Authors: Iain M. Banks
Feersum Endjinn (8 page)
‘Al—’
/He was in the nursery of the clan’s Seattle stronghold. The nurse was above him; the knife came down on his mewls.
And something inside him screamed,
Seven
!
Seven
!
He awoke.
He was in a hotel room; it was small and tawdry-looking. The curtains drawn, the ceiling light on. He was sitting. His heart was hammering, his body covered with cold sweat. He cancelled the fake physical symptoms of his panic then started to imagine being somewhere else . . . but he was out of places to run, and as he did not know where he was, he suspected that here was as good a place as any to stay a while.
What had happened? What had been going on?
He stood up and went to the window, carefully lifting one corner of the curtains while staying behind the wall, half expecting the arrival of a hail of bullets or another missile the instant he betrayed his position.
He looked out onto a darkened town; a port within a huge, dim space all speckled with small lights. Dark waters lay in the distance beyond wharves and cranes. Spaced regularly in the shadows across the inky glints of waves he could just make out huge pillars, growing out of that broad, buried sea like impossibly perfect steep-cliffed islands and sprouting, spreading at their summits to meet a jet-black vaulted sky more remembered than seen.
He was still in Serehfa, then, underneath it, within the cistern level. The port was called Oubliette. The narrow street outside looked quiet. A few lights showed behind shades on the tall, narrow buildings opposite, and down in the port he could see ships tied against the piers, container cranes swinging slowly to and fro above them, and hints of movement within pools of dim yellow light on the wharves themselves.
He let the curtain fall back, then looked around the room. There was little to search; a small bed, a seat, a table, a screen, a bedside cabinet. A notice on the back of the door said that the room was room 7, floor 7, in the Salvation Hotel.
In the cabinet’s drawer, he found a paper envelope.
On it was written,
Alandre Jeovanx
.
Alandre Jeovanx
.
It had been his name before promotion. He tore open the envelope.
There was a single sheet of paper folded inside.
Read Me,
it said.
Read Me,
it said.
He read it.
4
Bascule, ah no dis hard 4 u, but goodness sakes bey it only a dam ant.
It woz a most special & uneek ant Mr Zoliparia I tel him & I feel responsybil 4 what hapind 2 hir.
Weer inside thi Iball ov thi septentrynal gargoil Rosbrith, in Mr Zoliparia’s study. Mr Zoliparia has a fing calld a telifone in his study u can speek in2 (didn evin no he had it - fink heez a bit embrased about it 2 tel thi troof). Nway, he juss got in tuch wif thi gard 2 report whot happind aftir Id insistid, tho heed only report that thi bird had stole a valubil anteik box, not a ant. (Actule, thi box isnt a anteik @ ol but that isn what matters.) Id ½ tryd callin thi gard myself soon as it happind but I no from past xpeeryins they wooden lissen 2 me cos Im yung.
Weed been hopin that maibe thi bird whot had stolen Ergates woz 1 ov them ringed Is wif cameraz & stuf, or 1 ov them bein followed roun by little buzzir-bugs 4 a wildlife screen program or thi purpisses ov cyantific reserch but I gess it woz a bit ov a long shot & shurenuf thi ansir woz no 2 both. Thi gard took sum detales but Mr Zoliparia duzent hold out much hope ov them doing anythin.
U mussnt blame yoself, it woz a accident, Bascule.
I no that, Mr Zoliparia, but it woz a accident I cood ½ priventd if Id been moar observint & watchful & juss plain diligint in jeneril. What woz I thinkin ov lettin hir eat that bred on thi balstraid like that? Speshily when I seen them birdz in thi distins. I meen; bred! Evrbidy no birds luv bred! (I slap ma hand off ma 4head, finkin what a idiot Ive been.)
O Bascule, ahm sorry 2 on account ov me being di hoast & all; dis happin in ma hoam & ah shood ½ taken moar care 2, but wot’s dun is dun.
Is it tho, Mr Zoliparia? U reely think so?
What u mean, yung Bascule?
Am a tellir, Mr Zoliparia, u mussnt 4get that. (I screws up ma Is @ this point, 2 sho him I meen bizniss.) Them birdz—
Bascule, no! U cant go doin dat sorta ting! U crazi or sumtin chile? U onli go & scrambil yor brainz u try any ov dat sorta nonsins.
I juss smile.
I doan no whot u no ov whot a tellir duz but now mite b as good a time as eny 2 tell u if u doan no (them that duz can haply skip thi next 5 or 6 paragrafs & get bak 2 thi storey).
Basikly, a tellir fishiz in2 thi kript & pools out sum ole boy or girl & asks them qwestyins & ansirs there qwestyins. Iss kinda ½ archilojikil reserch & ½ soshil wurk if u want 2 look @ it coldly & r happy 2 ignoar whot peepil col thi spiritul side ov it.
