The Adjacent Part 23

'Do you really not remember me?' he said. On an impulse he raised his Canon, pointed it at her face and exposed three shots in rapid succession. She recoiled slightly. 'The quantum lens, Flo. You warned me about it.'

'You have no right-'

'That's what you said before. And Rietveld he told me too, long ago. I remember now. He warned me that quantum adjacency was dangerous. You said I had met Thijs Rietveld, and you were right.'

A man moved behind Flo, taller than her, but he was inside the Mebsher compartment, so it was not easy to see who it was. He raised a camera above Flo's shoulder, close to where her implant lay, pointing it towards Tarent. A shutter opened and closed.

The man stepped back, and Tarent could no longer see him.

Flo moved her hand against her ear. She waited, then inclined her head slightly. 'If you don't hand in those cameras today, they will be confiscated.' She was shouting. 'There is nothing more to say.'

She turned away from him, ducked her head and returned to the compartment. On an impulse Tarent ran up the short flight of steps behind her, gripping the two support rails. Flo had already moved towards the front of the compartment and was leaning over to speak to the man Tarent knew was called Heydar. Lou Paladin was sitting on the row of seats beside the hatch. She was looking at Tarent with wide-open, panic-stricken eyes. She seemed to lean away from him, keeping a distance.

He realized then that he had forgotten his bag, still there on the far side of the quad. He would have to go back for it. The engine of the Mebsher was building up speed, and black smoke was pouring past him.

His mind was blurring, unable to interpret what he was experiencing, what he was actually seeing.

He saw He saw there was a man sitting next to Lou. It was the man who had come to the Mebsher door behind Flo. He had the straps of several cameras draped over his shoulder, and was holding a camera in both hands, a Canon Concealable. He pointed the camera towards Tarent's face, and held down the shutter release.

Beside the man, Lou seemed overcome by confusion and fright. She stared at Tarent, to the man who looked just like him, back to Tarent.

Tarent backed away. He felt the hydraulic door mechanism starting to move above him. He climbed anxiously down the steps, stumbling as he used the last one because it was already lifting away from the concrete and swivelling up towards its storage compartment. He felt something snag against the heel of his hand as he stepped hastily to the ground, and he winced with pain.

He half-stumbled across the concrete floor but as he recovered he grabbed one of the cameras strapped to his shoulder, and with trembling fingers held down the shutter on continuous exposure, taking three frames a second: the Mebsher, the shrinking glimpse of the dark interior of the compartment, the smoke, the hatch lowering on its hydraulic rods. As the door seated itself, a piece of torn, jagged metal was snagged by the weight of the hatch, but as it finally closed the sharp fragment jerked free again, standing out from the smooth metal of the Mebsher's outer skin.

The vehicle drove off. Tarent took no more photographs. The Mebsher swung around towards the security gate and Tarent backed away.

He stood watching as the vehicle pushed through the entrance, lurching on the uneven ground. The tall, dilapidated tower loomed above it. Tarent sucked the blood that was flowing from the cut in his hand, a reopened wound, inflicted in the same place as before. The Mebsher had reached the access road, where the surface was smoother, and it began to drive away more quickly.

Tarent stared after it, finally realizing, comprehending and accepting, but still unable to believe, whose body it must have been, there in the cargo hold of the Mebsher, inside the sixth coffin.

PART 7.

Prachous

1.

FENCE.

Like all the islands in the archipelago Prachous is neutral territory, but it is the most fiercely independent of all the island states. It has always been a closed island the name means FENCE in island patois. Although visitors are allowed entry on strictly monitored short-stay visas, permanent immigration to the island is forbidden and for centuries Prachous has maintained a navy of its own to protect its borders. It is anyway a difficult island to navigate towards, because of a complex system of uncharted undersea reefs and shoals. Many unpredictable currents flow in the waters around Prachous and although there are some large areas of coastal swamp or tidal flood plains, much of the coastline of Prachous has high cliffs, with rocky outfalls. Along the southern coast of the island there are four major ports, two of which are reserved for use by the Prachous Seigniorial Navy.

To the north of Prachous lies the Glaund Republic, a belligerent nation on the northern continental ma.s.s, engaged in a war that has been fought for so long there is no one alive who remembers the beginning. No end to it is in sight. It is known as The War at the End of War, and both sides believe it is imperative not to yield. No truce or peace negotiations have ever been entered into. The hostilities are with the distant nation of Faiandland, which lies on the far side of the world, but is also a coastal state on the continent. Glaund and Faiandland each have an intricate array of allies, treaty states and co-belligerents, approximately but not rigidly divided between east and west. The hostilities do not directly affect life on Prachous, which is a peaceful place, although the proximity to Glaund does sometimes have an indirect impact on Prachoit foreign policy. Like all archipelagian states, Prachous is determined not to become involved in the war, and to a great extent succeeds in this wish.

