The Fall of Tartarus (7 page)

I
stared at her. ‘How short?’ I whispered.

‘Some
last for three years, others five or six. But it is said that in that time they
experience such heightened perception, are programmed with such knowledge
beyond the understanding of us mere mortals, that the lack of longevity is no
sacrifice at all.’

I
said, ‘I see why you revered Blackman just now.’

The
Messenger nodded, licking her fingers. ‘Him especially,’ she said.

I
looked up. ‘Especially?’

She
smiled and laid her head on her shoulder. ‘Because, as I said earlier, he is
garbed in black. Others wear leathers of blue or green or red, denoting their
specialisation. Black leathers denote a Blackman at the end of his lifespan, on
a kind of pilgrimage to perform one last task of his choice.’

I
laid down my teacup, a sensation like a ball of ice weighing heavy in my
stomach. ‘My friend,’ I began, ‘. . . he is going to the race at Charybdis, to
serve as the eyes of a ship.’

The
Messenger nodded. ‘A noble finale,’ she said. ‘In fact, none finer, to end
one’s life helping to save the lives of others.’

‘How
. . . how will he die?’ I managed at last.

‘I
cannot say. Only the Blackman himself knows that.’ Loi reached out and touched
my hand. ‘This is the duty of the Blackmen. He knew his fate when he was
initiated. He would have it no other way.’

After
the meal I left Loi to shower herself, and slipped from the stateroom. I found
Blackman on the deck of a central carriage. He stood in the merciless light of
the sun, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. There was an expression
approaching rapture on his wire-graphed face. I remained in the shade of a
nearby canopy.

‘Blackman,’
I murmured.

‘Sinclair.’
He did not move his head or open his eyes. ‘How is the Messenger?’

‘She
seems to be doing well,’ I said. I hesitated. ‘She told me about you . . .
about the significance of your leathers.’

He
looked at me then, and smiled. ‘A carafe of red wine would go down very
nicely,’ he said.

We
returned along the walkway and sat at a table beside the rail. The waiter
placed a carafe and two glasses between us.

‘How
can you?’ I said. ‘How can you contemplate your death and still remain sane?’

Blackman
carefully poured two measures of the thick red syrup. ‘Please believe me, the
benefits of being a Blackman far outweigh the fact of my premature demise. For
years I have had access to more knowledge than you would dream possible. I seem
to have lived several times over. Now, my systems are failing. I can feel
myself weakening. I must charge myself nightly, not every month as once it was.
I am soon to die, but I have prepared for the eventuality. Don’t be horrified.
You are young - you cannot hope to understand what I have gone through.’

I
regarded him in silence as he stared off into the distance. We had left the
jungle behind and were passing through cultivated fields, a bright patchwork of
yellows and greens stretching for as far as the eye could see beneath the glare
of the sun. Ahead, the central mountains rose sheer and majestic from the
rolling ramparts of the foothills.

‘When?’
I asked at last. ‘How will you . . . die?’

He
nodded, as if he found my question perfectly acceptable. ‘When the race is over
and I have discharged my obligations as the eyes of a ship, I will join others
of my Guild in an aerial ceremony, a celebration for the winning Captain.
During this flight I will expire, to make room for a new initiate to the Guild,
which is how it should be.’

‘Couldn’t
you just . . .’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know - retire? Have your systems stripped,
become once more just . . . human?’

Blackman
laughed at me, but gently. ‘Sinclair, I
am
my systems. Without them,
there would be no human left. I’m sorry that this news has shocked you - but
please be present when I fly with the Guild at the ceremony. I think the beauty
of it might assure you of my acceptance.’

I
wanted to tell him that I could not accept such assurances, that I would not
stand by and calmly watch his expiration, but I realised - even as these
thoughts were passing through my head - how selfish I was being. I was not
mourning Blackman’s loss of life, of course, but my loss of a friend.

