Synaptic Manhunt (23 page)

The Minstrel Boy groaned, and looked around.

‘Where are we, anyway?’

Jeb Stuart Ho looked at him in surprise.

‘You mean you don’t know? You brought us here.’

‘You don’t expect me to remember any of that, do you?’

‘We’re in Quahal.’

The Minstrel Boy collapsed back on the grass.

‘Quahal! Oh no, I don’t believe it.’

‘You don’t like it?’

‘Of course I don’t like it. It’s a hideous, unbelievable place.’

He sat up again, and noticed the wreckage of the car for the first time.

‘I suppose the globes did that.’

The Wanderer nodded.

‘That’s right.’

‘So we can’t get out of here.’

‘Not until someone comes up with something.’

The Minstrel Boy looked bitterly at Jeb Stuart Ho.

‘Why did I ever get involved with you?’

‘You had no choice.’

‘You can say that again.’

The Minstrel Boy continued to sit on the grass. The Wanderer seemed content to stand patiently and say nothing. Jeb Stuart Ho began to feel that his time was being wasted. He looked from one to the other.

‘We ought really to begin to move on.’

The Wanderer said nothing. The Minstrel Bof savagely ripped up a clump of grass.

‘I ain’t going nowhere else with you.’

Jeb Stuart Ho attempted to be reasonable.

‘You can’t remain here for the rest of time.’

The Minstrel Boy glanced up with a sneer.

‘Can’t I? You just watch me.’

Jeb Stuart Ho continued to be reasonable.

‘Surely if you come with us, at least to the nearest habitation, you may find the means to get out of this area.’

The Minstrel Boy sat in stubborn silence. The Wanderer decided it was time to intervene.

‘He’s right, you know. You might as well come as far as the ziggurat.’

The Minstrel Boy glared at him.

‘Who asked you?’

‘I’m only telling you the truth.’

The Minstrel Boy paused for a moment, then climbed slowly to his feet.

‘Okay, okay, I’ll come that far with you, but one thing’s got to be clear, right?’

‘What’s that?’

The Minstrel Boy nodded towards Jeb Stuart Ho.

‘I ain’t going to get involved in any more of his deals. I don’t want him anywhere near me.’

Jeb Stuart Ho looked at the ground.

‘I’m sorry you feel that way.’

‘Don’t even talk about it.’

Jeb Stuart Ho looked helplessly at the Wanderer. He shrugged and slowly turned and started walking away. Ho, and finally the Minstrel Boy, followed him. They walked along parallel to the river. All the men maintained a certain distance between each other. Nobody spoke. Every so often, they would pass the ruined, burned-out hulk of another vehicle that had been destroyed by the globes. There was no sign of any people.

There was no great hardship involved in walking to the ziggurat. The river lowlands had been designed as a natural near-paradise. Once they’d left the last of the wrecks behind, the countryside was almost idyllic. Butterflies and small birds flitted above the long, lush, gently waving grass. The river moved calmly along beside them, reflecting the bright sunlight and the deep blue, cloudless sky. Even the distant view of the blue-grey, mist-shrouded mountain was almost too good to be true.

After a while, they could see the ziggurat further down the river. Even from some distance away there was no mistaking its vast size and complexity. Although it was roughly pyramid-shaped, it was a mass of ramps, stairs, stepped walls and flat roofs at different levels. Here and there, the even blackness of the stone was broken up by a small patch of green where plants were being grown on a section of roof. There were also flashes of silver where a stream of water ran down a complicated system of channels from a fountain high up near the summit of the structure.

As they came nearer to the ziggurat, the meadow land gave way to a system of small, square, cultivated fields, divided by hedges and irrigation ditches. They crossed a path that appeared to lead straight towards the massive building, and turned on to it. Men were working in some of the fields. They all seemed to have a similar build and very uniform features. They all wore the same kind of one-piece faded blue robe, and their heads were either shaved or totally bald. Each time Jeb Stuart Ho and his two companions passed one of the men, they looked up, smiled, and then went back to their work. It reminded Jeb Stuart Ho of his time at the brotherhood temple and, despite his carefully programmed sense of caution, he felt himself filled with a strong sensation of wellbeing.

The others seemed to pick up some of the same atmosphere. Despite the early bad feeling they moved closer together, and the Minstrel Boy even took off his jacket and tossed it across his shoulder. Jeb Stuart Ho had never seen him look so relaxed.

