The Abyss Beyond Dreams (27 page)

‘Who are you?’

‘Sorry, should have said. I’m Nigel. This is my wife, Kysandra. And these are my grunts.’

Slvasta pushed back his hat’s soggy, sagging brim to get a better look. ‘Your what?’

‘Grunts: soldiers. Under my command.’

‘I need to know if you’re human.’

‘Fair enough, I’ll drop my shell. Pervade away.’

‘No. That’s not good enough. Fallers have the same organs as we do.’

‘Then how do you suggest we proceed?

Slvasta slipped the carbine’s safety on and let the strap hold it loosely at his side. He drew his knife from its scabbard.

‘Ah,’ Nigel said. ‘If you insist.’

‘Cover me,’ Slvasta told his troopers. By now, the entire mooring area was surrounded by the squads, with troopers taking position behind trunks, their carbines aimed at the rangers
from Erond. He walked up to Nigel, feeling a slight ex-sight flow questingly over his stump. ‘Your thumb, please,’ he said.

Nigel held his hand up, thumb extended. Slvasta nicked the skin with the tip of his blade. Sure enough drops of red blood came out of the small puncture. He nodded in satisfaction. ‘Faller
blood is dark blue,’ he explained.

‘So I’ve been told,’ Nigel said. ‘Nice confirmation. Fool-proof, even.’

Again Slvasta had the impression he was being mocked. But the man’s thoughts were calm and composed. The only emotional content Slvasta could pick up on was of a serene confidence –
which was probably where his own notion of mockery originated from. He did his best to ignore it and beckoned Kysandra forward.

The ‘wife’ held her hand out. Slvasta thought she was around sixteen or seventeen, a sweet-looking girl with plenty of freckles and a mane of thick dark ginger hair, tied into a
single tail. He felt sorry for the poor thing, but refrained from comment. Arranged marriages were relatively common out in the countryside, and Nigel’s odd clothes were clearly expensive.
Her attitude was a copy of Nigel’s, but with less emotional control. The contempt she felt for him and his troopers was a whole lot easier to ascertain. She was human, too.

‘Gentlemen,’ Nigel gestured the rangers forward. They walked over to Slvasta one by one to be checked.

Slvasta didn’t know what recruitment was like in Erond county, but the rangers looked more like a town’s gang of thugs than troopers. And they made no attempt to hide their scorn of
him, a couple of them openly sneering at his stump.

‘All clear,’ Slvasta announced after the last one dripped red blood into the rain. He couldn’t keep his puzzlement from showing. ‘What in Uracus are you doing out here?
This is nowhere. We only just arrived.’

‘Chance, really,’ Nigel said. ‘I’m a trader. My boats were in Dural with a cargo of folax. I was looking to exchange it for hethal seed. We saw the beacons light up and
volunteered to help sweep. Everybody does what they can, right? The regiment captain in the town sent us upriver.’

A large bird came swooping through the rain to land on one of the boughs above them. The whole bough swayed under its weight. Slvasta had never seen anything like it before. It had broad wings,
well over two metres across, and the face was definitely mod. Yet the size and grace was way beyond anything any adaptor he knew had ever produced. ‘Is that a mod-bird?’ he asked.

‘A ge-eagle,’ Nigel said. ‘Yes.’

‘A what?’

‘A type of mod-bird, a very good one,’ Nigel glanced up affectionately at the bird, who stared unblinkingly at Sergeant Yannrith and the troopers round him. Its claws were metal
tipped, Slvasta saw.

‘Where did you get it?’

Nigel’s smile was sardonic. ‘A man from Ashwell village used to craft them. But that was long ago and far away from here.’

‘I see.’ Slvasta was aware he was losing face in front of everybody. ‘We’ll need to search your boats.’

‘Of course,’ Nigel said.

Sergeant Yannrith took a squad on one boat, wading out through the shallows. Corporal Kyliki took the other.

‘You trampled down a pretty big track across the countryside,’ Slvasta said. ‘That’s how we found you. What were you carrying?’

‘Just us,’ Nigel said.

‘It looked like you were dragging something. Something large.’

‘A couple of the horses were hitched up to stone boats, yes. We piled them up with our camp equipment. Something wrong with that?’

‘What’s a stone boat?’

‘A flat sledge. They move quite quickly, allow us to sweep more ground. After all, you can’t use a cart out here, lieutenant. No wheels will work in this kind of country.’

