by Jeffrey Ford
“… and the ineluctable presence of the not-there is evident in a materially vanquished nuance of equal parts matter without regard to structure and spiritual gravity in the falling off of the centeredness beyond the point of diminishing …”
“Brisden,” Anotine said.
He continued to spew.
She stepped over to him and smacked him across his meaty face. His head turned with the blow, and perspiration flew off. He went silent, and his lips turned down at the corners. It seemed as if he suddenly came awake, looking up at us with a dazed expression.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Tell us so we can understand,” said Anotine.
“Pass out the wings,” he said.
“The disintegration has increased yet more?” she asked.
“I almost went over the side,” he said, smiling. “I was standing about midway through the wood, and the edge was now there. It moved so rapidly, I was amazed and could not help but gape. Before I knew it, I looked down and saw the ground beneath my feet disappearing. I just managed to dig my heels in and throw myself back onto my rear end at the last possible second. Nunnly would have been beside himself had he seen me scrabbling to my feet and running—I actually ran.”
“Well?” said Anotine.
“It’s going to keep increasing in speed. I’d say we have two days at the most, taking everything into consideration.”
“Hardly enough time for me to perfect my swan dive,” said a voice from behind us.
I turned around to find the engineer standing at the entrance upon the back of the broken-down chair, holding three five-foot-long pointed shafts made of polished steel.
“How about these, Cley?” he asked, and came forward to hand me one.
“Not bad,” I said.
“They’re partially hollow inside, making them light enough to handle, but I ground down the ends to a wicked sharpness.”
“I’ll take one,” said Anotine, and he handed one over.
“Bris?” asked Nunnly.
Brisden waved his hand, begging off. “Maybe later,” he said.
“You should practice jabbing with them,” said Nunnly. “It would be a good idea to get used to the feel of them. They might also be thrown a short distance.”
“Your technological prowess astounds me,” said Brisden. “I think it’s called a spear.”
“There’s no substitute for simple elegance,” said the engineer.
It was an absurd scene, the three of us moving around Anotine’s bedroom, jabbing at the air with the silver javelins. Nunnly stood in front of Brisden and poked his an inch away from his friend’s vital areas. At one point, Anotine’s slipped out of her hand and sailed across the room to skewer the pillow to her bed.
“I wasn’t aware the plan had changed to group suicide,” said Brisden.
“Wait a second,” said Anotine, as she retrieved the spear. “Where is the doctor? He was only going to get the last shell for the signal gun.”
“Did you see him?” I asked Nunnly.
“I walked him as far as his rooms and then went back to my place to get to work.”
We took the spears and the empty signal gun and set out in search of the doctor.
“He’s probably poring over his notes, still looking for the ultimate interpretation of everything,” said Nunnly, but his words did little to ease the obvious tension.
Outside, along the passageways and across the terraces of the village, the pervasive sound of the disintegration of the island could be heard, like an infinite number of bootheels treading upon an endless supply of hard-shelled beetles. I pictured the mile-long fall and could almost taste a burning mouthful of liquid mercury. That fear I had experienced on the fields of Harakun during my approach to the ruins of the city was now back with a vengeance, weakening my legs and leaving my mouth dry as dust. At one point I had to stop and take a drink from one of the fountains.
“To hell with the water,” said Brisden, as they waited for me to compose myself. “I hope no one minds if after we return to Anotine’s, I stay at least moderately drunk for the rest of this fiasco.” He lifted the empty signal gun as if it were a bottle and pantomimed a healthy draught.
“Come on, Cley,” said Anotine, “be real for me.”
I looked back at her, and she appeared focused and determined.
“I’m with you,” I said, and, after a few deep breaths, managed to carry on.
Nunnly led the way, the spear in his right hand, and suddenly materializing Hundred-To-Ones in the left. He chain-smoked through alleys and corridors, and at one point had to lean against a wall for a second to catch his breath. “Right now, I’m thinking about what fear would be like if it were a machine,” he said.
