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Valis Philip K. Dick
Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang Kate Wilhelm
1 no longer available
Turn the page for an extract from
Inverted World
by Christopher Priest
also available in the Gollancz SF Masterworks range
PROLOGUE
Elizabeth Khan closed the door of the surgery, and locked it. She walked slowly up the village street to where the people were gathering in the square outside the church. There had been a mood of expectancy all day as the huge bonfire took shape, and now the village children ran excitedly in the street, waiting for the moment when the fire would be lit.
Elizabeth went first to the church, but there was no sign of Father dos Santos.
A few minutes after sunset one of the men put a light to the dry tinder at the base of the pile of wood, and bright flame crackled through and up. The children danced and jumped, crying to each other as the timber popped and spat sparks.
Men and women sat or lay on the ground near the fire, passing flagons of the dark, rich local wine. Two men sat apart from the others, each lightly fingering a guitar. The music was soft, played for its own sake, not for dancing.
Elizabeth sat near the musicians, drinking some of the wine whenever a flagon was passed to her.
Later, the music became louder and more rhythmic, and several of the women sang. It was an old song, and the words were in a dialect Elizabeth could not follow. A few of the men climbed to their feet and danced, shuffling with arms linked, very drunk.
Responding to the hands that reached out to pull her up, Elizabeth went forward and danced with some of the women. They were laughing, trying to show her the steps. Their feet threw up clouds of dust that drifted slowly through the air before being caught and swept up in the vortex of heat above the fire. Elizabeth drank more wine, danced with the others.
When she stopped for a rest she realized that dos Santos had appeared. He was standing some distance away, watching the festivities. She waved to him, but he made no response. She wondered if he disapproved, or whether he was simply too reserved to join in. He was a shy, gauche young man, ill at ease with the villagers and as yet unsure of how they regarded him. Like Elizabeth he was a newcomer and an outsider, although Elizabeth believed that she would overcome the villagers’ suspicions faster than he would. One of the village girls, seeing Elizabeth standing to one side, took her hand and dragged her back to the dance.
The fire burned down, the music slowed. The yellow glow thrown by the flames dwindled to a circle about the fire itself, and the people sat on the ground once more, happy and relaxed and tired.
Elizabeth refused the next flagon that was passed to her, and instead stood up. She was rather more drunk than she had realized, and she staggered a little. As some of the people called out to her she walked away, leaving the centre of the village, and went out into the dark countryside beyond. The night air was still.
She walked slowly and breathed deeply, trying to clear her head. There was a way she had walked in the past, across the low hills that surrounded the village, and she went that way now, lurching slightly on the irregularities of the ground. At one time this had probably been rough pasture-land, but now there was no agriculture to speak of in the village. It was wild, beautiful country, yellow and white and brown in the sunlight; now black and cool, the stars brilliant overhead.
After half an hour she felt better, and headed back towards the village. Walking down through a grove of trees just behind the houses, she heard the sound of voices. She stood still, listening … but she heard only the tones, not the words.
Two men were conversing, but they were not alone. Sometimes she heard the voices of others, perhaps agreeing or commenting. None of it was her concern, but nevertheless her curiosity was piqued. The words sounded urgent, and there was a sense of argument to the conversation. She hesitated a few seconds more, then moved on.
The fire had burned itself out: now only embers glowed in the village square.
She walked on down to her surgery. As she opened the door she heard a movement, and saw a man near the house opposite.
‘Luiz?’ she said, recognizing him.
‘Goodnight, Menina Khan.’
He raised his hand to her, and went inside the house. He was carrying what appeared to be a large bag or a satchel.
Elizabeth frowned. Luiz had not been at the festivities in the square; she was sure now that it had been him she had heard in the trees. She waited in the doorway of the surgery a moment longer, then went inside. As she closed the door she heard in the distance, clear in the still night, the sound of horses galloping away.
A Gollancz eBook
Copyright © Christopher Priest 1995, 2004
All rights reserved.
The right of Christopher Priest to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 1995 by
Simon & Schuster
This eBook first published in 2011 by
Gollancz
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane
London, WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 0 575 11496 8
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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