by Brian Aldiss
While Billy ate, the king marched about the chamber, disdaining food. JandolAnganol occasionally pressed a silken cloth to his nose, or stared at his left wrist where his son, in escaping his grasp, had scratched his flesh. Pacing somewhat awkwardly by his side was the Archpriest BranzaBaginut, an enormous man whose bulk, rigged overall in saffron and scarlet canonicals, caused him to resemble a Sibornalese warship in full sail. His heavy face might have belonged to a village wrestler was it not for a lurking humour in his expression. He was widely respected as a shrewd man and one who supported the king as a benefactor of the Church.
BranzaBaginut loomed over the king, who wore by contrast only breeches, was unbooted, and allowed his dirty white jacket to gape, revealing a boney chest.
The room itself was undecided in its role, being somewhere between a reception chamber and a storeroom. There were plenty of rugs and cushions of a mouldy sort, while old timbers were stacked in one corner. The windows looked out on a narrow passage; men passed that way occasionally, carrying piles of SartoriIrvrash’s papers into the courtyard.
‘Let me question this person, sire, on religious matters,’ said BranzaBaginut to the king. Receiving nothing in the way of disagreement, the dignitary sailed in the direction of Billy and asked, ‘Do you come from a world where Akhanaba the All-Powerful rules?’
Billy wiped his mouth, reluctant to cease eating.
‘You know I can easily give you an answer to please you. Since I have no wish to displease you, or his majesty, may I offer it you, knowing it to be untrue?’
‘Stand when you address me, creature. You give me your answer to my question and I tell you soon enough whether or not I am pleased by it.’
Billy stood before the massive ecclesiastic, still nervously wiping his mouth.
‘Sir, gods are necessary to men at some stages of development … I mean, as children, we need, each of us, a loving, firm, just father, to help our growth to manhood. Manhood seems to require a similar image of a father, magnified, to keep it in good check. That image bears the name of God. Only when a part of the human race grows to a spiritual manhood, when it can regulate its own behaviour, does the need for gods disappear – just as we no longer need a father watching over us when we are adults and capable of looking after ourselves.’
The archpriest smoothed a large cheek with a hand, appearing struck by this explanation. ‘And you are from a world where you look after yourselves, without the need of gods. Are you saying that?’
‘That is correct, sir.’ Billy looked fearfully about him. The Ice Captain reclined nearby, filling his face with the royal food, but listening intently.
‘This world you come from – Avernus, did I hear? – is it a happy one?’
The priest’s innocent-seeming question set Billy in a good deal of confusion. Had the same question been put to him a few weeks ago on the Avernus, and by his Advisor, he would have had no trouble answering. He would have responded that happiness resided in knowledge, not in superstition, in certainty, not in uncertainty, in control, not in chance. He would have believed that knowledge, certainty, and control were the singular benefits derived from and governing the lives of the population of the observation station. He would certainly have laughed – and even his Advisor would have spared a wintery chuckle – at the notion of Akhanaba as bringer of felicity.
On Helliconia, it was different. He could still laugh at the idolatrous superstition of the Akhanaban religion. And yet. And yet. He saw now the depth of meaning in the word ‘godless’. He had escaped from a godless state to a barbaric one. And he could see, despite his own misfortunes, in which world the hope of life and happiness more strongly lay.
As he was stuttering over his reply, the king spoke. JandolAnganol had been meditating Billy’s previous answer. He said challengingly, ‘What if we have no sound image of a father to guide us to manhood? What then?’
‘Then, sir, Akhanaba may indeed be a support to us in our trouble. Or we may reject him completely, as we reject our natural father.’
This reply caused the king’s nose to bleed again.
Billy seized the moment to bluff his way out of replying to BranzaBaginut’s question by saying to him, with more confidence than he felt, ‘My lord, I am a person of importance, and have received bad treatment from this court. Let me go free. I can work with you. I can tell you details about your world you need to know. I have nothing to gain—’
The Archpriest clapped his large hands together, and said in a gentle voice, ‘Don’t deceive yourself. You are of no importance whatsoever, except when you condemn further Chancellor SartoriIrvrash of conspiring against his royal majesty.’