Brisden stepped up and put his arm around him, helping him back on course.
When we reached the doctor’s rooms at the bottom of a long flight of steps, Anotine called out his name. There was no reply.
“How are we going to do this?” asked Nunnly, but Anotine had already taken the initiative and passed through the entrance, holding the spear out in front of her with both hands.
The rest of us followed reluctantly, not wanting to be left alone on the terrace. Inside, the candles had not been lit and the room we entered was cast in the subtle shadows of late afternoon. Whereas Nunnly’s place had been lined with the schematics of his imaginary machines, the doctor’s walls were taken up by bookshelves crammed with hundreds of volumes. There were also stacks of books at different heights sitting here and there like a mountain range of pages and words. The passes that led between them were sometimes too narrow to fit through, and we would have to backtrack in order to find a way through the maze. Down the hallway, which ran off to the left, we found another of the dark closets like Anotine had at her place, and beyond that a larger area he obviously used as his living quarters.
We stood there in the middle of the bedroom, looking at each other. In one corner was a four-poster bed, and at the other end of the place, beneath a large window opening, sat a desk facing into the middle of the room. On the desk, I could see what remained of his sample of ocean, glowing in its lidded glass jar, and an open notebook lying next to it.
“Perhaps he took another route to Anotine’s while we were coming to get him,” said Brisden.
“The doctor has a tendency to let his mind wander,” said Nunnly, “and while it does, his body does the same. I just hope he hasn’t walked off the edge of the island, daydreaming.”
“Let’s get back, before we miss him again,” said Anotine.
“Perhaps we should check his notebook and see what he was working on before he left. It might give us an idea as to where he has gone if he wasn’t heading for your rooms,” I said.
“Allow me,” said Brisden, and he stepped behind the desk to read the open pages.
“I can see we’re going to have to keep Doctor Hellman on a leash until this is all over,” said Nunnly.
“Oh my,” Brisden said in a weak voice. “I think I’ve located him.”
We turned to him, and Anotine asked what was in the notebook.
“Not … the notebook … the chair.” Gagging as he tried to speak, Brisden doubled over with his hands grasping at his chest.
As he moved away to sit on the bed, we took his position behind the desk. Lying on the seat of the chair, like some discarded heap of pink leather, was a wrinkled pile of flesh, resting upon the doctor’s empty clothes. There were two dark eye sockets and an opening where his mouth had been. Perhaps the most gruesome detail of all was the indistinguishable area that still held his beard.
Anotine and Nunnly stepped away, both of them in shock. I meant to follow, but as I turned, I noticed something was scrawled on one page of the notebook. The writing was nearly illegible and moved in a downward slant across the page. I leaned over and made out the message: Shell in pocket.
It was necessary to step away for a few minutes before I could work up enough courage to disturb the pitiful remains.
Brisden was lying back on the bed, whispering to himself at lightning speed. Anotine and Nunnly both had found places against the wall, where they had leaned back and sunk down to cover their faces with their hands. Their crying and Brisden’s babble was enough to make me insane. In addition, I played out in my mind the scenario of the doctor’s last minute. As his insides were drawn out of him, bones splintering and brain becoming oatmeal, he had the courage to lift his pen and try to help us.
I shook my head, then returned to the chair to retrieve the shell. When I pulled on a trouser leg to expose the pocket from beneath the heap of flesh, the mess came with it and spilled onto the floor. The sound of it hitting made me dizzy. I wasted no time in fishing in the pocket and bringing out the canister. Once I had it in my hand, I backed away from the desk and shouted to the others in a voice cracking with fear. “Now, let’s go!”
