18/10/43
Elswyth—I fear the plan has not worked. Abril has just returned. No language was needed to communicate the fact that the elders did not believe me. They seek to cast stones of blame at a suitable murderer.
Perhaps they are right. What if the thing that attacked me in the night was not a bloodthirsty chupacabra but rather a man in wolf’s clothing? Were those horrible hairy hands I saw simply a hallucination in the low light? A creature that size could not subsist on blood. A bat is the largest species to drink blood. All the other blood-drinkers are bleeding leeches, vampire moths, flying or crawling insects, all with their attendant violent societies and little internal horrors.
Abril has just opened the window for me to see. There is a mob of villagers, brown robes curling in the violent wind. They carry torches. They are coming for me. Now. Would that I were invisible…
I will keep writing until the end. I hope this bundle of letters finds you. They all bear the address of your father’s museum. If there are enough plates, publish my book after my death. The proceeds may be the only way I could help you now. Everything I have undertaken was done for you…
Rifle shots. I would not have guessed this town had firearms. Out the window—the mob has been met by an army, mounted on steeds. The Mexicans? Abril is latching the door…The shots are deafening…
Under the bed now…horror…a soldier struck the butt of his rifle against the door. I hid here, trying to pull Abril to safety. She insisted on confronting him, said that she had a charm. He broke in…Abril had no time. I couldn’t even call out. In an instant he had sliced her throat and spilt her lifeblood on the floor. In front of me is only a crumbled black rabosa with a hand reaching out, curled in death like Aunt Anne’s…
I am still hiding, like a coward. I know him. It is the man with the bared teeth. McMarrow’s old troop. If only the Major is with them, I might be spared. Oh fates, what are you…
∧∧ Zeke hurried down the plankways, trying to remain hidden. He pulled his jacket around his shoulders. The morning light was beginning to color things in. The wind squeaked anxiously through the gaps between units. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The phosphor lamps were dimming. Something else was pulling a lot of steam power. Zeke walked toward the city-center. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ His grandmother had concocted a plan quickly. Sometimes she was cloudy, but she was never wrong. His mind still reeled at the thought of her as an Auspex, so familiar with the strange ways of those women. ∧∧ ∧∧ The tram to Chicago-Land made him anxious on the best of days. He thought about the court case they might assemble. He hadn’t done anything against the law. A minor vandalism. A deadline for one uncarbon’d document. His grandmother must know good Defenders. He could get his record corrected once and for all. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The main watchpost at city-center slipped into view. Its silver time and date clockwork read 06:10, OCTOBER 22. Zeke stopped. Two days till the deadline. He had lost track. The letter was due soon. ∧∧ He walked faster. The plankways creaked in time with his heartbeat. His grandmother was serious about the danger he was in. He couldn’t puzzle it out on his own, so he would return to Chicago-Land. His grandmother must know what the letter contained. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke entered the tram terminal. He crossed to the ticket bays under the time board. Seven city-states, six trams:
CITY-LAKE OF LEAD (CHICAGO-LAND) 06:24
CITY-STATE OF THE SUN (MONTANA-LAND) 07:12
CITY-PORT OF MERCURY (PORT-LAND) 08:48
CITY-STATE OF COPPER (TWIN-CITY) 14:20
CITY-STATE OF IRON (ATLANTAS) - - : - -
CITY-LAKE OF TIN (SALT-LAKE) 16:42
A girl lifted the window of the ticket bay. “Can I help you?” Zeke fumbled in his jacket for tram fare. “Next tram in ten.” She smiled politely. ∧∧ The Nightman had taken all his greenbacks. “Can you…put it on the account of Annlyne Thomas? She’d be my clearance referent.” ∧∧ “Just a sec.” Zeke held his breath. Daxon could have a block on his travel. Her nimble fingers found his file quickly. She punched a card. A carbon repeater whirred behind her. “Got it. Here’s a ticket. Gate 7.” There was no block. But that repeater might tip off the Vault that he was trying to leave the city-state. ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke walked toward the docking gates. He slipped the ticket into his pocket. ∧∧ “Hey.” There it was. Caught. Zeke turned around. “Gate 7 is that way,” the ticket girl said. He exhaled. He wandered over to the broadsheet postings, but couldn’t make sense of the news. He hadn’t slept in days. He needed to sit. ∧∧ He picked a long white bench. It gave him a clear view of the open ceiling. He would see the tram come in. No one was in the terminal. The sun was scaling the eastern edge. Hazy light caught the carbon fibers of the tram tether, lighting it brilliantly. ∧∧ Zeke folded his jacket under his head. He lay down on the bench. It felt good to rest. It had been a long time since he was still. He found his finger tracing out words. ∧∧ Once I was as still as I was meant to be. ∧∧ His eye followed the tether up. It disappeared high up. The cable winked in the sun. Each time he sat up, it looked like the steam rotovator might be getting closer. ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke liked ascending and descending on the tether. The silver rotovator was spacious. He would look out the thick windows. Chicago-Land was the biggest city-state. Floating above it, he could see the lake, the clustered units, the dull and beaten barrier. ∧∧ Zeke didn’t like passing from one city-state to another. The statite car scared him. The inside was cold and white. It was uncomfortable being shut in with other passengers, barely able to move. Though he dreaded traveling by tram, now he was anxious to board and be whisked away from Texas as quickly as possible. ∧∧ On tram flights the statite car hovered on solar sails in geosynchronous orbit. The Earth rotated below, blackness above. The only good thing about the ride would be the stars. Zeke could always see so many, arranged in fascinating new constellations. The steam thrusters would scream, then fall silent. Ten minutes stretched long, but that’s all it took to traverse the continent. ∧∧ If everything worked. He was scared of tram malfunctions. ∧∧ Zeke felt himself drifting to sleep on the bench. He only wished that Eliza was with him. That they would descend into Chicago-Land together. They’d be well-received at his grandmother’s home, comfortable and warm. ∧∧ A commotion woke him. Shouting from the terminal entrance. Zeke sat up and looked over the back of his bench. ∧∧ “That’s him!” The ticket girl pointed at him. ∧∧ ∧∧ A mob of Law uniforms stormed into the terminal. Major Daxon was leading them, bandage still wrapped around his head. Bic must have reported his plan to the Law. The Lawmen ran toward him, unholstering their steamsabres. ∧∧ Zeke took off, leaving his jacket on the bench. He skidded across the polished wood floor. Daxon shouted at him to stop. ∧∧ The public entrances to the terminal were covered by Lawmen. Zeke made for the emergency doors to the tram platform. He slid them open. The scream of an alarm whistle sounded. Safety-suited workers waved their arms in confusion. Zeke still wore a Republic uniform. He ran across the platform. He could have been steam-cooked but the rotovator wouldn’t land with workers on the platform. ∧∧ Zeke ran toward the wall that ringed the terminal. His feet were sore. Each step shot pain up through his ankles. He glanced behind him. The tram workers had triggered the emergency locks. Angry Lawmen stood at the glass doors, pounding. Daxon shouted at the workers. ∧∧ Zeke reached the edge of the platform field. He scrambled over the short white wall, exhausted, and started running again. ∧
19/10/43
HILL COUNTRY, TEXAS
Dearest Elswyth,
I am alive. I fear my last letter was alarming. You should receive all of these at once, if I ever find a post. It was a close scrape, but this brief note will serve as proof of my life. I am on the march, albeit doing no marching of my own.
The attacker was indeed the man with the bared teeth, and all of McMarrow’s disgraced company besides. They are wearing Republic of Texas army uniforms, the initials R.O.T. embroidered on the sleeves with the patterns denoting rank. I pointed at these and the man with t
he bared teeth simply said “We turned” through his missing lip.
The militia attacked the village that I was in last night. They had spied the mob from an encampment along the mountains, and rode down quickly to disperse them with their rifled muskets. They shouted and cursed while raiding the town, setting fire to the buildings using the villagers’ own torches.
The Texian men are armed to the teeth. Even their sabres are like machines. My own sabre is no longer by my side. It was lost in the fracas at the village, a bitter thought I must accept, for it seems the fates have conspired to render me defenseless.
The militia have terrific guns. They were loaded with grapeshot, usually reserved for hunting quail. The death spray of that ammunition made a carnage of the villagers, and many were injured horribly.
Abril had no such luck. I cannot compel the scene of her death to leave my mind’s eye. Its horror replays again and again, even whilst I am asleep. I feel her soul’s absence. What will I ever tell Rodriguez?
I feel deep despair at these events though I am saved by them.
The man with the bared teeth, along with another soldier, carry me on a gurney through this uneven stony terrain. This is due to my ankle, which still will not tolerate walking. It is a small mercy that I find myself as deadweight rather than simply dead.
I do not like to talk to Abril’s murderer, but he sees fit to talk to me. Without his lower lip, he has no b’s or p’s. It is difficult to look at him, much less listen to him. He had heard a white man was living out by the old cave. The mention of it set my spirits tumbling. Perhaps the cave is a known place after all, and I’m not its pioneering colonist.
They learned I was bedded down in the village, and decided I had been taken prisoner by the Mexicans, so they set about rescuing me.
I asked if they were under the command of General Irion, and might they take me to him. He gave a choking laugh at this, though I’m not sure why. He said that Irion could be found, spittle on his lips. I did not like the way he said it, so I did not press my inquiry further.
