The Book of the Night

by Pearl North

  “I’ve been thinking about Hilloa’s sticks in a bag, and about dimensions. We only experience three spatial dimensions, but that doesn’t mean that’s all there are. Some people describe time as the fourth dimension, but we don’t experience it the way we do the other three. We can only move through time in one direction. At best, we only have partial access to the dimension of time. I think…”

  She watched his eyes as they looked out at the vanishing point of the road.

  “I think that what we experience as time is only a cross section of another whole dimension. It’s like … Did you ever read Flatland?”

  “That author hates women,” said Haly.

  “I know, but the way he describes a sphere as seen by a two-dimensional being is apt in this circumstance. The two-dimensional man—”

  “Man, because the women are what, dots, isn’t it? One-dimensional? He probably wished we were.”

  “Anyway, from the two-D point of view, a sphere appears as a sequence of circles that increase in size and then decrease as the sphere moves through the two-D man’s field of perception.”

  “You can just ignore it, can’t you? I suppose, coming from the citadel and all…”

  “Consider how we experience time. As a succession of moments. It’s not a full dimension we’re experiencing. What we’re seeing is the cross section of a dimension that extends beyond the limits of our own perception.”

  Gyneth’s words finally overpowered Haly’s annoyance with the author of Flatland, and she sat silent, looking at the world around her in a whole new way. “The People who Walk Sideways in Time,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The Ayorites believe that the world was created by the People Who Walk Sideways in Time. Come on, you’ve heard the stories.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I just never … huh. Wow. And The Song That Changed Us talks about them becoming immortal, which would make sense if part of what they transcended was time. So do you think—” Gyneth stopped, because ahead of them in the distance was a large shape, fast approaching. It looked like nothing Haly had ever seen before—somewhat like a collection of wheels and gears, it made a clicking sound as it rolled along at a startlingly brisk pace. The sound got louder and louder until, with a clack and a screech of metal against metal, the thing came to a halt in front of them.

  It was a flat platform mounted on four enormous wheels, each taller than Haly herself. In the center of the platform a large, tightly wound spiral strip of metal was connected to a shaft that drove a cluster of gleaming brass gears, which were in turn connected to the axles of the vehicle through holes in the platform.

  Racks stood along the edges of the platform, with all manner of pots and pans, bells, pocket watches, compasses, and keys—anything that was made of, or had parts made of, metal. They rattled and clanged together in the wake of the contraption’s sudden stop, nearly as noisy as it had been while still in motion.

  A dark-skinned man with classic Thesian features leaped from the conveyance. He wore blue velvet trousers, a green waistcoat, and a jacket of red brocade, all tailored in the form-fitting Thesian style. His calfskin boots hugged his calves like a second skin, and the jacket accentuated his lean waist and broad shoulders. He wore a top hat.

  He stood before his conveyance, hands on his hips, looking them up and down with an expression of detached curiosity. He was not a large person, but he exuded vitality. “What are you doing on the road?” he demanded.

  Haly and Gyneth looked at each other. Ignoring his rudeness, Haly said, “We come from the Libyrinth. We were invited by the first administrator to come and investigate a strange storm. Besides, we haven’t heard anything from Thesia since the Singers took over. We wanted to see how things were here now.”

  He raised his chin. “As you can see, the clockmaker continues to bring peace and prosperity to the people.”

  They’d seen nothing of the kind. In fact …

  “Where are all the people, anyway?”

  “They are either in the cities or underground. Where else should they be?”

  “Underground?” said Gyneth.

  “Of course. Now, see here … I am the tollkeeper for the Southern Road and I didn’t stop you in order to present the population distribution in the Clockwork Kingdom of Thesia for your approval.”

  “Clockwork Kingdom?” said Gyneth.

  The tollkeeper ignored him. “I stopped you because you have not paid your toll. You must do so now or be taken into custody and remanded to a compensation facility where you may work off your debt.”

