The Factory Trilogy 01 - Gleam (25 page)

‘The afflicted will support me in return for their treatment.’

‘But how will you treat them? You don’t have the knowledge or the expertise.’

‘I know more than you think.’

‘Well, then, this is where we part ways. All the best, Churr. Thank you for your help.’

‘You go and get your mushrooms. But we’re not done yet. You still owe me for getting you down here. I’m sure I’ll find a use for you in future.’ Churr lowered the crossbow. ‘We’ll meet again.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

She stepped to one side and threw Ippil’s body to the ground below.

Alan approached the Terrarium. The Pilgrims who had remained were gone. He looked down. Nora was moving around the Clawbaby with her customary speed
and grace, slicing and punching, reaching deep into it with her hands. It was not welcoming her attentions. The Pilgrims must have hurt it a little because it was moving more slowly than it had been at The Cup and Skull. Spider was jabbing at it when he could. The two of them looked like flies on a frog.

Alan placed one hand on the cold glass. The Giving Beast was still inhaling and exhaling, and the branches and the Terrarium still rose and fell in sync. Alan could see his reflection staring back at him. It did not look like him. It was too skinny and hollow-eyed. Beyond the reflection, green chaos thrived and the Green Benedictions beckoned. Alan took a deep breath, brought one knee up to his chest, and drove his boot right into the Giving Beast’s heart.

The glass shattered, hung in the air for a moment, and then fell like a sheet of white water, raining down onto the staircase below with a sound like bells. A complex fragrance escaped: something fresh and green but mingled with rot. Everything shook, and the Giving Beast inhaled, the sound of the air rushing in like a discordant accordion, like a scream, and it didn’t stop inhaling; it swelled right up, and up, and up, and up, and the branches flew upwards, and the trunk stretched out, and the canopy thinned. All of the gills widened and patients slid from their alcoves on the wooden gurneys, some of them falling all the way down to the floor. A howl of rage came from beneath and Alan saw that the Clawbaby had slid
and fallen too, but Nora and Spider had been able to cling on.

He plunged a hand into the mass of plants before him and anchored himself, then went about plucking the Green Benedictions from the sodden remains of the book with his other hand. He cursed himself for having nothing better to put them in than his pocket, but it probably didn’t matter if they were crushed, he hoped.

Their value was not in their life.

The Clawbaby’s fall had given Nora and Spider the chance to join Alan at the top of the giant fungus trunk and they arrived as he grabbed the last of the Benedictions. The three of them glanced briefly at each other as the Sanctuary reached the peak of its expansion. Everything fell still for an instant, then the collapse began. Alan didn’t know whether it was the Sanctuary was screaming or him and his companions, but they held on tightly as the trunk snapped back, their hair and clothes whipping around in the rushing air.

They lost their grip and were thrown onto a branch – Spider lost his footing and slipped over the edge, but caught hold of the branch and hung there.

Beneath them, the Clawbaby was slowly climbing up.

‘We’ll split up,’ Nora said breathlessly. ‘We’ll attack it from different branches, from different angles. It cannot win.’

‘It can,’ Alan said. ‘Remember the knife in its head?
It’s not human – it’s not like us. It will defeat us. At best we can escape it, but only temporarily.’

‘Alan,’ the Clawbaby said, its voice that terrible rough gurgle, ‘Alan, my friend. Let your fellow travellers go. Disband the remnants of your little party. It’s you I’m here for. Only you. Only ever you.’

Spider wasn’t able to pull himself up without dropping his knife. He tried, failed, and remained dangling.

‘Let them go, Alan. Anybody who remains by your side will die there.’

Alan grabbed Spider’s arms and pulled him up. ‘Go,’ he said, ‘you go – Nora, you go too. The thing’s right. This is all my doing.’

‘How?’ Spider said, rolling onto his back. ‘How is it? This is a trick. This is the Pyramid, or Daunt, somebody trying to stop you, Alan.’

‘Spider is right,’ Nora said. ‘And besides, together, we can beat it.’

‘No,’ Alan said, ‘it
is
my doing. It said something to me – it said, “Who do you hate?” I know what it’s talking about.’

‘We cannot discuss this now,’ Nora said. ‘It is nearly upon us. It is time to fight.’

‘Your girlfriend ran,’ Spider said. ‘You go too. Be with her.’

‘There are lots of things we don’t know,’ Nora said, ‘but one thing we do know is that if I go, you will both
most certainly die.’ She leaped to a nearby branch. ‘I don’t want that to happen.’

‘Please go,’ Alan said.

‘It’s not your choice,’ Nora said.

Spider clambered to his feet. The Clawbaby was laughing now.

Alan moved to another branch, and then walked along it and positioned himself above the wooden walkway so that the Clawbaby would have to pass beneath him. It stopped before it did so and looked up.

‘Remember, Alan?’ it said.

The Sanctuary had stopped breathing. There were muffled sounds of Pilgrims and the afflicted, but they were distant; Alan pictured an exodus.

The Clawbaby’s words were loud and clear. ‘Do you remember that day in Modest Mills? Do you remember what you did?’

‘I remember,’ Alan said.

