‘Well, bugger me,’ Santiago said.
Manolin nodded in reply before asking, ‘What the hell are they?’
A voice broke in from behind. ‘We were hoping you would be able to answer that, Santiago DeBrelt, but only when we invited you to.’
Santiago and Manolin turned. Several men pointed muskets and pistols at them. In the middle was a man in a black suit, hair slicked to one side, a wide, brown face, and eyes that were slanted, creased at the edges. He appeared utterly calm.
Manolin glanced between that man and Santiago, who held each other’s gaze as if they knew each other, had done so for years, and were now ascertaining one another’s thoughts. But what really bothered him were the weapons. To see these men who were so obviously used to intimidating people actually addressing him was more surreal than unnerving, but with the barrel of a gun pointed at you, you tended to take it seriously. His heart thumped in his chest.
‘Good evening, Mayor Gio,’ Santiago said, with an arrogant casualness that almost confirmed their history for Manolin. ‘Step away from those Qe Falta creatures,’ the Mayor said. ‘We can very easily kill you.’
‘Please, it’s too late for such hard-talk, Mr Gio. I’m sure you’ve killed lots of people, but I’m tired and I haven’t even had a cup of coffee tonight. Besides, you’re incorrect on both counts.’ Santiago turned to the glass panel, peered into the other room. ‘They’re not Qe Falta.’
‘Santiago, I see muskets. This isn’t the time for you to turn into a professor,’ Manolin whispered. Santiago smiled, winked as if to say, It’s okay, it’s all a game. Just tough guy talk.
‘Mr DeBrelt,’ Mayor Gio said, ‘you seem confident. Let me remind you that because of your political activities you’re constantly being watched. Your little band of Collectivists may be underground now, but we still watch you.’ Then, ‘So, may I ask why I’m wrong on both counts?’
Manolin frowned. He knew Santiago was against the capitalist mechanisms of Escha-always said so in late night rants over a beer-but not that he was an active Collectivist. That political movement was forced underground years ago. The word was rarely heard these days. You more or less did what you were told in this city-for a quiet life-and being a Collectivist was far from that. Pure communism didn’t sit well with a right wing government, such as the one Gio led.
‘You may,’ Santiago said. ‘You see, you’ll not fill me with shot, as I’m the only one who has the faintest idea what these creatures actually are. And on the second count of your wrongness, sir, they are not Qe Falta.’
Mayor Gio turned to his entourage of several broad men. A couple of them shook their heads at him, shrugged.
‘Not Qe Falta, you say?’ the Mayor asked.
‘No. Everything on these creatures is natural and has evolved for a reason. Nothing has been grafted on by weird science. You do of course know why they’re called Qe Falta, Mr Gio?’
The Mayor was silent, his eyes perfectly still, regarding Santiago.
‘They’re called Qe Falta since the accurate translation is the false people. They live in the desert, with whatever poor features that have been bolted on by crack-pot genetics. Wings where there shouldn’t be, four arms where there should be two-that sort of thing. Genetic freaks, and labelled so. What you see here is totally real, even though you’ve sliced them open to discover this. Trust you to think them outlaws. Not that there is anything wrong with the Qe Falta anyway. Unlike you they actually look after our lands, our environments.’ His eyes turned to the window that faced the chimneys.
‘Please, shut up. The Qe Falta are evil, everyone knows that.’ Gio’s face reddened. ‘Plain and simple ghouls. So, what are these things then?’
‘Ichthyocentaur, I think,’ Santiago said, excitement clear on his face. ‘Men and women who lie somewhere between a dolphin and a human, in the great tree of life. You can see that they possess a tail suitable for a marine habitat and a skin ideal for diving. The rest of their body is like you and I, Mr Gio, like you and I. And you have butchered them. I wouldn’t imagine anything else from fascist fellows, such as yourself.’ He smiled.
There was a pause while everyone took in this information. Manolin nodded. He remembered an old book or a lecture or something. He rested his elbow on his hand to prop up his chin. Santiago and Mayor Gio still held each other’s gaze.
