The Fall of The Towers Page 3

  "Then, beyond the lava fields, we discovered what it was that had enlarged and stunted the bodies of the forest people, what it was that had killed all green things beyond the jungle. Lingering from the days of the Great Fire, an immense strip of radioactive land still burned all around the Java fields, cutting us off from further expansion.

  'Going towards that field of death, the plants became gnarled, distorted caricatures of themselves. Then only rock. Death was long if a man ventured in and came back. First immense thirst; then the skin dries out; blindness, fever, madness, at last death; this is what awaited the transgressor.

  'It was at the brink of the radiation barrier, in defiance of death, that Telphar was established. It was far enough away to be safe, yet near enough to see the purple glow at the horizon over the broken hills. At the same time, experiments were being conducted with elementary matter transmission. As a token to this new direction of science, the transit-ribbon was commissioned to link the two cities. It was more a gesture of the solidarity of Toromon's empire than a practical appliance. Only three or four hundred pounds of matter could be sent at once, or two or three people. The transportation was instantaneous, and portended a future of great exploration to any part of the world, with theoretical travel to the stars.

  'Then, at seven thirty-two on an August evening, some sixty years ago, a sudden increase in the pale light in the radiation-saturated west was observed by the citizens of Telphar. Seven hours later the entire sky above Telphar was nickering with streaks of blue and yellow. Evacuation had begun already. But in three days, Telphar was dead. The sudden rise in radiation has been attributed to many things in theory, but for over half a century an irrefutable explanation has been wanted.

  'The advancing radiation stopped well before the tetron mines, but Telphar was lost to Toron for good ...'

  Jon suddenly closed the book. 'You see?' he said. 'That's why I was afraid when I saw the dead city. That's why ...' He stopped. 'You're not listening,' he said, and put the book back on the shelf.

  Down the hallway fifty feet, two ornate staircases rose right and left. He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking absently towards another window, like a person waiting for someone else to make up his mind. But the decision was not forthcoming. Belligerently he started up the staircase to the left. Halfway up he became a little more cautious, his bare feet padding softly, his broad hand preceding him warily on the banister.

  He turned down another hallway where carved busts and statues sat in niches in the walls, a light blue behind those to the left, yellow behind those to the right. A sound from around a corner sent him behind a stone mermaid playing with sea-weeds.

  The old man who walked by was carrying a folder. He looked serenely preoccupied.

  Jon waited without breathing, the space of three ordinary breaths. Then he ducked out and sprinted down the hall. At last he stopped before a group of doors. 'Which one?' he demanded.

  This time he got an answer, because he went to one, opened it, and slipped in.

  At Chargill's departure, Uske pulled the sheet over his head. Now he heard several clicks and tiny brushing noises but he heard them through the fog of sleep that had washed back over him. The first sound definite enough to wake him was water against tile. He listened to it for nearly two minutes through the veil of fatigue. It was only when it stopped that he frowned, pushed back the sheet, and sat up. The door to his private bath was opened. The light was off. But someone, or thing, was apparently finishing a shower. The windows of his room were covered with brocade drapes, but he hesitated to push the button that would reel them back from the sun.

  In the bath the rings of the shower curtain slid along the rod; the rattle of the towel rack; silence; a few whistled notes. Then: dark spots formed on the fur rug sprawling the black stone. One after another—footprints! Incorporeal footprints coming towards him.

  When they were about four feet away from his bed, Uske slammed the flat of his palm on the button that drew back the curtains. Sunlight filled the room like water.

  And standing in the last pair of footprints was a naked man. He leapt at Uske as the king threw himself face down into the mound of pillows and tried to scream at the same time. He was caught, pulled up, and the edge of a hand was thrust into his open mouth so that when he bit down, he champed the inside of his cheeks.

  'Will you keep still, stupid,' a voice whispered behind him. The king went limp.

  'There, now just a second.'

  A hand reached past Uske's shoulder, pressed the button on the night table by the bed, the curtains swept back across the window. The hand went out as if it had been a flame.

