The Fall of the Families

by Phillip Mann

  “I have,” said Pawl. “I believe I know how we can penetrate the Proctor, the Xerxes and the Shell-Bogdanovich. The plan is very simple.”

  And indeed it was. Pawl and Odin had mulled it over during the winter months. All that was needed was courage, some luck and time. The defensive mentality of the Great Families would do the rest.

  37

  IN ELLIOTT’S POCKET

  Neddelia was amazed at herself. Here she was in Elliott’s Pocket, in the very centre of a patch of space she had been brought up to believe was occupied only by brigands and rogue colonies, and she was enjoying herself. She lived in a sparsely-furnished room which looked out on to a blue phosphorescent garden. Both room and garden were deep inside Lumb. Her mane of blue hair was shaved down to fur and felt much more comfortable. She no longer wore her tusks and had adapted one of Raleigh’s commodious dresses to fit her own spare figure.

  She had come to accept this change in her life as an act of fate and she felt a thrill at following her line of fate. She accepted the austerity of Lumb and the watchful quiet of that small satellite’s population. The blazing, crazy sky of the Pocket made her feel small.

  Much of her time she spent reading. She played with the child Lynn and rested, as though recovering from an operation. She thought about Pawl Paxwax and found it difficult to feel bitterness. He was a man driven by forces he did not understand, and such creatures always deform the lives of those they pass close to. She and Pettet talked sometimes about Pawl and his “madness”, as Pettet called it, and she learned about Pawl’s master strategy to attack the Great Families. The destruction and its motive left her curiously detached. Here in the Pocket she was an onlooker, preoccupied more with the changes going on inside herself than the great battles which were being organized in space. And then there was Haberjin.

  She had met the small pilot shortly after her arrival in the Pocket. When meeting him for the first time in one of the vast underground hangars, she had felt nothing; he was just another new face among many. And yet something had stayed with her. Later she remembered his dark eyes and his wicked laughter and his swagger. The next time they met he made her laugh, telling her about some of his adventures. And she made him laugh too, talking about her work as a Death Inspector, delighting in the grisly details. She talked about her dark ship, and wished she knew more about it, for she saw the pilot’s professional interest. They got drunk together once and Haberjin was sick and Neddelia cleaned him up with the same detachment she had once reserved for corpses, and then carried him back to his quarters.

  Neddelia was amazed at herself. Here she was in Elliott’s Pocket and spending half her time thinking about a foxy little man with dapper hands and a dirty tongue, who was shorter than her but had an ego as big as a mountain. I’m either daft or bewitched or both, she thought to herself, and felt happy.

  Then came the call from the Paxwax. Pawl wished to see her. Pawl was coming out to the Pocket. She wished with all her heart that he would not come, but the line of her fate drove on, heedless of her wishes or wants.

  She watched Pawl arrive through the viewscreen in her rooms. He came without pomp or ceremony, limping through the doorway leading from the Gate. He was almost bald. She would hardly have recognized him except for the yellow eyes. They, if anything, were brighter. Behind him floated a gravity cradle in which was crouched a black creature with a livid red face. She could not see it clearly, but she recognized the alien she had seen so many months ago when Pawl seized her ship.

  Pettet met Pawl and the two talked together. Neddelia was caught by the contrast. Pettet, huge, twice the size of Pawl, with his masses of black hair, seemed gentle as a fireside rug; but Pawl, angular and nervous, radiated the power that made men step away from him.

  She caught fragments of their conversation and gathered that Pawl was coming down to see her immediately. He waited just long enough to collect two small boxes from a dark-robed figure that accompanied him.

  He’s brought me a present, thought Neddelia. How quaint.

  They met in the blue garden, and at Neddelia’s request, Odin remained outside. His smell was terrible. Neddelia recognized the smell of death. She had smelled it a hundred times.

  “You would use me some more, Master of Paxwax?”

  “I would. I want you to carry these back to your Homeworld of Central.” Pawl pointed to the two boxes.