  “We didn’t know there was a charge for using the road,” said Haly. “Besides, we were invited to come. I have the letter—”

  “Ignorance of the law is no excuse for disobeying it.”

  “It’s a very good reason,” said Haly, “when the law is not one of obvious moral mandate. And besides, we’ve been invited to come, and promised generous payment for doing so.” Haly fished the letter from the first administrator from her satchel and held it out to him. “I don’t think your administrator would like it if—”

  He waved the letter away. “I have a job to do and a duty to uphold. You are on the road, you must pay the toll.”

  “Fine, we’ll sort it out when we get there. How can we pay you?”

  The tollkeeper returned to his conveyance, where he fetched a large wooden case. He undid latches, unfolded panels, and the case transformed into a desk, complete with chair. From a drawer he withdrew a pen and a long sheet of paper with a great deal of small print on it. He sat down at the desk and began filling in some blanks that were left empty on the form.

  “You’re writing!” said Gyneth.

  The tollkeeper looked up from his work. “Yes, yes. What do you expect?”

  “But the Singers conquered you!” said Haly.

  He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Fifty years ago the clockmaker led us in overthrowing a corrupt monarchy that was stifling our development as a nation. Of course some concessions must be—”

  “Wait, fifty years ago? The revolt was about a year ago,” said Haly.

  He laughed. “You don’t know your history. Now, as I was saying, some concessions must be made to the venerable oral tradition of our Singer brothers-in-arms. That is why, once I remand your paperwork to the Thesian Compensation Board, they will enter it into the nearest liberator and process you.”

  Haly and Gyneth exchanged worried glances. Whatever the tollkeeper was talking about, it didn’t sound very encouraging.

  “Now, let me see…” The tollkeeper frowned at the form and began to scribble, muttering as he went. “Fifteen miles, at four wheels and two horses a mile is…” He jotted something down, ending with an emphatic stab of his pen. He looked up at them. “Seventy-five pounds.”

  Haly raised her eyebrows. “Seventy-five pounds of what?” she asked.

  The tollkeeper sat back, surprised. “Why, of metal, of course! All tolls on the road must be paid in metal.”

  Haly’s stomach sank. “We have no metal, apart from the fittings on the wagon and a few studs and fasteners on the horses’ tack. Certainly nothing approaching seventy-five pounds.”

  “You said fifteen miles,” said Gyneth, standing up. “We haven’t been on this road more than ten.”

  “Nonsense,” said the tollkeeper. “I am being generous. Look behind you.”

  They looked. About fifty feet behind them stood a post driven into the gravel at the side of the road. The number “15” was carved into its side.

  “But we didn’t get on at the start,” said Gyneth.

  “How can I know that?”

  “Because he’s telling you,” said Haly. Fear made her tone sharp. She didn’t know what a “compensation board” was but she didn’t like the sound of it.

  “Look, it’s all spelled out here,” said the tollkeeper, handing the form he’d filled out to them. “Now kindly vacate your vehicle so I can collect what metal you do possess.”

&n
bsp; Gyneth sat back down. “No.”

  Haly looked at him, a question in her eyes. He shook his head, then flicked the reins and drove the cart forward, veering to the right, around the tollkeeper’s vehicle. Suddenly a loud crack pierced the air. Haly flinched. She looked down and saw a bullet embedded in the side of the wagon. The tollkeeper pointed a pistol at them. “That was a warning. According to section nine of the traveler’s code, cited in paragraph twenty-seven of the trespassers advisory form I have just served you, I am authorized to use force in securing compliance to the Traveler’s Aid Law. And I assure you, I am an excellent shot. Please get out of your conveyance.”

  7

  The Nod of Nods

  Clauda-in-the-Wing hovered in nothingness and watched her universe slowly whirl. What did this mean? How could she exist at all, outside of existence? And what was her world, anyway? A thing made of words?

