Camera Obscura (28 page)
Authors: Lavie Tidhar
Glass Coffin
She had never been so glad to see sunlight again. Yet as she stepped away from the aquatic vehicle, a sense of unease permeated Milady's mind.
Something was wrong.
She couldn't tell what it was that disturbed her. "Come," the countess said, walking briskly beside her. "I want to take another look at the sailors in quarantine. And you need some food… something light on the stomach. I'll have McGill bring something over."
But she did not feel hungry. Her throat was raw and sore and there was a dull throbbing in her head. Staring at the countess, the alien jade in Milady's eye seemed to awaken and turn restlessly, hurting her. She hefted her gun arm, realising the Gatling gun had been reloaded for her while she was sleeping. It showed remarkable trust…
But then, where did she have to run? There was no escape from Scab, nothing beyond the platform but hostile sea. And below…
She didn't want to think of the experiments being carried out under the sea. The thought of people living in such conditions was insane – as insane as Dellamorte herself.
She followed behind the other woman, feeling tired and sluggish. Through the same aquarium-lined corridor, sharks glancing at her behind their cages.
Sharks… Dellamorte had called her a gun, but guns did not think, and Milady was thinking – hard.
A woman so bound by rules that she insisted on her signing over the ship's cargo – a pointless act of formality by any consideration. And at the same time, speaking freely to Milady, revealing at least
some
of the secrets of Scab… It did not make sense, not unless–
some
of the secrets of Scab… It did not make sense, not unless–
The room was dark and cool and behind the glass the rat men were motionless. She could not see Karnstein.
Did her gun work?
The countess spoke into a brass tube, then turned to Milady. "Food will be brought shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable."
Milady looked around but could find no chair. The only piece of furniture made her blood run cold: it was a glass coffin lying open, only missing an occupant.
"Karnstein?" The countess sounded worried – or perhaps irritated, Milady thought. "Karnstein, where are you?"
No movement behind the glass. The jade light flared in Milady's eye again, and she saw the shifting silver strands, and seemed to hear the distant voices murmuring, far away:
Bio
logical assessment routines reaching saturation point – quantum scan
fail – adjusting error margin parameters – retry – retry–
Bio
logical assessment routines reaching saturation point – quantum scan
fail – adjusting error margin parameters – retry – retry–
She shook her head, trying to dispel the alien sounds.
"Are you feeling unwell?"
She raised her hand. "I'm fine."
"You are tired. Come, stand with me."
She did not appreciate the countess standing directly beside the glass coffin.
And now it occurred to her that she had not, so far, been offered food or drink.
She was weakened, unable to fight, with nowhere to run… suspicion waking fully, and she said, "I wondered why you are so open with me. You do not strike me as the kind of woman to break a code of secrecy…"
"I felt we could speak freely," the countess said. "Come, there is something I want to show you."
"I am sure there is." And now she raised her head, regarding the countess directly. "You do not intend for me to leave Scab at all, do you?"
"I'm not sure what you mean…" the countess said. Milady thought she detected a small smile playing at the corners of Dellamorte's lips.
"You can't imprison me," Milady said. She felt terribly weary. "I am an agent of the Council! I am needed elsewhere."
And now she could see the smile blossom fully. "The Council is a long way away," Countess Dellamorte said. "And you are a critical piece of the puzzle, and must be studied. Through you – through that alien object inserted in your head – I could reach the primary object, perhaps even initiate discussion with it! Who knows
what
we could learn!"
what
we could learn!"
"I'll kill you first," Milady said quietly. The countess laughed. "I don't think you will," she said. She gestured with her head. Hands grabbed Milady on both sides. She had not even heard them approach. One was the man called McGill. The other was a woman with spots as of a leopard and sharp, canine teeth. "Put her in the coffin," the countess said. Turning to Milady – "Trust me, this is for the best."
She tried to fight, but they were strong, and more came in behind them. She felt something sharp touch her neck and then her body would no longer obey her. They carried her to the coffin and laid her down gently. Her eyes remained open. She could see and hear, but couldn't move. "I will begin by extracting the object," the countess said. "McGill! Record my observations. She will need to be carried to the surgical bay–"
A numbness spread through Milady's mind, a deep, terrible weariness. And yet, within it, a new voice whispered, and the thing in her eye socket moved restlessly, shifting against the bone and tender flesh, as if agitated. She was absurdly glad for the injection. She suspected that, if she was in full control of her faculties, the pain would have been unbearable.
Faintly, images rose in her mind. It was as if she and the jade have come to some sort of understanding, suddenly – a mutual, symbiotic relationship.
It needs me as a host
, she thought, appalled.
It needs me as a host
, she thought, appalled.
She felt them reach the coffin, bend down to lift it – and through the haze of jade became aware of the rat men behind the glass.
They were moving.
In her mind she could reach out, could
feel
them move – like marionettes, she thought, sickened. And yet she was controlling them. A shout above her, the coffin left untouched – "What are they doing?"
feel
them move – like marionettes, she thought, sickened. And yet she was controlling them. A shout above her, the coffin left untouched – "What are they doing?"
The rat men threw themselves against the glass.