The way it was said – emphasizing the completely obvious, as if Nigel was explaining to a class of five-year-olds – made Slvasta feel stupid. Which was probably the intention.

‘Check for sledges,’ he told Yannrith and Kyliki.

‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ Nigel said. ‘The arm?’

‘I fell into a Faller nest,’ Slvasta replied impassively. ‘I was being eggsumed when the Marines arrived.’

Nigel gave his nicked thumb a quick glance. ‘I haven’t met anyone who escaped that before. You were lucky.’

‘Yes.’ Slvasta tried to block out the memory of Ingmar, the awful pleading.

‘And so now you understand the threat as few ever do, you’re one hundred per cent committed to the regiment, to defending Bienvenido. That must worry your senior officers.’

‘Why do you say that?’

Nigel looked at him as if judging from on high. It was all Slvasta could do to return the stare.

‘You’re better at the task than they are. They know that and so do your troopers here. Your level of dedication will also unnerve them. Belief always does that to old men grown
comfortable in their position and privilege. Comfort is the enemy of change. Comfort is easy. It’s a good meal and nights in a warm bed. Anything that challenges that is seen as
dangerous.’

‘Brigadier Venize is an excellent commander.’

Nigel smiled knowingly. ‘I’m sure he is. But consider this: is he as good as you would be if you had command of the regiment?’

‘I . . . That’s a ludicrous question. I’ve only just made lieutenant.’

‘And yet I’ve known ambition like yours, lieutenant. You, of all people, must realize that the Falls will never end. That the regiments and even the Marines, Giu bless them, are
nothing other than damage limitation. If the Fallers are to be defeated, first this sheep-like attitude of acceptance must be broken. After that, after the status quo – so welcome to old
powerful families – has been swept away, new attitudes can prevail. Then, and only then, can we dare to dream once more, as someone said long ago. And if that ever happens, life on Bienvenido
can change.’

Slvasta was aware of just how uneasy the troopers were with this talk. For himself, it was unexpected, yet Nigel spoke the right of it. These were the very thoughts he never dared to voice. He
would have very much liked to sit down and have a long, long conversation with this enigmatic man. Yet . . . something about the whole encounter was wrong. Nigel seemed about as far from a gang
boss as you could get – cultured, suave, self-assured beyond even a National Councillor – yet the men with him were a type Slvasta knew so well. And he still didn’t get Kysandra.
The girl was clearly no simple submissive trinket Nigel owned. In fact, she didn’t seem fazed by any of this, just stood there, tired and trail-dirty, but with a superior knowing smile on her
face.
The way Quanda looked at me. Could some Fallers have red blood? Uracus, I’m paranoid.

‘They have sledges, sir,’ Yannrith’s ’path voice announced.

Slvasta couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Nigel was giving him an expectant glance – waiting patiently for him to do the right thing.

‘Stand down,’ Slvasta told his troopers.

‘Thank you,’ Nigel said as the carbines were returned to their slings and holsters. ‘Now, if you have a map, I’ll be happy to show you the area we’ve swept.
Duplication is waste. And every day an egg lies free is a day it can lure someone to Fall.’

‘Of course.’ Slvasta went further under the huge wanno tree, where it was practically dry. He took out his map and unrolled it. ‘Did you get a good price for your
folax?’

‘Haven’t sold it yet,’ Nigel said. ‘I’ll try again, downstream.’

‘You must be a good trader. Those boats don’t look cheap.’

‘I have a rich family.’

‘But you struck out for yourself?’

‘Yes. Estates can provide you with a very comfortable life, but it’s a life that doesn’t change. There’s never anything new. You never go anywhere or see anything fresh;
you’re never challenged. That means you can never achieve anything.’

‘You’re very keen on change, aren’t you?’

Nigel raised an eyebrow. And for once his smile wasn’t mocking. ‘Don’t tell me you’re not. I haven’t seen any regiment squads as motivated as yours. That’s a
substantial achievement, especially on this world. I know what it’s like to push against the dead hand of inertia and tradition. If I have any advice for you, it would be: don’t let the
bastards grind you down. Keep pushing, lieutenant. That and the obvious, of course.’

‘What obvious?’ Slvasta asked, feeling helpless to stop the conversation.

‘Old law: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. If you keep going the way you are – and I hope to Giu you do – then the effect you will have on those around
you will grow larger. Ripples, my friend. People will look at you, what you’re doing, rewriting the regiment rule book, and they’ll want to do the same for themselves. That’s when
you’ll start to run into resistance. That’s where the politics begins. And that’s the dirtiest fight there is.’

