Iquinlass considered. ‘Or, she arranged that he would receive it under the present conditions.’
‘How could she guess that Pikeface would treat it differently, simply leaving it alone?’
‘She knew Pikeface’s character,’ Iquinlass said.
Dwllis looked up. ‘I think Querhidwe meant it for me to thwart Pikeface.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Iquinlass.
Dwllis shrugged. ‘I just know it. Pikeface grasps something of who I am. He accosted me once in the street and called me his kin.’
‘Then he is ahead of us,’ Iquinlass said, ‘and worse things may yet happen. Come, we had better leave this place, in case he returns.’
They returned to the secret chamber, where Dwllis voiced his desire to free the augmented gnosticians. Iquinlass at first spoke against him, suggesting that it would not be wise to defy Pikeface in this way. A bargain was struck. Iquinlass would set the gnosticians free if Dwllis and Etwe would consent to live in a room off Tode Lane, just behind the Archive; for Iquinlass, now she had found Dwllis, wanted him close by. Dwllis said nothing of his personal circumstances and agreed.
So the gnosticians were freed, leaving the Archive by way of the store room, each heavily cloaked and armed with glass shards in padded hilts.
Iquinlass then led Dwllis and Etwe to the house in Tode Lane. It was narrow, one lower and one upper room, the former full of lunar oddments. ‘You must live up here,’ Iquinlass said, kicking debris to the sides of the dusty room. ‘There isn’t much soundproofing, but the city is quieter, so you probably won’t need earmuffs.’
Dwllis looked out through a perspex window to the street below. Mixed emotions sobered him, made him fear the future. He said, ‘“Tode” is Old Crayan for death, you know. I wonder if that is an omen.’
‘Calm yourself,’ Etwe said. ‘Omens exist in the minds of the imaginative. We’ll survive here, with Iquinlass’ help.’
‘I had better go,’ Iquinlass said. She pointed to a plastic chest. ‘I keep food and water in there, for my own use. You’d better tuck in.’
‘Will we be found here?’ Dwllis asked.
Iquinlass shrugged. ‘In the event of trouble there is a ladder behind this rear door.’
Having indicated the door, concealed behind cloth hangings, she made to depart.
‘Wait,’ said Dwllis. ‘There is one last point. This predecessor of Querhidwe, who I have been told was known as Seleno – who was she? If we knew what plans she laid we might progress.’
‘She was a gifted pyuton. Seleno was her assumed name, but what her real name was, I don’t know. Once, I remember her calling herself Silverseed, but she would never explain why.’
‘Then she is buried in the Cemetery?’
‘Yes. Her barrow is marked with three symbols, a fishtail of red, a whole fish, and a blue and brown disk marked with wispy, white patterns.’
Dwllis considered this. ‘It seems to me that Seleno knew something of the future. I believe she knew that the moon would transform into the Spacefish long before it happened. I believe she knew something of me, and my fate.’
Iquinlass nodded. ‘That is probable, but still too much is mysterious. The disk is a representation of Gaya, for instance. Why?’
‘Why indeed should she have such a symbol on her barrow, when she was of Selene?’
Iquinlass shrugged. ‘She may have had some connection with Gaya. The bloodied fishtail must be her own personal sigil, the meaning of which we cannot now guess. The whole fish must represent her self.’
Dwllis sighed. ‘Would that the afterlife had not become closed off, which, if the druids are to be believed, is the case. We might have tried to listen for Seleno’s ghostly thoughts.’
Iquinlass departed. Dwllis felt exhausted by the rush of events. His withdrawal symptoms were lessened, and he felt, if not heartened, then at least less desperate. Too tired to think, he lay on a rug and fell asleep, the green fishtail secure underneath his body.
~
He awoke to find Etwe at his side. He looked out across the western parts of the Old Quarter, down to the river. All was glass flecked with ochre, smashed and shattered under the influence of earth tremors. A few lamps gleamed, and the streets themselves were bright, but it was easy to tell where people lived and where luminophages lived. He told Etwe, ‘I must go and meet Subadwan.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
They stepped out into the street. Now that the four aeromorphs were abroad, few Crayans were up and about.
They had not gone far when Dwllis overheard the conversation of two delinquent outers in Broom Street. He stopped to stare at them. One said, ‘What are you gorping at?’
