Watson, Ian - Black Current 01 (31 page)

 
          
We
all laughed. I didn't think she would do it.

 
          
Next
morning Quaymistress Maranda boarded, bringing with her the "diving
suit", air-bottles and rope. And when she boarded, Sal was hanging over
the side, just finishing daubing my name in yellow paint. Maranda grumbled and
growsed at this defacing of her precious ketch, till Laudia exclaimed
exasperatedly, "We can always black it out afterwards!" Sensing
unified opposition, Maranda conceded.

 
          
I
drank her slugs of the black current, to no very noticeable effect; and soon we
set sail.

 
          
All
too quickly for me we reached the head of the river—and the worm's head,
protruding gargoyle-like from that submerged stone arch with its chin resting
on the water.

 
          
Was
the sight more appalling by daylight? I'd feared it would be. Yet I found I
could control my rising hysteria by telling myself that this thing wasn't
alive—it was simply a mound of crudely-sculpted mud, or maybe basalt covered
with mould.

 
          
When
I'd last seen the worm's head, it was moving. Now it wasn't. The only movement
was of water lapping it. Just so long as it didn't move! Just so long as a
white eye didn't blink—why, that eye could be a slash of chalk! Even the drool
in the worm's jaws hung motionless, like slimy stalactites.

 
          
We
manoeuvred the
Yaleen
through some
down-beating air turbulence almost up to the lip itself, deep-anchoring in the
very lee of the Precipice where there was a pocket of calm.

 
          
The
Precipice! Ah, better that I hadn't looked upwards! I couldn't believe that
what loomed above could be a vertical rockface. It just had to be the real
surface of the world. In which case, how come we were floating vertical to it?

 
          
The
whole world bent abruptly at right-angles here, causing an awesome sense of
vertigo. For a moment I imagined this was the effect of the slugs I'd drunk.
But no; it was a consequence of the planet being hinged in half. I didn't dare
look up again or I would fall, fall upward.

 
          
We
worked silently most of the time, and spoke in hushed tones if we had to say
anything. I don't think this was for fear of alerting the worm. No, it was
because any words would be as stray melting snowflakes in that place; they
would vanish before they could make their mark.

 
          
Sparki
and Sal helped me don the diving costume. They strapped the bodice skin-tight,
then slotted in the air-bottles behind, which effectively blocked access to the
straps themselves. The helmet was clamped to the brass collar, a valve was
turned and I breathed bottled air smelling faintly of burnt oil. Maranda
locked one end of the thin tough rope to my belt at the base of my spine; the
rest of the rope lay in loose coils, with the far end tied to the capstan. She
lit my lamp and clipped this to the bracket on my helmet. Then Peli thrust out
the gangplank, on to the lip of the worm.

 
          
We
were ready. I was ready. (And a little voice was gibbering somewhere,
"Ready? How can anyone ever be ready for
this?"
I ignored the voice inside my head, since it was my own
and I didn't wish it to reach my lips.)

 
          
Peli
squeezed me in her arms, provoking one of the few sounds: a loud
"tssk"
of disapproval from
Maranda, in case any of my fine equipment, product of the best Tambimatu
artificers, should get scratched or crumpled before the worm could have its
way. . . .

 
          
Then
I walked the plank, with the rope paying out lightly behind me. I stepped on to
the lower lip cautiously in case it was slippery and I skidded off into the
water.
Which would be an uncomfortable and ignominious
beginning.
But in fact the surface of the lip felt tacky, like paint
which hadn't quite dried; and it yielded to the pressure of my feet, giving
lots of grip.

 
          
Turning,
I saluted the
Yaleen
with my diamond
ring upraised. I don't know that the crew recognized the gesture as a salute;
maybe they thought I was giving them the finger. I elbowed a dangling rope of
drool aside—it didn't snap, just bent. I elbowed another gooey streamer, and
shoved my way between them.

 
          
The
inside walls of the mouth were bulgy and bumpy, and so dark they seemed to
drink my lamplight. To see, I had to swing my head from side to side. Shadows
ducked and dodged, as if racing round to ambush me from behind. I couldn't
flick the beam too fast without dizzying my brains. Above me I saw a dark dome,
sprouting warts the size of cushions. . . .

 
          
Hard to look down, encumbered as I was with helmet, bodice and bottles
. . . but a ridgy floor below.
Slicker and firmer than
the lip.

 
          
As
I stepped on in, my legs started to shake. Scared? Of course I was scared.

           
And of course that wasn't why my
legs were wobbling.

 
          
To
say that the floor split open under me would be too precise by far. It would
grossly flatter the chaos of the next few moments. Before I knew it, I was a
toddler careering down her first carnival slide, shrieking aloud . . . Rope
snaking behind . . . Black jelly curve above . . . Light swirling, head thumping
and bumping . . . Then the lamp went out. I only realized I'd been swallowed
when I was already half-way down the gullet.

 
          
The
tube swooped upwards briefly. Impetus carried me over a brink. I sprawled in
pitch darkness.

 
          
And
now I
was
shaking like a leaf. I'd
pissed myself too. Hot at first, then clammy-cold. The blackness was absolute.
In fact, you couldn't even call it blackness. It was
nothing.
I might as well have gone blind.