Santiago broke the silence. ‘One thing puzzles me though. They’re meant to be extinct. They should’ve died out during the Rebellion to Science, during the last age. Then, too, they were suspected of being Qe Falta. Where’d they come from?’
‘We were hoping that you could tell us that,’ the Mayor said. Santiago turned around and nodded. ‘Did they come with anything? Clothes or food? Anything of that nature?’ ‘All they came with is on the table on the side of the room. There were a couple of fruits and little else. The only thing to note was a bottle.’
‘Fruits? A bottle? May I go in?’ Santiago said.
‘You got this far without my permission, why ask now?’
‘Excellent!’ Santiago said, rubbing his hands together. He walked around to the door and into the room. Manolin followed.
Two male ichthyocentaur lay on top of separate operating tables, their arms by their sides. Their chests had been sliced open from the base of their necks to their genitals, which had caused a musky odour. Metal clamps held tissue apart. Skin was pulled away from the incision, revealing a bloodied rib cage. Their organs were intact, and much of their blood had been removed, stored in large canisters that stood behind them. Their facial expressions were calm, their eyes closed.
Santiago studied their anatomy and made expressions of wonder. He moved in close to their open torsos and sniffed the flesh. ‘They came from warmer seas,’ he said, probably to himself. He walked to the table with the belongings, while Manolin stared at the cold dead forms.
Santiago found the bottle, which was dark, unopened, with a plant seal blocking the neck. There were medical instruments around the room, and so he picked up a pair of tweezers, poking the seal down into the bottle. After minutes of fiddling he pulled out a piece of paper. He glanced out of the glass panel to the Mayor, who stood with only two armed men, their muskets lowered to their sides now. Santiago looked again at the paper. It was coarse and grainy, made from basic sources, more like a plant. The kind that they used to make old notebooks out of, years ago. He unfolded it and called Manolin over, placing the bottle back down onto the table.
Manolin said, ‘Come on, put us out of our misery. What’s it say?’
Manolin unlocked the door to his home, walked in quietly, a million pre-prepared excuses for why he was late flashing in his mind. He closed the door, headed into the sitting room. He glanced up at the moonlight through the gap in the curtain. The light shone onto a small table in the centre of the room, where two glasses sparkled. He took a step closer and saw only one had lipstick on. There was an ashtray beside, the embers of two cigarettes were placed at opposite ends. Manolin blinked, turned to walk to his bedroom. His heart began to ache. He heard noises from behind the door and paused.
With some dread, he pushed down on the handle and opened the door.
He saw the back of a tall man. It was bigger, more muscular than his. He was standing behind Manolin’s wife. She was bent over the bed, her legs apart, her arms resting on the mattress. Her hair had fallen over her face and was touching the sheets. They were both naked, wore only the light of one small candle that wavered in the corner. A cold gust filled the room. They both turned around, slowly. These details were captured as images in his mind.
Manolin’s eyes were wide. His mouth fell open as if to say something, but nothing came out. The other man pulled the bed sheets up over himself. Manolin’s wife stepped behind her lover for cover.
Manolin’s heart seemed to stop. He felt his stomach turn, sink. Everything his marriage had been was brought to his eyes in the moment. His throat felt thick, preventing words from escaping, if they could have been much use
to him.
‘Manny, I didn’t think you’d be back. It’s not what it looks like, I swear,’ she said, her voice faltering a little.
Manolin grunted a laugh. It’s not what it looks like, indeed, he thought. He walked over to the wardrobe to his right. It was far enough away from the bed so he did not need to walk past this other man. He pulled down a large canvass bag, proceeded to fill it with clothes. He felt impressed that he had not broken down yet.
She said, ‘Manny, aren’t you going to say anything?’
No reply.
‘I think you’d better leave now,’ she said to her lover, who was stumbling whilst putting on his clothes. He glanced to her one last time before opening the door then walked out of the room, leaving the door open. She slipped into a night gown, walked behind Manolin, who buttoned up his bag, sealed it tight.