‘Did you just say to your friend that Reeve Umia was dead?’ Dwllis asked.
‘Yer. What of it?’
‘And Pikeface is the new Reeve?’
‘Yer.’
Over and over Dwllis asked himself, how could it be? Only the Lord Archivist of Noct could become Reeve. Was this then the nature of Pikeface, that he was a spy heretic?
At length Etwe said, ‘We must find Iquinlass. She must be told what’s happened.’
Dwllis shivered. He felt demoralised again, and the thought of qe’lib’we returned; immediately he felt his legs tingling inside. He said, ‘Is that not taking a risk, seeing as Pikeface is on the loose, and is now our Reeve?’
‘Possibly. But Iquinlass is our only hope.’
‘Iquinlass will already know.’
‘We have to talk more about Pikeface.’
Dwllis shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
Using only the darkest, narrowest alleys, they made their way back to the Archive of Selene, where Etwe asked a recorder if she could speak with Iquinlass. The reply was not promising. ‘Archivist Iquinlass is unavailable, and will be for some time.’
‘ls she ill?’
‘She is unavailable.’
Dwllis, peering out from behind a pillar to lipread, felt crushed. Unavailable: that was surely meant to indicate captured, under suspicion of betrayal, or worse. Etwe joined him, and they stole off into a dark passage.
‘What do we do now?’ Dwllis asked.
‘I am uncertain.’ Etwe responded.
‘Subadwan told me that Tanglanah is trying to leave the Earth – her first stop the vehicle that is the Spacefish.’ Dwllis mused on. ‘Further, how could details of my personal self have been encoded into the memory fabric of Cray? That I do not understand… which is ironic, since I have spent so much of my life piecing together fragments of memory.’
‘I think we should now speak to Subadwan,’ Etwe said.
They began to walk north along Hog Street. Around them the glass-scape of Cray stretched. This entire street was a lifeless row of glittering silica, smashed in places to leave piles of fragments upon the street plastic. The lights below caused the debris to flicker like a hallucinogenic phantasm.
This perpetual refractive display meant they did not see the aeromorph until its groaning engines warned them of its proximity. They ducked into a doorway, but too late, for the machine seemed to have sensed them, smoke pouring out from its vents.
Suddenly a figure ran out from a passage. Although the aeromorph had no obvious eyes, it seemed to detect the newcomer, shifting its body with a storm of hissing and clunking. Then the figure, a stout man wrapped in rags, ran off, and the aeromorph tried to follow him. It failed. The man had darted into an alley between two metal buildings, and despite the smashing and pushing of the aeromorph it was unable to follow. In the confusion Dwllis and Etwe ran back the way they had come, to enter another street lined with vitrified pipes and cables, and so continue their journey.
Back in the alley, Coelendwia emerged from the bent and smoking metal structures between which he had hidden, satisfied that he had saved Dwllis and Etwe from the maw of the aeromorph.
Still the city collapsed around Dwllis and Etwe as they struggled on. Because foundations were succumbing to vitrescence and the ochre
plague, the supporting structures of many buildings were weak, resulting in earth tremors. Even as Dwllis and Etwe stepped across Culverkeys Street and into the maze of ochre-splattered alleys to the east of the Blistered Quarter, they felt the ground around them shake. And they heard answering tinkles of noise as glass buildings cracked, shattered, and fell. Around them, fragments tumbled from high turrets, a sequence of razor cloudbursts. They hurried on, dodging the keratin corpses of ochre plague victims, ever alert for the marauding aeromorphs.
They did not expect what followed. From a dark side alley two masked and cloaked figures emerged. Dwllis at first took them to be druids, but he soon saw they were women. Then one brandished the club she was carrying.
Dwllis stepped back, hands raised, fear making him tremble. But the pair ignored him and faced Etwe, the second woman also raising her club, and when she did this Dwllis thought he recognised her aggressive posture. Surely it could not be…?
‘Ilquisrey?’ he said.
The first woman cursed, but Dwllis, still confused by the attack, did not immediately recognise her voice. Then the pair struck out at Etwe.
‘Halt!’ Dwllis shouted. ‘What do you want? Is that you, Ilquisrey?’
