by Brian Aldiss
They were real enough—Billy was becoming used now, since he had been with Muntras and Abathy, to the idea of a real reality, abhorrent though it might have been to his Advisor on the Avernus, caught in an unreal Reality. His nervous system had been jarred into life by new experiences, textures, stinks, colours, sounds. For the first time, he lived fully. Those who looked down on him would consider him in hell; but the freedom moving throughout his frame told him he was in paradise.
The lightning was gone, sunk to nothing, leaving a moment of pitch before the mild night world returned to existence.
Billy wondered, Can I convince them about Avernus, about Earth? But they’ll never convince me about their gods. We inhabit two different thought-umwelts.
And then came a questioning of darker tone. What if Earth was a figment of Avernian imagination, the god Avernus otherwise lacked? The devastating effects of Akhanaba and his battles against sin were apparent everywhere. What evidence was there for Earth’s existence—anything more than that fuzzy patch where Sol glimmered in the Worm to the northeast?
He postponed the uncomfortable question for some future time to listen to what Muntras was saying.
“If Earth is so far, Billish, how can the people there be watching us?”
“That’s one of the miracles of science. Communication over very long distances.”
“Could you write down for me how you do it, when we get to Lordryardry?”
“Do you mean to say that people out there—real people like us—” said Abath, “could be watching us even now? Seeing us big-like, not down the gullet of a worm?”
“It’s more than possible, my darling Abath. Your face and your name may already be known to millions of people on Earth—or rather, that is to say will be known when a thousand years have passed, for that’s how long it takes communications to get from Avernus to Earth.”
Unimpressed by figures, she could think of only one thing. Putting her hand to her mouth, she moved her mouth closer to Billy’s ear. “You don’t suppose they will see us having a go on the bed, do you?”
Overhearing the remark, Pallos laughed and pinched her bottom. “You charge extra for anyone watching, don’t you, girl?”
“You mind your own scumbing business,” Billy told him.
Muntras pursed his lips. “What possible pleasure can they get, watching us in all our native stupidity?”
“What distinguishes Helliconia from thousands of other worlds,” said Billy, returning to something like a dry lecturer’s tone, “is the presence here of living organisms.”
As they were digesting his remark, a noise reached them from the mist and the jungle, a prolonged shrilling, distant but clear.
“Was that an animal?” asked the girl.
“I believe it was a long horn blown by phagors,” said Muntras. “Often a danger sign. Are there many free phagors hereabouts, Grengo?”
“There could be. The freed phagor slaves have learned men’s ways and live quite comfortably in their own jungle settlements, I hear tell,” said Pallos. “They never get very bright in the harneys, though—you can charge them a good high price for broken ice.”
“They buy ice off you, phagors?” asked Abath, in surprise. “I thought it was only King JandolAnganol’s Phagorian Guard that got treated to ice!”
“Well, they bring in things to Osoilima to trade—gwing-gwing stone necklaces, skins, and suchlike, so then they’ve the money to pay me for ice. They crunch it straightaway, standing in my store. Disgusting! Like a man drinking liquor.”
Silence descended on them. They stood quiet, peering out at the night, under the limitless vault of stars. To their imaginations, the wilderness seemed almost as limitless, and it was from there that the occasional sound came—once a cry, as if even those rejoicing in newfound freedom suffered. From the stars came only the uninsistent signals of light and, from the great Stone below them, darkness.
“Well, the phagors won’t worry us,” said Muntras, curtly, breaking in on their speculations. “Billish, over where Sol is, over in that direction somewhere lies the Eastern Range, what people call the High Nktryhk. Very few people visit it. It’s almost inaccessible, and only phagors live there, legend has it. When you have been riding on your Avernus, have you ever seen the High Nktryhk?”