  “What are they?”

  “Aliens.”

  There was a long silence.

  “You intend to kill the Homeworld of the Proctor.”

  “I do.”

  Again the silence descended.

  “Why are you looking at me so strangely?” asked Neddelia finally. “Have I turned pink or something?”

  “No,” said Pawl. “I was just musing. These are strange times. Strange alliances are formed. Strange bedfellows must make out as best they can. Will you convey my alien friends to your Homeworld?”

  “Let me see them.”

  Pawl opened the larger of the boxes. Inside something fluttered, and a strange smell reached them. Pawl drew back the lid slowly and Neddelia peered inside.

  “Why they’re beautiful. Like crocuses. All different colours. And they can move too.” She reached out her hand.

  “Don’t touch them.”

  “Can they sting?”

  “These can sting. When they get larger they have a massive potential. I’m told their smell can kill. These are just small.”

  “Cuttings?”

  “In a way. Fragments of a much larger beast. I have seen it in full flight and flower. It can spread many miles across. Very beautiful in the setting sun.”

  “What is in the other box?”

  “Open it.”

  Neddelia fumbled with the catches and released the moisture seal. Inside was something glossy and pale and Neddelia looked at it with distaste. “It looks like….” She hesitated, looking for the right words. Somewhere she had seen something like this. “It looks like a human brain. What is this, Pawl?”

  “Not a brain. This is called a Diphilus. Don’t ask me who gave it that name. Now it is sleeping. When you get to your apartment on Central, just open the box close to your vivante and watch.”

  “Will it harm me?”

  “No, neither the Diphilus or the Hooded Parasol will harm you. But do not stay on Central for too long after you have liberated them. Things move quickly.”

  “You seem to have assumed that I will help you.”

  “Will you?”

  “I could say yes and then just escape and throw these into a trash sack.”

  “Yes, you could. But I don’t think you will. You were the one who started me on this course. You won’t turn back now. Besides, you are no longer a Proctor in your mind. You know you aren’t.”

  Neddelia looked away from those yellow eyes. “No threats?” she asked.

  “Not unless threats would make it easier for you.”

  “Shut up,” said Neddelia. “Threats are nothing. Just promise me one thing. If I carry your alien friends to Central, will you then leave me alone? Never come pestering me again? Never see me again? Release me?”

  “Do this and you are free to do what you want. You have my word.”

  “What shall I tell them on Central? I have already heard my death announced. They believe my ship gated into the void.”

  “We will invent a story. We can say that you gated through to the Pocket and that your ship was torn apart by Mabel; that you were rescued by the natives of the Pocket. The Paxwax will send you safely home. Haberjin can pilot for you; he likes adventures. You can invent the rest. Only carry these treasures safe.” Pawl pointed to the two boxes. The small Hooded Parasol, their colours rippling like oil on water, were rising slowly as their petals filled with gas. “Time to put these away,” he said. He blew on them, and managed to shepherd them back to their travelling box. “I would like to see the expression on Lar Proctor’s face when he sees the Hooded Parasol unfold in all its glory.” He c
losed the two boxes and secured their catches. “Once you are back on Central, just leave the boxes open. Perhaps take the Parasol down to the great conservatory. I know it likes the warmth and plenty of radiation. The Diphilus can take care of itself. When you have done that your job is done. Go where you will.” Pawl stood up and moved out of the blue garden.

  Neddelia followed. “You will not forget your promise? If ever I should meet you again after today, I want us to be total strangers.”

  “I have agreed.”

  “Very well. I will carry these into the heart of the Proctor.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pawl lowered his head to kiss Neddelia, but she turned her face so that he kissed her cheek. “Leave me,” she said.