They ignored him and continued to batter Etwe, who had knelt down, trying to protect her head. Dwllis sprang forward and grabbed the arms of the first woman. He recognised Cuensheley.
Ilquisrey thrust him aside, but he managed to pull off the mask, revealing Cuensheley’s face. Her expression of fury was softened by the tears streaming from her eyes. ‘What is going on?’ Dwllis asked her in a shocked voice.
Cuensheley refused to answer, instead pulling away from him. But Ilquisrey confronted him, and said, ‘I’ll never forgive you for what you did to my mum.’
‘It is none of your affair,’ Dwllis replied. ‘Keep out of this–’
‘Don’t bluster at me! You deserve a beating yourself, you heartless… heartless…’
Fury made her incoherent. Dwllis turned from her to face Cuensheley. ‘Your daughter put you up to this, didn’t she?’
‘Why did you do it?’ Cuensheley replied.
‘Do what?’
‘Why did you leave her!’ Ilquisrey shouted.
Dwllis said to Cuensheley, ‘Nobody leaves what they are not with. You presumed upon me, and that was unforgiveable. Do you believe that violence can solve your problem? Do you believe that your tears will persuade me to return to the Copper Courtyard and forget all the things that have been done to me?’
‘Like care for you when the gnostician bit your hand?’ Ilquisrey said.
Cuensheley gestured for her to be silent, but instead Ilquisrey stomped away, smashing at the plastic and metal around her, until she was gone. Then Cuensheley told Dwllis, ‘I am an innocent in all this. I did not deserve the treatment you meted out.’
Dwllis felt a haughty mood come over him. ‘You flatter yourself,’ he replied. ‘You are no more innocent than your unspeakable daughter. Go away, and never trouble me again. I don’t expect to see either of you–’
‘And you’re no better than a pyuton yourself,’ Cuensheley interrupted, before walking away. Dwllis understood that at last he had rid himself of her for ever.
CHAPTER 22
Subadwan approached the window, trying to attract the attention of the fat, pseudo-sentient bats that hung just outside; speaking in sign language. Soon one was pawing at her window. Subadwan waved at it, not knowing what else to do. She neared the window and tried a high-pitched whistle, then more signing. With sapphire claws the bat scratched a circle in the glass then punched it out. Subadwan jumped back, saving her feet from being sliced off. She clambered out, ensuring her skin did not touch the sides of the hole, pulling her clothes to her body so that they were not ripped by the glittering razor edges of the hole. Outside, the bat followed her to the edge of the balustrade. The other bats ignored them.
Inside the cockpit she saw an extended finger of pyuter controls – pads and knobs mostly – and behind that the glinting golden disk of an aeronautic pyuter.
Apprehensive, but encouraged by the bat’s obsequious manner, Subadwan settled her slim body into the clinging bucket seat, which in response wrapped itself around her. The seat was warm, like a bed wrap.
‘Hello, bat?’ she said. None of the controls were labelled, unlike the bat she had imagined in Gwmru.
‘Hello, mistress,’ came the buzzing electric reply.
‘I am your new pilot,’ Subadwan said, hoping she was not pushing her luck.
‘Where do you want to go, mistress?’
‘The Baths. And don’t speak to any other bats, please.’
‘I will do as you say. Please give me the flight plan.’
Subadwan hesitated. Her scheme felt as though it was faltering, and doubt took her. ‘Flight plan?’
‘Yes. The aerial route, if you will, mistress.’
Subadwan said, ‘Fly directly there.’
With a jerk and a pop of its engines the bat flung itself off the edge of the Archive roof, and frigid air swirled around her body. Automatically, she tensed herself as the Nocturnal Quarter appeared below her, that dark mass twinkling at the edges with lights, criss-crossed with luminous veins, impenetrably black at its centre. Noticing the faintest remnants of violet cloud to the west, she guessed it was early evening.
Vistas of glass glittered below her like a frozen sea. Towers rose up, splintered like transparent icebergs.
Swiftly, descending in minute increments, they flew north, arriving above the Baths after only a few minutes in the air. Subadwan directed the bat to land in a deserted courtyard behind the main building, which it did, faultlessly. ‘Wait here,’ Subadwan said, clambering out of the enveloping seat.
‘I will, mistress,’ said the bat.
