‘Be careful, Mitch.’
‘Funny word coming from you. It’s fine. Look.’ He leaped forward and pivoted in a scramble of limbs to land feet first on the cliff face. His feet stayed hidden, but now he seemed to grow from the cliff. Agility became flesh as he walked – forward for him but downward for Phos.
Frinelia’s voice trembled. ‘Can we follow?’
‘You’ll be giddy for a moment, and everything’s lighter this side, but it works the same.’
Phos gripped the corner, and gravity swirled across her fingers. One world stopped and another began. She shut her eyes and scrabbled across on all fours. Her stomach lurched as icy sweat pricked her forehead, but her left hand clutched a small rock.
‘What can you see, Phos?’
‘Not sure yet, so don’t rush.’
Her eyes opened; if she ignored the last minute, this world would look normal. A parched wasteland stretched ahead, though slender grey pyramids clustered in the distance. They’d walked onto the rim surrounding the bowl. Phos stared left and right at the expanse of flat desert. The pyramids formed an unbroken ring to circle the rim. The glowing disc hovered above like a vault of scalding light. Morzenthal’s buried schoolroom had shown their world as a ball, and now she stared at the world’s underside.
Caliper and Frinelia swapped words as they shuffled over the corner. Phos stared ahead; points of light glittered and trickled among the pyramids, cubes maybe, and ribboned spirals hung above as if roads had fled the ground, though time had bitten gaps from the strips. The overhead disc’s glow faded into a dull grey above the pyramids, as if the builders had only planned light for the First.
Caliper whistled. ‘This is the surface?’
‘We’re underneath the surface,’ Frinelia said. ‘I’ve seen drawings of these towers.’
‘No windmills or trees, and no apples, so they’d have no cider. What about eating and breathing?’
Phos asked her suit questions, and red lines splurged onto her helmet.
‘This air is thinner than the First’s, so best keep wearing our helmets.’ She’d aim for the pyramids. Afterwards she’d not know her direction, but she’d keep everyone shifting. ‘Poison killed the plants here, so we’re near the surface and the map room.’
What was Rastersen seeing now? Did he stand where she should stand? Was he waiting for her to despair and turn back?
‘About this map room,’ Caliper said. ‘Every man wants the easy walk into work, so he asks to live near his job. Sure if we find their bedrooms and living space, we’ll be close by your special room.’
‘We don’t know how they travelled; Christina mentioned them moving like lightning.’
Caliper gasped and stared at Phos.
‘Caliper?’
‘She’s back,’ he said. ‘Christina’s talking.’
Chapter 25: a staggering sweep of feathers
Caliper screwed his eyes shut and tried to build sentences from the garbled syllables, but his own heartbeats deafened him. Hissing coated the words to swamp any meaning, but he’d never mistake Christina’s deep tones and the way they left him dry-mouthed.
‘You’re sure it’s her?’
Caliper raised his hand and Phos fell silent. Murmurs darted past his ears: ‘…your idea…travel forward…the dome at…care….’ Christina’s voice died, and he opened his eyes. The parched wasteland stretched before him, the distant pyramids looked like teeth, and light seared his eyes as his suit tightened around his chest. He’d promised to keep Phos safe.
‘Christina said travel forward, and she’d heard my idea – don’t know which.’
‘Hope it’s a good one,’ Phos said.
Frinelia stepped forward a few paces and stared at the pyramid city as dust billowed around her boots to stain her suit. ‘I’ve seen these towers before – two of our exhibits throw images over the carousel’s outer wall. Once a decade, you’ll see a wall crumble.’
‘Have you seen this section?’ Caliper asked.
Frinelia shook her head. ‘I think this city rings the First Enclave – it’s vast.’
‘Thirty-one, thirty-two miles,’ Phos said.
Caliper’s stomach churned. Christina had mentioned a dome, but even the sliver of city ahead would eat up a year’s searching, and the fat priest learned more of this world with each heartbeat. He stumbled forward. Had Christina changed her mind?