  38

  ON BENNET HOMEWORLD

  All the anti-gravity units glowed blue as their power came on and they lifted the heavy crates from the shore. The crates swung out over the sluggish red sea to avoid the tangled bushes and then climbed slowly up the cliff-face and swung inland to the shuttle port. On the side of each crate was emblazoned the insignia of the Shell-Bogdanovich. The crates contained the strangely-shaped rocks and exotic plants selected by Clover Shell to make a garden for Laurel. Pawl was returning them.

  That had been difficult. He had sat in front of his vivante and spoken with Clover and Helium, explaining that he wanted to remove every trace of Laurel and wished to return the crates.

  “Abandon them, Pawl,” said Clover. “Jettison them into space. We don’t want them now.”

  “I think Laurel would have liked me to return them,” countered Pawl.

  “Well, as you wish. But we won’t use them. Most of the plants won’t survive on this moist world. Too much mould. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go ahead and make the garden? I spent a long time preparing it. It could be a memorial to Laurel. Give it to the children of your world. All the plants were harmless and the rocks were exciting. I know. I chose them all separately.”

  “Well,” said Pawl. “I’ll think about it. But if I do decide to send them back you’ll understand.”

  “Yes,” said Helium. He was obviously displeased.

  There the matter ended.

  *

  And now the crates containing the Laurel Garden were on their way back to Sable. The crates were stacked at the Shuttle Port. In the dark humus which fed the roots of the exotic trees were the larvae of the Link Worm. All they needed was warmth and moisture. Pawl watched them go.

  39

  ON BENNET

  One evening, some days after the crates had been returned to the Shell-Bogdanovich Conspiracy, Pawl and Odin sat together in Pawl’s Tower. It was early summer and the beams of sunshine from low on the horizon probed upwards into the room, making it lighter and airier.

  They had been sitting for hours, during which time Pawl had scarcely moved. Odin was telling the story of Lapis; how he had been kidnapped, held by the Xerxes in the dog hutch, and finally how he had been killed by a gentle Spideret.

  When the story was ended, Pawl stood and crossed to the vivante where he had a rack of five vivante cubes. He picked them up.

  “Do you know what these are?” The question was clearly rhetorical. Odin made no reply, though the small creature was anxious to discover Pawl’s reaction to his news. Odin was losing the ability to read Pawl’s thinking. “These are cubes our mother made when I was a child. Peron discovered them a few months ago. Father must have missed them when he cleared out all her things. Either that or she hid them. Anyway. We’re all there, even little Ramadal. Frightening, really, when you think that these are all that is left. Anyway. Do you know what I felt as I looked at us all – Pental awkward in the sunlight near the stables, Lapis on the day he got his new flyer, me trying to smile and wanting to hide? I felt that we all were strangers. People I had once known, once felt close to, but hardly recognized. I would not have said that a year ago. Anyway. I really only have one question. Why do you tell me all this now?”

  “To harden your resolve.”

  “Did you think I was slipping?”

  “You are a man.”

  Pawl thought about this for a few moments and then he said, “Before I am a man, I am me.” Odin began to reply but Pawl stopped him. “No, no metaphysics, I promise you. But I want you to know that finally I decide to what extent I am used. I decide. Is that clear? Now I want you to watch these vivantes. Shame about the quality. Mother wasn’t very good with technical things. But watch them and see what you feel. You, after all, were one that was summoned. You were one picked by the Inner Circle. You are the servant. Think about what you were, long ago.”

  Pawl left him.

  He wandered out into the purple night, where the first bright stars were beginning to shine. He wanted to be alone. And though he heard the hoarse voice of Odin calling him, he ordered that creature to be still and look at the vivantes. He walked on, breathing deeply through his nose, drawing the night air deep into his lungs. Well, I have loved and lost my lady and the stars still turn. He entered a flower garden and the nocturnal perfume almost took his breath away. I must act without passion. I am the razor that cuts out the tumour. I am the gardener clearing the cabbage patch of white butterfly. But I must remember that the butterflies are also beautiful. What strange animals we are, how balanced on a pin. Drops on every side: too much love and we begin to rot, too little love and we turn to stones. Is there no relief?

