Theatre of the Gods (22 page)

Before he knew it he was floating through space, through the broken remains of a computer the size of a galaxy. Before he knew it, everything he knew had vanished.

BOOK TWO

If life sends you demons, make demonade.

Anonymous

SPIN

It is impossible to calculate the destructiveness of tiny changes within a system.

Imagine a city, a single city within a district within a postal code within a hemisphere within a cluster within an orient within an empire. It is a city made from iron, brass, silver or gold. It is small enough to hold a few million people, or large enough to enclose a sun. But whatever its greatness, this city you live in is as fragile as a crystal cup.

There is a particularly catastrophic phenomenon in the empires of this universe; it is known simply as ‘spin’. The elemental spheres that house the human species are uncountable. Unlike the natural larger bodies – planets, moons and stars – most of these do not spin, and those that do are ‘timed’ to rotate at a
very
precise speed in order to generate just the amount of gravity needed to keep people in their beds at night. Most spheres rely on super-heavy objects at their centre. Some of the larger spheres harness the pull of the sun at their core, others use powerful magnets to generate attraction. In larger spheres this process becomes extremely complicated. Orbs of this size might contain a system of smaller cities in orbit around their inner suns, each generating gravity in a different way. An enormous amount of energy is expended controlling the movement of the spheres in relation to each other. But somehow a balance is achieved, and all the cities in the universe are tuned like an orchestra
to play together, each one’s force balanced out by the next. The problem arises when something happens to disturb this balance.

It could be a motor or a magnet breaking down, or a subtle change in the gravitational force of a core sun. Or it could be something even more insignificant: a super-heavy freighter docking after supplying the registrar with a weight manifest in which a decimal point is incorrectly placed one step to the left. Yes, even a dot of ink can bring destruction. It could be a meteor glancing off a sphere, imparting spin upon the body. When this happens the effect is quietly catastrophic. The affected body begins to stray out of position, to draw other bodies slowly towards it. The music of the spheres then becomes a dance which, if left unchecked, will end in unfathomable destruction, the death of trillions. The engineers within an affected local group have days, or even hours, to retune their spheres and avert disaster. There are thousands of near misses each astronomical year, and all but a few are corrected without the people sleeping in their beds becoming even faintly aware of how close they’ve come to death.

It isn’t always a ballistic conclusion. Sometimes death comes softly. In one case an elite ‘gated’ sphere of some 785,000,000 souls was hit by a relatively small change in the radioactive field of a nearby sun. All the residents in the sphere were killed. The automated cleaning systems dutifully tidied up the corpses, from every home, every arcade, every dappled park bench, so that when the emergency teams arrived they found an immaculate paradise waiting to be resettled. Of course, the residual radiation meant the sphere could never be resettled. Crews prepared the sphere for demolition. The household systems, sensing their imminent destruction, turned on the crews and killed them. The city of Monoculus 9Q8 was left as a bustling ghost city: rich with the busy noises of the helpful domestic machines. One day I should write a short story about it. It would be called ‘Sometimes Death Comes Softly’.

This is the threat of small changes.

*

The Man in the Shadows was not the richest man in the universe, but through a series of small changes and visionary touches he had become arguably the most powerful. He was aboard his magnificent gold-plated yacht, the
Titanrod
, when he received two high-priority messages. The first, he could tell, was the answer to his question from his new secret oracle. It was sealed inside a cylinder which could only be opened by someone whose pheromone signature betrayed an awareness of the magnitude of the contents. The other message was unmarked. He slipped both into his pocket until he had a chance to read them. He was returning from his hotel – Hotel Grand Skies: the Empyrean – with a guest. His was a modest hotel, in the scheme of things, certainly not in the league of the new mega-hotels like the Empire Majestic. The Majestic had been built with 1.8 million rooms, its own airport, and a full-scale recreation of an oldeworlde-style ocean around which wealthy guests could bask and tan themselves in the light of a small-scale, artificial sun. The Empyrean was a smaller, simpler hotel in the old style. It held only 125,000 guests, but those guests were generally the most important and wealthy citizens of the universe. He got almost as much joy from his hotel as he did from his grandfather’s old yacht. They were both examples, he thought, of the one commodity that the universe had burned its way through before any other: style.