‘Right.’ Slvasta nodded seriously. It was as if his brain was fizzing from the impact of these words. He’d been waiting his whole life to hear them.

‘Don’t be afraid of your future,’ Nigel said earnestly. ‘You have principles. Stick with them, but don’t think that you can fight fair to achieve them. Make the
deals, build alliances with anyone who’ll support you, walk away from people when it’s convenient or they’ve outlived their use. Because, trust me, your opponents will use those
same skills to bury you. That’s the game. The only game. Play it well, and you can achieve miracles.’

‘That sounds . . .’

‘Cynical? Damn right. It’s a big bad world out there. Kill or be killed, son, that’s nature. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?’

Slvasta saw Yannrith and Kyliki wading ashore. ‘Thank you.’

‘Pleasure.’ Nigel shook his hand. ‘Good luck. Axe one of those bastard eggs apart for me, huh?’

‘I will,’ Slvasta was smiling, and he couldn’t say why. This was still all very weird.

He stayed on the riverbank, watching Nigel and Kysandra wade out to the boats, holding hands. The last three horses were taken on board and settled in the mid-hold. Then the hawsers were untied.
The boats puffed out steam from their aft vents as the pistons began to pump away with a loud clattering.

Slvasta waved solemnly as the boats chugged out to midstream. Nigel waved back before he and Kysandra went below deck.

Sergeant Yannrith came up beside him. ‘Orders, sir?’

It was like the breaking of a spell. Slvasta glanced up at the sky. The clouds were thinning out. Sunlight haloed the treetops, producing a perfect double rainbow. He checked his pocketwatch
with a scan of ex-sight. ‘Dark in three hours. We need to connect with our horses and make camp. We’ll resume the sweep first light tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant looked at the map Slvasta was holding. ‘Will we be sweeping the area the rangers cleared, sir?’

‘Every damn centimetre of it, sergeant.’

‘What were they really doing here? You can’t get any closer to nowhere.’

‘I have no idea.’

As the troopers picked their way back along the track Nigel had made, Slvasta sent his mod-bird flying as high as he could. His ex-sight was strong, allowing him to sense a good distance. The
bird could see the two boats sailing down the river, three hundred metres away now. He hadn’t realized they were that fast. Two large specks floated effortlessly in the air above them.

Two
– what did Nigel call them? Ge-eagles? Slvasta started to wonder just how long Nigel had known the squads were chasing him.

How would you prepare if you had that kind of warning?

‘Andricea.’

‘Yes, lieutenant?’

‘Send your mod-bird as far downstream as you can. Tell me what you see.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Her mod-bird soared away, gaining altitude as it headed west. She had the longest ex-sight reach in the squads, as well as a prodigious ’path voice. Slvasta sought out the mod-bird’s
eyesight, seeing the meandering river slicing through thick bands of jungle and broad swathes of scrub. Far ahead of the two boats, a smudge of smoke was wafting up from a jungle which hid the
river.

Slvasta groaned in dismay. There had been three boats. By waiting for them at the river, letting them check out him and his rangers, Nigel had pulled off a perfect delaying tactic.

‘What in Uracus is on that boat?’

*

Slvasta had them break camp at first light. He was grumpy and unsympathetic to the troopers’ grumbling. It had been a despondent night. Sleep had been elusive as
he’d wrestled with the problem for hours.

Nigel was engaged in some kind of dubious activity. That was in no doubt. Slvasta’s only active option was to send one squad back to the nearest sheriff’s office in Marlaie, a day
away, and alert them that there may be something illegal on a boat – only he didn’t know what the boat looked like or where it was by now. The sheriff was probably out on a sweep, and
if he was there he would probably laugh it off – after all, what could he do? Even if by some miracle a law officer caught up with Nigel, that dazzling charm would be played to the full, and
there would be nothing incriminating on his boat, that was for sure.

It was like facing down Quanda all over again, just without the life-and-death stakes. There was simply no way he could win this one. All he cared about – as Nigel had so smartly
determined – was running a successful sweep. By comparison, Nigel’s activities were petty and irrelevant. But it galled him that he’d been suckered like that. He was furious with
himself for being so gullible. And maybe, that nasty unquiet thought at the back of his head kept insisting, it was because Nigel was so obviously from the landowner class – smart,
intelligent and confident. The background Slvasta lacked and had been taught to respect.