Memory Seed (12 page)

‘God
dess
,’ she said, letting Graaff-lin go and bending over the screen.

‘What is it?’ Zinina asked.

‘Graaff-lin’s boss, she’s in the Red Brigade. Goddess, look! The Dodspaat temple’s just a front. Katoh-lin is Head of Religious Manipulation.’

Zinina glanced at Graaff-lin, who was staring blankly at a wall. ‘She’s in shock.’

Arrahaquen ignored Zinina, returning her attention to the screen. According to the data flowing past, the Dead Spirits, worshipped for centuries, were the noophytes, the pyuter hearts who had devised the Portreeve’s plan. But they spoke only gibberish to ordinary folk. It was almost too incredible to believe.

A rifle shot rang out. Arrahaquen twisted around, pulling her own weapon out from its holster. Zinina had fired at an object in the nearer archway... two of them. Arrahaquen dived behind the screen, rolled to its edge, then fired.

They were pyutons, but macabre, like metal skeletons. Zinina was now on her stomach behind a pool wall, shooting and cursing.

One was hit. It swayed, raised its five arms, then fell, crashing to the ground where it fragmented into a wave of tiny pieces, chittering across the floor like a wave of manic spiders. Arrahaquen, who had encountered the modular nature of the more ancient Citadel technologies, was unsurprised by this, but Zinina was frightened and repelled. With disgust on her face she backed away, jumping up and down when the automata skittered near her.

Arrahaquen shot the second unit down, and golden sparks flew from the wall behind. The same fragmentation happened. In seconds, every portion of floor was alive with automata. Zinina screamed and ran into the adjacent room. Arrahaquen, crunching the things beneath her boots, grabbed Graaff-lin’s arm with one hand and the
ficus
unit with the other but, growling, it refused to move.

There were more noises from the archway as more pyutons appeared. Arrahaquen dragged Graaff-lin to the chamber where Zinina stood staring in terror at the creatures. Turning, she fired at one, then snatched the map from Graaff-lin’s sleeve.

‘They’ll report us immediately,’ she told Zinina. ‘We’ve got to run. Here’s the map. Get us back. I’ll be behind you with Graaff-lin.’

‘Slap her,’ demanded Zinina, taking the map. ‘Wake her up.’

Arrahaquen did so, but Graaff-lin did not flinch. She seemed to be in a trance. ‘Go!’ Arrahaquen yelled, pushing Zinina on.

They ran.

If they sprinted without stopping, they would be in the upper levels by the time the Citadel Guard were alerted. That gave them perhaps a minute to make it to the outside of the signal house. Not enough time.

Arrahaquen was beginning to struggle. Graaff-lin was running like an animated doll, taking no decisions of her own. Arrahaquen tugged and pulled as Zinina found the ochre tunnel.

The door at the end was closed. Zinina opened it carefully and listened. All clear. They ran on, following corridors, Arrahaquen becoming short of breath. Zinina sped way ahead, urging her on.

At last they reached the external door. The signal room was unlit and empty. No sounds of danger. They clambered through the window.

Once they were outside, Arrahaquen paused to catch her breath, her limbs heavy, lungs aching, throat sore, eyes watering. She coughed up phlegm. Zinina appeared unruffled, as poised as a gymnast.

‘Motorbikes,’ Zinina said. ‘I can hear motorbikes.’

‘And running boots,’ Arrahaquen gasped. ‘How far off?’

‘Near. Come on. Run. If we can get to the stairs we’ll be safe. They’ll search the alleys first. They won’t look up.’

Arrahaquen struggled on, allowing Zinina to pull Graaff-lin. Nobody challenged them, though she thought she heard shouted commands nearby. The rain had ceased but the streets were wet, and more than once she slipped and fell.

At the steps they paused again. Arrahaquen looked upwards. Her legs felt
so
heavy. ‘Go on,’ she said, her voice hoarse. ‘I’ll follow. Go on. Get Graaff-lin up. Get the balloon ready.’

Zinina hesitated, looked to the sky, then pushed and shoved Graaff-lin up the steps. Arrahaquen sat on the lowest rung, exhausted, breathing in and out with a crackling wheeze. The grumble of motorbike engines rose and fell as riders sped along the adjacent street. She stood and began the climb. Ten flights above her, Zinina toiled. The minutes seemed endless. She was aware that Zinina’s boots were no longer clunking on the metal stairs. Voices. A thumping sound. Then she felt a breeze in her face and realised she was at the top.

‘Come
on,
’ Zinina called. ‘We’re off! Quick!’

The balloon was tethered by one cord. Arrahaquen tottered across the roof – she could not run – and fell into the basket. Melinquyl cut the cord.

They rose. But then they jerked to a halt.