He was sailing home through a spectacular local group called Armalite IX. Taking frequent walks through his great-grandfather’s
Theatre of the Gods
. This ship had been his ancestor’s prized possession, and the Man in the Shadows had run through its ornate corridors as a boy – which was remarkably recently – past the gold statues of heroic figures holding torches aloft, or stooped in the act of trying to hold a world upon their shoulders, or simply touching their chin – as if caught in a moment of deep reflection upon the mysteries of the cosmos. These were heroes doing hero things: thinking ahead, lighting the way, groaning beneath the sphere of life. But today his appreciation of the giants was being spoiled by the presence of his
guest, who, despite the fact that he was himself a kind of god, seemed unable to make his body do what he wanted.

‘You must forgive me. I have not long been made of your stuff. It takes some getting used to.’ The figure wobbled and jolted his way to the base of a statue where he leaned and puffed. He also seemed unable to properly control the volume and pitch of his speech, and he shouted at the Man in the Shadows in a high, thin voice: ‘Where I am from everything is impermanent, without form. Things are less … certain.’

‘I understand,’ said the Man in the Shadows. ‘When we are young we suffer similar deficiencies. We outgrow them in time. Now if you will please speak in a lower voice. I’d hate for anyone to overhear our business.’

‘Of course, my boy.’ The figure, dressed incongruously as a monk, lowered his voice to a hoarse shout. ‘Though our master has described your activities, I am still slightly confused about what business you are in.’ The monk stopped and placed his hand on the foot of a statue, patted it and wheezed, ‘So large, so solid. I could never have imagined that things here would seem so … real.’

The statue he wheezed upon was a muscular figure holding a baby on one palm, and he looked for all the universe as if he was about to take a bite out of the chubby peach.

‘Yes,’ said the Man in the Shadows. ‘Each of these statues weighs ninety tons. They are made from iron plated with gold. To build them from solid gold would have made them far too heavy for the ship … I am in the power business.’

‘The
power
business. You sell units of electrical energy to people in exchange for paper money?’

‘Not electricity. I sell real power: I sell influence, persuasion, authority.’ He offered his hand to his guest but the brand-new man ignored it.

‘Ah, you sell the invisible. That I understand.’

‘I make power visible. I can quantify it, store it, sell it as a real
commodity. Before breakfast I brokered a meeting between one of the richest young industrialists in the Empire, and one of the most beautiful young socialites. He is eighteen. She is twelve. But together, one day, they will work for us. They will be unstoppable. I know this because I have the oracle. I can chart the course of probability and know which seeds will fruit.’

‘And don’t forget who showed you how to build that oracle.’

‘We never would. My group is honoured to serve Calligulus.’

‘Your group? Ah yes, the Thorn Table. You mighty captains of industry and influence.’ There was a note of sarcasm in his voice.

‘I am just a small player in the group. But I have the pleasure of speaking for them, and of being their eyes and ears. With your master’s help we can become even greater.’

‘That very much depends upon you.’ The monk stopped to rest again on the base of a statue of a muscular god holding a globe on the tip of his finger. The monk gazed up from below, breathing heavily. ‘What of the recent problems our master has asked you to solve: the Vengeance, the royal traitors, the mystical Fabrigas? What says your new oracle about that?’

‘That they are manageable. I have dispatched Albert to oblivion, I have sent a horde of assassins after the girl, and there is a battle fleet waiting to crush the magical mystic at Akropolis. Our master’s wishes will be fulfilled.’

‘I certainly hope so. Because a battle fought across dimensions cannot be won. It becomes a cascade of cosmic chaos, of agencies killing double agents before they were born, of armies massing at the sites of future battles. The war must be fought in this universe alone. That is why Master Calligulus has issued you these death orders. One old fool, and a small girl – his enemy’s daughter. So simple. Which is why we are surprised that you have not yet been able to conclude the matter. What is this liquid oozing from me?’

‘It is sweat. It is designed to cool the body during exertion.’