“Yes, Krillio, often. And we have simultations of it in our recreation centres. The Nktryhk peaks are generally wreathed in cloud, so that we watch through infrared. Its highest plateau—which covers the top of the range like a roof—is over nine miles high, and protrudes into the stratosphere. It is a most impressive sight—awesome, to be true. Nothing lives on the very highest slopes, not even phagors. I wish I had brought a photograph to show you, but such things are heavily discouraged.”
“Can you explain to me how to make—photogiraffes?”
“Photographs. I’ll try, when we reach Lordryardry.”
“Good, let’s go down, then, and never mind hanging about for Akhanaba to appear. Let’s get some food and sleep, and we will be off promptly in the morning, before noon.”
“Avernus will be up in an hour. It will make a transit of the whole sky in about twenty minutes.”
“Billish, you’ve been ill. You must be in bed in an hour. Food, then bed—alone. I must be your father on Earth—I mean to say, on Helliconia. Then if your parents watch us, they will be happy.”
“We don’t really have parents, only clans,” Billy explained, as they went under the arch and prepared to descend. “Extra-uterine birth is practised.”
“I will much enjoy your drawing me a picture of how you manage that,” the Ice Captain said.
They spiralled back to the ground, Billy clutching Abathy’s hand.
Downriver, the scenery changed. First one bank, then the other, became the scene of intensive cultivation. The jungles were left behind. They had entered the land of the loess. The Lordryardry Lady slipped into Ottassol almost before its passengers realized, unused as they were to cities which had withdrawn their existence underground.
As Div supervised the unloading of goods onto the quay, Ice Captain Muntras took Billy below decks and into a now empty cabin.
“You’re feeling well?”
“Excellent. It can’t last. Where’s Abathy?”
“Listen to me, Billish, I want you to stay quiet here while I transact a little business in Ottassol. I must see an old friend or two. And I have an important letter to deliver. There are clever Johnnies here, not just country bumpkins. I don’t wish anyone to know of your existence, you understand?”
“Why’s that?”
Muntras looked him in the eye. “Because I’m an old bumpkin myself and I believe your tale.”
Billy smiled with pleasure. “Thank you. You have more sense than SartoriIrvrash or the king.”
They shook hands.
The bulk of the Ice Captain seemed almost to fill the little cabin. He leaned forward confidentially. “Remember how those two treated you, and do as I say. You stay in this cabin. No one must know of your existence.”
“While you go ashore and get drunk again. Where’s Abathy?”
A big hand came up in a cautionary gesture. “I’m getting old and I want no fuss. I will not get drunk. I will return as soon as possible. I want to get you safe to Lordryardry, where you will be well looked after, you and that magical timepiece of yours. There, you can tell me about the vessel that brought you here, and other inventions. But first I have some business to transact, and that letter to deliver.”
Billy became more anxious. “Krillio, where is Abathy?”
“Don’t make yourself ill again. Abathy has gone. You know she was travelling only as far as Ottassol.”
“She’s left without saying good-bye? Without a kiss?”
“Div was jealous, so I hustled her away. I’m sorry. She sent you her love. She’s got a living to make, like everyone else.”
“A living to make…” Speech failed him.
Muntras took the opportunity to slip nimbly
out of the cabin and lock the door from the outside. He pocketed the key, smiling as he did so.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said reassuringly as Billy started to hammer on the door. He climbed the companionway stairs, crossed the deck, and strolled down the gangplank. Across the wharf was a tunnel leading into the loess. A notice above it read:
LORDRYARDRY ICE TRADING CO. TRANSIT GOODS ONLY.
This was a modest wharf. The main Lordryardry wharf was half a mile farther downstream, where the seagoing ships tied up, and a grander affair entirely. But here few eyes pried, and security was good. Muntras walked down the tunnel and entered a checking office.
Two clerks, alarmed to see the owner arrive, stood up, hiding playing cards under ledgers. The other occupants of the office were Div and Abath.
“Thank you, Div. Will you take these clerks away and let me have a moment alone with Abathy?”
In his sullen way, Div did as instructed. When the door had closed behind the three men, Muntras locked it and turned to the girl.