‘We are caught,’ Melinquyl said, hanging over the edge of the basket and pulling at something. ‘The basket base is caught on the edge of the sign. Juo is angry that you didn’t bow.’

Arrahaquen saw Zinina stand up and assist. She heard the thunk of metal against metal.

‘Pull that,’ Zinina said.

‘Push that hook away,’ Melinquyl answered.

‘The sign!’ yelled Zinina.

Then they were free. The balloon leaped into the air. But some seconds later Arrahaquen heard a loud crash.

Zinina sat down. ‘Sign fell off the building. Reqoes, reqoes, they’ll hear it and see the balloon! Get your gun ready.’

Arrahaquen primed her rifle.

Melinquyl called out, ‘Two hang-gliders.’

Arrahaquen, despite her exhaustion, found it within herself to sit up and peer over the edge. Below lay the tumulus, outlined with glowing streets. But two hang-gliders were closing. She fired. From wingtip nozzles they fired back. Through the sky lines of red and orange flickered. Something exploded at her side. She shrank away. The balloon lurched and she smelled burning.

Melinquyl had been hit; the basket too. Then another shot hit. Melinquyl’s head was no longer on her shoulders. The basket lurched down to one side, its suspension cords cut. Arrahaquen looked up to see that only five cords now held the basket to the balloon.

‘Keep your nerve,’ Zinina said. ‘We’ve got to land now, and run.’

‘Can’t!’ Arrahaquen said. ‘We would be captured.’

‘No choice.’

‘Drop all ballast,’ Arrahaquen ordered.

‘No. We’ve got to land.’

Arrahaquen slumped back, but squirmed away, repelled, when she realised the soft cushion was not a cushion, nor Graaff-lin’s body, but Melinquyl’s corpse.

The balloon was losing altitude. They brushed tree-tops. Arrahaquen, the lower side of the basket now almost tipping her out, saw roofs, then windows. One cord broke with a musical ping.

With a crash they landed, and everybody was thrown out. The balloon fabric tore with a silken scream, then flopped all around. Zinina was on her feet, pulling at Graaff-lin. Arrahaquen struggled upright.

A garden lay around them, or rather the remains of a garden, for much of it was ivy and briar and nettle.

‘Mind them poison docks,’ Zinina warned.

Arrahaquen looked at the sky to see two more hang-gliders approaching. She searched the garden walls for a gate. ‘There!’ They charged towards it, Zinina ahead, swiping at vegetation with a knife, Arrahaquen supporting Graaff-lin as they tumbled out into an alley.

‘This is off Deciduo Street,’ Zinina said. ‘Follow me. We’ll have to hide, or the hang-gliders’ll spot us.’

Dawn was breaking and light rain fell from swirling clouds. The alley was flooded, like so many around the river, and soon they found themselves up to their knees in green water. Arrahaquen looked nervously at nearby bags of brown algae, floating like jellyfish. ‘Aren’t those things dangerous?’ she said. ‘There must be another way.’

‘Reqoes,’ Zinina swore, kicking with futile rage at the water. ‘The hang-gliders’ll see us. We’ve got to hole up.’

‘What about that tree?’ Arrahaquen said, pointing to a large oak up ahead, at the end of the alley.

They forged on through the flood, balancing with arms outstretched along a side wall when the waters threatened to reach their waists, until the branches of the oak sheltered them.

‘We should make for the Spired Inn,’ Zinina said. ‘We’ll be safe there.’

‘Agreed,’ Arrahaquen replied.

‘
No!
’

It was Graaff-lin who had shouted. Arrahaquen rose to her feet. ‘Graaff-lin,’ she said in unison with Zinina. ‘Are you all right?’

‘We will
not
make for the Spired Inn,’ Graaff-lin stated in a firm, hard voice. She seemed to have recovered her poise, though her face was still blanched, and her limbs trembled. ‘We will make with all haste for the Temple of the Dodspaat. It must be done.’

‘Hoy, Graaff-lin,’ Zinina began, ‘that’s a little danger–’

‘I will go alone if need be. The Citadel and my temple are guilty of heresy.’

Heresy? Arrahaquen thought. Graaff-lin had seen that her temple was a front, but she did not seem to realise that the Dead Spirits were no more than pyuter network entities – noophytes – pyuter hearts. There was no heresy.
How could there be, when there were no gods?

Better keep quiet, Arrahaquen thought, for the moment. There was no telling what was going through Graaff-lin’s head. ‘We’ll come with you in case of trouble,’ she said.

Zinina looked at her in amazement. ‘You serious? If Katoh-lin’s in the Red Brigade she’ll have us killed instantly.’