Coarse its all a bit murki & weerd down thare in thi kript & moast bags (thas Boys & Girls remembir) get a bit spooked even thinkin about contactin thi ded let alone actuly welcomin them in2 ther beds & ½in a natter wif them. 2 us tellirs tho iss juss sumthin we do as a mattir ov coarse & no bothir ... well, providin u r carefil, naturily (admitidly ther arnt a lot ov old tellirs aroun, tho thas moastly coz ov whot they col naturil waistidje).
Nway, thi point is that tellirs yooz their natcheril skills 2 delv in2 thi kript, partly 2 find out things from thi past & partly 2 fulfill pledjes & bqwests whot thi relivint ordir has taken on. Mi order is calld thi Little Big Brothers ov thi Rich & we orijnaly jus lookd aftir thi inkripted soles ov peepil whot were very well off indeed thang-u-veri-mutch but our remit has brodind a bit sins then & now parrently weel tok 2 eny ole rif raf if they got sumfink inarestin 2 say.
Now, thi thing iz this; juss as thi deeper u go in2 thi kript thi hazier & more corosiv doun thare things get, so thi longir it is since u died thi moar kinda disoshiated u get from realty, &, evntule, evin if u want 2 stay in sum kinda hoomin form, u juss cant support that sort ov complexity, & 1 ov thi things that mite hapin after that is that u get shunted in2 thi animal kingdum; your personality, such as it is by then, is transferd in2 a panfir or a roc or cat or a simurg or a shark or eegil or whotevir. Iss aktuly considered sumfink ov a priviledge; loadsa bags fink thers nuffink betir than bein a bird or sumfink simla.
Ov coarse, theez animalz iz stil linkd in2 thi kript by ther own inplants, & thusly ther brains is potenshily availabil 2 a tellir, tho this is a pritti irregulir - not 2 say kinda daingerous - oakurinse. Irregulir bcoz nobody evir duz it. Dainjerous bcoz whot u r basikly tryin 2 do as a tellir in such a sircumstanse is try 2 fit yoor hoomin size mind inside a bird size 1. Takes sum finessin, but Ive always had this theery that bcoz my thots cum out wif a spin on them, so 2 speek, Im speshily good @ coapin wif 2 diffrint thot modes @ 1nce, & so moar than capabil ov takin on thi task ov becomin a bird & flyin in2 ther airea ov thi kript.
Thiss, u may ½ gatherd, is xactly whot I am proposin 2 do, & Mr Zoliparia is not 2 enamerd ov thi idea.
Bascule, pleeze, he sez, attempt 2 retain a sens ov proportshin. Iss onli a ant. & u r onli a junior tellir.
4shore, Mr Zoliparia, I sez. But am a tellir whot haznt evin bgun 2 b stretchd yet. Am a grate tellir. Am a tottil blinkin hot-shot tellir & I juss no I can fynd that bird.
& do whot? Mr Zoliparia shouts. De dam ant is probly ded! Dat birdz probly 8 it by now! Y u want 2 torture youself by findin dat out?
If so, I want 2 no, but nway I dont fink that’s rite; Im bankin on her ½ in been dropt by that big bird & am hopin it mite remember whare, or—
Bascule u r upset. Y doan u juss go bak 2 di ordir & try 2 cam down & tink dis —
Mr Zoliparia, I sez qwietly, I thank u 4 your consern but I intend 2 do this no mattir whot u say. Cheerz oll thi saim.
Mr Zoliparia lukes @ me diffrint than he has in thi past. Ive always liked him & Ive always luked up 2 him evir sins he woz 1 ov thi peepil they sent me 2 when they reelized I tolkd farely normil but I thot a bit funy, + I tend 2 do whot he sez - it woz him sed Perhaps u wood make a good tellir, & him whot sujjestid I keep a jurnil, witch this is whot u r readin - but this time I doan mutch care whot he finks, or @ least I do but I doan mutch care how bad it makes me feel goan agenst his advice bcoz I juss no I ½ 2 do this.
O deer Bascule, he sez & shakes his hed. I do bleev u do intend 2 do this & iss a sorry ting 4 eny persin 2 do 4 sumtin as insignifcant as a ant.
Iss not thi ant, Mr Zoliparia, I sez feelin ded grownup, itz me.
Mr Zoliparia shakes his hed. Iss u & no godam sens ov proporshin, dats wot it is.
Ol thi saim, I sez. It woz mi frend; she woz relyin on me 2 keep hir safe. Juss 1 try, Mr Zoliparia. I feel I O hir that.
Bascule, pleese, juss tink—
Mind if I juss hunkir down heer, Mr Zoliparia?
Givn u detrminded, Bascule, heer is probly bettir than Iswhare but am not happi about dis.
Doan wury, Mr Zoliparia. Woant take a second, litterly.
Der anytin I can do?