“Sit down, my dear, if you like.”
“What do you want? The journey’s over—at long last—and I ought to be on my way.” She looked huffy and at the same time anxious. The sight of the locked door worried her. In a way she had of drawing down her mouth in displeasure, Muntras recognized her mother’s gesture.
“Don’t be cheeky, young lady. You’ve behaved properly till now, and I’m pleased with you. In case you don’t realize it, Captain Krillio Muntras is a valuable ally for a young slip of a thing like you, old though I am. I’m pleased with you, and I intend to reward you for how amiable you were with me and Billish.”
She relaxed slightly.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that you were making a—a bit of a mystery of it. I mean, I would have liked to have said good-bye to Billish. What is wrong in his harneys?”
As she was talking, he was removing some silver pieces from his body belt. He held them out to her, smiling.
Abath came closer and, as she reached out to take the money, he grasped her wrist tightly with his other hand. She gave a cry of pain.
“Now, girl, you can have this money, but first I’m going to get a confidence out of you. You know that Ottassol is a big port?”
He squeezed her wrist till she hissed, “Yes.”
“You know there are therefore many foreigners in this big port?”
Squeeze. Hiss.
“You know among those foreigners are people from other continents?”
Another squeeze. Another hiss.
“Like Hespagorat, for instance?”
Squeeze and hiss.
“And even far Sibornal?”
Squeeze, hiss.
“Including people of the Uskut race?”
Squeeze—pause—hiss.
Although it seemed from the furrowing of Muntras’s brow that this catechism was not over, he let go of the wrist, which had grown red during interrogation. Abath took the silver coins and tucked them into a pocket in the roll of luggage she had by her, making no comment beyond a dark look.
“Sensible girl. Take what you can in life. And I am correct in thinking that you had some dealings with a certain man of Uskut race, in Matrassyl, in the way of the usual commodities. Isn’t that so?”
She looked defiant again and stood alertly as if thinking of attacking him.
“What usual commodities might those be?”
“The ones you and your mother trade in, my dear—money and kooni. Look, it is no secret to me, because I had the word off your mother and have kept it under my palm ever since. It’s been so long that I need you to remind me of the name of that man of Uskut race with whom you exchanged those commodities.”
Abath shook her head. Tears gleamed in her eyes. “Look, “ I thought you were a friend. Forget it! The feller’s left Matrassyl anyhow, and gone back to his own country. He got into trouble… That’s why I came south, if you want to know. My mother should have held her slanje tongue.”
“I see. Your money supply ran out—or ran away… Now, I just want to hear you pronounce his name, and then you’re free.”
She put her hands up to her face and said into them, “Io Pasharatid.”
A moment’s silence.
“You did aim high, my little fillock. I hardly believed it. The ambassador of Sibornal, no less! And not only kooni but guns involved. Did his wife know?”
“What do you think?” She was defiant again. She outshone her mother.
He became brisk. “Very well. Thank you, Abathy. You now are clear that I have a hold on you. You have a hold on me. You know about Billish. Nobody else must know about Billish. You must keep quiet and never mention his name, not even in your sleep. He was just one more customer. Now he has gone, and you’ve been paid.
“If you mention Billish to anyone, I shall slip a little note to the Sibornalese representative here, and you will be in trouble. In this religious land, intercourse between Borlienese ladies and foreign ambassadors is strictly illegal. It always leads to blackmail—or murder. If word gets out about you and Pasharatid, you’ll never be seen again. Do we understand each other?”
“Oh, yes, you hrattock! Yes.”
“Good. That’s sensible. My advice is to keep your mouth and your legs closed. I’m going to take you to a friend of mine whom I have to see. He’s a scholar. He needs a housemaid. He will pay you regularly and well. I’m not a natural bully, Abathy, although I enjoy getting my way. So I am doing you a favour—for your mother’s sake as well as yours. You’d soon go to the bad on your own in Ottassol.”
He paused to see what she said, but she merely watched him with untrusting eyes.
