Flowercrash (18 page)

Fnfayrq nodded, then replied, “Sea currents circle, tiny plankton ending up where they began.”

“No,” Manserphine told Curulialci.

“Then what does she want to do?”

Manserphine asked this question, to receive the reply, “At night we can lie naked on our shore, absorb the endless, so-perfect white noise of crashing surf.”

“She only wants to listen to us debating,” Manserphine reported. “Here is my advice. Let’s finish the day as normal. I’ll translate for Fnfayrq, and at the end of the day I can give you my feelings.”

This was agreed. The afternoon was spent as the morning, until, as the artificial, sunless sky began to dim into soft streaks of rose and violet, the ten women one by one vanished from the Garden into their own chambers. Manserphine was left in the Inner Garden, her two superiors at her side, Alquazonan standing some yards away contemplating moths that were already appearing from flower-laden bushes.

“What do you make of Fnfayrq’s appearance?” asked Yamagyny.

Manserphine decided to tell a harmless truth. “I took a trip into Aequalaïs during my banishment,” she said. “There may be a connection.”

“Did you meet Fnfayrq?”

“Yes. She threw me out.”

Curulialci frowned. “Why did you go?”

Without hesitation Manserphine replied, “You know of my visions. I discovered that the insects appearing afterwards all fly south into that urb. I went exploring.”

Curulialci seemed satisfied with the explanation, though Yamagyny described it as rash. So they departed the Garden, having bade Alquazonan farewell.

Back in the real world dusk was upon Veneris. Manserphine hurried to her chamber, changed into a flimsy gown and a jacket, then ran into the gardens of the Shrine, ending up inside a walled garden stuffed with scented blooms. With night close these nocturnal flowers were opening, and moths were flapping everywhere. She forged a way through to the single orange great-snapdragon that she knew grew by the north wall. There it was. Now for the tricky part. Without a humble bee pen she would have to tickle anthers, a difficult operation given the enclosed petals that resembled a beast’s mouth. The screen was stuck at the base of the bloom.

She cursed the impractical networks. But then she stopped herself. Zoahnône’s words rose up in her mind. She realised that she was imposing her own view upon the natural complexity of the system—and that was wrong. She must learn to accept the flower networks as they were. These thoughts made Zoahnône’s plan urgent in her mind, and she resolved to do everything she could to assist, for if she, an enlightened woman, was so easily led into such a view, how much more easily would the general populace be led.

So she struggled to make the screen work. And there lay a message from Zoahnône, which she opened immediately. It read, ‘This humble bee pen makes information placing easy! I have been to the Shrine of Complete Inebriation, where I discovered that two doorwardens recently departed the place. One was a sot named Lizlaini, the other the tall, noble woman who must be Shônsair, but who used a false name. I am continuing my search. I am also debating with myself the wisdom of killing Shônsair. Of course, that is murder, but it may be justified. We shall see.’

Manserphine felt repelled by the naked emotion of Zoahnône’s last thoughts, and she wondered just what she had become involved with. But again she considered the flower networks, which she loved for their beauty and elegance, and she knew that Zoahnône was right. She decided personal differences was gynoid business and nothing to do with herself.

In a state of calm thoughtfulness she returned to her room. To her surprise she found Yamagyny sitting at the door, reading a hardpetal tablet.

Yamagyny looked her up and down. “Your dress is rather dirty. Where have you been?”

“Just for a walk in the gardens.”

“I’ve a task for you.”

They entered Manserphine’s room and sat down. Manserphine said, “I hope this is a short task.”

“It’s an important task. We know you’re friends with Luihaby and so it has devolved upon you. Curulialci suspects a affair between Luihaby and a man. Men, possibly. We want you to investigate. You two being friends, Luihaby won’t suspect. But please be subtle. If news gets out the Garden will suffer a setback in the public eye, and, worse, to the other representatives. Above all, with Fnfayrq on the scene we don’t want to seem weak.”

Manserphine scoffed at this. “You know as well as I do that Fnfayrq has sworn no oath of celibacy. The Sea-Clerics are notorious debauchees, who lie with different men in sandy pits along the shore.”

“That’s just unsubstantiated rumour,” Yamagyny said.