‘You have made no attempt to assess my importance. Supposing I tell you that thousands of people are watching us at this moment? They wait to see how you behave towards me, to test you. Their judgement will influence how you are set down in history.’
Colour rose to the dignitary’s cheeks. ‘It is the All-Powerful who watches us, no one else. Your dangerous lies of godless worlds would overturn our state. Hold your tongue, or you will find yourself on a bonfire.’
In some desperation, Billy approached the king, displaying his watch with its three faces to him. ‘Your Majesty, I beg you to free me. Look on this artifact I wear. Every person on the Avernus wears a similar one. It tells the time on Helliconia, on Avernus, and on a distant controlling world, Earth. It is a symbol of the tremendous strides we have made in conquering our environment. To a sympathetic audience, I could convey marvels far in advance of anything Borlien could manage.’
Interest woke in the king’s eyes. He lowered his silk and asked, ‘Can you make me a functioning matchlock, the equal of Sibomars?’
‘Why, matchlocks are nothing. I—’
‘Wheel locks, then. You could produce a wheel lock?’
‘Well, no, I – sir, it’s a question of the tensile strengths of the metal. I daresay I could devise – Such things are obsolete where I come from.’
‘What kind of weapon can you make?’
‘Sir, first interest yourself in this watch, which I beg you to accept as a present, in token of my faith.’ He dangled the watch before the king, who showed no inclination to accept it. ‘Then let me free. Then let me work from first principles with some of your learned men, such as the Archpriests here. Very soon we might devise a good, accurate pistol, and radio, and an internal combustion engine …’
He saw the expressions on both the king’s and the archpriest’s face, changed his mind about what he was going to say, and instead held out the watch again in supplicatory fashion.
The little figures wriggled and changed under the king’s inspection. His majesty seized the timepiece; he and BranzaBaginut inspected it, whispering. Prophets had spoken of a time when magical machineries would appear and the state would be overthrown and the Empire destroyed.
‘Will this jewel tell me how long I have left to reign? Can it inform me of the age of my daughter?’
‘Sir, it is science, plain science, not magic. Its case is of platinum trawled from space itself …’
The king brushed it away with a sweep of his hand.
‘The jewel is evil. I know it. Kings as well as deuteroscopists are cunning about the future. Why did you come here?’ He threw the watch back to Billy.
‘Your Majesty, I came to see the queen.’
JandolAnganol was disconcerted by this reply and stepped back as if he were confronting a ghost. Said BranzaBaginut, ‘So you are not only an atheist but a Myrdolator? And you expect to be welcome here? Why should his majesty tolerate any more of your riddling? Yon are neither lunatic nor jester. Where did you come from? SartoriIrvrash’s armpit?’
He advanced threateningly on Billy, who backed against a wall. Other members of the court began to close in, anxious to show their sovereign how they regarded unroasted Myrdolators.
Krillio Muntras rose from his cushions and advanced to where the king stood, looking about sharply in some indecision.
The king looked as if undecided as to whether to become angry. Instead, he said, with his nose still covered, ‘Well, creature, to please our ice trader – by what vehicle came you here?’
Edging round the perimeters of BranzaBaginut, Billy said, ‘My ship was of metal, a ship entirely enclosed, carrying its own air. I can make all this comprehensible with the aid of diagrams. Our science is advanced, and could aid Borlien … The ship brought me down to Helliconia safely, then left, to return on its own to my world.’
‘Has it a mind then, this vessel?’
‘That’s difficult to answer. Yes, it has a mind. It can calculate – navigate through space, perform a thousand actions by itself.’
JandolAnganol bent in a careless way and lifted up a wine jar, elevating it slowly until it was above his head. ‘Which of us is mad, creature, you or I? This vessel has a mind – yes, yes, it too can navigate all by itself. Look!’ He flung it. The jar flew through the air, crashed into a wall and broke, splashing its contents all about. This small violence caused everyone to become as immobile as phagors.
