The Abyss Beyond Dreams (34 page)

‘Why did it stop? There’s nothing this world likes better than its traditions.’

‘One of his granddaughters had a puppy. It slipped its lead and ran towards the egg – the lure, you see. She ran after it—’

‘Oh, crud.’

‘They had to amputate three of her fingers when she got stuck.’ Bethaneve squeezed his hand a fraction tighter, and gave his stump a thoughtful look. ‘I don’t suppose
they had time to administer narnik, either. Poor girl.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Anyway, that’s the only time I know about an egg being moved anywhere by humans. Maybe this Nigel is planning some kind of victory ceremony. Is he a politician?’

‘I suppose he could stand for a Council office. It makes as much sense as anything – except this was over a year and a half ago.’ He realized they were still holding hands, and
made no effort to stop.

‘I’ll do you a deal, Captain Slvasta.’

‘Go on.’

‘I will order up all the files on boatowners in Erond county and go through them for you. See if any of them fit what you’ve told me about Nigel.’

‘That sounds good. What’s my side of the deal?’

Her smile became fierce. ‘You take me to a bait.’

‘A bait?’

‘Yes.’ She was looking at him intently, ex-sight examining his shell for hints of his reaction.

‘Very well.’

She drained her beer glass, then dropped the pretty rose from her hair into it. ‘Come on, then.’

*

Slvasta had never been to the city’s Newich district. Never had a reason to. It was a jumble of derelict warehouses and factories, broken up by bleak tenements the owners
had built to house their workforce. A canal had been dug through the middle, channelling a powerful flow from the river Gossant before it emptied into the Colbal. Big factories were built on both
sides of it, forming a dark artificial canyon. Each of them possessed two or three waterwheels, turning the looms and lathes inside.

The bait was held in one of them, an abandoned cloth works. Most of the building’s upper floors had been stripped out years ago as part of the demolition and replacement schedule for the
whole canal – which hadn’t yet happened. Their absence left a single large enclosed space, with the remnants of the upper floors clinging to the walls forming precarious balconies. The
uneven brick floor was broken up by deep, narrow trenches where the whirring leather pulley belts used to run day and night, and had now been colonized by manky, disease-laden urban bussalores. Big
iron bearings were still affixed to the walls, the last remnants of the mighty looms which used to fill the factory.

Dozens of slates had slipped off the roof, allowing wide beams of moiré nebula-light to shine in. But the main source of illumination came from hundreds of oil lanterns hanging from the
jagged edges of the balconies. They shone down on the bait pit in the centre of the brick floor, an arena seven paces across, made from thick timbers.

There must have been over three hundred men and women crammed inside. Slvasta had expected it to be mostly working class, residents from the nearby slum houses. But no, there were many shiny top
hats and ornate dresses; he even saw a few regiment uniforms amid the crowd. The noise was brutal, the air rancid and filled with tatus flies. People were sitting along the edge of the balconies,
dangling their legs over the side, tankards and wine glasses in hand. Spilt drink was a constant drizzle as they cheered on their animal down in the pit.

Slvasta stared round in amazement, letting his ex-sight drift about. One end of the factory was stacked with cages containing the animals yet to fight. There were barrels of beer set up, the
brewers charging double the price of any pub, tables with wine, even some narnik traders blatantly walking round with trays of wads and fresh pipes. And bookmakers lurked in the corners, surrounded
by guards armed with knives and pistols that you didn’t need to probe with ex-sense to discover.

‘Everything out in the open,’ he said, unsure if he approved or not.

‘True democracy,’ Bethaneve replied. Then she waved to someone at a small table on the other side of the pit. ‘This way.’

Her friends turned out to be Javier and his boyfriend Coulan. Javier was a big, heavily muscled thirty-year-old with ebony skin almost as dark as Quanda’s. Slvasta fought down that
shameful comparison. The man had a Rakwesh accent, and the way he was hunched over the table made it look as though it’d been built for children. In contrast, Coulan was a tall lad with
short-cropped fair hair and skin so pale Slvasta first thought he was albino; with his endearingly handsome features it was easy to like him at first glance. However, his shell was completely
impervious, allowing no aspect of his thoughts to escape.

They greeted Slvasta with a modicum of suspicion at first, even with Bethaneve vouching for him.