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw another light. She turned to look and saw another shape, just like the word-universe from which she’d come. She flew closer to it—deciding to leave aside for now the question of how she moved in such a space—and saw that it was not precisely the same as her word-universe. The argent arcs of this one were composed of numbers and symbols instead. Equations.

  As Clauda flew back toward her own universe she saw, in the distance, yet another whirling disk, and then another. She was in a space between universes, and apparently there was no limit to their number.

  With a will, she hastened back to the gleaming arcs of words, of stories, which made up her world. All of this had been very interesting, and Selene would surely die of envy when she told her of it, but Clauda didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to know that Selene, Haly, the Libyrinth, and everything else she’d ever known only existed within a glittering toy amid other toys. She didn’t want to know how small she was. She wanted to go home. Now.

  And was that even possible? Clauda coasted near the outer fringes of the word-universe and realized at once how vast it was. How had she wound up out here anyway? Just traveling from one star to another could take several lifetimes. How had she gotten all the way out here so quickly? How could she move between universes in what seemed to her to be a matter of minutes?

  The only explanation she could think of was that this was a place created by the People Who Walk Sideways in Time, and as a result, time flowed differently here, even for a tiny, three-dimensional being such as herself.

  She was certain now that the vortex that had sucked her in was a rip in the fabric of reality. She had first spotted the cloud near where Selene had blown up that Egg when Clauda and Haly were being held captive and tortured in the vault. Could an explosion like that be powerful enough to tear the very fabric of existence? That all depended on what Eggs really were, and no one knew that.

  But if she was right, then eventually the whole universe, including her world, would deflate like a punctured balloon.

  All she wanted to do was go home, but even as she searched for the rupture that had landed her here, she realized that mending the tear, if such a thing was possible, was more important, even if it could only be done from the outside. Even if that meant she’d be stranded out here forever.

  She spotted the tear. One argent arc of light was broken, the two ends whipping about, spilling letters into the space between universes. But how was she to capture them, to bring them together and mend them? The wing, apparently, had many capabilities, but could it mend a universe?

  Suddenly a new object appeared. This was not another universe. It was red. And it was moving rapidly toward her.

  As it came nearer Clauda distinguished arms and legs, a head, a body. And then, as it came even closer she made out the distinctive, wizened features. The largest Nod she’d ever seen hung there before her.

  At this point Clauda thought she’d taken in all the strange things her mind could hold, but she was mistaken; for as she gazed upon the enormous red creature, she saw a pattern on the surface of its skin. At first it appeared to be one of those fractals Selene had shown her once—all curving tendrils—only it was moving. Then something gleamed in the light from her universe, and what she’d taken to be part of the pattern was in fact an eye—a tiny eye in a tiny Nod. And it was surrounded by other Nods of all sizes, all moving and crawling about on one another.

  This was no abstract pattern. It was a conglomeration. The whole Nod that she saw was made up of other Nods—Nods as small as her thumb, Nods as large as half a universe.

  She’d wondered how the creature moved through space and it now appeared it did so by virtue of the Nods that made up its back crawling to its front. The whole thing was constantly reforming itself.

  Clauda wanted to scream, but instead she bent her attention to the questions teeming in her mind: Could what she saw before her be considered a single entity? What was the connection between this … this Nod of Nods, and the creatures as they appeared back home? Did it recognize her?

  As if in answer to her last question, the great Nod smiled, and reached out with fingers composed of more Nods, and grasped the wing.

  Clauda tried to think, It’s me, Clauda, at it, but she didn’t know if it did any good. Could she use the wing’s light, somehow, to communicate with it?

  She was distracted from this speculation by the sudden presence of scores of individual Nods seeping through the walls of the wing and occupying the cabin. “What does she say, what does she say?” they chanted.

  She whimpered a bit at that.

  Meanwhile, in the space outside the wing, the Nod of Nods reached out toward the twisting ends of the broken arc of the universe with its free arm. That arm detached from its body and became another, slightly smaller Nod of Nods, gripping the shattered strand of what had once been Clauda’s whole reality in its hands.