They walked in silence, though Phos stole a few glances backwards. Ahead, a six-foot dark grey wall split the desert from the pyramids, but three ramps ribboned up from the dusty plain to arch over the barrier. Phos pointed at the nearest sloping road, a builder-made wafer of rock rising into the air between two sloping glass towers. They reached an apron of smooth grey, like stone poured out to smother the desert, and Caliper’s feet rang out clack-tap sounds.
‘Let me climb first.’
Caliper’s shadow skittered ahead as the road rose. It creaked under his weight, and the grey crust cracked as they shuffled over the wall. Slender pyramids stretched ahead, silvery monuments pocked with dark patches like doorways set flush into the walls, and the towers stretched halfway to the night-coloured ceiling.
Back home, pyramids were church-haunted monuments of shadowed fear that squatted like dead beetles on the ground. Here twenty tapering monoliths cast back a pearly glow, and the sky in between was etched by hovering roads and curving wires. Below rested a sea of bleached stone cubes, cowering houses sharing walls, nothing the same size. Narrow walkways slunk between the blocks. Bare holes pierced the walls, and dust had crept inside, though a few houses held faded tints of blue.
Mitch dawdled beside them, and tiny yellow words crept over the boy’s helmet.
Phos touched Caliper’s elbow and pointed at the nearest pyramid. ‘There aren’t any stairs, so could the builders fly?’
‘No idea, Phos.’
Frinelia tottered ahead. ‘We only saw scattered pictures, so little here makes sense.’
‘We need the map room,’ Phos said. ‘Look for links, and imagine what the builders thought. If we can’t reach the pyramid doorways we search what we can.’
‘There’re flower beds and benches below,’ Frinelia said. ‘They had time for gardens.’
Withered grey stalks traced out ancient banks of flowers, and benches sat beside dust-covered paths. Crescents of brown earth scythed the dusty floor where a long-dead gardener had carved a rose into the earth. Couples had walked here while sharing words.
‘Christina never mentioned this place – did she hide details?’
‘She’s never been here,’ Caliper said.
One pyramid’s outer wall had slumped to uncover six floors teetering like a stack of plates, and grit showered from the scar. Ahead, three glass cubes hung over their walkway as if nailed to the air.
Christina hadn’t mentioned winged builders, so how had workers reached the pyramids? He strode to the nearest cube and pushed his hand against the frosted glass, but the pane wouldn’t budge.
‘Like the Morzenthal ones.’ Phos caressed the glass as squiggles flooded her helmet, but she didn’t flinch. ‘Why is it hovering here?’
‘Is it waiting?’
‘Perhaps it’s built for travel, like a cart waiting for a traveller. If it’s still listening….’
Caliper tapped the glass. ‘Like our boat?’
‘These are more basic.’ Phos slid both her hands over the cube, and icons winked into place. ‘You pick your journey and enter.’
Frinelia frowned. ‘We step inside this cube? Everything here is derelict.’
‘We can’t climb these pyramids.’
Glowing pictures rippled over the cube’s glass, and Phos pointed. ‘Christina mentioned a dome, and one of these destinations looks dome-ish.’
‘Dome-ish?’
She flicked a dark red square set inside a half-circle, but the cube didn’t budge. Phos jabbed other symbols and sighed as her free hand formed a fist.
Mitch stared. ‘Can’t you get
us inside?’
‘I’m trying. I walked through Morzenthal’s cubes, but this came earlier; it’s solid.’
Caliper tugged a bar jutting from the cube, and a door swung open. ‘Remember handles?’ He stepped inside, and his feet slipped over the glass floor. Two yellowed builder-sized benches ran along the cube’s sides, and tracing his finger across the fabric raised puffs of orange dust.
‘Your move, Phos.’
The girl darted against a glassy internal wall, a cat toying with mice. The floor shook, and Caliper stumbled against a bench, which spewed orange powder over him.
Frinelia brushed dust from his helmet. ‘You have a talent for destruction; people might pay to ensure your absence.’
‘But you’re staying with me.’
Phos smirked. ‘We learn more when you break stuff.’
‘Your dome still needs finding.’