I went around the room and, using my foot, nudged everyone sharply and ordered them to move. Anotine was the first to come around, and she helped me rouse Brisden and Nunnly. Before we could leave, Brisden insisted that he take the glass jar of ocean as something to stand as a symbolic presence we would now find difficult continuing without. Once he had it in his hands, we dashed down the hallway and out into the village. Anotine led us through the passageways, and I was last, using my spear to prod Brisden in the rear end when he tried to slow down. Our flight was a nightmare, and at every turn I expected to see the gaping maw of the Delicate. Though I had only been told about it, it was now more real to me than anything I could remember.
20
Brisden kept to his own plan and was well into a pint of Tears in the River. He sat at the small table in the back of the room, the signal gun resting in his lap, staring into the glowing ocean sample he had retrieved from the doctor. Nunnly was in the chair opposite, following the trail of smoke that rose from his cigarette. I stood by the entrance, looking down the steps and across the moonlit terrace below for any signs of movement, while Anotine sat cross-legged on the brown rug, her spear lying next to her and the black box in her hand. No one had bothered to light the spire lamps when twilight gave itself up to darkness. No one had spoken since our return. The loss of the doctor had left us weak, our mourning compounded with the other impossible elements of our predicament.
As I stood guard, I thought about Hellman and how incredibly I missed him. He had been more vibrant than many of the people I had known on a daily basis back in Wenau. It came to me in the midst of my vigil that he had to be, no more, no less, than some manifestation of Below’s personality. I had a hard time reconciling this. In fact, all of my companions on the island were first-rate human beings. Was there an aspect of the Master I had missed? I supposed that everyone, even the most heinous of criminals, could think himself, in some way, righteous and good. This type of delusion could have been the impetus for the creation of the four moral souls I had met, or perhaps Below did harbor a positive side.
It was all too confusing to consider, especially in light of the fact that our time was quickly running out. The sound of the island disappearing had grown stronger since our foray to the doctor’s. What was quickly becoming evident through our siege was that the Delicate was too smart to enter a room full of armed enemies. His plan became clear to me—draw us out into the night, separate us, and devour us one at a time. I had a sense from the little I knew that he was patient and methodical, perfect attributes for a beast of prey.
I hated to have to implicate the others in my decision, but without taking action at this point we had absolutely no chance of survival. It was obvious that we would have to do exactly what the Delicate wanted. As I turned back into the room, I found Nunnly standing behind me, spear in hand.
“Let’s go,” he said, and one look into his eyes told me we had reached the same conclusion in our thinking.
Anotine got up and came over to join us.
“Stay here with Brisden. Nunnly and I are going to try to lead the Delicate back to the room. As the doctor said, we don’t know what he is capable of. I think we have a better chance of taking him here with all of us working together,” I told her.
“I want to go,” she said.
“I want you to, but someone has to be ready to charge the trap when we lead him through the door. You’re the only one who knows how to work the box.”
She reluctantly nodded.
Nunnly leaned over to her and whispered. “Get the signal gun away from Bris. He’s more of a danger with that thing to himself and us than to the Delicate.”
“Forget about what we discussed earlier,” I said. “If the creature comes through the entrance and the trap doesn’t work, shoot it. We’ll have to risk damaging its face.”
“I know what to do,” she said. She kissed me, then went back to sit on the rug.
“Someday you will have to explain that lip maneuver to me,” said Nunnly as we stepped out into the night.
In addition to the spears we carried, I also had the Lady Claw secreted away in my boot with a piece of sponge protecting the blade. I almost relished the idea of getting in close to our nemesis and practicing some of my old technique. Even considering the dexterity I had lost since my renouncing the mantle of physiognomist, I was confident I could surgically fillet the bastard with a few passes.
A strong breeze now blew in toward the center of the island, a phenomenon caused, no doubt, by the disintegration at the edges. The noise from out there where the wood was rapidly falling into nothing was a constant distraction. We moved along cautiously, keeping close to the walls of the rooms where the shadows were thickest, communicating only with hand signals and the merest whispers. At one point Nunnly proposed that we not move too far away from Anotine’s room, but that we should think of it as the center of a circle, and our wandering should not exceed a modest circumference. With this tactic, we would always be the same distance from it. I agreed, seeing that we were only trying to attract the Delicate. Neither of us thought it feasible that we could actually hunt him down.
