The Rat and the Serpent

by Stephen Palmer

  But as I uttered this command House Sable collapsed, throwing dust and soot into the air. The rats fled the collapsing masonry, but many were crushed. Yet in the street about my feet thousands of them remained, their strength multiplying the incoherent rage I felt, amplifying it, manifesting it.

  Then I saw Zveratu at the far end of the street.

  I approached him. The rats followed me, like a torrent becalmed, yet deadly.

  “You have done enough,” Zveratu said. “You have done what I hoped you would. This is the beginning of your legend. You can relax now. You are a saviour. You are done.”

  I felt calm come over me, yet I did not feel done. I replied, “I know what you are. You are a nogoth. You are way, way below me, and I do not have to listen to you.”

  “Goth, you may feel separate from me, but you are not. I guided you here so listen to me now. Do not destroy what must remain—”

  “This place is the blackest of all!” I cried. My voice was hoarse, almost a scream; and I could not believe what Zveratu was saying. “Don’t you understand that it all has to go? It must, otherwise the old ways will remain—a few people ruling a street of counsellords, who rule citidenizens, all of them pretending the nogoths don’t exist, when they do. And you are one of those nogoths.”

  “This is not what you were meant to do—”

  “But you yourself said I had no destiny. You said I had choices. This is my choice. We tear it down and we begin again.”

  “This is not the place for a tabula rasa,” Zveratu warned. “You are bringing chaos, not salvation. We cannot survive if there is no culture, no society, no order. Stop, before it is too late.”

  I raised my hands. “I will not stop,” I declared. “I hate order, I hate stupid rules—serpentine rules, have you forgotten already? And if you don’t get out of the way you will die, because now I am going to tear up this entire street and demolish every building in it.”

  “No, Ügliy, don’t do it! I beg of you.”

  I laughed. “Then beg like a nogoth!”

  Shocked by my scorn Zveratu took a step backwards, before he replied, “It took a shaman to bring down the obfuscating one. A shaman who was a hero. No other could have done it.” He gestured at the ruins of House Sable. “But any fool could do that. Are you a visionary hero or a destructive fool?”

  I turned and made fists of my hands. “Bring ruination to this place!” I commanded the rats.

  And they did.

  Zveratu fled Siyah Street, but I did not pursue him. I turned to watch my horde.

  They emerged from every crevice and hole in the street, thousands upon thousands—though thousands already had perished—flowing around me as if to absorb my fury, then scattering to swarm over and demolish the buildings. But now there were other people in the street, those counsellords living in houses who had been unable to find escape through their gardens and alleys. They were swiftly brought down. I had no thought of mercy, let alone compassion; all I could sense was the falling of masonry, the collapse of mortar, the ruination of sooty paving slabs.

  From the western end of Siyah Street I walked amidst my horde as they tore apart every counsellord home. A great pall of soot and dust began to rise from the street behind me, black-streaked clouds illuminated from the west by a setting moon. Plumes of soot, finer than masonry dust, rose high, swirled, spiralled, then sank down in linear falls, like distant rain from a hammerhead cloud. It was slow work, but the horde did not falter.

  At length I found myself at the eastern end of the street. I turned to look back. The sight awaiting me was one of annihilation. Siyah Street had been a dark and narrow thoroughfare, set on occasion with offset yards and squares and with a few bridges. Now it was laid waste. The plumes of dust and soot had merged to create one vast pall lying across the street, so that its further end was invisible, and all the ruined houses were swathed in what appeared to be swirling fog. Twice as wide as before, with nothing left that stood above head height...

  Zveratu was at my side again. “Have you finished?” he asked.

  I felt energy draining from me. I turned to Zveratu to reply, “You are taxing my patience. No, I have not finished.”

  “What else will you tear down?”

  “This place... this city is still coated with soot, and it still has bad memories of what used to be. It is my job to make those memories go away.” I grinned. “I am the forgetter—he who erased. That will be my title.”