The door closed, and new symbols spilled over the wall to stack themselves into a grid, but gaps broke the pattern. Phos’s hands caressed a red square, and grating echoed through their box. The cube jerked upward ten feet before trundling forward, vibrating as it crept over mounds of rubble. A curved wall drifted below, and another. Caliper imagined himself creeping like an ant over a tree stump’s rings, so had this city grown into place? Gloom filled the air as they drifted away from the shining vault.
Phos pointed ahead. ‘Dome-ish.’
A stained and buckled bulge of metal poked above rubble. Beyond the dome, a black wall swept from ceiling to ground and stretched left and right like a stage curtain; the brim circling the First Enclave ended here. Their cube stuttered and sank towards a black patch like a door’s shadow wrapping the dome thirty feet above ground, and the vibration built into a jaw-shaking rattle. Jagged rocks inched below. Whining burst out from their box, and it shuddered to a stop in the air, still two yards short of the inky square. Phos chased the wall’s symbols, but the icons died, and her hands slumped to her sides.
‘There’s nothing left. Can your exploits build a bridge?’
Caliper shook his head. ‘I’m best with plants, and this place is dead. You’ve nothing?’
She shook her head and drummed her fingers against the glass. ‘People flew here, and my suit shows railings behind the patch, so it’s more than a wall. Can we jump?’
Caliper pushed the door open and scooped a metal chunk from the floor before chucking it forward. Their patch gobbled the ingot. ‘Fine, but is there a drop the other side?’
‘The builders wouldn’t put doors above a drop.’
‘They did this side.’
‘No. There was a walkway here.’ Mitch pointed at rubble covering the ground.
‘Wonderful,’ Caliper said. ‘We can’t stay here.’
‘Let me jump,’ Phos said.
‘You fall, and we lose our lantern-headed girl and her exploits, and I’ll be the guy who let it happen. I’ve a three-yard run, and if I time it right….’
Curled letters capered across Phos’s helmet as her fingers twitched, and Caliper remembered squirrels scuttling up trees. Her energy made his promise to Christina a burden, but going first might shield her.
‘Shift this debris and give me a run,’ he said.
Mitch kicked four metal brackets through the door, and Phos bent the seat brackets out of his path without effort.
‘I’ll describe what I see, Phos, which might help you work out the builders’ thoughts.’
Frinelia gazed at the floor. ‘There’s no space – you’ll never build up enough speed.’
‘I did the barn-to-tree jumping business as a boy.’
‘Five hundred years ago,’ Mitch said.
He’d need a dancer’s balance, and dancing always made him vomit. Caliper jammed his shoulder against the cube’s frosted windows and twisted his body to manage the burst of energy needed. If he tore his suit….
A silent count, and a final breath, and Caliper launched himself. His final step set his left foot too far forward, but he flew with rigid limbs and into the patch, and his eyes stayed open as blackness swarmed him. His boots skidded over metal and he fell face first. A bar smacked his helmet as his body jarred to a stop. He sipped air and tried sitting, but his palm scrabbled over the floor before he gripped a post.
Caliper’s helmet grudged out a sputter of light, which splashed over a far wall and a distant domed roof. His suit clicked and his chest ached – he tasted metal.
‘Are you there, Phos?’
His suit hissed; silence would goad Phos into jumping. He’d slid against a set of railings, and he gripped the bars and hauled himself into a wary standing stance as breath whistled through his mouth. He’d crashed onto a gently curving walkway with a floor built from fine strips of woven metal. Caliper faced the black patch.
A storm of white-suited limbs bowled into him. His back struck the railings, and he teetered but clutched the bars.
Phos struggled upright as rainbows rippled over her helmet. ‘Are you safe? We waited as long as possible.’
‘You waited half a heartbeat, you arse. What if I’d fallen? You’d have splattered over my ribs.’
‘My suit showed you standing.’
‘Didn’t stop you smacking me, did it? And how the bollix did you jump?’
‘Not sure. I think the suit boosted me,’ Phos said.
‘You jumped when you weren’t sure? Madwoman, you are.’
‘Can’t have you having fun alone.’
‘You near knocked me off this ledge: the floor’s icy.’
‘Did I invent a new sport?’
