A Darkling Plain me-4 Page 41

  But Tom knew there was little point in trying to outrun the Stalker Fang, who turned and came toward them as they neared the window. He twisted around to face her. Hester was still trying to drag him to the window, but Tom shook free of her. He had come to Shan Guo to talk, not to fight; if Naga wouldn’t listen to him, perhaps this Stalker might. I am not Anna, she had said, just a bundle of Anna’s memories… But what was anyone but a bundle of memories?

  Tom reached out to her. “We can’t stay,” he said. “We have a daughter. She’ll need us.”

  The Stalker’s eyes flickered. “A daughter …”

  “Her name’s Wren.”

  “A daughter …” She clapped her hands together with a clang. “Tom, Hester … How wonderful! When I, when Anna first saw you together, she, I knew you were meant for each other! And now you have a baby girl.”

  “She’s not a baby girl anymore,” said Hester. “She’s a great big stroppy young woman.”

  “We brought her up,” said Tom, “we kept her safe; we taught her things; she learned to fly the Jenny Haniver… And now you want to kill her along with everybody else.”

  The Stalker shrugged—an odd movement for a Stalker; it made her armor grate. “You can’t break eggs without making an omelette, Tom. Or is it the other way around? Where is she, this daughter of yours?”

  “In London,” said Tom. “In the wreck of London. The people there are building a new city, a floating city…” He wished now that he had paid more attention to Dr. Childermass’s technical explanations. “It doesn’t claw up the ground, it doesn’t eat other cities, it doesn’t even use up much fuel. Why can’t it have a place in your green world? Why can’t Wren?”

  The Stalker hissed and turned away, going back to her machines.

  Tom stumbled after her, and Hester, who had resigned herself to listening to the two of them chat, went with him.

  The Stalker’s fingers were rattling at her keyboards again. The gray image on the central screen changed, from a view of Zhan Shan’s blazing wound to a more distant panorama of the clouded limb of the Earth. Then it began to close in again, the machinery behind the screen wheezing and clicking, the images flicking past like shuffled cards. A charcoal-gray patch expanded to become the wreck of London, then filled the screen. Tom recognized Putney Vale and the Womb as ODIN’s gaze slid eastward, then north.

  “Nothing moving …,” whispered the Stalker. “What are those bright patches?” asked Tom. “Those are burning airships.”

  “What?” Tom stared as more specks of white fire slid past; then, just off the northern edge of the wreck, a burning sprawl like a hole torn in the screen. What had happened in the debris fields since he’d been gone? What had happened to Wren? His heart clenched into a fist and began to batter at his ribs.

  “Ah!” hissed the Stalker. “That must be your floating city…”

  She was quicker at reading the grainy pictures than Tom. It took him a moment to understand that he was looking down at New London. It was well outside the debris fields, moving north. And still the machinery whirred and nattered and the image on the screen kept flicking, changing, pulling closer and closer to the new city until he could make out people milling about on its stern. Dozens of people, lining the handrails, staring back toward the debris fields as New London bore them safe away. And he could make out faces now, the faces of his friends: Clytie and her husband, Mr. Garamond laughing for once, looking happy—and there was Wren, disheveled, smeared with what looked like soot, but Wren for sure; he cried out as her face slipped across the screen, and the Stalker swung ODIN’s gaze to focus on her, still zooming in and in.

  “It’s Wren! She’s all right!”

  Tom felt Hester’s hands tighten on his arm as she watched their daughter’s face swim up toward them out of the gray fuzz of the picture. “Wren,” she said. Her voice sounded shaky. “What’s she done to her hair? It’s all lopsided… And there, behind her, look! It’s Theo!”

  ODIN zoomed again, and there was nothing on the screen except their daughter’s face. Tom went closer, pushing past the Stalker Fang, reaching out to touch the glass. At such close range the image started to grow vague; Wren’s face broke down into lines and specks and flares of light; this smudge of shadow an eye, that white smear her nose. He traced with his hands the curve of her cheek, wishing he could push through the screen somehow and touch her, speak to her. Surely she must be able to feel him watching her? But she only smiled and turned her head to say something to the boy behind her. Tom felt as if he were already a ghost.