‘Your Majesty, I endeavoured to answer your—’ He sneezed violently.
‘It’s guilt and anger only that forces me to try and get reason out of you. But why should I bother? I’m deprived, I have nothing, this place is an empty larder, with rats for courtiers. All has been taken away, yet still more is asked of me. You too ask something of me … I am confronted by demons all the way … I must do penance again, Archpriest, and your hand must not be light upon me. This is SartoriIrvrash’s demon, I do believe. Tomorrow, I will endeavour to address the scritina and all will be changed. Today I am merely a father who bleeds a lot …’
He said in a lower voice, to himself, ‘Yes, that’s it, simply, I must change myself.’
He lowered his eyes and looked weary. A drip of blood fell to the floor.
Ice Captain Muntras gave a cough. As a practical man, he was embarrassed by the king’s outburst.
‘Sire, I come on you at a bad time, as I see. I am just a trader, and so had best be on my way. For the past many years, I have brought you the best Lordryardry ice straight off the best slice of our glaciers, and at the best prices. Now, sire, I will give my grateful thanks for your custom and hospitality at the palace, and take my leave of you for ever. Despite the fog, it’s best I was off back home.’
The speech seemed in a measure to revive the king, who put a hand on the Ice Captain’s shoulder. The eyes of the latter were round in innocence.
‘I would I had such men as you about me, talking plain sense all the time, Captain. Your service has been appreciated. Nor do I forget your assistance to me when I was wounded after that fearsome occasion in the Cosgatt – as I am wounded now. You are a true patriot.’
‘Sire, I am a true patriot of my own country, of Dimariam. To which I am about to retire. This is my last trip. My son will carry on the ice trade with all the devotion I have shown you and the – hm – the ex-queen. As the weather grows hotter, your majesty will perhaps be needing additional loads of ice?’
‘Captain, you good trader in better climates, you should be rewarded for your service. Despite my dreadful state of penury, and the meanness of my scritina, I ask – is there anything I might present you with as a token of our esteem?’
Muntras shuffled. ‘Sire, I am unworthy of reward, and do not seek one, but supposing I said to you that I would make an exchange? On the journey here from Oldorando, I, being a compassionate man, rescued a phagor from a drumble. He is recovered from a watery ordeal, often fatal to his kind, and must find a living away from Cahchazzerh, where he was persecuted. I will present this stallun to you as a slave if you will present me with your prisoner, whether demon or not. Is it a deal?’
‘You may have the creature. Take it away, together with its mechanical jewel. You need give me nothing in return, Captain. I am in your debt if you will remove it from my kingdom.’
‘Then I will take him. And you shall have the phagor, so that my son may call on you in the same civil terms as I have always done. He’s a good boy, sir, is Div, though with no more polish than his father.’
So Billy Xiao Pin passed into the keeping of the Ice Captain. And on the following day, when the fog was dispersing before a slight breeze, the king’s cloudiness also dispersed. He kept his promise to address the scritina.
To that body, who sat coughing in their pews, he presented the appearance of a changed man. Having attested to the wickedness of Chancellor SartoriIrvrash, and to his major role in the reverses recently suffered by the state, JangolAnganol launched into a confession.
‘Gentlemen of the scritina, you swore fealty to me when I ascended the throne of Borlien. There have been reverses to our dearly beloved kingdom, that I do not deny. No king, however powerful, however benevolent, can greatly change the condition of his people – that I now realise. I cannot command droughts or the suns which bring such plagues on our land.
‘In my desperation, I have committed crimes. Urged on by the chancellor, I was responsible for the deaths of the Myrdolators. I confess and ask your forgiveness. It was done to set the kingdom right, to stop further dissension. I have given up my queen, and with her all lust, all seeking for self. My marriage to the Princess Simoda Tal of Oldorando will be a dynastic one – chaste, chaste, I swear. I will not touch her except to breed. I will take thought for her years. I shall henceforth devote myself wholeheartedly to my country. Give me your obedience, gentlemen, and you will have mine.’