‘Stop the comebacks, Phos; listen. We need Mitch and Frinelia and light.’
‘These suits shine – look.’
Glare seared around his face and Caliper winced. ‘Cut that out: you’ll blind me.’
Phos splashed her light around the dome’s black metal. Her head dipped, and Caliper gasped before gripping the railings and stepping rightward.
‘Did we dream the last few hours, or have we changed size?’
Their walkway circled a vast bowl, a cartwheel hovering over a cauldron, though this cauldron was a hundred yards wide and fifty deep. A blue band curved around the bowl’s top. Below, dusty green lines sketched squares over an olive-stained centre. Spires skewered up from the surface, and white specks littered the bowl.
Phos sauntered along the walkway. ‘We’ve an up-to-date model of the First. I can’t see our tracks, but they’d be tiny.’
‘I’ve made models but never entire worlds. Is this your tiny hut?’
‘Map room. Has to be. Christina’s argument belongs here.’
‘The model’s up to date.’ Caliper shivered. ‘Can we reach this bowl?’
‘The walkway surrounds the model; I expect the builders ordered changes from where we’re standing. My suit shows bedrooms and kitchens nearby. You’re trembling.’
‘My arse is freezing.’
‘Your suit should only hint at the chill – give me your hand.’
Phos’s fingers drifted over his palm before clasping his wrist, and she stared as fresh icons slid over his helmet. ‘Your suit’s damaged. Did you knock it?’
‘This idiot girl chucked herself at me, so yes, it’s had a knock.’
‘I can trick your suit into warming, but it’ll need tweaking each time we move.’
Phos laced her fingers through his, and two human-shaped symbols glowed on her visor as warm air bathed his arms and legs. ‘It’s fine for here – let’s explore.’
‘Mitch and Frinelia might help, so can we find planks?’
Metal creaked underfoot as they searched the walkway. Tools littered the path, and Caliper’s foot brushed outsize hammers and spanners. He bent to stare at what looked like flower heads cast from silver. Beside stood a pile of wooden rods curled into knots, and coppery foil wafted in the thin air as his feet passed. One knobbed baton vomited green syrup as he knocked it with his boot, and a silver wedge squirmed into a ball.
Phos’s lights swept
over banks of dark metal cabinets set back from the gantry. Caliper strained at the handle but nothing gave. He stopped when his ribs ached. A second cabinet burst open and spewed out ropes, trays and metal rods, and a huge stuffed toy dog bounced from his helmet.
‘The builders had children.’
‘Yes, or we wouldn’t exist,’ Phos said. ‘The builders filled the cabinets, and the contents shifted afterwards, so was there shaking?’
‘Can’t tell, but there’re wooden beams here. Stick enough over the gap, and we’ll trundle Frinelia across.’
The beams were lighter than any wood, and Phos helped him slide the planks through the black patch. Caliper paused and stuck his head outside; his teeth rattled as light clawed his eyes.
Mitch stood in the cube’s doorway, and Frinelia leaned against the bench’s remains.
‘Did you miss us? Never mind – we’ve some class of bridge.’
Phos heaved a plank through the black. It smacked his arm, but he gripped the wood and thrust it at the cube’s doorway, and they laid eight planks side by side.
‘Do you need towing, Frinelia?’
‘Make room, Caliper. I’m neither decrepit nor obese.’ Frinelia ushered Mitch away and tapped her foot on the bridge. Caliper guided her and Mitch followed.
‘The floor is slippery, but I think I can touch the main lights.’
Light flickered fifty feet above and flowed into a yellow ring above the walkway. At the far side of the circle, a raised stage sat on eight stubby stilts – space for a leader to order changes. Crates cluttered the platform’s left side, and a wall lurked behind the stage, pierced by an unlit corridor.
Phos picked her way over the walkway debris. Broken boxes had spilled out builder-sized masks and helmets dripping with black grease. She kicked a tarpaulin and its fabric shattered.
Mitch and Caliper pressed themselves against the railings to stare, and Mitch pointed. ‘We came near that village, and it’s showing what’s there now, but if I dig through the model, will a real hole appear in the First?’ More words scrolled over his helmet.
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