‘Did you think there were no consequences?’

‘I know fine well how terrible the consequences were.’

‘For Modest Mills, yes, but for those of us inside the Pyramid?’

Alan didn’t say anything.

‘For those whom you hate, Alan?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I am. I am truly sorry.’

‘I was a
baby
, Alan,’ the Clawbaby said. ‘I was not much younger than you yourself.’ It looked as if it was
shrugging its shoulders. The black mass of its body was shifting and splitting and a squall of baby wails spilled out of it, then as quickly faded away. ‘I am still a baby,’ it said, and briefly they saw the shape of an infant revealed within its cloud of what looked like dust or smoke – not rags, as Alan had originally thought, but a shroud of black dust. The baby was in its chest, below the point from which its green eyes glowed. ‘My life, as one might understand such a thing, ended on that dreadful day. My life ended and something else began. You are my killer and my midwife, Alan.’

‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘You don’t
mean
to do anything. You just move from one incident to the next, playing on.’ The Clawbaby gathered its dust once more and closed itself up. ‘Until now. Now it ends. And then I can rest.’

‘You want me to die,’ Alan said, ‘and that’s fine. I can understand that. Maybe I should. But let me save my son first.’

A stomach-churning cackle rose from the creature on the stairs. ‘You want to
atone
?’ It shuddered with laughter. ‘I think not, friend Alan.’ Then it darted forward with unexpected speed and Alan found himself jumping down and landing on its back. He sank into it, finding himself coated with ash and dust, the taste of smoke filling his mouth. With one arm round its neck he pummelled its head, but his fist did nothing; it felt like punching mud.

Then he stabbed it in its crown – not the baby’s crown, but whatever housed those green orbs – and the knife went in right up to the hilt, and it howled, and cried and its glow dimmed and it stumbled on the steps. Alan didn’t let go, but it spun around and slammed its back, and Alan, into the trunk, and Alan’s spine cracked and he screamed and slid from the Clawbaby onto his arse and white light shone inside his skull. He opened his eyes to see the thing drawing back its horrid metal hands of a million blades, readying itself to punch him through the stomach, and behind it was the warm orange blur of the Sanctuary, its spores doing nothing whatsoever to calm down the Clawbaby, and a soul-rending pain tore through him at the thought of dying here, so far from Billy and Marion, so far from home. Though he didn’t know where home was, exactly, he knew it wasn’t here, deep in the bowels of Gleam; ruined by his own foolishness.

He rolled to one side, and something was holding the Clawbaby back and its blow landed too late. Alan saw that it had been Spider clinging on to the beast’s bladed arm, and he saw the Clawbaby turn to face its new opponent and bring its right arm around and plunge its rusty bunched knives right through Spider’s middle, lifting Spider from his feet and holding him up in the air as blood ran from him and down into the metal claws, a steady flow, a tide of blood, running into the Clawbaby like –
like a Bleeding
.

Spider’s mouth was open wide, but no noise was
coming from it. His eyes were perfect circles. Blood soaked through his red shirt, making it even darker.

Alan knew the Clawbaby was laughing or crying or both at the same time, but he couldn’t really hear it; all he was conscious of was Spider’s face: his old friend, dying to save his life.

There was a flash of silver at the Clawbaby’s neck and Nora was at work, sawing with something serrated. Alan jumped up and grabbed hold of the back of its head, pulling it backwards, opening up the wound that Nora was creating. It couldn’t get at either of them, couldn’t reach back far enough with its spare arm. It flung Spider away and his body fell and landed amongst the others on the ground below.

Then it stabbed upwards, at where Nora was, but Nora was too quick for it; she leaped directly upwards and the blow pierced only the air beneath her feet. Then she landed in the same place and resumed her work, and with Alan’s help, the Clawbaby’s head was soon hanging off. Then it was torn free and she held it aloft triumphantly.

The Clawbaby fell to all fours and cried and Alan jumped away from it. It looked defeated, but then its crying turned to laughter.

‘You can take my head,’ it said, its voice coming from the ashy bundle Nora held, ‘but I’ll keep on coming.’ It crawled around, clearly sightless, laughing. It looked like a gigantic demonic dog, with ropes of dark dust trailing from it instead of long fur. ‘You can cut me limb from
limb,’ it said, ‘but you killed me long ago and you cannot kill me again. I’ll find you, friend Alan, and I’ll keep finding you.’

‘We must kill the baby,’ Nora said as the two of them hurried down to Spider’s body. ‘The baby inside it.’

‘No,’ Alan said, ‘I can’t. No.’

‘Then I will.’

‘No.’

‘Alan,’ Nora said, looking around, ‘the Pilgrims are regrouping out there. Spider and I, we could not reach this beast for them. They have not gone, and
we
are their enemy, not that laughing thing. We have destroyed everything they held dear. You must take the Benedictions and go. I will remain, and I will finish the Clawbaby.’

‘
No
. No more killing.’

‘It is not a real living thing.’

‘I said no.’

‘I want to persuade you,’ Nora said, ‘but I see that we do not have time for that. You must understand, though: I’m not requesting your permission. I am informing you of my immediate actions. Now you
go
.’