He spoke controlledly, with tears in his eyes. His audience sat in silence, gazing up at him sitting on the gilded throne of the scritina. Few felt pity for him; most saw only the opportunity to exploit this fresh instance of his weakness.
Despite the absence of a moon, there were tides on Helliconia. As Freyr drew nearer, the planet’s watery envelope experienced an increase in tidal strength of some sixty percent above conditions at apastron, when Freyr was more than seven hundred astronomical units distant.
MyrdemInggala, in her new home, liked to walk alone by the shore of the sea. Her troubled thoughts blew away for a while. This was a marginal place, the strip between the kingdoms of the sea and the kingdoms of the land. It reminded her of her dimday garden left behind, placed between night and day. She was only vaguely aware of the constant struggle that went on at her feet, perhaps never to be entirely won or lost. She gazed towards the horizon, wondering as she did every day if the Ice Captain had delivered her letter to the general in the distant wars.
The queen’s gown was pale yellow. It went with the solitude. Her favourite colour was red, but she wore it no more. It did not go with old Gravabagalinien and its haunted past. The hiss of the sea demanded yellow, to her mind.
When she was not swimming, she left Tatro on the beach to play and walked below the high-tide line. Her lady-in-waiting reluctantly followed. Tough grasses grew from the sand. Some formed clumps. A step or two farther inland and other plants ventured. A little white daisy with armoured stem was among the first. There was a small plant with succulent leaves, almost like a seaweed. MyrdemInggala did not know its name, but she liked to pick it. Another plant had dark leaves. It straggled among the sand and grasses in insignificant clusters but, on occasions where conditions were right, raised itself into striking bushes with a lustrous sheen.
Behind these first bold invaders of the shore lay the litter of the tide line. Then came a haggard area, punctuated with tough, large-flowered daisies. Then less adventurous plants took over, and the beach was banished, though inlets of sand seamed the land for some way.
‘Mai, don’t be unhappy. I love this place.’
The dawdling lady put on a sullen expression. ‘You are the most beautiful and fateful lady in Borlien.’ She had never spoken to her mistress in this tone before. ‘Why could you not keep your husband?’
The queen made no answer. The two wo
men continued along the shore, some way apart. MyrdemInggala walked among the lustrous bushes, caressing their tips with her hand. Occasionally, something under a bush would hiss and recoil from her step.
She was aware of Mai TolramKetinet, trailing dolefully behind her, hating exile. ‘Keep up, Mai,’ she called encouragingly. Mai did not respond.
XI
Journey to the Northern Continent
The old man wore an ankle-length keedrant which had seen better days. On his head was a scoop-shaped hat, which protected his scrawny neck as well as his bald pate from the sun. At intervals, he lifted a shaking hand to his lips to puff at the stem of a veronikane. He stood all alone, waiting to leave the palace for good.
At his back was a coach of light build, loaded with his few personal belongings. Two hoxneys were harnessed between the shafts. It needed only a driver, and then SartoriIrvrash could be gone.
The wait afforded him a chance to look across the parade to a corner where an old bent slave with a stick was encouraging a mountain of papers to burn. That bonfire contained all the papers ransacked from the ex-chancellor’s suite, including the manuscripts which formed ‘The Alphabet of History and Nature’.
The smoke rose into a pallid sky from which light ash occasionally fell. Temperatures were as high as ever, but a grey overcast covered everything. The ash was born on an easterly airstream from a newly erupting volcano some distance from Matrassyl. That was of no interest to SartoriIrvrash; it was the black ashes ascending which occupied his attention.
His hand trembled more violently and he made the tip of his veronikane blaze like a small volcano.
A voice behind him said, ‘Here are some more of your clothes, master.’
His slave woman stood there, a neatly wrapped bundle offered to him. She gave him a placatory smile. ‘It’s a shame you have to go, master.’
He turned his worn face fully to her, stepped a pace nearer to look into her face.