‘Your first time at a bait?’ Javier asked as he beckoned a barmaid over.

‘Yes.’

‘Thought so.’

Slvasta didn’t know how to take that. Now he was sitting next to Javier, he was beginning to realize just how large the man was.

‘Any tips?’ Bethaneve shouted above the din.

‘Initie’s hound,’ Coulan said. ‘It’s a mean beast. Worth some coin.’

‘Putting it up against two mod-dogs in a while,’ Javier said. ‘I got Philippa one of them.’

‘Philippa runs the bait,’ Bethaneve ’pathed, as she nodded towards a ninety-year-old woman in a filthy silk kimono, sitting in a big armchair close to the arena.

‘Do you keep mod-dogs?’ Slvasta asked.

That earned him a snort of derision from Javier. ‘No. I find them for Philippa. Owners shouldn’t be so fucking careless.’

‘People shouldn’t own them at all,’ Slvasta replied levelly.

It clearly wasn’t the answer Javier had been expecting. He gave Slvasta a dark smile. ‘Then what would we all use?’

‘Who the crud cares? I just don’t want mods and neuts on Bienvenido.’

Javier grinned and nodded at Slvasta’s stump. ‘One of them get a bit snappy, did they?’

‘No, I lost the arm to an egg. The mods helped stick me to it; they belong to the Fallers. People can’t see that.’

Javier rocked back on his stool. ‘Crud!’

A roar came from the arena’s audience. A wolfhound had been dropped into the arena, along with three mod-cats. The wolfhound charged at the mod-cats, slavering furiously. The crowd cheered
loudly as its teeth closed round the first mod-cat. But the other two mod-cats, ’path goaded and in a terror-frenzy, started snapping at the wolfhound’s legs. Teeth which adaptors had
formed to slice clean through rodents ripped through the dog’s flesh. The wolfhound snarled in pain and fury and clamped its jaws on a mod-cat. Locked together, all three animals jumped and
slung themselves around against the wooden wall, growling and shrieking as blood made the floor slicker.

Slvasta used his ex-sight to observe the carnage. Bethaneve stood so she could see the whole gory spectacle. A barmaid delivered three tankards to the table. Javier raised his. ‘To killing
mods.’

‘Wherever they are,’ Slvasta responded. They knocked their tankards together and drank.

Bethaneve rolled her eyes. ‘Boys!’ Grinning, she drank a big slug of beer, then resumed her yelling at the arena.

‘So it’s a cushy office job for you now, is it?’ Javier asked.

‘Temporary. I’ll be back sweeping for eggs soon, I hope.’

‘Politics, then? They pushed you out because you were too dedicated to your job? I can appreciate that.’

‘That obvious, huh?’

‘It’s how the rich always work. Anyone who comes along that can upset the way things are done gets taken down fast. How else are they going to keep what they have?’

‘The Fallers keep them in power,’ Coulan said. ‘This constant fight against them means people accept the social and financial structure of this world without question. We need
the regiments to perform the sweeps and root out nests; therefore we pay the government to protect us. Who’s going to argue? Without that protection, you either Fall or get eaten. It’s
a great incentive.’

This world
– a phrase Slvasta had heard before, though he couldn’t think where. ‘But there will always be Fallers,’ he said. ‘The Forest sends them. We
can’t do anything about that.’

Javier leaned over the table, suddenly animated. Mostly by drink, but anger played its part. ‘People came to Bienvenido on ships that flew through the Void – some even say they came
from
outside
the Void. No matter; once we could fly like Skylords. Can you imagine that? Now we just sit here and cower as the eggs Fall on us like Uracus is taking a shit. How our
ancestors must despise us! We abandoned all the marvels they had, we shrank and listened to the weasel words of men like the Captains who promised us this false shelter. What we should be doing is
declaring war on the Forest. Take the battle up there, into the Void itself.’

‘People flying into space?’ Slvasta asked. ‘You’re talking about ship’s machines, and they don’t work on Bienvenido. Our ancestors came here so they could
live simple lives, lives that brought fulfilment. That is the way to the Heart of the Void.’ He frowned, barely able to believe he’d just quoted such orthodoxy. It was supposed to be
him who argued against the establishment’s restrictions.

