, amazed.

  ‘Yes! I built it with a man called Dray. Executions are barbaric, and prisons are pointless. We wanted prisoners to go to a place where they could confront their very nature. That’s why we invented the Forbidden Zone: not as a prison for the body, but as a prison for the mind and soul. We who are prisoners here have committed a crime to which, given the opportunity, we will always return. And so we must be kept away from common reality.’ As he spoke about his work the man’s madness seemed to vanish; he spoke quietly, and his eyes stopped roaming the skies, and everyone watching caught a glimpse of what this madman used to be.

  ‘The bears,’ said Boniver, ‘were just to keep things interesting.’

  *

  ‘He’s clearly nuts,’ said the captain.

  ‘Clearly,’ said Fabrigas as he cleaned a nail with a needle. ‘But he’s all we have to guide us out of here. At least half of what he says is true, I’m convinced of that. At least every second word.’

  ‘But what if he leads us into a tr
ap?’

  ‘What trap? A spongy pit? A bear’s picnic?’

  ‘What if he’s telling the truth about the bears?’

  ‘We would have seen signs: droppings, paw-prints. Besides, there’s nothing to eat around here.’

  ‘Except us.’

  ‘And that’s a point. If we don’t find a way out, we’ll starve.’

  ‘I smells animal,’ said Lenore, from the far edge of the clearing, and that’s when, from the distance, they heard Miss Fritzacopple scream.

  ‘That’ll be her shoes,’ said Corpram.

  ‘She’s gone and got herself into trouble again,’ said the captain as he stood lazily and ambled away among the trees.

  *

  Miss Fritzacopple, who was a sensible woman, but who had a strange habit of wandering off and getting into trouble, was up a tree. She was a long way up a tree. How she got up there was a mystery. The captain found her soon enough and pulled up on the edge of the glade, about ten yards from the tree. He stopped there mainly because below Miss Fritzacopple, swishing at her legs with his paws, was a largish bear.

  ‘How did you get up that tree?’ called the captain.

  ‘I used to be a dancer!’ she replied.

  ‘Just stay where you are,’ said the captain.

  *

  SOME USELESS THINGS PEOPLE SAY DURING BEAR ATTACKS:

  Just stay where you are!

  He’s more afraid of you!

  Don’t let him smell your fear!

  Play dead!

  Throw the ham away! He only wants your ham!

  *

  ‘What do we do?’ said the captain.

  ‘We need to create a distraction,’ said the old man, who had caught up with him. ‘I’ll get his attention, you get her down.’

  There was no one there, even the botanist, who didn’t notice how pretty the bear looked. He was a golden bear with hazel eyes and a white muzzle. His pink nose and outsized paws said, ‘Let’s cuddle,’ though his bared black claws and bright gums said, ‘… cuddle to the death!’

  Fabrigas strode into the glade with his arms raised. ‘Bear!’ he shouted, and the creature turned its huge head; his eyes narrowed in a way that said, ‘Have we met?’ Then he turned back, extended to full height, and continued trying to paw the legs of the terrified botanist.

  The captain heard a ‘Hup. Hup. Hup’ behind him. Looking over his shoulder he saw Boniver, still in ropes, hopping towards them.

  ‘Hup. Hup. Hup.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ muttered Lambestyo.

  ‘Tell her to throw her shoes away!’ cried the man, breathless.

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘He only wants her shoes. Tell her to throw her shoes away as far as possible.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘If you want her to live, hup, you’ll tell her to throw, hup, her shoes away as far as possible.’ The man had now hupped his way to the captain’s side. The captain sighed.

  ‘Miss, listen carefully!’ said Boniver. ‘I want you to take both your boots off and throw them as far as you can!’

  Miss Fritzacopple thought long and hard. She loved these boots. She’d seen them in a vintage store in a place called Melrose Heights. She’d spent a month’s wages on them. She’d lived off noodles and bread so she could have them. They were pretty as well as comfortable, which is very, very rare, and important when you might be collecting samples in a jungle one minute, and meeting a high-ranking member of the scientific community the next. Was life worth living without them? She looked down at the bear, who was pushing on the trunk with a single paw now, seemingly testing its strength, perhaps wondering if it might be climbed, or brought down.

  ‘Well? What the heck are you waiting for?’

  With a heavy sigh, Miss Fritzacopple pulled the boots from her feet and threw them far into the trees. They made no sound.

  The bear followed their trajectory with his big, brown eyes. Then he let out a marbly cry and huffed off after them, and no one, except Corpram Boniver, could quite believe it.

  *

  ‘These bears are very territorial,’ said Boniver. ‘You only find one in each region of the zone. Most of them like honey, or human flesh, but for reasons I can’t even imagine, the bear who roams this region likes ladies’ shoes.’

  The group was silent. What could you say?

  ‘Of course,’ continued Boniver, ‘it might just be that ladies’ shoes generally have narrow heels and they push further into the root honey,’ and he ripped up a clump of moss and squeezed, releasing a rain of golden liquid. ‘It’s honey!’ he cried, his fingers smacking in his mouth. ‘You should try some, it’s really very good,’ and though he was clearly mad, everyone had to admit that he was right about the shoes, and the honey.