She said, ‘Manolin, please, it wasn’t what it looks like.’ Her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’d been drinking -’
‘Fuck off. Spare me any of this shit,’ He shrugged off her hand. ‘You accuse me of cheating all this time. It’s you who’s the jealous one. I guess you were judging me by your own standards then?’
‘No. You didn’t come home. I thought you were with her. You know, Becq DeBrelt, and I knew that you and her must be together.’
‘Maybe I did,’ he said. Then, ‘Well I didn’t. Never have, never will. Remember those vows? Wasn’t that long ago. But you thought you’d get one in before you thought I’d have the chance anyway? Typical, the only way for you to feel accepted is to open your I-’
She slapped him hard across the face. It surprised and hurt him. They looked at one another in despair. Manolin could hear the clock chiming in the next room.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ she said. She said, ‘You’re never here for me, you’re always out working, ignoring how I feel and ignoring my needs.’ ‘And that’s where I’m going again, to work,’ Manolin said. ‘I’m going away and this time I don’t want you here when I get back. Most of what’s in the home is mine. All of this.’ He indicated all four walls. ‘I’m sure you can spread your legs to find other accommodation.’ Inwardly, he cursed. He shouldn’t have said that. It showed too much anger.
Her mouth fell open, obviously didn’t believe him capable of saying such direct thing. ‘Manolin, please, Manny. You can’t do this to me.’ She sat on the bed. Her eyes became filled with tears. He could hear her breathing become quick and heard the desperation in her voice. It was so frail that it made him want to stop, there and then. Hold her. Maybe forget it had happened.
Whatever he did would probably be wrong.
‘Yes, I can. I’m leaving in a couple of days, but I’m not staying here any longer. I’ll sell this place and have the money waiting for me when I return. I’ll see an agent first thing. You, on the other hand, you’ll have nothing.’
She looked at him through eyes that were full of tear. There was nothing she could say. She sat with her head in her hands, pushing her fingers through her hair.
‘Where’re you going? Please don’t go. When will you return? Please, let me try again.’ She looked up, her eyes red with sadness.
‘You never even tried in the first place. I don’t know when I’ll be back.’ He looked at her one last time and saw simply a woman that he had once loved and thought he had satisfied. He walked to the door, walked through, closed it behind. He waited to hear it click.
He could hear her crying from the other side, but it was no use because the door had been closed. No longer able to see her, he did not know if she was looking at the back of the door. Maybe she felt too much pride to plea now, but wanted him so much to come back. He fell to his knees and his chest felt tight.
Still, she did not open the door.
He lowered his head into his hands, he wept so hard, bearing his teeth and he found he was shaking. It was a minute before he could stand up again. His legs felt weak and he stumbled to the bathroom to retrieve a few final possessions before dragging his body outside. He walked down the steps carrying his large, canvas travel case. He set it down, breathed in the cool dawn air. Far off he could hear the sound of motors pulling large vessels out to sea. Gulls cried from a sky that was changing from black to purple. A rumel was brushing at the puddles of water that had accumulated from the previous day’s rain, pushing the brackish pools over the side of the docks. Ahead, a small steamer was being loaded with barrels. Through the buoys and warning lanterns, which wobbled in the tide, there were two people on the top deck of an old yacht. They were holding hands, facing the expanse of waters promised as you sailed from this coast.
And he thought then, of how much she hated the sea.
Eight
The limestone bricks turned red, absorbing the colour of the new day. A man rode by on horseback, wrapped in black, and she could only see his eyes. The horse sauntered at the base of the wall, kicking up dust as it dragged its feet only yards away from where she was standing.
As soon as she felt the sun’s heat on her back Jella fell into the shade of a hut to remain unseen. She was wearing sand coloured clothing, as was Lula, who fingered the barrel of a long musket beneath her cloak. Her long black hair contrasted Jella’s white locks.