 
          
I
lay very still.
Or tried to.
Since nothing further
happened, I rolled over after a bit and felt about. Soft clammy texture here .
. . Slithery and harder over there, like muscle . . . My fingers closed on a
tentacle, shied away. Ah, it was the rope!
My safety line.
Should I jerk it? Give three tugs for "Pull me back, quick"?

 
          
But
beyond being gulped down, nothing dire had happened. At least I wasn't
floundering in acid juice. I continued exploring, very gently. Each new span my
fingers touched was so much extra safety, so much breathing space. And so much
extra cause for jitters, because the very next grope might bring me up against
. . . who knew what?

 
          
I
thought my blind eyes were playing tricks: I saw a flash, a flicker.

 
          
I
shuffled about, and focused on a spot of shimmery blue. This brightened to a
glowing patch. I held very still, hardly breathing. Perhaps the light was only
a few spans from my face. In which case, it was far too close! The glow
continued to intensify, but since this had no effect on the darkness near at
hand, it must be distant. Then all of a sudden everything adjusted mentally,
and I
knew
that I was peering along a
tunnel of some kind, which eventually debouched into somewhere far larger that
was aglow with blue light. I stood up, stretched tall, and my fingertips
brushed the roof above. Shuffling to left then to right, arms outstretched, I
discovered curving walls; these were squashy, though interspersed with stiffer
"muscle-ribs".

 
          
So
I began to plod forward in the direction of the light, holding my hands ahead
of me. After the first ten paces I stepped out more boldly. And the glow
increased in apparent size.

 
 
          
*
* *

 
          
A
few minutes later I stood in the doorway to a cavern that was eerie and
enchanting. Curving walls and vaulted roof were ribbed and buttressed with blue
bone, or stiffened muscle. All
across a misty floor fronds
waved like underwater weed. Warts humped up through the low mist and hairy
"vegetation" in a line of stepping stones. And all glowed softly in
various tones of light or dark blue: the fronds were almost mauve, the warts a
brighter turquoise as though to mark the way. The cavern was long, long. Far
off, the ground mist seeped upward to become a general dense azure fog. Was
this cavern part of the Worm—or
was the Worm's substance
coating cavern walls
?

 
          
The
stepping stones led straight to a kind of island: a large hump of milky, veiny
powder-blue. "
Opal
Island
", I thought, giving it a name.

 
          
And
here was I, held back in the very doorway by that damned rope! Which Maranda
had so thoughtfully locked on to me, in case any meddling little fingers inside
the Worm unknotted
it.
By now the rope had reached its
limit.

 
          
Retreating
a few paces, I gathered slack—and set to work fraying the rope with my diamond.
Obviously I had to go on into the womb-cavern—why else had it lit up for me? I
sawed away till I thought the stone might part from its setting; but Tambimatu
craftsmanship prevailed. As well it should; I'd paid a whole bag of coins for
the ring! At last the strands parted.

 
          
Pry
as I might, I couldn't budge the air bottles; though at least I could unclamp
the helmet, which was steaming up. . . .

 
          
The cavern air smelled faintly of dead fish and humus; nothing very
stomach-churning—no swamp-gas or intestinal stenches.
Once the helmet
was wrenched free, the bottled air blew an annoying draught against my neck; I
would probably end up with a stiff neck or earache. . . .

 
          
Still
and silent stretched the cavern, save for a slight bubbling or susurrus amidst
the misty fronds.

 
          
Should
I bellow out, "I'm here"? The worm must know that already. I kept
quiet.

 
          
I
trod across the stepping stones—without any bother—and reached
Opal
Island
. Closer up, this took on the proportions of
the glazed buttock of a giantess: with veins of milky blue flowing within, and
a large vague shape like a huge bone, inside towards the top. A rim ran right
round the base. As soon as I set foot on this rim, the whole island quaked.
Hastily I hopped back on to the nearest stepping stone.

 
          
The
trembling quickened; shivers ran up the slope, overtaking one another—then
there was a sudden loud "plop". The whole top of the island split
open.

 
          
Two
seams flopped apart, and a human arm emerged. It wagged about as though waving
to me. A bald head and bare shoulders followed. Unsteadily, a naked man stood
up. His skin was the unhealthy white of someone newly unwrapped from a long
spell in bandages. He looked like a big jungle-grub. His groin was as nude of
hair as his skull.

 
          
The
man regarded me out of watery blue eyes—then he took a step, and slipped, and
skidded all the way down the side of the island on his buttocks, fetching up
with a thump on the rim.

 
          
"I—"
he croaked. Abruptly he retched up a volume of thin white liquid. Maybe I
hadn't too much to worry about from this fellow! Wiping his chin, he tottered
erect, and contrived a smile—he pushed at his cheeks with his fingers as though
trying on a mask for size.

 
          
"Hullo,
I'm to be your guide. The current took me . . . some time ago. I tried to stow
away, see. The current kept my body intact, so now I'm representing it."

 
          
"A
man
is representing it?"

 
          
He
examined himself in surprise. "Goodness, I haven't been a man for ages. .
. ."

 
          
"You
haven't been . . . Are you
crazy?"

 
          
"Actually,
I'm dead ... It kept my body, see. I've been living other lives, in the
/Ta-store."