  The original Nod of Nods quickly grew a new arm, and then sent that one after the other end of the broken arc in similar fashion.

  Clauda, used to focusing her awareness outside of the wing’s cabin, ignored the little Nods chanting around her and watched, rapt, as the two sub Nods brought the ends of the broken arc together and swarmed over the seam, sealing it.

  “Wait!” Clauda cried out. She’d never really vocalized before while in the wing. It came out as a pulse of light. It reflected off the Nods that composed the hand that held her. In the strong illumination, she saw that even those were made of smaller Nods, those Nods also made of smaller Nods, and on and on, apparently without end.

  The Nod of Nods lifted her up and held her before its face. “This is not a place for beasties to be. Even beasties with Maker toys.”

  “No, you’re right, Nod,” she said, and the light once known as the Sword of the Mother pulsed her words. “I want to go home. Please.”

  The other two sub Nods paused in their work of sealing the broken arc together, and the Nod of Nods reached out and tucked her back inside the tunnel of words as if it was stuffing an olive and she was the anchovy. Clauda observed the tunnel of words closing around her and laughed that such strange surroundings could be a comfort. But compared to all of that out there …

  As the Nod of Nods released her, the little Nods melted away through the walls of the wing until at last there was only one remaining. “It is all story,” it said, and then it, too, was gone.

  As before, an invisible force dragged Clauda through the tunnel of words at breakneck speed.

  “Was this the best thing that had ever happened to him, or the worst?”

  “The cloak-and-dagger protocols, the risk of capture, and the soaring view from the windows of Joe’s home could not have been better designed to appeal to the mind of an eleven-year-old boy who spent large parts of every day pretending to pose as the secret identity of a super-powered humanoid insect.”

  “Eventually, something would have to be done about his hands.”

  Clauda began to wonder if she would ever return to what she still stubbornly thought of as the real world. She lost track of time. Overwhelme
d by all she had witnessed, and exhausted by uncounted hours spent merged with the wing, she fell asleep.

  And awoke within a maelstrom.

  The ground beneath her was nothing more than a blur as turbulent winds tossed her about like a toy. She urged herself to go faster in the hope of outdistancing this—whatever it was—storm? She cast about, searching for some familiar landmark. She was in the desert. Distantly, in the east, she could hear the voices of the Libyrinth, just as she had when she stole the wing and flew out of Ilysies. She was home again.

  A gale struck her crosswise, scouring her metal hide with sand. She was caught in a sandstorm, one possibly created by the sealing of the rift in the universe. It was all she could do just to stay in the air as the violent winds pushed her this way and that.

  The world became nothing more than a confusion of sand and wind, and she lost all track of time as she strained every human nerve and machine sinew to ride with the storm, constantly altering her speed and direction in response to the turbulent winds. To go against them would be disastrous.

  Clauda was glad of her nap. She wasn’t accustomed to feeling tired while inside the wing, but it crept in upon her now, threatening to slow her response time. She couldn’t afford that. A gust of wind hit her from above, pushing her nose down. She canted sideways, giving the rogue wind less surface area to act upon. The maneuver allowed her to maintain altitude, but in the next instant the wind changed direction again, coming from the left. It struck her tail with a force like a hammer blow and made her spin end over end. She fought for control but she no longer knew up from down and the winds buffeted her in such rapid succession that she never had a chance to recover from one blow before another knocked her in a new direction. At any moment she expected to slam nose first into the ground.

  The sand carried by the wind scraped her living metal skin and caked in every groove of her hull. If the wing had been made of flesh she would be raw and bleeding by now. As it was, she ached all over. Clauda-in-the-Wing took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. A gust from below hit her nose and tilted her upward. At least, she hoped it was upward, because she used the momentum of that sudden jolt to carry her into a steep climb, accelerating with all the power she had, going faster than she’d ever gone before. If she could get above or out or through this storm, she might have a chance.