  “You will be remembered as a murderer,” Zveratu pointed out.

  “A hero.”

  Zveratu grimaced. “A murdering hero, then.”

  “Better than one who didn’t complete the task. Nobody will be adding the title orthodox to my name. I am erasing all that is bad.”

  “But wasn’t everything bad in the Mavrosopolis? So you are going to destroy everything?”

  I said, “Nogoths are good, I will not destroy them.”

  “Nogoths like Atavalens?”

  “Leave me alone!”

  I walked into Hamidiye Street, with the horde, now much smaller, following me. Zveratu stood motionless, then followed when the way became clear. I strode down to the Forum of Constantine, where I assembled my horde then commanded them, “Go inside and rip up every scroll and every book.”

  The horde swarmed up the steps and entered the building. After a few moments there were screams, and people began emerging from side doors and out of windows.

  It took an hour before rats began appearing at my feet again. I deemed the work done.

  I strode on towards the Hippodrome. But I was tiring. My anger was fading.

  One building remained. Soon I was standing before the store of sorcerous items at the end of Ukler Sok Street. I called out, “Demolish!”

  The rats set to work. From the roof down to the foundations they tore the building apart, and a great collection of objects were revealed, half visible behind the clouds of soot; dead themselves, with none of the glossy sheen that had characterised them before. And when I saw that, I felt changed. I realised that I had erased almost everything. I felt dizzy, exhausted, my nostrils filled with the stench of rat, that now was unpleasant, not invigorating.

  My time was passing. I felt history passing through my hands like grains of white sand.

  Again Zveratu stood beside me, and this time I looked across at the old man with something approaching sympathy. My own sight was altering—I thought I could see nogoth forms lying in doorways and in the gutters.

  I turned to the rat horde. “One last task I ask of you,” I told them, my voice cracking with emotion. “Before you return at last to subterranea... dark and cool subterranea...” I coughed. I leaned against a wall, then coughed again and sneezed. I used my hands to steady myself. “Go into the city,” I told the rats, “go into every street and alley and scrape the soot off the walls, off the houses, off everything. Scrape it off with your claws and let it fall. And when you’ve finished...” I paused. I thought I might faint. “When you’ve finished with the soot, you are done with me.”

  The horde departed, but this time they did not move as one, rather they separated into innumerable groups that ran off in all directions.

  I turned to Zveratu. “What time is it?”

  “Midnight.”

  “Let us hope for rain, for the unblocking of sewers and storm drains. Let us hope for the washing away of the soot.”

  “Indeed.”

  Then I said, “Go out into the streets and tell everybody to assemble at the Hippodrome an hour before dawn. Have criers go to every district. Everybody must assemble there, whoever they once were.”

  “You would order me?”

  “I ask you.”

  Zveratu made no response, but then he sighed and said, “You are no longer the Goth.” He turned to survey the ruined store house, then looked up at the pall covering the northern city. Bitterly he added, “If anything, we are all levelled to the rank of nogoth.”

  I shook my head. “No. We are all citide
nizens. Now lead me to the Hippodrome, then get as many people as you can to join me there. I want to speak to them.”

  “Do you remember how we stood in Blackguards’ Passage when we first met?” Zveratu countered. “’You’re just playing with me,’ you said. ‘You’re driving the knife deeper in. Well I’ve had enough!’”

  “Is that what I said?”

  “You spoke and acted out of desperation when I first met you. Then heroism and a guide took you to the obfuscating one. But now you want to face a crowd of people as desperate as you once were. Is that wise?”

  I shook my head. “What I want to tell them is something new.”

  11.12.649

  Choice 1: female, moderately young, formerly a citidenizen, now living alone and in some luxury in the Gulhane Gardens. Possibly too dangerous, since her totemic animal is the widowspider. My least favourite of the three.

  Choice 2: male, young, single child of an unusually knowledgable mother. Lives in a shelter on the Blackguards’ Passage, Zolthanahmet. Totemic animal, the rat. My favourite of the three.