Subadwan added, ‘Don’t obey anybody else’s command. Just do as I say.’
‘As you say.’
Subadwan peered into the alley that connected the quadrangle and the rear courtyard of the Baths. Nobody about. She passed along the splintered alley, through the courtyard, which was also empty, then crept along the passage leading around the Baths to Peppermint Street and the front door. Along the street a few Crayans trudged, nervously looking over their shoulders, stepping around splotches of ochre that seemed to be infecting the street plastic itself. Seeing this, Subadwan, with racing heart, examined her own boots, to find splatters of ochre gel. She pulled the boots off. The stuff had not eaten through. Weak with relief she thanked Gaya then tip-toed to the front door, noticing with a shiver of horror that the marble base blocks were turning to glass.
She could hear voices reverberating around the Baths as she hurried inside. From a rail she grabbed a green gown, the hood of which she pulled over her head. It was an imperfect disguise, but better than nothing. It worked, however, since nobody stopped or even looked at her, and soon she was at the entrance to Liguilifrey’s room. She tapped at the door.
‘Who is it?’ Subadwan wondered if Liguilifrey was alone. ‘Who is it?’ Liguilifrey repeated, louder. Subadwan pressed her ear to the door but heard no voices.
‘It’s me,’ she said.
The door opened. Subadwan hugged Liguilifrey, and in seconds she was inside. ‘It’s only me,’ she said, over and over again, as they clasped one another.
Liguilifrey was overjoyed to have Subadwan back. ‘Some sort of mental trick took me away,’ Subadwan explained, ‘some trick of Umia’s.’
‘He’s dead,’ Liguilifrey said, proceeding to update Subadwan on recent events. In reply Subadwan told Liguilifrey everything she knew about Gwmru, and about what would, if she did not stop it, happen soon.
Liguilifrey did not believe that something awful was about to happen to Cray and its citizens. ‘You need help,’ she remarked. She hesitated. ‘I’m afraid Aquaitra is the new Lord Archivist of Gaya.’
‘I’d guessed that,’ Subadwan lied, her heart sinking. She had hoped Umia’s words to be part of a ruse. She took a deep breath
. ‘But I need help now. This is urgent.’
‘How will you destroy these aeromorphs?
‘I’ll explode them.’
‘Flying in a bat?’
‘Yes,’ Subadwan said. ‘It’s quite tame. Anyway, it’s all I’ve got, isn’t it?’
‘The street aeromorphs will attack you,’ Liguilifrey warned. ‘Umia sent out bat fighters when they came, and not one of the aeromorphs was destroyed.’
‘I’ll have to be careful,’ Subadwan said, shrugging. She glanced down at her stockinged feet. ‘Got any boots my size?’
Then an idea. The ochre plague. lt attacked substances.
She asked Liguilifrey, ‘This yellow plague, is it still infecting everything?’
‘It’s a terrible thing. I daren’t go out. And if it’s not yellow goo, it’s vitrescence.’
‘That’s the answer,’ Subadwan said. ‘Thank Gaya! One blob of yellow stuff on each aeromorph and they’ll transmute. Problem is getting the stuff up there. A gun holding it would soon transform–’
‘You want a goo gun?’ Liguilifrey said. ‘Mogyardra will make you a goo gun.`
‘Who?’
‘My old guardian, if he’s still alive. He was an armourer who used to be a Triader, before the Triad demoted him to lesser status, on account of his cheating his accounts and stealing living parts for rifles.’
‘Find him, find him,’ Subadwan urged.
Liguilifrey turned to the dusty audio-rig at her side. ‘Find Mogyardra,’ she said. Flute music began, the bass part soon detuning by a quarter tone. Liguilifrey frowned at this and said, ‘Then look under weapons.’ After some seconds a baritone voice sang out a code. ‘Call him,’ Liguilifrey instructed.
Liguilifrey, still blind, asked Subadwan to put water in the rig screen. It lit up, and at the same time the face of an aged man peered out from within the ripples. ‘Mogyardra?’ said Liguilifrey.
‘Is that really you, Liguilifrey?’
‘It is! You’re still going, you old duffer.’
‘You dotty old termagant,’ the old man replied, his creased face stretched into a smile. He plucked at a discoloured beard and moustache. ‘What are you doing calling me at this hour?’
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