The rumel and her human lover were crouched behind the shanty huts that almost touched the large city wall. Jella had calculated that they were directly outside of the gaol section. She could see the barred windows that were spaced ten feet apart. But only she and Lula could see the small bore-holes and white wires that led from them down to the base of the wall. What a waste of ammunition, she thought.
All Menz and Yayle had to do was remember the plan. There was a pre-conceived idea, in the event of such a situation. The solution was simple: to tie material around the bars in the windows of their cells, all of which faced towards New Lucher. Jella looked at the tops of the city wall, forty feet up, and nudged Lula. gaol guards walked along the top, shifting black cloaks over their bodies. They paced back and forth. Lula nodded.
Jella and Lula kissed one last time, holding each other.
‘Be careful,’ Lula said, stroking Jella’s arm.
‘I will, I will.’
Every few minutes, Jella would check back that the two horses she had stolen were still fine in the heat. She stroked their noses. People began to stir in New Lucher. Market stalls were being set up. Dogs began to trot around in the dust. A woman began collecting drapes that she had hung over a washing line.
The morning bell sounded within the city walls. On that chime Jella picked out a box of matches from her pocket. On the second, Lula held her musket up, pointing it at the men on top of the wall. She waited, pulling the catch back on her weapon. On the third Jella took out a match and held it tightly. She nodded to Lula. On the fourth chime Jella lit the match, and on the fifth she stepped forward and lit the fuse at the end of the long wire at the base of the wall. By the sixth chime the fuse was sparkling halfway up the wall.
At the exact moment of a series of explosions set off, Lula fired a shot. There were seventeen snapping sounds followed by four deep explosions that couldn’t be seen against the redness of the morning sun, and the wall coughed out large bricks and clouds of dust. Men fell from the top as Lula picked them off, one by one, before the dust cloud became too much. Men lurched off the top, seeming to hang in the air, before they plummeted. Their arms flayed beneath their cloaks, scraping the wall on the way down. Jella could see that one broke his neck on the bricks that were sticking out. Masonry fell in large knuckles on the huts below. People screamed, shouted. Jella watched a dog catch the full force of a square block. It crushed the animal’s skull, smacking into the ground. Further explosions followed, sending vibrations along the ground. Huts were shattered behind them in the next boulder shower, the metal roofs collapsing easily as the masonry rained down.
Then the explosions came to a halt. All that could be seen was a silent dust cloud. ‘I’m going up,’ Jella said. She ran to the wall, Lula fired up behind her, cover
ing.
Jella clutched a rope tied to a metal claw, looked across at her lover. Lula fired then reloaded. Her eyes squinted to block out the sun and the dust, but she picked the guards out. The men tumbled into the ground. One fell almost on top of her; he spread his body horizontally to slow his fall, but his head caught on the edge of a supporting pole of a hut. His neck snapped as it was impaled momentarily. His body slumped down and dragged his head that was still held by the cloak. Lula looked at the body without expression the resumed firing up through the dust.
Jella regarded the wall before her, tried not to be worried about Lula. She started to climb. Her tail was erect, poised, as she clawed her way up the broken brickwork. She could hear Lula firing and the sound of retaliation from above. She burst upwards, scrambling and grasping at stone, some of which crumbled in her hands. She tossed the claw end of the rope into an open gap in the wall.
A rumel waved at her through the dust cloud as if he were a friend on the other side of the street. He climbed down and she watched him all the way to the ground before she shifted along the wall to another gap from the explosions. She threw the claw end in. Another rumel made his way to the ground. He was stouter, older, and nodded as he passed. She leapt down after and rolled to absorb the impact and ran back to Lula, who was still firing shots. People had by now gathered to watch. Children stared at Lula, some cheering. There were ten bodies on the floor by her side, limbs broken from the fall.
Jella and Lula backed off with the two men, jumped up on the horses and rode through the middle of New Lucher, under canopies and the smoke from cooking fires. Lula through a large device towards the remains of the wall, turned, and listened to the noise of the explosion and screams, which faded as they moved away.
They rode to the limits of the shanty into a scrubland littered with spindly grasses, then in to the desert proper.
The Reef Page 5