  The Stalker hissed like a kettle coming slowly to the boil. “Please don’t hurt her,” said Tom.

  “She will die,” the Stalker whispered. “They will all die. For the good of the Earth. Your child will have a few years more, if she is lucky…”

  “And what use will a few more years be if she’s starving and scared, watching the sky fill with ash?” asked Tom. He took another step toward the Stalker, excited by a sense that he was getting through to her, or to some weird, mechanized remnant of Anna Fang that nested within her. “Wren deserves to live a long time, in peace, and have children of her own, and see their children…”

  “Sentimentality!” the Stalker sneered. “The life of a single child means nothing, compared with the future of all life.”

  “But she is the future!” Tom cried. “Look at her! At her and Theo—”

  “It is for the good of the Earth,” the Stalker repeated coldly. “They will all die.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Tom insisted. “The Anna bit of you doesn’t. Anna cared about people. You cared about me and Hester enough to rescue us. Anna, don’t use the machine. Switch it off. Break it. Smash ODIN.”

  He crumpled at the knees and would have fallen if Hester had not supported him. The Stalker was hissing angrily. Hester, thinking that she was about to attack, pulled Tom backward and turned so that her own body was between them. But the creature had swung away, flailing with one hand at its own skull. “Where is Popjoy?”

  “Dead,” said Hester grimly. “You killed him. It’s the talk of Batmunkh Gompa.”

  “Sathya, I…,” the Stalker said. “They must be exterminated. It is for the good of… Tom, Tom, Hester…”

  That bony sound again; steel fingers on ivory keys. Green letters flicking up. “What is she doing?” asked Hester, afraid that the maddened Stalker was telling ODIN to drop fire on New London. Tom shook his head, as lost as her. The Stalker paused, studied a ribbon of green light that scrolled down another of her screens, typed again, hit a final key, and turned to them. She was trembling; a quick, mechanical vibration, like an engine pod on full power. Her marsh-gas eyes flared and flickered. She reached out to her guests with her long, shining hands.

  “What have you done?” asked Tom.

  “I have … she has … we have …”

  From the far side of the room, through another doorway, they heard a crunch and slither of feet on broken tiles. The Stalker spun to face the noises, her finger-glaives sliding out, and Pennyroyal shouted out in terror as he stepped into the chamber and her green eyes lit up his face. He was holding the lightning gun in front of him, and as the Stalker tensed to spring at him, he squeezed the trigger. A vein of fire opened in the air, juddering between the gun’s blunt muzzle and the Stalker’s chest. The Stalker hissed and bared her claws, and Pennyroyal backed away from her wailing, “Argh! Poskitt! Please! Spare me! Help! Stay away!” and never taking his fingers off the trigger. The Stalker’s robes began to burn. Lightning was crawling across her calm bronze face, St. Elmo’s fire pouring from her finger-glaives. She fell heavily against the ODIN machinery, and the lightning wrapped that too. Stalker brains and Goggle Screens exploded, broken keyboards sent anagrams of ivory keys rattling across the floor like punched-out teeth, flames ran up the cables and set fire to the ceiling, and still Pennyroyal kept firing, and shouting, and firing, until the gun faltered and failed.

  After a while, when they had started to grow
used to the silence, he said, “I did it! I killed it! Me! You wouldn’t have a camera about you, I suppose?”

  The Stalker Fang lay on her pyre of machinery. Tom waved away the smoke and went closer, watching her cautiously. Things were on fire inside her; he could smell the gamey stench, and see the firelight flicker beneath her armor. Her bronze mask had come off, baring the gray face beneath, shriveled and grinning. Tom tried not to feel disgusted as he looked at it; after all, he would soon be taking the same journey himself.

  The dead mouth moved. “Tom,” sighed the Stalker. “Tom.”

  Nothing more. The green glow in those headlamp eyes died to a pinprick, and went out.

  Pennyroyal was staring at the spent gun in his hands, as if wondering how it came to be there. He dropped it and said, “There’s an air yacht moored down below. The keys are around that thing’s neck.”

