‘I know. It seemed… wrong.’
‘You used your influence, somebody high up enough to know of the King’s decree but with a grudge against you let you swing the commission, and when the King and the Consistory found out they didn’t even consider trying to order you back; they just had you killed by activating a Chapel spy whose code they had already intercepted.’
Sessine considered this. ‘That seems a little desperate.’
The construct shrugged. ‘These are desperate times.’
‘And who do I have to thank for the decision to let me go in the first place?’
‘Flische. Colonel-to-the-court. He’s fucking your wife.’
Sessine thought for a moment, staring at his vague reflection in the matt blackness of screen on a console opposite. After some time he sighed.
‘What is happening at the workings?’ he asked.
‘Last year they found a mesturedo, a substance which can attack the fabric of the mega-structure. They’ve used it to eat through the floor of the solar. From there they built a tube track between the floor and the ceiling along to the wall between the solar and the room above the Chapel; they’re currently on the last lap, burrowing through the fabric of the false ceiling directly above Chapel City. When they succeed in opening it they’ll drop bombs through.
‘The mega-structure fabric tries to defend itself through the crypt. It sends visions; ghosts and demons which attempt to prevent the soldiers and engineers doing the digging. The only way the Army’s found to keep their personnel functional – if not sane – is to flood their minds with a loyalty signal; a song of captivity that blanks out everything else and turns the men into automatons.’
‘So I would not have been susceptible to this song; so what?’
‘So what they are doing there is not only destroying Army personnel, it’s destroying parts of the crypt itself.’
‘How so?’
‘The mega-structure houses filaments of the crypt’s hardware. Contrary to popular belief, the Cryptosphere is not a function of some buried horde of super-machines; the whole fastness is permeated with it. There are elements deep inside the structure, but the primary structure itself houses most of what we know as the crypt.
‘What the bomb-workings are doing now is destroying an important nexus of that Cryptospheric structure; it’s madness, and it encourages chaos. The crypt-time has slowed down locally by an appreciable additional degree. What is left of humanity is caught between the threat of the Encroachment above and the chaos within the crypt below. The course Adijine and his Consistory are following would seem to ignore one and aggravate the other. At the very least you would have been concerned, sceptical and questioning on discovering all this. They could scarcely risk that, let alone what might have been your most extreme reaction.’
Sessine gave a small, humourless laugh, and shook his head. ‘And the war with the Chapel?’ he asked matter-of-factly.
‘Genuine enough. The Engineers do have something we need, though it’s not the information on how to make spacecraft.’
‘What is it?’
The construct raised his eyebrows. ‘Here we reach the limits of my research. I am not certain.’ He shrugged. ‘But it is something Adijine and the Consistory consider to be of the utmost importance.’
Sessine shook his head and looked up at the vast orrery hanging silently overhead. It had moved, while he had been listening to the construct. Saturn hung overhead now, immense and gassy, attended by its moons.
‘Madness, chaos, crypt-time slowing,’ Sessine said, sighing. He stood up and walked round some of the ancient equipment, drawing a hand over the surfaces of the desks and consoles, wondering if this virtual environment included dust. He inspected the tip of his finger. It appeared it did, though only just. He rubbed his fingers together and looked back at his younger self. ‘Anything else you want me to assimilate this afternoon?’
‘My speculation as to the nature of the prize the Chapel and the King compete for.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘Can you keep a secret?’ His younger self smirked.
Sessine shook his head again. ‘Was I really this tiresome?’
The construct laughed. ‘This is a secret you must keep even from yourself, for a time at least.’
‘Go on,’ Sessine said tiredly. ‘What is the glittering prize we all pursue?’
The construct grinned broadly. ‘A secret passage.’
Sessine looked levelly at him.
* * *
4
Translation
I stair @ thi big blak beest cumin up thi branch 2wards me.
Av got a gun! I shout (this iz a ly)
… Ah veri mush dout that, thi thing sez. It stops ol thi saim smilin & showin its teef agen. But nway, it sez, shtop being shilly Am heer 2 help u.
I’l bet, I sez, glancin roun & stil tryin 2 figir out a way 2 escape.