"They're trying to break out!"
Countess Dellamorte: "Let them try."
Bodies moving soundlessly, not feeling the impact with the glass – and now she became aware of the silver strands, those strange, self-replicating entities crawling,
studying
– obeying the thing in her head.
studying
– obeying the thing in her head.
Silver touched glass.
"That's not–"
The sound of breaking glass, erupting. A tall shape, a dirty coat around it, dark thick beard around a heavily lined face. The countess: "Karnstein… love…"
"Let her go, Camilla. She is
my
cargo."
my
cargo."
"And you are mine…"
She couldn't see them. Trying to, through the rat men's eyes: two indistinct shapes facing off against each other, and she realised she was not controlling the captain. His words were his own.
"She knows too much now! She cannot leave."
"That is not your decision to make. You and I have chosen to serve the Council. We obey."
"No! This is
mine
, not–"
mine
, not–"
"Camilla, she must go where she is meant–"
"Karnstein… I just wanted you to… I need you to
heal
."
heal
."
"I've been through worse." A short, coarse laugh. In her mind, a contraction – the silver strands along the captain's body slithering as one, pouring down the man's face, his arms, gathering in one spot.
"She's controlling you!"
"No. She's helping."
Through the rat men's eyes: Karnstein and the countess, face to face, almost touching. "I will stay."
A flash of jade. The silver strands separating from the captain's body. Mists rising, the silver woven into strands of fog – the voices murmuring of
Data transference initiated to pri
mary core.
Data transference initiated to pri
mary core.
The countess, her arms falling to her sides – a weary voice. Defeated. "She would have to go as she is. I can ship her with the cargo bound for the Long Island…"
In the silver strands she saw the city beneath the waves, the whole of Scab, the platform, the docking bays, the shafts into the sea – numbers, graphs, fleeting words:
Suspended animation,
self-contained atmosphere, escape velocity–
Suspended animation,
self-contained atmosphere, escape velocity–
"Milady de Winter."
A voice above her. The captain? It was getting hard to distinguish sounds. "You are safe."
"I must give her another shot. The acceleration would otherwise kill her–"
Beyond the broken glass, she made the rat men nod.
A cool touch against her arm. Above her, softly, "Thank you–"
The jade fading, darkness crawling over. Her last sensation was of the lid of the glass coffin, closing above her.
The New World
When he came off the ship it was into a new world. The harbour of the Long Island was a busy swarm of ships, from India and Mexica and Zululand, from Shanghai and Marseilles and even Portsmouth, in the heart of the Lizardine domain – entire fleets of ships disgorging passengers, cargo and exotic fauna. Amidst the smells of woodsmoke and cooking, of tar and salt and coal, amidst the hum of engines and the shouting of sailors a single feeling vibrated like a taut string, cutting across everything.
Excitement.
The Fair was coming.
And everyone was going to the Fair.
Kai stood on the railing and watched the throng below. Men were leading elephants off one ship – African elephants, the Manchu told him. They were enormous beings, far larger than the Asian type, and the males stalked and turned giant tusks menacingly. A troupe of Egyptian dancers; German acrobats dressed all in white; French automatons moving jerkily; Japanese swordsmen mingled with Italian knife-throwers, Indian magicians and Syrian horsemen. Beside him, the Manchu smiled, and said, "We will be lost amongst them as completely as if we were invisible."
"I have been invisible for too long," Kai said, but quietly. The Emerald Buddha was quiet beside him, ensconced within a sturdy wooden crate. He thought then of the strange woman of his dreams, the one-eyed lady who evoked in him unfamiliar feelings – she reminded him, uncomfortably, of himself.
"Make me into a gun," he whispered, the words of long ago returning, and beside him the Manchu stiffened, and sent him a querying look. Kai shook his head, and the Manchu relaxed – just slightly.
Down in the harbour, young warriors of the Lenape kept order; a busy fish market was doing brisk trade; and beyond Kai could see fields of maize moving gently in the breeze. He took a deep breath, smelling this alien continent, this strange new world. Beyond the Long Island lay an entire continent, and they were going deep into it, following the buffalo roads into the lands of the Nations, and to the city the whole world, it seemed, was going to at once.
Shikaakwa. What the new settlers called Chicago, the black city. But a new city was rising there now, a new city to welcome the world…
And him, too. The Manchu was right. They would be all but invisible in the crowd, and safe – and the world would come and send its emissaries with it, to deal with Kai for the treasure he held. A treasure he never asked for, or wanted, but which was his burden nonetheless.
And as for the Emerald Buddha itself… Kai gripped the railings and looked out at the new continent, not seeing it, seeing rather the disturbing dreams he had been having, the dreams of pock-marked, cratered surfaces, of giant objects floating through space, and stars, so many stars…
The Emerald Buddha, he couldn't help but know, had plans of its own.
The Black City
A Bowl of Hokkien Noodles
When she woke up she could smell something frying and her stomach growled, belly muscles moving in protest; her mouth tasted like a Parisian street sewer and her eye ached; everything ached. For a moment she was back on the
White Worm,
the deck rolling beneath her, the ghosts of childhood moaning beneath the waves. She felt hot, then cold. She shivered, her heart beating fast – too fast.