‘It’s safe,’ Arrahaquen insisted. ‘We’ll accompany Graaff-lin to the temple, and she’ll hide us somewhere. It’s only just dawn. People won’t be that active yet.’

Zinina shook her head, but did not debate the point further. Graaff-lin led them back into the flood, making uphill for Min Street and then Pine Street, which led directly to the front of the Dodspaat temple. Far from being empty, its great steps were crowded with priestesses and ordinary Krayans, while at the main doors a score of heavily armed temple guards stood, barring all from entry.

‘What is happening?’ Graaff-lin asked a passer-by.

‘Reckon there’s something bad going on,’ came the reply. ‘I tried to go worship, but they won’t let me. Damn insolence.’

‘We better leave,’ Zinina said.

‘I know a back door,’ Graaff-lin replied. They followed her around the side of the temple until she stopped and nudged a shut door with her shoulder. She paused, then gave it a harder shove. It opened. ‘I’m running the moment there’s trouble,’ Zinina warned, priming her revolver.

Inside, Arrahaquen walked by Graaff-lin’s side, Zinina following, as they strode through marble corridors. Graaff-lin, seeing the white clad figure of a priestess, called out, ‘Tylla! What is going on?’

A tall, rather noble-looking priestess approached them, dressed in a white cloak and black boots. Her scalp was tattooed with daffodil designs. ‘Graaff-lin. How did you get in?’

‘What is going on? Where is the High Priestess?’

‘I’m not sure exactly what’s happening,’ Tylla replied. ‘Only a few priestesses are being let in. But do you mean Katoh-lin or Mysrioque?’

‘Why, Katoh-lin of course. What are you talking about?’

‘Katoh-lin is no longer High Priestess. She has just been replaced. Two minutes ago, to be precise.’

‘But where is she?’

‘She has escaped. She is wanted.’ And with that, Tylla departed.

‘What do we do?’ Zinina hissed at Graaff-lin, who seemed to be slipping back into shock.

‘I do not know,’ Graaff-lin replied. ‘But this Mysrioque I know well. She is a Citadel woman, a scion of the Portreeve as many have said. Perhaps we have triggered an overthrow. This will not be kept secret for long. We had better hurry.’

‘Hurry?’ Zinina said, astonished. ‘Where?’

‘We must find Katoh-lin immediately,’ Graaff-lin said. ‘Something terrible has happened. Maybe the Portreeve is about to do something awful to the Dodspaat.’

They returned to the rear of the temple. Arrahaquen tried to think of a plan, to divert Graaff-lin from her crazed path. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and tried to think. But instead of plans she saw images. With an immediacy that brought her smells and sounds as well as far sight, she saw a figure hobbling along the street behind them.

‘Run,’ she said, splashing through puddles and climbing the iron steps that led up to Broom Street. ‘Quick.’

‘Have you gone mad too?’ Zinina said.

Graaff-lin was chasing after Arrahaquen. ‘Come along,’ she called down to Zinina.

Arrahaquen half jogged, half walked along twisted Broom Street, dodging urine slicks and piles of bubbling algae, kicking a dog that tried to bite her boots, wiping the sweat and drizzle from her eyes and pulling out her needle gun, until, as the trio approached Marjoram Street, she saw the figure from her mental image. It was an elderly woman, heavily cloaked, a walking stick in one hand.

‘Katoh-lin,’ gasped Graaff-lin, pointing.

They hurried on. Katoh-lin heard their clattering boots, turned, then tried to hurry on, but soon she was caught. Graaff-lin attempted to pull her round by the shoulder, but the frail woman collapsed into the gutter.

‘You have betrayed us all!’ Graaff-lin yelled in her face.

Katoh-lin, also exhausted, tried to speak. ‘No... no... I haven’t... mmm, mmm, it was for Kray!'

‘For Kray?’ Arrahaquen interrupted. ‘What have you done?’

‘For Kray...’ came the response.

Graaff-lin said, ‘I know everything, Katoh-lin. I know about your manipulation and plots. I know you’re a member of the Red Brigade.’

Katoh-lin tried to rise to her feet, but couldn’t. ‘Fools! Kraandeere, kraandeere! They’ll, mmm, find me. We’re all in peril, we might be being followed. Graaff-lin, don’t go to the temple else they’ll kill you. They know about your probings.’

Arrahaquen said, ‘We’ve just come from there. What’s going on?’

‘Graaff-lin, I’m sorry. I used you, mmm, to defect.’

‘Defect?’ they replied.

‘You fools! There’s but one way to leave the Red Brigade once you’re in, and that’s by dying. Mmm, I know too much about the plan. I was going to warn Kray. So I, mmm, had to defect. Save me! Pick me up and, mmm, mmm, mmm, carry me.’

‘You
used
me?’ Graaff-lin repeated.