The territory changes by the hour, the desert slowly giving way to rugged hills with just enough topsoil to hold small mesquite brush and knotted live oaks. The men do not talk much, but when they do, it is clear their missions are of their own devising—arranged chiefly for personal pleasure or gain. I doubt that they are indeed of the Republic of Texas army but rather wear those skins to carry out their freebooting. When no one was looking, I sewed Irion’s letter into a pocket inside my shirt, using a bit of thread from the gurney.
I asked where we might be marching to, and the man with the bared teeth halted the whole troop. They all turned to look at me, on the gurney, on the ground. “S’pose you’d like to tell us where to go?” He drooled. “We’ll take you home to your rotten cave, or you can come with us. Might find what you’re looking for.” The men all laughed at this. He then assigned another soldier to carry his end of the gurney and resumed his place at the head of his band of highwaymen.
I have no choice, of course. I am hobbled. But if Irion is nearby perhaps there is some small hope left. If I do nothing else before I die, I might complete the errand I set out to do and aid your father in his urgent communication to his friend. Irion must be near, it is as though I feel him waiting there, along the Nightway.
Broken but Yours Alive, Zadock
FAM. STRIGIDAE
GEN. PAVO
20.10.43, 23:15, 80 deg., 20 knots, 3/10ths cloud coverage, humidity
Low rolling hill country. More plentiful shrubbery. Some small trees
Plumed Owlette. One foot tall, excluding tail feathers. Mottled gray with bright purple plumes and wing tips. Tonight, just outside camp, I heard the most unusual birdsong, a cry much like the hoot of an owl but in a higher register, a falsetto sounding a lonesome and solitary note over and over again. In the low brush I found its source, a new bird of prey. She is similar to, if a little smaller than, other owlettes I had observed burrowing into cacti near Santa Fe, save one major difference: her resplendent plumage. I could not miss on first glance the large wispy feathers trailing from her ears in two graceful crescents, an iridescent royal purple which caught the moonlight quite sorrowfully. I cannot figure their purpose in a seemingly nocturnal bird. How could such markings attract a mate in the dead of night? I felt sad for this desert nightingale, alone in the dark with only her own beauty.
∧∧ Zeke awoke to Eliza’s voice. She was singing softly. He had the sense of being in a dream. But he found himself in a bed, awake. He didn’t know where he was. He sat up. The air was dank, the smell familiar. The room came into focus. He was underground. The Nightman wasn’t there. ∧∧ ∧∧ Eliza sat upright in a chair next to him. She studied him, concerned. ∧∧ ∧∧ “I feel zonked,” Zeke said. ∧∧ It took a minute to register that seeing Eliza in the tunnels was surprising. He reached out for her hand, grasping it hard. She wasn’t in jail. He wished he could hold on to the moment. The two of them alone in the dim light. Seeing the emotion in his face, Eliza gently crawled into bed next to him, careful not to disturb his sore body. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’m glad you’re safe,” they said, almost at the exact same time. The coincidence prompted a smile. ∧∧ Safe, holding hands. Heard, inside a voice. ∧∧ The morning started to return in fragments. Zeke had run from the tram back to the industrial quadrant. He’d found the hatch with the wolf and moon. He’d felt his way along the tunnel until he heard Raisin’s voice in the dark, and knocked on the door of the Nightman’s room. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Raisin had been surprised to see him. The Nightman was not. Raisin’s anger had dissipated, and it was as though their earlier argument hadn’t happened. Once Zeke calmed down, he’d told part of his story. Raisin was excitable. He showed Zeke more of the Nightman’s pamphlets. He thought one proved the weather pylons harnessed the energy from lightning to activate the city-state’s secret time machines. He tried to convince Zeke to flee with him, according to the directions on the pamphlet. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Apparently he had gone to see Leeya in the Auspicium again, and she had refused to be his pair in fleeing. He had been waiting for another pair. Lots of folks were going underground now, joining the Deserters. Raisin hadn’t mentioned that Eliza was also in the tunnels. ∧∧ ∧∧ “What time is it?” ∧∧ “ It’s 7:42. You’ve been out for twelve hours. Or more.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “The deadline.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke tried to move. It felt like his body was still asleep. ∧∧ “It’s tomorrow. Your father said he left a secret file for you.”