… Yesh. If ahd wantid 2 harm u ah cude ½ shaken u out ov thare 5 minitsh ago.
O yeh? I sez, hangin on titer. Wel mayb u doan wan 2 kil me mayb u juss wan 2 capture me.
… In whish caysh ahd ½ dropt on u from abuv, u shilly boy.
O u wood, wood u?
… Yesh. Yoor Bashcule, arnt u?
Praps, I sez. & who or whot r u when yoor @ home then?
… Am a shlof, it sez proudly. U can col me Gashton.
So am bein led thru thi babil plants by a slof calld Gaston whot has a kinda mutant lisp & takes such pride in his appeerinse heez got fungus growin on his bak; thats whot thi green streeks r. He ofird 2 let me ride on his bak hangin on2 his fur but I declynde.
We clime thru thi babil, goan doun & roun thi towr.
Hoo sent u then? I ask.
… Shame peepil shent thi jericule lasht nite, Gaston sez, tokin ovir hiz sholder.
Whot, that big bat?
… Thatsh rite.
Whot happind 2 him nway, do u no?
… Hir, Gaston sez. No.
O.
I follow Gaston doun thru thi babil branchiz. Followin Gaston iznt difficult on account ov him bein a qwite remarkibly slo moovir. If he had bin cumin 2 atak me I cude probly ½ juss gon doun thi branch he woz on & climed rite ovir him b4 he cude ½ startid 2 react.
Nway. Hoo woz it sent u heer then?
… Frenz.
U doan say.
… No, I do shay; frenz.
Wel fanks, thats prity enlitenin.
… Payshinsh, yung man.
We negoshayate a few more branchiz.
Whare u takin me nway?
… 2 a plaish ov shafety.
Yeh, but whare?
… Payshinsh, yung man, payshinsh.
I can c am not goan 2 get nuffink out ov this slof so I juss shut up & content myself wif makin sily faces @ its big blak green-streekd bak.
Iss a long slow jurny.
… Thers fings goan on, Mr Bascule, thass ol I can sai; thers fings goan on. Frankly I dont no xactly whot they r myself, or whethir Id b abl 2 tel u about them if I did, but as I dont I cant nway, u c?
Not reely, I sez, witch is thi troof.
Thi slof-geezir whot can onli sai, Ther’s fings goan on, is calld Hombetante & heez thi cheef slof; heez got implantz & is actule considerd a bit ov a lyv wyr by slof standirds tho u cude stil go off & ½ a p, wosh yoor hans & brush yoor teef in thi time it taks him to blink. Heez fat & old & gray & his fungus lukes moar lyvli than he duz.
Am in a ½ runed bit ov thi saim towr whare thi big bat cald a jericule dropt me last nite. Me & Gaston thi slof got heer aftir about a our in thi babil, comin in thru a tol windo ½ ovirgroan wif babil branchiz.
This seemz 2 b Slof Sentril; iss lyk a hole room fool ov scafoldin & hangin 10ts & hamox & stuf. Thers rubbil on thi floar & no glas or anyfin in thi windos & thi wind blos in thru a windo on thi otheir syd ov thi hooj circulir room & thru thi scafoldin & makes everfin sway in thi breez & thi slofs doan seem 2 tak ver gude care ov thi plais no moar than thay do ther can selfs, but @ leest thai gaiv me sum woter 2 drink & ½ a qwik wosh in & then gaiv me sum frute & nuts to eet. Id ½ preferd sumfing hot but I doan fink thi slofs r grate fans ov fyr so heetin stuf up mite b a problim.
Weer in a big spais in thi sentir ov thi scafoldin whare thi slofs aparently hold ther meetins. Bet thos r a bundil ov lafs.
Hombetante is hangin upside down from a bit ov scafoldin on a low staje @ 1 end ov thi meetin spais, thi floar ov which is coverd wif simla curvd lenths ov scafoldin like ver tol railins. Theyve given me a sorta sling thing 2 sit in suspendid from Hombetante’s scafold pole. Thi only othir slof presint is Gaston, whose hangin from anuthir bit ov scafoldin alongside, munchin sloaly on sum particulerly un-yummy lookin leefs.