  'Now you keep still and be quiet.'

  The pressure released and the king felt the bed give as the weight lifted. He held still for a moment. Then he whirled around. There wasn't anyone there.

  'Where do you keep your clothes? You are about my size.'

  'Over there ... in that closet.'

  The incorporeal footprints padded over the rug, and the closet door opened. Hangers slid along the rack. A bureau drawer at the back of the closet opened. 'This'll do. I didn't think I would ever get into decent clothes again. Just a second.'

  There was the sound of tearing thread.

  'This will fit me, once I get these shoulder pads out of it.'

  Something came out of the closet, dressed now: a human form, only without head or hands.

  'Now that I'm decent, open up those curtains and throw some light around the place.' The standing suit of clothes waited. 'Come on, open the curtains.'

  Slowly Uske pressed the button. A freshly shaved young man with black hair stood in the sunlight, examining his cuffs. An open brocade jacket with metal filigree covered a white silk shirt with the laces open. The tight grey trousers were belted with a broad, studded leather and fastened with a gold disc. The boots, opened at the toe and the heel, were topped with similar discs. Jon Koshar looked around. 'It's good to be back.'

  'Who ... what are you?' whispered Uske.

  'Loyal subject of the crown,' said Jon, 'Clam-brain.'

  Uske sputtered.

  'Think back about five years to when you and I were in school together.'

  A flicker of recognition in the blond face.

  'You remember a boy a couple of years ahead of you; he got you out of a beating when the kids in the mechanics class were going to gang up on you because you'd smashed a high-frequency coil, on purpose. And remember you dared that same kid to break into the castle and steal the royal Herold from the throne room? In fact you gave him the fire-blade to do it, too. Only that wasn't mentioned in the trial. Did you alert the guards too that I was coming? I was never quite sure of that part.'

  'Look ...' began Uske. 'You're crazy.'

  'I might have been a little crazy then. But five years in the tetron mines has brought me pretty close to my senses.'

  'You're a murderer ...'

  'It was in self-defence, and you know it. Those guards that converged on me weren't kidding. I didn't kill him on purpose. I just didn't want to get my head seared off.'

  'So you seared one of their heads off first. Jon Koshar, I think you're crazy. What are you doing here anyway?'

  'It would take too long to explain. But believe me, the last thing I came back for was to see you again.'

  'So you come in, steal my clothing ...' Suddenly he laughed. 'Oh, of course. I'm dreaming all this. How silly of me. I must be dreaming.'

  Jon frowned.

  Uske went on. 'I must be feeling guilty about that whole business when we were kids. You keep on disappearing and appearing. You can't possibly be more than a figment of my imagination. Koshar! The name! Of course. That's the name of the people who are giving the party I'm going to, once I wake up. That's the reason for the whole thing!'

  'What party?' Jon asked.

  'Your father is giving it for your sister tonight. You had quite a pretty sister. I'm going back to sleep now. And when I wake up, you're to be gone, do you understand. What a silly dream.'

  'Just a moment. Why are you going?'

  Uske snuggled his head into the pillow. 'Apparently your father has managed to amass quite a fortune. Chargill says I have to treat him kindly so we can borrow money from him later on. Unless I'm dreaming that up too.'

  'You're not dreaming.'

  Uske opened one eye, closed it again, and rolled over on to the pillow. 'Tell that to my cousin the Duchess of Petra. She was dragged all the way from her island estate to come to this thing. The only people who are getting out of it are my mother and my kid brother. Lucky star-fish.'

  'Go back to sleep,' said Jon.

  'Go away,' said Uske. He opened his eyes once more to see Jon push the button that pulled the curtains to. And then the headless, handless figure went to the door and out. Uske shivered and pulled the covers up again.

  Jon walked down the hall.

  Behind the door to one room that he did not enter, the Duchess of Petra stood by the window of her palace apartment, gazing over the roofs of the city, over the houses of the wealthy merchants and manufacturers, over the hive-like buildings which housed the city's tradesmen, clerks, secretaries, and storekeepers, down to the reeking clapboard and stone alleys of the Devil's Pot.