I
lifted my glass. ‘To the ceremony,’ I pronounced, a quaver in my voice.

That
night we had dinner in the stateroom. After the meal, Loi knelt on the settee,
radiant in the orange light of the setting sun. Her right wing, so desolate
this morning, had gained animation during the day and was now as pert as its
partner. She tested them, articulating the great diaphanous spans as best she
could in the confines of the lounge. She turned them this way and that, swept
them up and down, stirring the warm air.

‘My
wings are almost mended,’ Loi pronounced. ‘Tomorrow they shall be as good as
new. At first light I will take my leave.’

Coming
as it did so soon after news of Blackman’s more final exit, Loi’s imminent
departure saddened me. ‘Back to Baudelaire?’ I asked.

She
shook her head, frowning as she rotated her left wing. ‘To Charybdis. I am
signed on as the Messenger for Shipmaster Sigmund Gastarian’s boat, the
Golden Swan.’

‘You’ll
take part in the race?’ I asked.

‘Yes
and no. I will be flying above the
Golden Swan.
Should the ship run into
trouble, it is my duty to report to race officials.’

‘Then
I’ll be cheering for you and Gastarian all the way.’

‘If
I were you I’d place a wager on the
Swan.
Gastarian is a fine
Shipmaster, and one of the favourites to take the race.’ She paused there, a
sly look stealing over her features as her eyes slid from me to Blackman. ‘I
don’t suppose, Blackman, sir, that you would consider . . . ?’

He
smiled. ‘What is it, child?’

‘Well,
what a cheek I have. After all, you did save my life, and here I am asking
favours.’

‘Out
with it!’

‘Very
well! Could you possibly see your way to acting as the eyes for the
Golden
Swan?’
And she hunched her shoulders and winced, as if expecting Blackman’s
negative reply to be as painful as a slap.

‘Mmm,’
Blackman said, stretching out in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his
head. ‘An interesting proposition. I don’t see why I should favour the
Swan—’

Loi
pulled a face at me.

‘But
then again, I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I will make my decision when I’ve
spoken to your master and inspected the boat.’

‘Magnifico!’
She clapped her hands, then turned to me. ‘And you, Sinclair. Would you care to
sign aboard as a member of the crew?’

‘Me?’
I spluttered. ‘But I know nothing about sailing!’

‘You
don’t need to. The main work is done by the eyes and the Shipmaster. The crew
are ballast, and hard to find at that.’

‘I’m
not surprised! We lowly humans dislike being dashed to death on rocks, ripped
to shreds on coral, or even drowned.’

‘But
the
Swan’s
a fine ship, and Gastarian a fine master. There is no danger
of an accident, especially if Blackman sights for us. And it would be so cosy,
we three friends together.’

‘It
will be cosier still on the bank of the river,’ I told her. ‘Where I intend to
be.’

Loi
scowled. ‘I’ll persuade you otherwise when we meet up in Charybdis, Sinclair.
I’m staying with Gastarian and his crew at the Jasmine Hotel, on Mariners’
Walk. He will treat you both like brothers when he learns you saved my life.’

I
refilled our glasses with wine. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘please tell me more about the
race.’

I
was quite drunk by the time I staggered from the lounge and into bed. I was
sound asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, and did not awake until I
became aware of a slight figure nestling beside me. Loi rested her head on my
chest, and such was her size that her bare feet hardly reached my knees. Her
wings covered us like a silken counterpane. Strangely content, I closed my eyes
and slept.

In
the morning she shook Blackman formally by the hand, then stood on tip-toe and
kissed me quickly on the lips. ‘Until Charybdis,’ she whispered.

She
joined her wings behind her so that they met like hands at prayer, then
inserted them through the open window of the bed-chamber. She walked backwards,
climbed up onto the sill, and looked behind her. Her wings became a blur of
motion, lending her a buoyancy peculiar to witness.

Then,
with a wave, she was gone.