They started meeting more of the local people. They passed them on the path, wheeling barrows, carrying bundles or simply moving from one field to another with forks or hoes over their shoulders. None of them spoke to the travellers, but they all flashed them the happy instant smile. Jeb Stuart Ho wasn’t too surprised at the extreme similarity between all the men, this was common in many closed communities. The brotherhood all looked very much alike, although not to the extent of the men of Quahal. What puzzled him was that they all appeared to be roughly the same age. There were no children, no youths and no old men. Everyone he had seen appeared to be between twenty and thirty.

They reached the foot of the ziggurat. There was nothing that could be described as a main entrance. There were at least four arched doorways in the wall nearest to them, plus half a dozen small square openings, also two ramps, and three sets of steps. Jeb Stuart Ho looked round at the Wanderer.

‘Do you have any idea where we should go?’

The Wanderer shook his head.

‘No idea.’

He turned to the Minstrel Boy.

‘Would you know?’

The Minstrel Boy looked at him, hesitated, and then shook his head.

‘I don’t know nothing.’

They walked round to the next side of the square base. Here again they were confronted with another choice of stairs and entrances. Jeb Stuart Ho looked round helplessly. The Minstrel Boy grinned.

‘You could always go inside and just wander about.’

Jeb Stuart Ho looked hard at him.

‘I hardly think that would be suitable behaviour.’

The Minstrel Boy shrugged. Jeb Stuart Ho approached a man who was walking past with a bundle tied to his back.

‘Excuse me, friend, but would you tell me where I might find someone in authority?’

The man smiled at Jeb Stuart Ho.

‘There is no authority except the blessed one.’

The man walked on. The Minstrel Boy burst out laughing and staggered round in small circles. Jeb Stuart Ho looked perplexed. He tried again. He went up to a blue-robed figure pushing a wheelbarrow.

‘Where might I find the blessed one?’

The barrow pusher smiled.

‘The blessed one is with all of us, my brother.’

The Minstrel Boy reeled over and slapped Jeb Stuart Ho on the back.

‘They’re worse than you are.’

Jeb Stuart Ho stared at him in surprise.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

The Minstrel Boy was almost helpless with laughter.

‘No, of course you don’t.’

Jeb Stuart Ho looked round in confusion. He wondered how he could convey what he wanted. He stretched out and caught hold of a passing blue robe.

‘Can you help me, please?’

The wearer turned and smiled.

‘In what way, my brother?’

‘We are travellers from outside Quahal. We would like shelter, food and some particular information.’

‘You are travellers?’

That’s correct.’

The blue-robed young man frowned.

‘I have never encountered travellers before. Perhaps if you could wait here while I go and seek guidance on the matter …’

Jeb Stuart Ho nodded. The young man hurried away. They waited. The black stone threw back the heat of the sun. The blue-robed figures came and went all round them. They paused and smiled, but otherwise paid no attention to the three strangers. Jeb Stuart Ho stared up at the vast building. He had never seen anything so impressive. It towered above him, an irregular but harmonious blend of stairs, rectangular vertical walls, sloping ramps and huge inset slabs of relief carving, soaring to the eventual peak hundreds of metres in the air.

The Minstrel Boy didn’t share his enthusiasm. He stuck his thumbs in his belt and kicked at the paving stones.

‘I got a feeling I ain’t going to like this place.’

The Wanderer grinned at him.

‘You could always try the mountain.’

The Minstrel Boy grinned ruefully.

‘I think I’ll stick with this one, for now.’

Two men in yellow robes appeared at the head of the nearest flight of stairs. They were older than the ones in blue, and looked as though they were enjoying a tanned, healthy middle age. Each time one of the younger men passed them, they acknowledged his formal, bowed-head salute. They hurried down the steps and walked quickly up to Jeb Stuart Ho.

‘You are the travellers?’

Jeb Stuart Ho bowed stiffly from the waist.

‘We are.’

‘The blessed Joachim is considering granting you an audience. We can offer you food and other minimal comforts until he has reached his decision. If you will follow us.’

The two yellow-robed individuals turned smartly and walked briskly back towards the steps. The three travellers followed them. The Minstrel Boy glanced sideways at the Wanderer.

‘What do you think they mean by minimal comforts?’

‘Doubtless we’ll find out soon enough.’

The Alamada was at least a head taller than A.A. Catto. She also looked a good deal heavier. She was muscular and full-bodied, with ample breasts and thighs. She walked out of the big hut with swaggering arrogance. She was naked, except for the same armour over her left arm that A.A. Catto wore. She carried the same flat, leaf-shaped knife and a small round shield.