  He found a bench and sat down, aware but careless of the dew which gilded the seat. I thank the stars that I am human. I thank the stars for love that cleanses. I thank the stars that I have come so far.

  For the first time for many a long month Pawl wanted his notebook. Thoughts. Free thoughts were starting to bubble up, like a well filling from below when the winter snows thaw. But not too soon, thought Pawl. Let it not be too soon. The rusty gate is soonest broken. Tomorrow I will visit the Xerxes. And after that I will make my plans to leave. I am tired of all this.

  He sat musing for another half-hour, but then a curling breeze from the Mendel Hills made him shiver and he went inside.

  40

  ON MORROW

  I must be getting old, thought Clarissa. I no longer turn on a coin, the way I once did. I get flustered so easily. And who would have thought the Paxwax boy could be so charming? He is actually interested. It is not just show, else why should he have come?

  They were walking down a long corridor of glass cases. The long dead of the Xerxes looked out at them, each in a favoured pose, each in her finery. Clarissa led and was followed by Pawl. Jettatura, dazzling in silver, walked behind and a gaggle of the small eunuchs followed.

  They came to the final case, inside which sat a splendid woman, fierce and proud but with a flush of humour and holding a child. “And this last is Rose.” Pawl was interested to see that there was plenty of room for more cases to be added, and that, indeed, one case was under construction. Clarissa followed his glance. “Ay, you can see we are building. We never rush and never build more than one in advance … it could seem to tempt providence.”

  “It must have been a great tragedy to lose both your sister and the baby she was carrying,” said Pawl. He chose his words carefully. He hoped there was a sting in them. He knew that he might be talking with the woman who plotted Laurel’s death.

  Clarissa looked at Pawl almost shyly. “We are grateful for your concern over our poor sister, and indeed her loss was tragic and we installed her here without much ceremony … it being the most we could do at the time….” She took a deep breath, and Pawl was amazed to see the quills on her neck rise like a peacock’s tail. “At the time … only you too have had a severe loss, which you still wear about you, unless I am greatly mistaken.” She had tried to speak tactfully, and Pawl was aware of this.

  “Let us not talk of such things,” said Pawl. “Come on, this is a friendly visit. A clearing of cupboards. Show me where the dog-hutch is.”

  “The what?” Both Clarissa and Jettatura sounded startled.r />
  “The dog-hutch where you kept Lapis.”

  The silence was painful. Even Jettatura seemed to have grown paler.

  “So you know about that, too. We were not planning to kill him, you know. Just use him to make your father see sense.”

  “I am not interested in motives or reasons,” said Pawl. “I just want to see where he died.”

  “Did you know it was one of those big spider things that consumed him?” Clarissa shuddered involuntarily as the memory of Latani Rama, all bathed in blood, thrust itself into her mind. “This way. We keep the horrid place closed now.”

  In the harsh glare of the overhead lights Pawl looked over the side of the dog-hutch and down its steep, water-smoothed sides, to the small chamber where the trestle bed still stood.

  “Do you normally keep prisoners here?”

  “No.”

  “Then why Lapis?”

  “We hoped it would break his spirit.”

  “And did it?”

  “No.”

  Pawl looked for a few more minutes and then stepped back from the edge. “Well, I am glad it was not me. I would have been crying for mercy within minutes. My curiosity is satisfied. Thank you.”

  Both sisters sighed audibly. Neither spoke. Pawl walked to the nearest transit door. The small party entered the transit system and were carried up through the winding branches of the ancient stone tree. No one spoke.

  They arrived among the top branches, close to the common rooms and living rooms. “Soon we will have a banquet,” said Clarissa, attempting to restore some jollity to the meeting. “You gave us little time but preparations are well advanced. And perhaps tomorrow we can show you our sandy world. It has many surprises and its own beauty.”

  “That would please me,” said Pawl.

  In the luxurious rooms appointed to him Pawl took charge of his luggage. He had brought his old trunk.