After following this strategy for over an hour, having made at least ten orbits around our point of departure, we had ceased whispering and now spoke in normal tones. The anxiety that had accompanied us at the start had all but diffused, and Nunnly made the suggestion that we might have been too stealthy.
“I think we need to be more obvious, Cley,” he said.
“Should we split up?” I asked.
“Not completely, but we should make it appear as if we have,” he said. “You know the course we’ve been following. Stay on it, but I will follow twenty yards behind you. This way if he shows up, we’ll still be close enough to come to each other’s rescue.”
“If that should happen, try not to engage him, but instead lead him back to the room,” I said.
“I understand,” he said, and brought his hand to his mouth with a lit cigarette now in it.
As I started off, he said, “You know, Cley, while we were walking just now, I had a memory of my other life. Perhaps it is the fact that everything is falling apart that allows me to see into my past.”
I stopped to listen.
“It wasn’t much,” he said. “I definitely recall having had a black dog, though. A rambunctious animal, courageous and trustworthy, but verging on the insane. I can just about see him, running in circles. That’s all.”
“Interesting,” I said, knowing full well that what he told me was impossible. “No doubt you’ll remember more and more as we proceed.”
He took a drag of his cigarette and smiled, smoke leaking from the corners of his lips.
I moved on ahead, happy for Nunnly, even if he had somehow absorbed my memory and taken it for his own. It was just this kind of absurdity that made everything seem so dangerous.
We circled and circled. Forty times I passed the mousehole opening to Anotine’s secret place, and thought about my dream of the monkey dancing. It was the first time since I had arrived that I began to get a sense of how the village was laid out. I finally knew that if
you were to take the alley to the right of the pelican fountain and go up a flight of stairs, you would pass the corridor that led to Nunnly’s. Other landmarks became familiar and I began to plot, from certain points, the best course to get back to Anotine’s should I hear a scream or the firing of the gun. At the end of every circle, I would wait up for Nunnly by the fountain, and we would have a word in order to make sure each of us was still safe.
It must have been only two hours or so till morning, and I was treading wearily along the path we had defined, having nearly forgotten what I was doing, when I heard a distinct sound rise above the background din of the disintegration. Like a single note struck on an out-of-tune piano, it brought me up short, and my fatigued mind worked to place it. I saw a picture in my mind before I realized what it was—the sound of Nunnly’s steel spear, hitting the stone floor of the corridor I had just turned out of.
I began to run, backtracking down the alley and turning the corner onto the corridor beside the pool that was lined with columns. At the opposite end, by the steps leading down from a terrace, I could see two figures that appeared joined in a dance. They moved in and out of the shadows, and my approach made it clear that a large-headed man in a dark suit had his arms wrapped tightly around Nunnly, his lips covering the engineer’s.
The Delicate didn’t notice me, so engaged was he in his business. I gave no shout of warning, but used the momentum I had built up with my charge to drive the steel spear into the middle of his back. The brown suit jacket split, and the creature arched his spine, releasing a high, throaty whistle. Nunnly dropped to the ground, still writhing, his body only partially deflated.
“My, that smarts,” said the Delicate in a voice both masculine and feminine.
I stepped back, waiting for him to fall to the ground. Instead, he whipped around to face me, and the steel shaft was flung out of his back with the violence of the motion. It hit the stone and rang out. He winced with the sound of it, and, for the first time, I got a look at him. The bald head was enormous, suggesting either brilliance or idiocy, I wasn’t sure which, but in the face’s long descent toward the chin it grew exceedingly thin, coming almost to a point. The twin braids, which Anotine had spoken of, were draped forward over the shoulders and tied together in front. His body seemed too thin to support the weight of that head, which appeared to ride atop it like a pumpkin on a flexible broom handle.