  Choice 3: male, young, gifted individual with style, but perhaps has not been through enough unpleasantness in life. Also from Zolthanahmet. Totemic animal is the panther. This one is second favourite, I think.

  Chapter 19

  Perhaps half the population of Stamboul stood in the Hippodrome as I limped in through a rear entrance and made for the main arena. With Zveratu at my side I clambered up to the central podium. There were thirty people waiting for me atop the dais, citidenizens mostly, but also a few nogoths who had braved the wrath of their betters. I stared at them. There was no wrath here. The citidenizens were not the betters of the nogoths. I realised that the demise of the obfuscating one had stripped a glamour from the city, leaving it naked, stunned, and yet buoyant; the people who had come here knew that. They felt it in the air.

  I looked out at the people watching me. Half at least were nogoths. Barriers must be falling already, for there was no sense of outrage from the citidenizens, no removal of lessers, not even irritation at their presence.

  I studied again the people standing beside me, and I realised with a jolt that they wanted to be near me. Some of them I recognised as those who had supported me during my counsellord campaign; I hugged them all with tears in my eyes. Others were soot-stained nogoths. Zveratu was present, also Katurguter; and at the back of the podium I saw Silvögyur. To him I said, “Everything has changed. Forever. I am sorry it dealt such a blow to you.”

  Silvögyur made no reply. His face was as hard as that of a marble bust.

  I turned then to the thousands of people before me, who quietened in expectation. Above me the stars were fading as in the east a glow appeared.

  I pulled off my boots, my glove and jacket, then unbuttoned my shirt and breeches and shrugged them off, so that I stood naked. There were gasps of horror. I glanced down at my hairy rat leg with its pale claws and strange knee, then raised my dark arm and flexed the claws at its end. Silence fell across the Hippodrome.

  “I am a man,” I said.

  Every pair of eyes was staring at me: a figure split in two, white skin to the left, dark and hairy to the right.

  Again I raised and flexed my hand, then hopped once on my rat leg, a bound that took me half way across the podium.

  “I am a man,” I repeated.

  There was no response. A small part of me had expected a reply, one or two at least, perhaps even heckling, but the crowd were fascinated despite their shock, and they said not a word.

  I began my speech. “I am a man, not a rebel or a madman, nor a revolutionary with a creed. I am a man, and it is because I am a man that I followed the path that opened out before me. That path has led to this moment.” I paused. Somebody handed me a hip flask, in which I smelled raki. I took a mouthful, then continued. “Despite what you see, despite this outside shell which to you must look horrible, I am a man. All of us here are people, and I think we know that now. There are people here who used to be nogoths, there are citidenizens, and there is even a man who used to be a counsellord. But now we are all people. I hope that the artificial separation of people into groups will now end. It only existed because of the serpentine ways we had grown used to. I hope that the way we used to organise ourselves, by external qualities, not those inside, will now be forgotten. I hope that the obsession we had with recording everything—at the expense of experience—will be stopped. And I hope that the way we imagined so many of our people to be invisible will never happen again. I used to be invisible. In a sense, I continued that feat as I ascended, keeping hidden until the very end, when I declared myself as a man so I could go forth into darkness. So please let us have a city where everyone is visible.” I paused, looked down at my feet. “And now, goodbye.”

  I turned and walked to the rear of the dais. There was no applause, nor even any shouts of encouragement or opposition. Instead the crowd dispersed, murmuring to themselves, some sitting on the ground to talk, others leaving.

  I slipped out of the Hippodrome with Zveratu at my side. “I think it is time I returned to Blackguards’ Passage,” I said.

  “To the doorway where you used to sleep?”

  “I will find a house eventually.”

  Zveratu shrugged. “I foresee fights over property.”

  I shot him a wounded glance, knowing that this was a reference to my demolition. I sighed and said, “I hope nobody begrudges me a home.”