  It never occurred to Tom to ask him how he knew. He reached out and took the keys. They came away easily, for the cord they were threaded on had almost burned through.

  “She is dead this time, isn’t she?” asked Pennyroyal nervously.

  Tom nodded. “She’s been dead a long time. Poor Anna.” And then the pain came in his chest again and he couldn’t speak; he doubled over, groaning, while Hester clung to him and tried to soothe him.

  “I say!” said Pennyroyal. “Is he all right?”

  “His heart…” Hester’s voice was tiny, trembly; she’d not felt as helpless or as scared as this since she was a little girl watching her mother die. “Don’t die, Tom.” She groveled on the floor with him, holding him as tight as she could. “Don’t leave me, I don’t want to lose you again…” She looked up through her tears at Pennyroyal. “What shall we do?”

  Pennyroyal looked as scared as she did. Then he said, “Doctor. We’ve got to get him to a doctor.”

  “No use,” said Tom weakly. The worst of the pain had passed, leaving him white and frightened, shining with sweat in the light of the rising flames. He shook his head and said, “I saw a doctor in Peripatetiapolis, and he said it was hopeless…”

  “Oh, oh …,” wept Hester.

  “Great Poskitt!” cried Pennyroyal. “If this doctor of yours had been any good, he’d hardly have been working in a little place like Peripatetiapolis, would he? Come on, we’ll find you the best medicos money and fame can buy. I’m not having you die on me, Tom; you and Hester are the only witnesses I have to the fact that I’ve just killed the Stalker Fang! Wait until the world hears about this! I’ll be back at the top of the best-seller lists in a flash!” He held out his hand. “Give me the key. He’ll never make it across the causeway. I’ll bring the sky yacht down in the garden.”

  Hester glowered at him.

  “Well, all right,” said Pennyroyal, “you go and fetch the yacht, and I’ll stay here with Tom.”

  “Please stay, Het,” Tom said weakly.

  Hester passed the key to Pennyroyal, who said, “Hold on, Tom. Back in a jiffy. You might want to wait outside,” he added as he hurried away. “This building’s on fire.”

  Carefully Hester began to drag Tom after him, along the villa’s moldering halls and out into the cold of the garden. They heard Pennyroyal’s footsteps crunching off along the causeway, then silence, broken only by the rush of the flames inside the house. Firelight lapped across the gardens, gleaming on frosted grass and the ice-hung branches of bare trees. Beside a frozen fountain Hester laid Tom down, pulling off her coat to make a pillow for him. “We’re going to get you to Batmunkh Gompa,” she promised. “Oenone will sort you out. She’s a brilliant surgeon; saved Theo’s life; mine, too, probably. She’ll make you well again.” She held his face between her hands. “You’re not to die,” she said. “I don’t ever want to be parted from you again—I couldn’t bear it. You’re going to be well. We’ll take the bird roads again.”

  “Look!” said Tom.

  Above the mountains a new star had appeared. It was very bright, and it seemed to be growing larger. Tom managed to stand, walking a few paces away from the fountain for a better view.

  “Tom, be careful… What is it?”

  He looked back at her, his eyes shining. “It’s ODIN! It must have … blown up! That’s what she was doing, before Pennyroyal appeared. She ordered it to destroy itself…”

  The new star twinkled like a Quirkemas decoration and then began to fade. At the same instant the roof of the house collapsed with a roar and a rush of sparks, and a spear of pain went through Tom’s side, so much worse than before that even as he fell, he knew this was the end of him.

  Hester ran to him, her arms around him; he heard her screaming at the top of her lungs, “Pennyroyal! Pennyroyal!”

  Pennyroyal reached the docking pan and saw the boy creep out of the pines to meet him. Even here the ground was lit by the glow of the fire on the island; the sky yacht’s silvery envelope shone cheerfully with orange reflections. Pennyroyal waved the key as he hurried toward it. “Nothing to fear now, young Fishpaste! I sorted your Stalker out. All it took was a bit of good old-fashioned pluck.”