White Worm,
the deck rolling beneath her, the ghosts of childhood moaning beneath the waves. She felt hot, then cold. She shivered, her heart beating fast – too fast.
What had Countess Dellamorte
given
her?
given
her?
She felt the green thing embedded in her eye socket move. For a moment she caught a flash of something far away – Kai riding a horse across a wild landscape, his cowl pushed back, his face, for just a moment, open in childish joy. His servant rode behind him. They were going towards–
She shivered again, and moaned. A voice above her said, "You should be dead, but aren't. Surely that is something to celebrate?"
She opened her eyes and glared at Ebenezer Long.
The elderly Mongolian was squatting on his haunches, looking at her with a smile. The ground was moving – no. It hadn't been the ship at all, she realised – she was inside a moving carriage. She could hear the neighing of horses, smell their pungent excrement, and beyond that–
The smell of smoke, of machines, of people – many people. But those smells were in the distance and right here the air was dominated by cooking, just as her vision was obscured by the old Xia master. She said, "I guess somebody up there likes me."
"I doubt it," Master Long said, but he smiled when he said it. She said, "Where am I?" and tried to rise from the coffin–
Her muscles screamed in protest and again the shivering took her. Master Long said, "You are suffering withdrawal. As much as I can tell you have been injected with a powerful chemical compound distilled from opium. Water?"
He offered her a glass. She reached out with her human hand (it was shaking) and took it from him. She drank.
"Take deep breaths."
When she did her heart slowed, a little. She pushed herself up and looked around. There wasn't much to see. The carriage was covered – she could smell the not-unpleasant residue of the skins it was made of – and a small burner on the floor was heating up a pot which Master Long now returned to. He stirred the things inside with a pair of chopsticks.
"Soup," Master Long said, "is always the best cure at the end of a long journey."
"Eastern philosophy?"
"Mrs Beeton. Remarkable woman. Would you like some?"
"Maybe in a moment." Sitting up, she took another deep breath. "I do suspect you'd have been dead by now if it weren't for the object lodged in your head. Incredible. We spent so much time chasing it across Paris and here it is, after all that. I've told you once before, Milady: you are Xiake, a true warrior of Xia. Now more so than ever…"
"I did not ask for this thing," she said. Then, more quietly – "Is there any way to take it out?"
"Not without killing you, I suspect… Please, have some noodles."
Master Long lifted the pot from its little stove and dished out food into a bowl. Milady said, "What is it?" The smell rose around her, its fragrance overpowering – suddenly she could think of little else.
"
Hokkien hae mee,
" Master Long said. "Or Hokkien noodles, if you prefer. A dish from Fujian that had undergone changes in Malaya – food, like people, must continue to evolve."
Hokkien hae mee,
" Master Long said. "Or Hokkien noodles, if you prefer. A dish from Fujian that had undergone changes in Malaya – food, like people, must continue to evolve."
She took the bowl. She brought it to her lips and drank. Beside her, Master Long served another helping into a second bowl and sat picking at it with his chopsticks.
A flash of jade – a flash of fear that almost made her drop the bowl. She was no longer in the carriage, but elsewhere – in a dark, rectangular cavern. Beams held up the ceiling, and the ground was made of dark soil. She saw vats and barrels standing forlorn against the makeshift walls. A cellar.
Two things dominated the airless room. One was a steel-top operating table, of a kind she was well familiar with – too familiar with. It was empty.
The other thing was a kiln.
A flash of jade, and now a dark figure was moving in the cellar, lighting up a lamp above the operating table. It was approaching the kiln, setting to lighting it, and the flames began to rise, casting the room in shadows… The figure turned, sniffed the air, and Milady shrank back. "I can taste you…" the Phantom said. When he turned his face on her he smiled. "Do you like it?" he said. "Have you come to find me? I'll be waiting, Cleo…"
He turned away from her then, and walked back towards a door, and reached to open it. Milady dreaded the opening of that door. The movements of the Phantom were careful, fluid – theatrical, she thought. When he opened the door a gurney stood outside. Strapped to the gurney was a young woman. She seemed asleep. The Phantom began to pull the gurney into the cellar. "I cannot help the fact that I am a murderer," he said. "No more than the poet can help the inspiration to sing."
Milady raised her gun arm, wanting to shoot him, willing him dead, but already the scene was fading, the flash of jade gone, and she was back in the moving carriage and Master Long was regarding her quizzically, the chopsticks like weapons in his hand. "There is a great evil," he said, "in those with the power of Xia who fall from the path…"
"I saw him," she said. Master Long nodded, not speaking. "He's killing again. Here. He's close. And he won't stop – he won't stop!"
"Then you must stop him," Master Long said.
Somehow, the bowl of Hokkien noodles was empty in her hands. She stared at it – a simple clay bowl, burned in a kiln… "Teach me," she said. "Teach me how."
But Master Long shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "But you will–" He hesitated, then shook his head again. She said, "What?"
Instead of an answer he rose, and reached to the flap of the carriage's tarpaulin. "We're almost there," he said. Then he lifted the flap, and the world came pouring into the carriage.
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