She walked forward until she was a couple of metres from A.A. Catto. She held the knife almost casually in her left hand. She halted and smiled at A.A. Catto. Her lips were very full and sensual. Her nose was small and slightly flattened. It contrasted with her eyes, which were large and dark. Her face seemed to radiate a dark, very cruel kind of sexuality. She tossed her head, shaking her mane of straight black hair. It hung almost to her waist.

‘I’m going to kill you.’

A.A. Catto couldn’t help admiring the woman. She smiled back, and shook her head.

‘I don’t think so.’

The Alamada raised her knife, and began slowly to circle A.A. Catto. Her body was tense, like a hunting animal. It was oiled like A.A. Catto’s, and as she moved the muscles rippled beneath the skin. A.A. Catto lifted her own knife, and dropped into a crouch. She backed away slowly and cautiously. The Alamada’s lips drew back into something between a grin and a snarl. Her teeth flashed in the firelight.

‘I’m going to kill you for sure.’

‘No, you’re not.’

The two women continued to circle each other. The Alamada attempted to edge closer.

‘You’re not like the others. You’re not the way you’re supposed to be.’

‘I’m different.’

‘You’re small.’

‘That’s a puzzle for you to solve.’

‘It’s your disadvantage.’

‘Maybe.’

The witch queen went on trying to get closer to A.A. Catto, and A.A. Catto in her turn went on keeping the distance between them. From behind the lines of horsemen who ringed the space where the fight was taking place, Billy watched tensely. He held his gun down by his side. The butt was damp and slippery where his palms were sweating.

The Alamada stopped circling A.A. Catto. She crouched absolutely still for an instant. Then, with a shout she leaped forward and slashed at A.A. Catto with a wide, backhanded blow. A.A. Catto twisted and jumped back. The edge of the blade missed her stomach by a matter of centimetres. For the first time A.A. Catto realized what she was involved in. Something inside her went cold. If Billy didn’t go along with the plan, she would die.

The Alamada spun on her heel and swung a chopping overarm blow towards A.A. Catto’s neck. Desperately she threw up the shield, and just managed to catch the blow. It jarred her arm right up to the shoulder. There was a stabbing pain, and her arm went numb. The shield fell to her side. She jumped back, holding the sword in front of her. The Alamada laughed.

‘Are you going to die without a fight?’

‘I’m not going to die.’

‘Oh yes you are, and slowly too, if you don’t put up a fight.’

She swung at A.A. Catto. The knife just touched the skin of her left breast. A thin line of blood appeared. A.A. Catto lunged at the woman. She missed hopelessly. The Alamada lowered her shield and laughed at A.A. Catto.

‘You’ll have to do better than that.’

She spread her arms.

‘Come on, little woman, try again. Try to kill me if you can.’

Blind rage boiled up inside A.A. Catto. She slashed wildly at her. The Alamada twisted her body and the blow went wild. A.A. Catto slashed again. The Alamada jumped back, and she missed again. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. She swung at the witch queen again and again, Each time she moved out of the way. A.A. Catto found that she couldn’t touch her. The Alamada kept on laughing and taunting her.

‘Come on, woman. Can’t you do better than that?’

She jabbed at A.A. Catto with the point of her knife. It scarcely touched her shoulder, and left a small wound that oozed blood. A.A. Catto began to get scared. Was Billy going to let her die? There was no way that she could deal with this woman on her own. The Alamada jabbed at her again. Another small wound, this time just above her right breast. A.A. Catto looked round desperately to see if she could see Billy. While her eyes were off the Alamada, she slashed at her again. This time the cut was deeper, and began to bleed quite profusely. A.A. Catto knew she was being slowly cut to pieces.

She made a final, desperate effort to stop the Alamada. She put all her weight behind a single knife thrust straight between the Alamada’s breasts. For a fraction of a second A.A. Catto thought she had succeeded. Then the Alamada whipped up her shield and turned the blow. A.A. Catto completely lost her balance. As she staggered forward, the Alamada kicked her feet away from under her. A.A. Catto sprawled face forward in the dirt. The knife went flying. She rolled over and tried to sit up, but before she could, the Alamada rammed her foot into her throat and pushed her back down. A.A. Catto found herself staring up at the Alamada’s bush of curly black pubic hair. She tried to wriggle away, but the woman was too strong for her.