A large part of the interior of Prachous is desert. In this, the terrain is similar to the part of the Glaundian coastal desert to which it is a neighbour. Because of the southern lat.i.tude, extreme high temperatures are common on Prachous, especially in the dry season. There are two large coastal mountain ranges, a high central ma.s.sif north of the desert area, and along the north-western coast and all around the south there are extensive areas of fertile land. Prachous is more or less self-sufficient in food, although because it is a wealthy island many delicacies are imported from other islands, and also from Glaund.

There is no single seignior on Prachous, the land, mineral rights and t.i.thes being divided between a number of Prachoit families, whose secrets are guarded as closely as the island sh.o.r.es. The economy is seigniorial in name only. Although const.i.tuting a closed feudal society, the leading Prachoit families are legendary throughout the archipelago for their business activities and commercial methods. Many of the big archipelagian commercial corporations are owned by Prachoits, and Prachoit families are the largest employers throughout the islands, with interests in mining, shipbuilding, shipping lines (including most of the inter-island ferries), construction, IT, internet and printed media, and many thousands of hectares of agricultural land.

Prachous is a secular island. Religious observation is tolerated but not encouraged.

Prachous is thought to be the second largest island in the archipelago, although it has never been properly surveyed or measured. Should cartographic drones venture into Prachous airs.p.a.ce they are invariably shot down.

2.

THE SPREADER OF THE WORD.

He left the desert encampment in the early morning, before the worst of the heat began, and walked south. He was accompanied by a woman missionary who was to guide him she had made the same journey several times before. They both wore loosely fitting, lightweight robes as a protection from the sun's heat. These covered most of their faces, so Tomak Tallant did not even glimpse the woman's face until the second day. On the first day they were carrying supplies of food and water, enough for the first long section of the walk, but they were expecting to be able to obtain extra supplies on the way. They saw no sign of any settlement during the first day, nor did they come across any streams, water holes or wells.

The woman walked ahead of him, watching the ground as they traversed it. The only words she uttered for the whole of that first day were quietly spoken warnings about loose or buried pieces of rock on the track.

She held a scripture in her left hand. She answered no questions, nor did she ask any, and after the first hour Tallant gave up trying to make conversation. Breathing was anyway difficult in the constant, enervating heat. The sun glared down, bleaching what could be seen of the stony scenery, but Tallant made a point of taking several photographs whenever they halted for a rest. His cameras and attachments were as usual carried in their protective cases across his back, and although they were all made of lightweight materials they became a burden. The water flagon had to be held in his hand with the bag of his own possessions in the other. He changed them over frequently the woman missionary was carrying only a flask of water and some food.

They rested in the afternoon they found a ledge beneath an overhanging rock, which from the quant.i.ty of paper and empty food and drink containers lying about the place seemed to be a regular stopping-off point for travellers. Tallant spread himself in the shade, grateful to rest his aching limbs, but the woman sat with her legs crossed, holding the scripture before her. She kept her head bent forward under the cowl of white cotton, but if she was reading there was no visible sign of it. She turned no pages.

Tallant took some photographs of her with the shutter set to silent, but she must have somehow detected what he was doing, or noticed his movements. She waved her free hand irritably towards him.

He apologized and returned the camera to its case. She made no acknowledgement.

They continued their journey through the sweltering, scented air, the surface of the track now smoother and therefore easier to walk on. There were shallow hills to climb. At the summit of each Tallant felt the rising hope that some kind of destination might be visible from the brow, but the pallid, blinding landscape continued ahead without apparent break. Irrationally, he always looked for a glimpse of the distant sea. He craved a draught of cool air, sea air, wind from elsewhere.

The sun was beginning to lower towards the horizon when the woman increased her walking speed. Tallant a.s.sumed she knew of shelter ahead. In spite of his exhaustion he was relieved and kept pace with her. He had been fearing they might have to pa.s.s the night in the open.

Without much warning, and no signs, the track took a sharp turn to the right and the path led down between two rocky defiles. In continual shade at last, Tallant felt some of his physical energy returning. His feet skidded and scuffed on the loose pebbles and shale on the path, and several times he banged against the boulders that rose up on each side. The woman moved ever further ahead of him.