“I beg to differ,” Manserphine interrupted, offended by this slur on her ability. “I know the Sea-Clerics better than anybody outside Aequalaïs.”

Flustered, Yamagyny waved her hands at Manserphine and said, “We stray from the point.”

Manserphine knew she had won over a particularly smug form of hypocrisy, for affairs in the lower shrine were commonplace here. She said, “Do we? As for this task, with Fnfayrq present in the Garden I shall have no time for investigations. I am sorry.”

“You have no choice,” Yamagyny stated. “Report to me as soon as you have evidence.”

Manserphine scowled as the Mother Cleric departed her room. This was the last thing she wanted. After Shrine duties came Zoahnône, and nobody else.

The next day work continued at the Garden. It was a full day, offering Manserphine no respite, but she was delighted to hear that the next two days would be a recess, allowing civil mathematicians time to finish calculations concerning memory requirements. This gave her the space she needed, for she could both speak with Zoahnône and investigate Luihaby.

Zoahnône had left no message, so she concentrated on Luihaby. Although they were friends Manserphine knew little about Luihaby’s private life, for they met mostly at the Shrine of Our Sister Crone. Thinking, however, of Luihaby’s responsibilities for the male inhabitants of Veneris, in the Woods and at the edges of the urb, she wondered if an indiscretion had after all occurred. Luihaby was young, pretty, and the oath of celibacy was controversial; and sometimes broken. Manserphine herself, having enjoyed a healthy interest in men, had found the last eight years of celibacy difficult, despite the doctrinal advantages.

So she walked up the short street leading to the edge of the Venereal Garden. Flowers in the central aisle flopped over the edge track, brushing against her legs, so that touch-sensitive networks were activated by her passing. Lights flickered and glowed. She carried a fan so that insects, of which there were now thousands, could be gently batted away from her face. Some local residents wore face masks, while around doors and windows sheets had been hung, painted in ultra-violet ink with lines of system code, a language the insects would understand and avoid.

At the Venereal Garden she pondered her dilemma. She must not seem like a customer of the preening men inside, but at the same time she needed to cover a lot of ground and ask questions. The best ploy was disguise. Already she wore a nondescript cloak. From her pocket she took a neckscarf given to her by Vishilkaïr, and after pulling her hair back, she tied it around her head to give her the appearance of a wandering academic.

It was morning, a time of low activity in the Venereal Garden, and she walked for five minutes before seeing anybody. Around her, gazebos, arbours and conservatories were set amidst profuse displays of bluebells, cowslips, dandelions and foxgloves, ready for the amours and liaisons of the night. It was warm, but the grass was damp after overnight rain. Manserphine paused to survey the ground ahead and find her bearings.

Away to the north she saw the top of the Gazebo Azure, around which many men had their stages. She decided to make for it. Languid women in translucent gowns wandered by, carrying books of love, lingams on strings, and silver trays of aphrodisiac food. The scent of the flowers and the warmth of the sun conspired to create in Manserphine a mood of unreality. She had never been here before.

She stopped one woman to ask, “Excuse me, I am looking for a woman of medium height, with shiny black hair bobbed to her chin, a pretty expression, but a rough accent. Does she come here?”

“There’s no point asking me,” came the reply, “ask a man.”

Manserphine shrugged and walked on. At the tower she saw two dozen covered stages, some empty, but most occupied by one, occasionally two men. So this was where low and middle ranking clerics came for their pleasures. Officially it was condemned by Our Sister Crone; privately it was funded by Our Sister Crone, or so rumour suggested.

Manserphine read the plaque on the stage of the nearest man, who sat at his ease on a wicker chair. It read, ‘Ladies of social distinction catered for. Documentation of family lineage required. Bring your own settee.’

The next read, ‘Exotic strip with oil! Make own wine and bring along! Foods no object! Please no cowries! Keep me warm with big legs!’

Manserphine stifled a groan of disbelief. Suddenly she was aware of her own stance, celibacy forced upon her, a price she had thought worth paying when she first became Interpreter. Seeing all this made her wonder.

At the next stage she attracted the attention of the youth by smiling at him, then approaching. “Hello,” he said, cheerily. “A quickie or a long slow one?”

Manserphine frowned. “I am not after your wares,” she said icily. “I am searching for a friend.” She described Luihaby, then asked the youth if he had seen her.