  *

  They ate honey until they couldn’t.

  *

  ‘I can’t possibly lead you out of here,’ said Boniver.

  It was late, although you wouldn’t notice any change in the light. The only way to tell it was night was that that was when the bears liked to feed. ‘And how do the bears know it’s night?’ Fabrigas had asked.

  ‘Because the butterflies wake them.’

  ‘And how do –’ but the old man stopped himself.

  Kimmy and Lenore were sitting near the edge of the glade. Lenore had found a way, even in this pretty place, to look completely terrifying. ‘I smell a coming,’ she said softly. No one heard her. Miss Fritzacopple was sleeping off her terror.

  ‘But I still don’t understand why you can’t lead us out,’ said Fabrigas.

  ‘Because there is no way out. If there was, don’t you think I would have found it?’

  ‘Is there a wall?’

  ‘Better,’ said Boniver.

  ‘An electric field?’

  ‘Better. I designed the Forbidden Zone to be a mini-universe. If you head in one direction for long enough you end up where you started. Anyway, it’s all very complicated. I wouldn’t expect any of you to understand.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ cried Fabrigas. ‘Why would you say such a ridiculous thing? A child could understand this,’ though in truth he was absolutely staggered.

  ‘I smells bees now,’ said Lenore.

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Corpram Boniver. ‘There are no bees here. You are confused by all the honey. Go back to sleep, little girl.’

  ‘So there’s no way we can ever escape?’ said the captain.

  ‘No. This universe would have to expire first.’

  ‘How horrible,’ said Miss Fritzacopple as she roused herself from her nap.

  ‘Bees. Definitely bees.’

  ‘Though if you untie me, I’ll show you some secrets.’

  The captain sighed. ‘I suppose we should. But you must promise not to touch our craft.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, my boy.’

  There was a hum growing, low and angry. The captain felt it first. He stood and walked to the edge of the clearing.

  ‘What is that?’ said Miss Fritzacopple, whose hearing was acute.

  ‘I tells you, it’s bees.’

  ‘Ball-cocks! There’s no bees here. I should know, I invented here. Only butterflies and bears, in that order! Never have three Bs together, everyone knows that! You’re talking crazy!’

  Fabrigas noticed how easily the man had slipped back into being mad since they’d loosened his ropes.

  ‘Definitely bees.’

  ‘No bees, no bees!’ But then Boniver stopped. He shrugged off his ropes and walked to the edge of the glade, stood next to the captain and quietly murmured: ‘No bees.’

  BEES

  The bees came through the clearing like bullets. Fat, black, yard-long bees with terrible black eyes. ‘Bees!’ screamed Boniver. ‘We’re all done for, it’s every man for himself!’ And he ran, clearing the glade in a few short skips, stopping for a brief moment to lay his right index finger tenderly on the side of the escape rocket before fleeing, screaming and giggling, among the silver trees.

  ‘
Into the rocket!’ cried Fabrigas, and they dived in as the glade began to fill with black buzzing nuggets. From inside they could see them circling, spiralling into the sky, swooping down in military formation, passing the windows of the rocket with inches to spare.

  ‘I miss the butterflies!’ shouted Miss Fritzacopple.

  That’s when they all noticed that Lambestyo hadn’t moved from his spot at the edge of the glade. He was staring down the valley, one hand on his hip, as the bees swarmed around him.

  ‘Where’s our captains?’ said Lenore.

  ‘He’s … he’s fine,’ said Fabrigas. ‘He seems to be making friends.’ Two big drones hung bobbing in front of Lambestyo’s face like carnival balloons. From far off came the sound of drums, also trumpets. The bees ceased their swoopings.

  *

  First came the giant insects, stamping and clicking, sinking deep into the moss, each twice the size of a bull elephant, each bearing a heavily armed soldier upon its armour-plated back. There were trumpet players followed by a regiment of young soldiers with white rifles. The convoy stopped in front of Lambestyo with a big right-foot stomp and the soldiers’ rifles leaped from their left shoulders to the earth with a loud, collective crack, and the giant insects – who numbered at least a thousand – moved and rattled.

  Nothing happened for a while. Then, a ripple in the ranks as a short, round man with a bright red sash grinning like a gash across his torso came tumbling through. He ignored our boy captain, scuttling past him up the mossy crimson carpet and up to the rocket with the tiny, precise steps of a tightrope walker. He peered into the porthole, and smiled broadly. Then he knocked politely, three times. Fabrigas opened the porthole and said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘On behalf of the Independent Constitutional Monarchy of Diemendääs, I would like to extend our extreme gratitude for your brave and wholly unsolicited assistance in ridding our hinterlands of the great worm who was threatening our lives and livelihood and laying waste to our beautiful countryside. We do not know how you fell into the Forbidden Zone, but on behalf of Their Majesties, the Emperor and Empress of Diemendääs, I would like to offer this royal escort from the zone to the city, where you will be afforded all the comforts and hospitalities that we can offer, for as long as they shall be needed. What say you?’