The path opened out into a deep gully where several trees and bushes grew. A coa.r.s.e gra.s.s flourished. A dark pool of still water lay against a wall of white rock. Several well constructed wooden cabins were arranged in a semi-circle a short distance from the pool. The woman missionary was already lying full-length on the ground, her face close to the water, while she cupped handfuls to her mouth, and tipped it over the back of her neck and head. A printed sign warned travellers to drink only water from the well, but Tallant joined her, ducking his head thankfully into the cold, clean water, then sitting up to let rivulets run deliciously down his chest and back beneath the robe.

Darkness came on soon afterwards, following a brief period of twilight. Insects in the surrounding trees set up a raucous stridulation. Tallant and the woman each selected a cabin. Inside his, Tallant found a simple cot bed, a shelf of packaged food and sealed bottles of mineral water. There was no light inside, so he removed his robe and lay down naked on the cot. He woke only once in the night and that was when the desert chill fell on him. The thin robe barely warmed him, but he was exhausted by the long walk.

When he emerged in the morning the woman missionary was out of her cabin. Sunshine was beating down into the gully and the air was already hot. She had seated herself on an area of smooth rock by the side of the pool, her legs folded, her back straight, her head held erect. She was holding the scriptures before her face, which was no longer shrouded by the hood. Tallant stared at her with interest. She had a severe, handsome face, with high cheekbones, a sharp nose and a strong chin. Her eyes were dark brown, or almost black. She was reading intently.

He waited politely, but the woman did not acknowledge his presence.

'May I take some photographs of you?' he said. She gave no indication that she had heard him, so he repeated his question. This time she responded by raising her free hand and placing it slowly over her ear. At first he a.s.sumed she was shutting out the sound of his voice, but in fact her hand did not block her ear. Her fingers rested lightly on the mastoid process immediately behind the ear. He took this to be a symbolic gesture, asking him not to speak. She slowly lowered the hand and resumed her former position.

Tallant selected the smallest, quietest of his cameras and took a dozen shots of her, from a variety of angles and distances. At no point did she reveal any awareness of him, or, for that matter, a dislike of what he was doing, or pleasure at it.

'I am a professional photographer,' he said as he put away the camera. 'If you wish I will be pleased to let you see prints of these pictures. But I'll need an address where I might contact you.'

Her only response was to raise her free hand once again, press it lightly over her ear and continue reading.

Tallant returned to his cabin, ate a little of the food, then went across to the freshwater well and refilled his flask with clean water. He went to the far side of the pool and bathed briefly. He arranged the robe loosely about his head and body. The woman was waiting for him, and without any further discussion they resumed their journey southwards.

3.

After walking for about an hour they came to a place where a vehicle was waiting to transport them down to the coast. It was an old and travel-worn pa.s.senger coach, with most of the windows along the sides either broken or permanently open. The seats were made of wooden slats, many of which were splintered or missing. Tattered remains of curtains hung beside some of the window frames. The floor was sticky with an acc.u.mulation of dirt and spilled liquids. The outside of the bus, originally painted in the silver which could still be glimpsed in places, had been over-written with many religious proverbs and sayings. The driver sat on a wooden box at the front and often stood up while driving. Sometimes he waved his arms in time with the loud music he played.

Tallant and the woman missionary were the only pa.s.sengers. They were pa.s.sing through a wide tract of unpopulated country. She sat apart from him, moving to the back if he chose a seat near the front, and similarly placed herself away from him whenever he changed his seat after a stop. Tallant relished the flow of air from the vacant windows, the relative relief from the endless heat. He drank one bottle of water after another, making free use of the crates which had been placed aboard the bus.

At intervals he leaned from his seat through the nearest window, taking many photographs of the scenery, but it was a landscape that did not much change, higher and more rugged in some areas, sandy or gravelly on the level. As they moved further south the temperature steadily rose, but the air felt more breathable: there was an increasing number of trees and low-growing shrubs, and sometimes high white clouds moved briefly across the sun. On some of the corners grit thrown up by the bus's tyres flew around him and he would duck inside, more to protect his cameras than his face and arms. He changed seats as often as possible, always believing that there would be more to see from the opposite side. He was constantly aware of the missionary woman keeping her distance from him, sitting calmly upright and swaying with the movement of the vehicle, facing ahead, her hands wrapped gently around her scriptures.

The third day came. They had stopped overnight at what at first sight looked like a large wooden shack on the side of the road, but which turned out to be a religious sanctuary for travellers. It was air-conditioned and temperature controlled. There were staff in attendance, who provided them with cooked food and cold drinks. They were currently the only travellers on this road, or users of the various refuges. Tallant slept alone on a bench in the main room the woman was in one of the cubicles at the rear of the building. The driver apparently slept in the bus.