Our
last full day aboard the vench-train proceeded without incident.

We
passed through the foothills and entered a great defile cut deep into the rock
of the central mountains. Such was the depth of the chasm that only a high,
narrow strip of sunlit sky illuminated our way; the blue shadow was cold, the
sheer granite flanks of the abyss on either side intimidating. Ahead, the vench
were forced to fly in a tight formation, their caws of protest echoing eerily
between the rock faces.

Blackman
was quiet, whether through the influence of our surroundings, or in
contemplation of what awaited him in Charybdis, I could not say. I ate alone at
midday, while he stood to attention on a central, uncovered carriage,
attempting to soak up what little sunlight fell this far.

He
joined me for dinner, seating himself across the table from me with an
abstracted nod. We ate bowls of broth - an appropriate dish considering this
chill stretch of the journey. I was subdued, my thoughts consumed by the
Messenger called Loi.

Overhead,
the night sky was a dull orange gloaming; gaslights placed around the dining
deck provided the illumination by which we ate.

Blackman
mentioned that we were due to arrive at Charybdis at five the following
afternoon, and we chatted desultorily about the trip so far. Towards the end of
the meal, I said, ‘Can I ask you something?’

Alerted
by my tone, he looked across at me warily. ‘Go on.’

‘Well
. . .’ I hesitated. ‘I was wondering if ... if liaisons between Messengers and
regular humans are accepted on Tartarus?’

He
smiled to himself. ‘You are attracted to Loi?’

I
blushed, which was answer enough.

‘In
general,’ Blackman said, ‘such unions are frowned on by other Messengers - but
they are tolerated.’

That
night, as I lay in my bed in the abyssal darkness, I could hardly sleep for
thinking of the tiny Messenger, and when I did finally fall asleep my dreams
were full of her. I dreamed, also, of my father. ‘Love?’ he spat at me. ‘You
think yourself in love with an alien creature you hardly know? What folly!’

I
awoke in a sweat around midday, some residue of his censure touching my
emotions with guilt. Then I reminded myself that I was no longer in the thrall
of my father - my arrival on Tartarus and subsequent events had given me a
measure of independence and self-confidence I had never possessed before. I
told myself that I should consider only my own feelings for the girl and
dismiss as irrelevant the opprobrium of the long-dead tyrant.

Then
something about the quality of the light which flooded the chamber made me sit
up and peer through the window. At some point during the night we had left the
dark chasm and emerged on the seaward side of the central mountains.

Hurriedly
I threw my possessions into my travelling bag and barged up the stairs. I was
not alone in my desire to catch an early glimpse of Charybdis: it seemed that
every traveller was above decks. I pushed through the crowd and joined Blackman
by the rail. The lofty peaks were far behind us, and we were free-wheeling down
a steady gradient between verdant foothills. The vench, released from their
labours, were passengers themselves now upon the first two carriages of the
train.

Blackman
touched my arm. ‘Look. The river St Genevieve. And keep in mind that this is
but a minor tributary of the Laurent!’ He pointed across the valley, to where a
geometrically perfect arc of water tipped itself from the edge of an escarpment
and tumbled fifty metres, all rainbow-spangled spume and thundering power. The
river surged on between the pastures, boiling with visible rips and eddies
where the treacherous corals tore it from beneath like razors through silk.

Soon,
the torrent bisected the outskirts of the township: neat, white timber
buildings, A-frames and Dutch-barn houses. For a kilometre the track paralleled
the river, until the shining iron rails terminated at the station and the water
surged and tumbled on its headlong race towards the river Laurent and eventual
rendezvous with the Sapphire sea. At last we had reached Charybdis.

After
the medieval hustle and bustle of Baudelaire, Charybdis seemed a rural
paradise. The avenues were wide and tree-lined, and the tall, timber buildings
stood in their own grounds. Even the centre of town, where the station was
situated, was spacious, and the pace of life unhurried.