  “I hope so too.”

  I bade Zveratu farewell, then walked into Blackguards’ Passage. I was exhausted. There were a few people abroad, and for a few moments I watched them from the privacy of the shadows, until I felt my body fading and my eyelids closing. I was at my old doorway. I wrapped my jacket close around my body, grabbed a few rags from the street, set up a parasol and lay down to sleep.

  About the author

  Stephen Palmer first came to the attention of the SF world with his debut novel Memory Seed (Orbit, 1996) and its sequel Glass (Orbit, 1997). Flowercrash (Wildside Press, 2002) followed, completing a loose trilogy with an environmental theme. The afro-punk Muezzinland (Wildside Press, 2003) followed, then Hallucinating (Wildside Press, 2005), which merged Stephen's interest in music with his SF. In 2010 another environmentally based epic Urbis Morpheos was published by PS Publishing.

  Stephen's short fiction has been published by Spectrum SF, NewCon Press and Wildside Press, Solaris, Unspoken Water, Eibonvale Press and Rocket Science.

  He lives and works in Shropshire, UK.

  advertising feature: more from infinity plus

  Muezzinland

  by Stephen Palmer

  Two sisters on the run, both pursued by their mother. But when this mother is the Empress of Ghana and one of the most powerful people in the world, it is no ordinary chase.

  And life has changed in the mid twenty second century. The aether is a telepathic cyberspace. Biochips augment human brains. AIs, concepts, even symbols can be dangerous.

  Mnada is heir to the Ghanaian throne, yet something has been done to her brain that has made her insane, something to send her fleeing north across jungle and desert towards the mysterious place called Muezzinland.

  Nshalla is relegated to the status of puppet, ignored, yet also part of her mother’s plan; she follows her sister’s flight, determined to discover the truth behind Muezzinland.

  And the Empress herself, possessing the most modern technology with which to recapture her daughters – androids, morphic tools, orbital stations, all powered by a ruthless will. But not even she can predict what might happen should the family be reunited, least of all if it is inside Muezzinland…

  Set in a vivid and fascinating future, Muezzinland is a novel by the author of Memory Seed and Glass.

  Available from:

  Amazon US

  Amazon Uk

  advertising feature: more from infinity plus

  Hallucinating

  by Stephen Palmer

  Europe, 2049.r />
  Nulight, a Tibetan refugee and notorious underground record company owner, emerges from an obscure Berlin night club realising that an alien invasion is imminent. Or is he hallucinating? Contacting his ex-lover Kappa and the invisible man Master Sengel, he begins an investigation.

  Then he is abducted. Released.

  And soon the aliens invade.

  To save humanity, Nulight and his motley friends must decide if the aliens are real or not – and if they are, what to do about them. For Britain has become a land of pagan communities and wilderness, where the strength and resolve for the forthcoming struggle may not exist.

  Can music save Britain?

  Can it save the world?

  Hallucinating is a unique vision of future invasion and future music, featuring cameo appearances from Ed Wynne of Ozric Tentacles, Steven Wilson of Porcupine Tree, Toby Marks of Banco De Gaia and many more. Michael Dog has written a foreword. This new edition contains an afterword written by the author and a never before published “syntactic remix” of the original story, also by the author.

  Available from:

  Amazon US

  Amazon Uk

  advertising feature: more from infinity plus

  science fiction, fantasy, horror and crime ebooks for Kindle and other formats

  by top authors, including:

  Keith Brooke, Eric Brown, John Grant, Anna Tambour, Kaitlin Queen, Molly Brown, Garry Kilworth, Iain Rowan, Neil Williamson, Robert Freeman Wexler, Paul di Filippo and others.

  "If Roald Dahl had written science fiction, he would have written this kind"

  "twists and turns galore ... the taut tale-telling rattles along at good speed; and the solution to the mystery is both startling and satisfying. Recommended."

  "very inventive and clever... five stars for entertainment value."