In the morning a wind was up and it brought a feeling of relief. The driver was edgy, though, saying he was anxious to get on with the rest of the journey.

For a few quiet moments before they drove off, Tallant was able to move away from the road. He stood alone, listening to the wind, thinking back, remembering. Somewhere in the distance he heard the bleating of goats. The insects were silent. The sun was still low when they left the refuge but the heat was rising.

Not long after they resumed their journey the road started a long, shallow climb through an area of hills. Gradually, the desert floor yielded to thicker and more profuse vegetation and a few flowers. The air was noticeably cooler than it had been the day before. Although the hills did not appear to be especially high the road ascended steadily for more than an hour. Whenever a sharp turn was completed or a rocky outcrop was rounded, a new panorama was revealed, higher land still to come, distant mountains, glimpses of the narrow road winding steadily upwards. Tallant stared ahead of the bus, mentally urging it on, because he was certain the sea must soon become visible when they pa.s.sed beyond the next barrier.

Instead, the final summit of the hill road revealed a plain below, the road snaking downwards. The hills on this side were heavily wooded. Tallant took many more photographs, relishing the difference in landscape, relieved to have left the seemingly limitless desert behind.

The bus moved ever lower, the road on this side of the hills much steeper. There were several precipitous turns with frightening descents from the unmade edge of the road. Tallant leaned out through his window, using the camera at every turn, discovering white-water rivers, trees, rocky slides, far below.

Eventually the road levelled out once more, pa.s.sing through forest where there was evidence of much tree-felling. He saw areas reduced to stumps and undergrowth, broken branches discarded on all sides, with just a few remaining saplings standing slenderly in the ruins of the forest. Many stripped trunks were piled beside the road. Smoke drifted in the air.

The first of the shacks appeared inside the wood. Tallant a.s.sumed at first they were shelters used by the loggers, but he soon glimpsed inhabitants as the bus went quickly by. He saw men and women around some of the buildings, and children too. The road led out of the forest and entered another area of bush and scrub land. After crossing this they entered the main part of the shanty town.

At one moment they were driving through the open countryside, or what was left of it, then suddenly they were on a narrow, rutted, slightly raised track that ran past thousands of makeshift dwellings. These pitiful cabins were crammed up against each side of the roadway, desperate a.s.semblies of temporary materials: canvas or tarpaulin shrouds, corrugated sheets of rusting metal, old planks, concrete slabs, vehicle tyres, pieces of broken branches. Anything, in fact, which could be found somewhere and dragged into use to build an improvised dwelling. Now there were hundreds, thousands of people in sight, and the bus filled with the stink of sewage, unwashed bodies, filthy materials, muddy ground, drifting smoke, animal droppings. The noise from outside a kind of roar of rushing but unseen machinery, recorded music, things being struck or sc.r.a.ped or dragged, but above all loud voices trying to make themselves heard over the racket entered the bus through the open windows, drowning the sound of the engine.

Both Tallant and the woman missionary were now staring out through the windows of the vehicle, half in fascination but also half in trepidation, because the shanty town appeared to be in a permanent state of imminent upheaval, with a likely outbreak of violence. Tallant realized that he had reflexively pressed the sleeve of his shirt over his nostrils as a kind of filter. He lowered his arm.

The pa.s.sage of the bus, which because of the state of the road the driver had had to slow almost to walking pace, was a matter of intense interest and curiosity to the people of the shanties. Dozens of small children ran perilously close to the sides of the bus, stretching up their hands, shouting, begging insistently for food or money or cigarettes. Ahead of the bus, Tallant could see that two or three groups of men were forming in the road, as if to impede it. As the vehicle approached these groups moved to the side, so there was no real sense of threat about what might happen, but even so Tallant felt himself stiff with apprehension. He had starting taking photographs as soon as they entered the vast settlement, but he quickly realized that he was drawing attention to himself by doing this. He hid the camera on his lap, below the level of the window. He took only a few more shots, and then at intervals.

The missionary had also laid her scripture in her lap and for once was looking outward into the world. She too was obviously overawed by the sight of the immense slum. It stretched away interminably into the haze, no limit to its extent visible on either side.

The bus ground on, sometimes having to halt temporarily, reversing or manoeuvring from the main track. Once they were forced into a difficult diversion away from the main route and one that led between several of the shacks into a muddy stretch of rough ground. Here the bus almost became stranded. The strenuous efforts of the driver to extricate the vehicle drew a crowd of watchers as the bus lurched perilously from one water-filled pothole to the next, the spinning tyres throwing up sheets of brown and stinking spray.