  The early sun lay flame in her red hair and whitened her face. She pushed the window open a bit, and breeze waved her blue robe as she absently fingered a smoky stone on a silver chain around her neck.

  Jon continued down the hall.

  Three doors away, the old queen lay on a heap of mattresses, nestled in the centre of an immense sea-shell bed. Her white hair was coiled in buns on either side of her head, her mouth was slightly opened and breath hissed across dry lips. On the wall above th
e bed hung a portrait of the late King Alsen, sceptred, official, and benevolent. On the table by the bed was a cheap, palm-sized, poorly painted picture of her son, King Uske. She reached for it in her sleep, knocked it over, then her hand fell on the edge of the bed. Her breath hissed, hissed again.

  In the rooms just beside the Queen Mother's chamber, Let, Prince of the Royal Blood, Heir Apparent and Pretender to the Empire of Toromon, was sitting in his pyjama top on the edge of his bed, knuckling his eyes.

  The dun limbs of the fourteen-year-old hung akimbo with natural awkwardness and sleep. Like his brother, he was blond and slight.

  Still blinking, he slipped into his underwear and trousers, pausing a moment to check the clock. He fastened the snaps on his shirt, turned to the intercom, and pressed a button.

  'I overslept, Petra,' Let apologized. 'I'm up now.'

  'You must learn to be on time. Remember, you are heir to the throne of Toromon. You mustn't forget that.'

  'I wish I could,' Let said, 'Sometimes.'

  'Never say that again,' came the demand through the speaker. 'Do you hear me? Never even let yourself think that for a moment.'

  'I'm sorry, Petra,' Let said. His cousin, the Duchess, had been acting strangely since her arrival two days ago. Fifteen years his senior, she was still the member of the family to whom he felt closest. Usually, with her, he could forget the crown that was always being pointed to as it dangled above his head. His brother was not very healthy, nor even (some rumoured) all in his right mind. Yet now it was Petra herself who was pointing out the gold circlet of Toromon's kingship. It seemed a betrayal. 'Anyway,' he went on. 'Here I am. What did you want?'

  'To say good morning.' The smile in the voice brought a smile to Let's face too. 'Do you remember that story I told you last night, about the prisoners in the tetron mine?'

  'Sure!' He had fallen asleep thinking about it. 'The ones who were planning escape.' She had sat hi the garden with him for an hour after dark, regaling him with the details of three prisoners' attempt to escape the mines. She had terminated it at the height of suspense with the three men crouching by the steps hi the darkness, in the drizzling rain, waiting to dash into the forest. 'You said you were going to go on with it this morning.'

  'Do you really want to hear the end of the story?"

  'Of course I do. I couldn't get to sleep for hours thinking about it/

  'Well,' said Petra, 'when the guards changed, and the rope tripped him up when he was coming down the steps, the rear guard ran around to see what had happened, as planned. They dashed through the searchlight beam, into the forest, and ...' She paused. 'Anyway, one of them made it. The other two were caught. And killed.'

  'Huh?' said Let. 'Is that all?'

  'That's about it,' said Petra.

  'What do you mean?' Let demanded. Last night's version had contained detail upon detail of the prisoners' treatment, their efforts to dig a tunnel, the precautions they took, along with vivid descriptions of the prison that had made him shiver as though he himself had been in the leaky shacks. 'You can't just finish it up like that,' he exclaimed. 'How did they get caught? Which one got away? Was it the chubby one with the freckles? How did they die?'

  'Unpleasantly,' Petra answered. 'No, the chubby one with the freckles didn't make it. They brought him, and the one with the limp, back that morning in the rain and dropped them in the mud outside the barracks to discourage further escape attempts.'

  'Oh,' said Let. 'What about the one who did make it?' he asked after a moment.