‘I don’t need
your
permission to stay. I want to stay and – and – Spider—’

Nora placed one of her many knives at Alan’s throat. ‘You do need my permission,’ she hissed. ‘I am more powerful than you. Green damn it, Alan! You are usually so good at running. Now, you’d better run. There will be no mercy here.’ She withdrew her blade and pushed him.

‘What about Spider?’ came a voice, and Eyes emerged from the doorway in the trunk. ‘What about Spider, lad, eh?’

The door was no longer there; the drastic movements of the Sanctuary must have destroyed it. Eyes was walking with a stick. Behind him, the liftshaft, or pantry, or whatever it was, was jammed full of broken jars and shattered wood.

‘Eyes,’ Alan said, ‘Eyes, thank fuck! How did you get in there?’

‘Churr,’ Eyes said. ‘Churr got me out of my gill when it all started going wrong. She got me this’ – he waved his stick – ‘and packed me away in that cupboard. She’s a good lass, that one.’

‘Eyes,’ Alan said again, then he stopped. He thought about how to break the news. ‘Spider is dead,’ he said. ‘The Clawbaby got him.’

Eyes walked over towards where Alan and Nora stood and Alan took his hand and helped him kneel. They knelt together, and Alan guided Eyes’ hands to Spider’s face. Tears ran from beneath the blindfold.

‘A damned shame,’ the older man muttered. ‘A damned shame.’

‘You two need to go,’ Nora said. ‘Let us meet at Market Top.’

‘Market Top it is,’ Alan said.

‘I’m too slow,’ Eyes said. ‘I’ll make me own way back.’

‘The Discard is not kind to the disadvantaged,’ Alan
said. ‘We all know that. You’re coming with me. But don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.’

Alan closed Spider’s eyes and kissed him softly on the forehead. Then he stood, smiled wryly at Nora, and led Eyes from that place.

*

They picked up a pair of grey cloaks on the way and put them on over their clothes, drawing up the hoods and making their way slowly to the Giving Beast’s curtain. They found a rip that they could slip through without disturbing it too much – they didn’t want to cause any ripples that might draw attention. Once outside of the Sanctuary, they found groups of Pilgrims bustling around still, but most of them were focused on finding and helping the afflicted. There were gangs of guardians assembling, ready to head back into the Sanctuary, presumably to attack both him and the Clawbaby. There were many dead.

Alan resisted the urge to move quickly; anybody who was looking for him specifically would be watching for somebody who appeared to be running.

The damaged and dying were being treated in the kitchen. The wounded were laid out on the long tables and Pilgrims were busy cutting and cleaning and stitching. Still holding Eyes by the arm, Alan slipped all the way through the room, winding his way between tables, making their way right through to the back and behind the row of huge heated food bowls, now being used to boil
water. Alan took the opportunity to fill up their wineskins, like other Pilgrims, then they carried on through an archway into the storerooms.

This was where Daunt’s caravans deposited supplies. Shelves groaned beneath the weight of potatoes and turnips and carrots. Joints of smoked and cured pig and cat and dog overflowed from woven baskets. There were jars of salted crickets and bird tongues. Spicy red sausages hung from hooks in the wall, along with ropes of garlic and bunches of dried herbs. It all smelled divine, but they kept going. The storerooms extended quite a way back and Alan started to think that this had been a bad idea, or that he’d led them the wrong way, but then he spotted a black archway with a dumbwaiter system inside it. He looked up the shaft. There was light at the top –not bright light, not the kind of natural daylight that he was really craving, but swamplight. It was a way to the outside.

‘Get in here,’ he said, guiding Eyes through. ‘We’re going up.’

He found the rope and started pulling. The platform was sturdy; it had to be, to transport the volume it did, but it was heavy, too, and progress was slow.

At the top, a small archway opened out onto a large courtyard. He took a deep breath, and Eyes did the same. The air smelled foul, but it was a change from the mushroomy scent inside. A wispy-bearded man with a topknot and a mushroom symbol on his forehead stepped forward
from the wall next to the door, where he’d been leaning beneath a lit paraffin torch.

‘Business?’ he said.

‘Do you know what’s been going on in there?’ Alan asked.

‘No.’ He was chewing on some kind of leaf.

Alan grabbed him and smacked his head into the wall before he’d a chance to react. He toppled sideways, out cold.

‘Where are we, lad?’ Eyes asked.

‘We’re at the caravan unloading station,’ Alan said. ‘This is where Daunt’s caravans drop off their loads, and where the caravans … feed.’

‘Feed? What are they?’

‘Snails,’ Alan said. ‘Great big snails.’

He surveyed the animals before him. They were nearly as big as the one that had appeared on the rooftop so many nights ago. Their shells were dull and scratched, but white mushrooms had been painted on them. They had lots of satchels and boxes screwed into them, and saddles, too, with straps and harnesses to keep the rider secured when the snails were on the vertical.

‘We’re going to ride snails back up?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Alan replied.

Eyes snorted. ‘They’re not the quickest of rides, lad, and we’ll be sitting ducks up on them shells.’