Tallant had not realized until now that this settlement existed. His knowledge of Prachous. .h.i.therto was of the comfortable, prosperous towns that were built along the coasts, or close to the mountains, with no suggestion that anywhere on the island would there be a slum settlement of this appalling size and condition. He had, in fact, never seen anything like it on any of the other islands he had visited. He had been to only a few but temporary shanty towns were out of place in the archipelago, a realm of almost unlimited habitable s.p.a.ce and untroubled living. He also wondered who these displaced people might be how had they come to this island, the one place in the archipelago where the shelterate laws were rigidly enforced and were used as an absolute bar to entry? He himself had found it almost impossible not only to gain entry to the island, but to obtain his work permit for his relatively short stay. The conditions of his visit were difficult, and included having to register with the seigniorial police in every town he went to.

These were his memories.

Were the people of the shanty native Prachoits, or had they come to the island as immigrants? How had they pa.s.sed through the border controls?

After their forced detour from the main track the driver increased speed, but even so they were still travelling barely faster than before.

Once, Tallant at last caught sight of the sea, or at least the silvery glistening of a reflected sky, away to the east of their route. Knowing that he was being taken towards the coast he wondered if this glimpse signalled an imminent end to the long journey. He silently willed the driver to steer towards it. Instead the bus ploughed on through the interminable spread of slum dwellings. Soon the distant sight of the sea was obscured by the buildings and irregularities in the land.

After some three hours the road widened slightly and the sheer pressure of the crowds of makeshift buildings began to ease. Not long afterwards the shanty town was behind them and the bus was once again driving at normal speed through farmland. Tallant was obsessed with the hope that this travelling might soon be at an end. However, there was a third night to come.

4.

The place was a hotel, or so it was styled on a painted sign attached to the outer wall, but the front of the building was used as an open bar. When the bus arrived the sun had set and the area of levelled ground at the front was crowded with drinkers. Low floodlights covered the yard, but the illumination was fitful and not bright. Large winged insects swarmed around the lamps. There were tables and chairs but most of the drinkers were standing. The driver steered the bus in from the road and drove to one side to park, forcing a way past several groups of people.

Once inside the building, Tallant, the driver and the missionary woman were all allocated separate rooms and then offered a meal. The table was on an open verandah at the side of the building. An electric ceiling fan turned above them. Tallant ate slowly because he did not feel hungry, but he drank two gla.s.ses of beer from the bar. It was served so cold that his fingers almost stuck to the sides of the gla.s.s. Condensation ran into a pool on the table top, but soon evaporated in the warm air. The missionary, drinking water, said nothing, but he felt she disapproved of everything about him. Later, the driver went off by himself to drink at the bar. Tallant and the woman sat together at the table where they had eaten, but neither of them spoke. The woman, as was her custom, simply stared away from him with a vacant expression.

He sat through it, feeling that he was being adversely judged, that he was not living up to some moral or religious standard the woman adhered to rigidly, but he was determined to finish his beer and perhaps drink another.

The night was still and humid, but insects rasped on all sides. There was no wind and the thick smell of alcohol and tobacco smoke hovered around them as if in a closed room the ceiling fan moved but did not clear the air. In the distance, far away towards the horizon, the sky was lit up by the glare from the shanty town, not so far away as he had thought. Tallant made a couple of attempts to start a conversation, but the woman cut him dead each time.

He finished his beer. In a final effort he said to her, 'Why do you never speak to me?'

She turned to regard him and looked straight into his eyes. After a long pause she said, 'Because you have not yet done or said anything that interests me in the least.'

'You never react! You don't seem to care about anything I say!'

'Then we agree.'

'What could I do that might in fact interest you?'

'I should like to know your name. That would change things. And you have not asked me mine.'

'My name is Tomak. Tomak Tallant.'

'You are not a Prachoit, then.'

'No. Are you?'

'I am liberated from nationality. I live only for the Word, which I spread.'

'That doesn't tell me your name.'

'I am a Spreader of the Word. That is all you need to know.'

Tallant stood up, having decided just then not to have another gla.s.s of beer. He stood beside the table, tall above her. He felt sticky with old sweat from three days of travel, itching from the bites of insects and the abrasion of the grimy robe against his skin, and now he was bored with and annoyed by this woman. There was an old shower cubicle in the corner of his hotel bedroom, and he thought how much he would enjoy just being alone for a long time, standing under a flow of cold water.

'I am going to my room,' he said, but she made no reply. Her expression did not change. 'Apparently that's something else that doesn't interest you,' he said, trying to control his irritation, but barely doing so. 'You have not even told me your name. You probably have weird reasons of your own, but I simply find you boring and discourteous. Goodnight.'