  He unlocked the gondola and climbed inside, the boy following. The yacht was a Serapis Sunbeam, rather like the one Pennyroyal had owned in Brighton. He squeezed into the pilot’s seat and quickly found the key slot under the main control wheel. Lights began coming on. The fuel and gas gauges all showed half full, and the engines worked after a couple of attempts. “First I must collect my young friends,” Pennyroyal said. After what they had just endured together, he felt Tom and Hester really were his friends; his comrades. He was determined that he would save young Tom.

  “No,” said Fishcake coldly, from just behind him.

  “Eh? But it’s all right, child; there’s no danger now…”

  “Go now,” said Fishcake, and he reached around from behind the pilot’s seat and pressed one of the blades of Pennyroyal’s own pocketknife against his throat.

  “They left me behind,” he said.

  In the garden Hester heard the engines rumble and rise, and said, “He’s coming, Tom, the airship’s coming!”

  Tom wasn’t listening. All he heard was the word “airship,” and as all pain and feeling began to leave him, he saw again the bright ships lifting from Salthook on the afternoon that London ate it, long ago.

  The sky yacht rose and hung above the garden. The downdraft from its engine pods whipped Hester’s hair about and made the burning house behind her roar like a furnace. She looked up. Fishcake was staring down at her through one of the gondola windows. She recognized the look on his face, solemn and triumphant all at once, and she felt sorry for him, for all the things he must have seen and been through, and all the long miles he had had to come for his revenge. Then he turned from the window and shouted something at Pennyroyal and the yacht rose, curving away toward the mountains, the drone of its engines whispering into silence.

  There’s no way out this time, Hester thought. And then she thought, There is always a way out. She pulled Fishcake’s long, thin-bladed knife out of her belt again and laid it down in the shadows beside her, where it gleamed with reflections from the fire; a narrow doorway leading out of the world.

  She kissed Tom’s face, and for a moment he half woke, although he still didn’t quite know where he was; memories and real life were all tangled up inside his mind, and he thought that he was lying on the bare earth, on that first day, fresh-fallen out of London. But he didn’t care, because Hester was with him, holding him tight, watching him, and he thought how lucky he was to be loved by someone so strong, and brave, and beautiful.

  And the last thing he felt was the touch of her mouth as she kissed him good-bye, and the last thing he heard was her gruff, gentle voice saying, “It will be all right, Tom. Wherever we go now, whatever becomes of us, we’ll be together, and it will all be all right.”

  Chapter 53

  The Afterglow

  When they came for Oenone, it was still dark, and the breeze that blew in through the small window of the room wh
ere they’d been holding her smelled of ash. Faint Earth tremors shivered the floor. She had been feeling them all night in her sleep. Her dreams had been filled with the crash of falling masonry echoing across the valley from Batmunkh Gompa.

  She washed her aching face in cold water and said her prayers, assuming they were taking her to be killed. But when they led her down the stairs, she found Subgeneral Thien waiting for her. He looked weary and slightly dazed, and his uniform was streaked with dirt.

  “Naga is dead,” he said.

  Oenone saw him staring at her broken nose and the bruises that had spread around her eyes. If Naga was dead, then Thien was the most senior officer in Batmunkh Gompa, she thought. He would try to seize power for himself, and he would not want her around to remind people of the man he was replacing.

  “Come with me, please,” he said.

  She followed him outside, onto a balcony where the cold wind tugged at her clothes. The southern sky was a wall of shadow, lit faintly from behind by the red flaring of the volcano. The voices of the nuns chanted steadily somewhere inside the building, the chant rising in volume for a while each time the ground shook. In the courtyard below the balcony Oenone saw hundreds of faces looking up expectantly; Green Storm soldiers and aviators; refugees from Tienjing.

  She felt nervous in front of such an audience, but not afraid of dying. She knew that poor Naga would be waiting for her in heaven, and her mother and father, too, and her brother Eno; all those whom she had loved and lost, who had gone ahead of her.

  “What do you make of it?” asked Thien. He was looking upward too, and she realized that it was not at her the people in the courtyard were staring, but at something above her head; above the roofs of the nunnery; above the mountains. Across the few patches of the sky that were still clear, hundreds of shooting stars were streaking, white and green and icy blue.