Yep; let me boro that pen ov yoors. Ta. Now am goanta sit up here - I sqwatted on a chair, ma chin on ma nees, & put thi pen in ma mouf.
‘en ’i ’en ’all ou‘ ’a ’ouf, I start 2 tel him . . .
Whot u sayin, Bascule?
I take thi pen out ma mouf. I woz juss sayin, when thi pen falls out ov ma mouf, let it hit thi carpet then shaik me & shout Bascule, fast awake!
Bascule, fast asleep, Mr Zoliparia sez.
Awake! I yelz. Not wide asleep; fast awake!
Fast awake, Mr Zoliparia repeats. Bascule, fast awake. He shakes his hed & heez shakin. O deer Bascule, o deer.
If yor that wurried, Mr Zoliparia, catch thi pen b4 it hits & then wake me. Now, just giv me a minit heer ... I settil in2 place, gettin comfterbil; thisil onli take a sekind but u ½ 2 feel settld & redy & @ peece.
Rite. Am prepaird.
Thisl all hapin very qwickli, Mr Zoliparia; u redi? I put thi pen bak in ma mouf.
O deer Bascule.
Here we go.
O deer.
& so its off 2 thi land ov thi ded 4 yoors truli 4 thi sekind time 2day, onli this time iss a bit moar serieus.
Iss like sinkin in2 thi sky on thi other side ov thi Erf wifout goin thru thi whole fing furst. Iss like flotin in2 thi erf & thi sky @ thi time, becomin a line not a point, plumin thi depths & assendin thi hites & then branchin out like a tree, like a plane tree, like a hooj bush interminglin wif every bit ov thi erf & thi sky, & then iss like every 1 ov those bits isnt juss a bit ov erf or a molicule ov air eny more, iss like ol ov them is suddenly a littl system ov ther own; a book, a library, a persin; a world . . . & yoor connectid wif ol ov it, ignorin barryers, like u r a brain sell deep in thi grainy grey mush ov thi brain all closed in but joined up 2 loadsa uthir sells, awash in ther communicashin-song & set free by that trapt meshin.
Boompf-badoom; slapadowndoodie thru thi topmost obvyis layers whot corrisponds 2 thi upper levils ov thi brain - thi rashinil, sensibil, easily understood layers - in2 thi furst ov thi deepdown floors, thi bit under thi cerebral, under thi crust, under thi fotosphere, under thi obvyis.
Iss heer u ½ 2 b a littl bit careful; iss like bein in a not-so-saloobrius neyborhood ov a big dark city @ nite - only more complicaitd than that; mutch moar so.
In here, thi trik is thinkin rite. Thas all u ½ 2 do. U ½ 2 think rite. U ½ 2 b dairing & koshis, u ½ 2 b ver sensibil & totily mad. Moast ov ol u ½ 2 b
cluvir,
u ½ 2 b
ingenius.
U ½ 2 b abil 2 use whotevir is aroun u, & thass whot it reely cums doun 2; thi kript is whot they col self-referenshil, which meens that - up 2 a poynt - it meens whot u want it 2 meen, & displays itself 2 u as u r best abil 2 understand it, so iss up 2 u reely whot yoos u make ov it aftir that; iss ol about injinooty & thass y itz a yung persins meedyum, frangly.
cluvir,
u ½ 2 b
ingenius.
U ½ 2 b abil 2 use whotevir is aroun u, & thass whot it reely cums doun 2; thi kript is whot they col self-referenshil, which meens that - up 2 a poynt - it meens whot u want it 2 meen, & displays itself 2 u as u r best abil 2 understand it, so iss up 2 u reely whot yoos u make ov it aftir that; iss ol about injinooty & thass y itz a yung persins meedyum, frangly.
Nway, I new whot I wantid so I thot
bird
.
bird
.
& suddinly I woz up in sum dark bildin abuv thi wee twinkly lites ov thi city, up thare wif big metalic skulptyirs ov feersum lookin birds & ther woz lots ov screetches & skwaks about thi place but u coudnt c no birds jus heer thi noyse they made & it woz sort ov crusty-soft under foot & smeld asidic (or alkline; 1 ov thi 2).
I snifd about, walkin qwietly, then hopt up on2 1 ov thi big metallic birds & sqwatted there, wings by mi sides, stairin out ovir thi lite-spekd blak grid ov thi citi & not blinkin juss lookin 4 movemint, & lowrin ma hed now & agen & pokin in under mi wings wif thi twig whot I held in ma beak, juss like I woz preenin or sumfin.
Noticd ma wake-up code in thi form ov a ring roun ma lef leg. Handy 2 no it woz thare, juss in case fings go rong an/or Mr Zoliparia flufs his line.
... Staid ther a while, payshint as u like, juss watchin.
Wot u wan then? sed a voice from abuv & behind.
Nufink mutch, I sed, not lookin. I woz aware ov thi twig in ma beak but it din seem 2 make speakin eny hardir.
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