Eliza made the hand signal for calm. ∧∧ “I can’t get anywhere near the Vault right now. The city-state is still on high alert. I don’t think the deadline matters much anymore. This is bigger than the letter.” ∧∧ “We’ve got to get out.” Zeke slowly undid his blanket cocoon. Eliza stood up. Seeing her now made him realize how much he had missed her. The time without her had seemed so long. He sat up, his body stiff. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Bic freed you? You received an escort down here?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “What are you talking about?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “He was supposed to. How did you get out of jail?” ∧∧ “I was never in jail. I ran back to try to save my father, but it was too late. I didn’t let myself get caught. But my father is…they arrested him.” Eliza’s blinking betrayed her fear. “I came to ask the Auspices to help free him. They’re the only ones who have the power.” ∧∧ “And will they?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’m not sure. The Auspices are holding council. We should go there. But I didn’t want to leave you. Raisin is in the Auspicium right now, in case something happens.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Why the council?” Eliza filled a tin cup with fount-water from a flask. She handed it to Zeke. ∧∧ “They’re being accused of opening their tunnels and letting animals into the city-state. It was Bic who issued the charge. But I smell Daxon behind it. I think he’s trying to link them to the murders and turn the city-state against them, flush them up from underground. It’s a witch hunt. The Lawmen dragged in a strange animal. They’re offering it as proof, though everyon
e down here knows the tunnel out remains sealed.” ∧∧ “The Nightman?” ∧∧ “Useless. Just speaks in these riddles.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “No, I mean, where is he?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Gone. Maybe in the rot. I don’t think he can be trusted, even if he’s not the murderer. The Auspices seemed to have some kind of control over him, but I think he’s a loose cannon. Raisin got him to agree to let you stay in this room, though. To recover.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke sighed and sat up. ∧∧ ∧∧ “The Deserters claim to control a cannon now,” Eliza continued. “They’ve issued a ‘Come & Take It’ challenge to the Republic.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke put on his boots. ∧∧ Eliza took a deep breath. ∧∧ “Zeke, if this all somehow goes wrong, I want you to know that I would follow you into the rot. We could be married and build a cabin, and have a family. I don’t care where I am as long as I’m with you.” She smoothed his hair back in a way that he had almost forgotten about. Her touch was soft. The pinpricks on her fingers seemed mostly healed. He just stared into her eyes. He didn’t want the moment to end. ∧∧ ∧∧ “We should go.” She picked up his hand and, ducking, led him through the Nightman’s door. Soon the light from the doorway faded and they were in the deep black of the tunnel. In the lightless void, with the strange underground air back in his lungs, Zeke felt some hope for the future return. ∧∧ Eliza moved around confidently in the dark. Zeke tried to quicken his step, but the toe of his boot caught on something and he stumbled. He dropped to one knee and let go of Eliza’s hand to catch himself. ∧∧ When he reached up again, he couldn’t find her hand. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Eliza?” he called out, afraid. ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’m right here.” He scrabbled for her in the dark. ∧∧ ∧∧ “I can’t find your hand.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Reach out, I’m right here.” She sounded like she was standing right next to him, but spanning his arms out and reaching all around him, he only felt the shift of cool air. ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’ve lost you.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “You haven’t. I’m still here. Why don’t you just follow my voice?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “OK.” ∧∧ Eliza said, “This way,” and Zeke could tell she was a few feet in front of him. He moved in the direction of her voice. She began to sing, the same soft song that had woken him. He followed the haunting melody down the long black road underground, still reaching out uselessly into the dark. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧ ∧∧ Zeke and Eliza finally saw the sliver of light that led to the Auspices’ chamber. They could hear the Sisters talking, no longer the incanting drone of ritual but sharper, political tones. As they approached the door, they felt a presence. Sliding out from the dark, like an eclipse, the Nightman appeared. He was stationed at the entrance in full Republic uniform. He slid the door open. ∧∧ “You’re…with the Auspices?” Zeke’s voice cracked. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Those who keep a coyote need no bite.” The Nightman grinned widely, stepping aside. ∧∧ ∧∧ Compared to the darkness of the tunnel, it was bright in the wide chamber of the Auspicium. The lightning moths were jumpier than before, their signaling more urgent. The benches were empty save for a few figures in gray robes. All the initiates in white robes were gone. ∧∧ Long flickering shadows led to the Seven Sisters, who were now positioned around the middle of the silver circle. At first Zeke thought they had grown impossibly tall, but he quickly realized they were standing on the tree stumps. ∧∧ In Zeke’s peripheral vision he saw a slinking animal shadow, not unlike the one in his apartment. It made his hair stand on end, but when he turned to look, there was nothing. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke walked down the aisle. Something sticky seeped out from under the benches. Zeke lifted his boot. The sole was covered in blood. ∧∧ ∧∧ The Nightman was now at the center of the Auspices’ silver ring, speaking loudly. Zeke couldn’t see how he’d made it from the door to that pedestal so quickly. He was already in mid-sentence. ∧∧ Zeke and Eliza sat down in a row near the back. She had taken a gray robe off a hook near the entrance and pulled its hood up over her hair. Zeke felt exposed. They slid in next to someone, and it wasn’t until they were almost touching that he saw it was Raisin, sitting stock-still in the dim light. ∧∧ “Glad you’re awake,” Raisin whispered. Zeke, sitting between Raisin and Eliza, lowered his voice, so as not to disturb the proceedings, and spoke to them both:
Bats of the Republic Page 28