‘How very elegant. I do not think I will ever get used to this form.
My master wishes only that your Empire conquers all others. It is his defining goal: that it grows in power as he does. He cannot yet involve himself directly from the outer worlds. This is why he has bestowed the gift of flesh on me – as painful and profoundly unpleasant as it is – and why he has lavished unfathomable gifts upon you: the gift of alchemy; the gift of dark-space travel; the new oracle.’

‘I know all this.’

‘It is worth restating all that he has done for you by bestowing upon your Empire the Thousand Gifts. Only the Xo can match your power. But not for long. The secrets he has shown you have allowed you to build an irrepressible empire. When the Great War comes you will crush your enemies.’

‘Right now we would settle for enough power to grind our coffee in the morning.’

‘You lack faith?’

‘No. But without energy we cannot raise our armies, we cannot expand, we cannot run the engines which keep our spheres aligned.’

‘Energy cannot be conjured from nowhere. That is one law of physics he cannot help you circumvent. What he will do for you in the future, though, will make these shortages seem irrelevant.

Calligulus offers nothing less than the conquest of reality. And what does he ask in return?’

‘That we stick to the Master Plan.’

‘Which is?’

‘That we kill the girl.’

‘… And?’

‘That we destroy the wizard, destroy his engine.’

‘Exactly. Are you aware of the magnitude of the cruelty our master is capable of applying to servants who fail him?’

‘I do not believe myself a servant.’

‘You do not?’

‘No. I believe myself an accomplice.’

‘An accomplice!’

‘Please, do not shout. There are servants of mine close enough to hear.’

‘You are an accomplice to him as the raindrop is an accomplice to the storm. But I will be sure to pass on your views when next I channel him.’

The monk moved off to stand in the shimmering shadow of a golden giant holding a lightning storm of glowing neon vapour tubes in his clenched fist and exclaimed, ‘Marvellous. Is there anything you people cannot do?’

‘I would prefer you did not pass on my views.’

‘You would? But surely, frank views shared between … accomplices … are the foundation of any grand partnership.’

‘Again, I would prefer, on reflection, that you did not convey these matters.’

‘Then beg me.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Beg me that I do not pass on to the master what you have said.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘Yes you do. You are one of the most powerful men in this universe. You have no doubt seen begging in your time. At least enough to be familiar with the concept.’

‘I have never begged a thing.’

‘But now you must.’

‘… I
beg
, Lord Bosch, that you do not relate this part of the conversation to our master.’

‘Good. Good. I think we have an understanding. Is there anything else I should know about while we are alone? Any other pressing matters? I hear word of a burnout in one of the Sentinel hubs.’

‘It is … fully contained.’

‘It is?’

‘Yes. We have complete information integrity.’

‘I hope so. For your sake. And now I will retire to my quarters. I
have been on these legs but a few hours, but all I want to do is lie down. How strange. Perhaps, when my body is not jelly, I will finally try this … What is the term you use? Intercourse? For now, I bid you well.’

‘I will have the boy turn down your bed.’

‘Thank you. I am grateful for your hospitality.’ A glance up to the imperious eyes above. ‘You have a beautiful vessel. You should be very proud.’

Once Lord Bosch had made his way slowly from the room on spasmous legs the Man in the Shadows finally had a moment to take the new messages from his pocket and read them. The message in the canister from the oracle read:

Wizard has Vengeance, has Router, has the wind behind him.

The second message, in its plain envelope, was equally succinct:

I have failed. The wizard lives and goes beyond. No safe corner now. Goodbye. Mattlocke.

I am Calligulus
,
Creator of empires
,
Destroyer of worlds
,
From the cave of forgotten souls, to the furnace of the suns
,
my name is spoken
.
Who can know my power and my mercy?
Who can know the fury of my vengeance?
None but the insolent, the feeble, the damned.
I am death from above
,
And vengeance from below
,
And from behind you when you least expect it.
I feast upon the flesh of kings, and the flesh of captains
,
And the flesh of mighty men, and the flesh of horsies
,
And of them that sit upon the horsies
,
And the flesh of all men, both free and bound
,
both small and great
.
Mostly small
.
Fear me, and give glory to me! For the hour of His judgement is come.
And worship me that made the universe, and the soils, and the seas
,
and the fountains of waters, and the creatures, and the horsies
,
And the men who ride upon them
.
I am Calligulus
.
Word.