“Remain with my scholarly friend in his comfortable home, and you will have no need to turn into a whore. You can probably find a good husband—you’re pretty and not a fool. It’s a disinterested offer.”
“And your friend’ll keep an eye on me for you, I suppose.”
He looked at her and pushed his lips forward in a pout. “He’s recently married and won’t molest you. Come. We’ll go and see him. Wipe your nose.”
Ice Captain Muntras called a one-wheeled sedan. He and AbathVasidol climbed in and off went the sedan, pulled by two veterans of the Western Wars, who had between them two-and-a-half arms, three legs, and about the same number of eyes.
In this style, they creaked through the underground lanes of Ottassol and eventually entered Ward Court, where daylight shone down brightly from the square of sky overhead. At the bottom of a flight of steps was a solid door with a sign above. They climbed out of the cramped conveyance, the veterans accepted a coin, and Muntras rang the doorbell.
It was hardly to be expected of a man in his profession that Bardol CaraBansity, deuteroscopist, should show surprise, whoever called on him; but he did raise an eyebrow at the girl while shaking the hand of his old acquaintance.
Over wine, which his loving wife served, CaraBansity professed himself delighted to instal AbathVasidol in his household.
“I don’t suppose you will wish to carry hoxney carcasses about, but there are less alarming jobs to be done. Good. Welcome.”
His wife appeared less delighted by the new arrangement, but said nothing.
“Then, sir, I shall be off, with grateful compliments to you both,” said Muntras, rising from his chair.
CaraBansity rose too, and this time there was no mistaking his surprise. Of recent years, the Ice Captain had developed leisurely habits. When delivering his fresh ice—of which the CaraBansity household and its corpses consumed a fair share—the trader generally settled in for a long pleasant talk. This haste must have some meaning, thought CaraBansity.
“In gratitude for the introduction to this young lady, I will at least ride with you back to your ship,” he said. “No, no, I insist.”
And he did insist, to such effect that the discomfited Muntras found himself in no time with his knees pressed against the deuteroscopist’s knees and their noses almost touching, and nowhere to cast his
regard except into the eyes in front of his, as they jolted in a sedan towards the TRANSIT GOODS ONLY warehouse.
“Your friend SartoriIrvrash,” the Ice Captain said.
“Well, I trust?”
“No. The king’s dismissed him and he’s disappeared.”
“Sartori disappeared. Where?”
“If people knew where, it would not count as a disappearance,” said Muntras humourously, dislodging one knee.
“What happened, for beholder’s sake?”
“You’ve heard about the queen of queens, of course.”
“She came through here on her way to Gravabagalinien. According to the newsletter, five thousand hats were mislaid, having been thrown carelessly into the air as she arrived at the royal dock.”
“JandolAnganol and your friend fell out over the Massacre of the Myrdolators.”
“And then he disappeared?”
Muntras nodded his head so gently that their noses scarcely touched.
“Into the palace dungeons, where others have gone?”
“Very likely. Or was clever enough to flee the city.”
“I must discover what has happened to his manuscripts.”
Silence between them.
When the sedan chair reached the warehouse, Muntras said, resting his hand on the other’s sleeve. “You are too kind, but there is no need for you to get out.”
Looking as confused as possible, CaraBansity climbed out nevertheless. “Come, I know your ruse. A good one. My wife can become better acquainted with your pretty AbathVasidol while you and I have a quiet farewell drink aboard your boat, eh? Don’t think I didn’t grasp your scheme.”
“No, but—” While Muntras was anxiously paying off the sedan men, the deuteroscopist was marching in his ponderous way towards the dock where the Lordryardry Lady was tied.
“I expect you have a bottle of the Exaggerator aboard?” inquired CaraBansity cheerfully, as Muntras caught up with him. “And how did you acquire this young lady you have so kindly deposited with me?”
“She’s a friend of an old friend. Ottassol’s a dangerous place for innocent young girls like Abathy.”