‘Really? Did any of your first ancestors tell you that directly? Or was it the teachers in schools paid for by the Councils? Councils that are ruled by the Captain and all the rich
families who support him and beg his patronage. We don’t know what happened three thousand years ago, not really. But does it make any sense to you that the ships would choose to come here, a
world under permanent siege? Why would they do that when they had a whole universe to choose from? Got an answer for that?’

Slvasta had to shake his head and admit defeat. ‘No. Not if you put it like that.’

‘Is there another way I should put it?’

‘Hey, I’m on your side.’

‘Yes. I can see you’re kept down just like all the rest of us dumb peasants. But is it the side you’d choose? If you were allowed to choose, that is? Which you’re
not.’

‘I’m doing what I can.’

Javier clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Of course you are.’

Which he actually wasn’t, but that was down to a harsh self-judgement.

‘Enough,’ Bethaneve said. ‘We’re here to enjoy ourselves. Slvasta, fancy a flutter? Javier talks way too much, but he does know his beasts. Initie’s hound might be
worth it.’

‘Quite right,’ Javier said. ‘Ignore my bullshit. I apologize. Put your money on Initie. You’ll double it at least.’

‘All right then,’ Slvasta said, suddenly realizing he was genuinely enjoying himself for the first time since he’d arrived in the city. ‘If it loses, I’ll claim you
are a Faller and send the Marines after you. Still think it’s going to win?’

Javier roared with laughter. ‘Put my coin on with yours. We’ll find out the hard way.’

*

‘Would you like to start with the bad news?’ Bethaneve asked. It was Saturday, a week after the night at the bait. Bethaneve had agreed to meet Slvasta for lunch,
and he’d chosen Davidia’s, a fresh-fish café halfway along Captain Sanorelle’s Pier. The pier was actually the start of what the poor Captain had hoped would be a bridge
across the Colbal – a folly doomed from the moment the first stanchions were sunk. The river beside the city was over three kilometres wide, with a fiercely strong current even outside the
rainy season. The bridge had reached four hundred metres on five massive stone arches before the end collapsed. Scaffolding and masonry alike were washed away by a surge, taking over two hundred
workers with it.

Three arches remained now, and what had been planned as the wide road and railtrack they supported was now covered by a chaotic array of wooden shacks containing fish merchants, cafés and
pubs. The air was thick with smoke from the curing houses.

Slvasta grinned. ‘You’re married?’

‘No. I went down into the vault containing tax returns from Erond county. There’s nothing that matches a trader with three or more boats.’

‘Ah, well, thank you for trying.’

‘I can expand the search.’

‘To where? There are hundreds of counties.’

‘Seven hundred and fifteen, plus eighty-two governed territories waiting to be elevated to regional status; then they’ll be split into about twenty counties each.’

‘That many? I didn’t know. Well, it was a valiant try. I’ll just have to find another way of tracking him down.’

‘I didn’t like to say it, but if he is a criminal, or he’s sided with the Fallers, then he probably won’t have a tax file.’

‘You’re probably right.’

‘Of course, Javier doesn’t have a file.’

‘Now why does that not surprise me? Your friends are quite intense.’ So far he and Bethaneve had been out in the evening on three occasions, two of which had seen them ending up in a
pub with Javier and Coulan. He’d enjoyed the men’s company, though he was starting to think he’d like to spend slightly less time with them and more with Bethaneve.

‘They talk a lot,’ Bethaneve said as she ate her grilled marrobeam. ‘So do a lot of people. It’s harmless.’

He examined his beer. ‘Shame.’

‘Really?’ She grinned. ‘Do you think Javier would make a good Captain?’

Slvasta smiled back and drew in an exuberant breath. ‘No!’

She laughed. ‘He’s more like you than you realize.’

‘I don’t quite see that.’

‘Of course you don’t. That big-man bluster act of his covers up a lot. He was ten or twelve, I think, when his parents were eaten by Fallers. That’s what drives his contempt
for the Captain and the Councils – just like you.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘We all have reasons for what we do, and the way we think. You want to change the way the regiments do things because that old way nearly got you eggsumed.’

‘True, things needs shaking up and modernizing. That’s progress.’

The look she gave him was almost sad. ‘We both know that’s a pile of crud. Progress stopped on this world three thousand years ago, the day our ancestors landed here.’

‘Is that what drives you? The quest for progress?’