“It reminds me of one of Camfaïrra‘s regulars,” he said. “Go and ask him. He’s four stages along.”

Manserphine counted the stages. She was not prepared for what she found at the fourth stage.

There sat Kirifaïfra, relaxing in a chair angled away from her, his oiled torso bare to the sun, wearing a wrap skirt and sandals. His pigtail had been wrapped with multicoloured ribbon. Shocked, Manserphine put up her hand, to feel through the neckscarf the braid in her own hair.

She stood rooted to the ground. His pitch read, ‘Camfaïrra will sooth your troubled breast with scented oils, before offering you fragrant wine fermented from oyster-grapes. He will make you forget the nightmare world outside. You will cry when you leave him, but in your dreams he will lie at your side, your eternal servant.’

Still he had not seen her. Manserphine found that she could not move. Surely Luihaby was not coming here to make love with Kirifaïfra. She would not have it. She was jealous. Jealous! Ridiculous. Kirifaïfra was a youth, who said he loved her because… because… she could not think why he said it. But this changed everything.

He turned and glanced at her. Manserphine became a statue. The sun was behind her; he had not recognised her. In a rolling Blissis brogue she said, “‘Scuse, mate, lookin’ for Luihaby. Urgent, like. She been here?”

“Yes, she was here last night,” Kirifaïfra answered. “Can I give her a message when I see her next?”

Manserphine felt raw emotion surge from her chest into her throat, as if she was preparing to scream or sob. She stood unable to speak, staring at him. She became aware that she was not breathing. Then she pulled off her scarf and shouted, “You liar! You—”

He dived off the stage. Surprised, Manserphine turned and ran, but he caught her, and when she struggled, tackled her to the ground. From the other stages came whoops and guffaws.

Kirifaïfra turned to them and shouted, “Any more of that and I’ll poison the lot of you. Shut up!”

They quietened, though a few chortled to themselves. Kirifaïfra turned to Manserphine and said, “What are you doing here? Surely not—”

“No, I wasn’t,” Manserphine angrily interrupted. “How
could
you? You said you loved me, you stupid—”

“But I do. This is just one of my jobs.”

“Some job,” Manserphine muttered. “So Luihaby herself comes here on a regular basis to, to…”

“Don’t think about that,” Kirifaïfra insisted, “think about us.”

Manserphine laughed at this show of desperation. “Us? The Interpreter of the Garden and a two-cowrie gigolo?”

“I am more than that. I have noble feelings. I desire you. Manserphine, you’ve changed my life.”

“I can do more than that,” Manserphine replied, bitterness welling up inside her. “I can break your heart. You’re just a fool. How can you prostitute yourself like this? It’s a perversion of how things should be done.”

“And I suppose celibacy is not?” he replied. “You’re in no position to comment on my life. Aren’t we the same? You deny your natural desires for doctrine, while I exploit mine for the same.”

“What doctrine would that be?”

“Living life as a man with no money, the doctrine of hardship. Manserphine, I am an independent, a free will. I have no guardian, you must have realised that—Jezelva doesn’t exist. I wanted to tell you but Vishilkaïr wouldn’t let me. Now I only want you.”

Manserphine looked at him, her emotions lurching from anger to pity to jealousy, and back to anger. All the feelings of her youth were rekindled. She understood that she had merely repressed them, not sublimated them as required by Our Sister Crone. Yet she could not show any crack in her doctrinal armour. He must not see what she really wanted; for suddenly she knew. If he did, she was lost.

She sighed, staring at the grass. “This was a bad move. I have work to do. I knew I shouldn’t have taken this task on.”

“What task?”

“An investigation. You needn’t worry, I won’t implicate you.”

“Implicate me?” he repeated, looking frightened.

“Our Sister Crone looks with wrath upon tempters.”

That made him think. And it was true. Yamagyny could have him castrated and sent packing into the Woods if he was linked to Luihaby.

“Manserphine, you must save me,” he said. “Truly I still love you. We must be together. If I’m in trouble, you must save me.”

Manserphine looked away, and from the way he relaxed she knew he had spotted her indecision. The complexity of the situation, made worse by her feelings, made her tremble. She stood up. He stood by her, and with a gentle arm led her to a tree, under which they sat.