  Instead of listening, she said: 'Let, I want to give you a warning.' The prince stiffened, but she continued differently than he expected. 'In a little while you may be going on an adventure, and you may want to forget some things, because it will be easier. Like being the prince of Toromon. But don't forget it, Let. Don't.'

  'What sort of adventure, Petra?'

  Again she did not answer his question: 'Let, do you remember how I described the prison to you? What would you do if you were king and those prisoners were under your rule, with their rotten food, the rats, their fourteen hours of labour a day in the mines ...'

  'Well, I don't know, Petra.' He felt as if something were being asked of him he was reluctant to give. It was like when his history class expected him to know the answer on a question on government just because he had been born into it. 'I suppose I'd have to consult the council, and see what Chargill said. It would depend on the individual prisoners, and what they'd done; and of course how the people felt about it. Chargill always says you shouldn't do things too quickly--'

  'I know what Chargill says,' said the Duchess quietly. 'Just remember what I've said, will you?'

  'What about the third man, the one who escaped?'

  'He ... came back to Toron.'

  'He must have had a lot more adventures. What happened to him, Petra. Come on, tell me.'

  'Actually,' said Petra, 'he managed to bypass most of the adventures. He came very quickly. Let me see. After they dashed across the searchlit area, they ducked into the jungle. Almost immediately they got separated. The black haired one became completely turned around, and wandered in the wrong direction until he had gone past the mines, out of the forest, and across the rocky stretch of ground a good five miles. By the time it was light enough to see, he realized he had been wandering towards the radiation barrier; In the distance, like a black hand clawing the horizon, were the ruins of Telphar, the Dead City.'

  'Shouldn't he have been dead from the radiation?'

  'That's exactly what he thought. In fact he decided if he were close enough to see the place, he should have been dead a few miles back. He was tired. But he was alive. Finally he decided that he might as well wander towards the city. He took two steps more, when he heard something.'

  There was silence over the intercom.

  After he had allowed sufficient time for a dramatic pause, Let asked, 'What was it? What did he hear?'

  'If you ever hear it,' Petra said, 'you'll know.'

  'Come on, Petra, what was it?'

  Tm quite serious,' Petra said. "That's all I know of the story. That's all you need to know. Maybe I'll be able to finish it when I come back from the party tonight.'

  'Please, Petra ...'

  'That's it.'

  He paused for a minute. 'Petra, is the adventure I'm supposed to have the war? Is that why you're reminding me not to forget?'

  'I wish it were that simple, Let. Let's say that's part of it.'

  'Oh,' said Let.

  'Just promise to remember the story, and what I've said.'

  'I will,' said Let, wondering. 'I will.'

  Jon walked down a spiral staircase, nodded to the guard at the foot, passed into the castle garden, paused to squint at the sun, went out of the gate, and into the city.

  CHAPTER III

  The Devil's Pot overturned its foul jelly at the city's edge. Old alleys were lined with stone houses, many of them ruined, built over, and ruined again. These were the oldest structures in the Pot. Thick with humanity and garbage, it reached from the waterfront to the border of the hive houses in which lived the clerks and professionals of Toron. Clapboard alternated with hastily constructed sheet-metal buildings with no room between. The metal rusted; the clapboard sagged. The waterfront housed the emigration offices, and the launch service that went out to the aquariums and hydroponics plants that floated on vast pontoons in the sea.

  At the dock, a sooty hulk had pulled in nearly an hour ago. But the passengers were only being allowed to come ashore now, and that after passing their papers through the inspection of the officials who sat behind a wooden table. A flimsy, waist-high fence separated the passengers from the people on the wharf. The passengers milled.

  A few had bundles. Many had nothing. They stood quietly, or ambled. On the waterfront street, the noise was thunderous, pedlars hawking, push-carts trundling, the roar of argument. Some passengers gazed across the fence into the thralling slum. Most did not.

  As they filed past the officers and on to the dock, a woman with a box of trinkets and a brown-red birthmark splashed over the left side of her face pushed among the new arrivals. Near fifty, her dress and head-rag were a well-washed grey.