A Red Sun Also Rises Page 10

Mademoiselle Clattersmash placed a hand on his shoulder. “No, my dear. The matter of the dissonance must be addressed at once.” She pointed at Clarissa and me. “We should deliver these two to the House of Lords immediately.”

  “Oh, very well, very well. Humph! Humph! Humph! But I insist that the acquisition of clothing must follow right afterwards! What!”

  “I shan’t argue,” Clattersmash said. She raised her hands to her face and wriggled all her fingers excitedly. “I’m positively eager to pick out a dress!”

  The Ptall’kor took us down to the third terrace, turned right onto a wide thoroughfare, and came to rest outside a monumental white edifice that reminded me a little of St. Paul’s Cathedral.

  Two figures were standing on the steps that led up to the building’s ornate entrance. One, a Yatsill, was wearing top hat and tails, with a white shirt and perfectly enormous bow tie. While his trousers were black, as one would expect in such an outfit, the jacket and hat were pink. His mask resembled the face of a heron, with a long pointed beak.

  The other was plainly a Koluwaian male, though, like the witch doctor Iriputiz, he was of a considerably taller and skinnier build than the average islander. He was wrapped from head to toe in purple robes, had a cloth of the same colour wound around his head, and wore a Pierrot mask over his face.

  “Saviour favour you,” the Yatsill said to Spearjab as we disembarked. “It’s bloody good to see you again, Yazziz Yozkulu. Welcome to New Yatsillat!”

  “Colonel Momentous Spearjab now, Prime Minister. Humph! And you, sir?”

  “I have settled upon Lord Upright Brittleback.”

  Spearjab bowed. “Tip-top! Very nice! Very nice indeed! And New Yatsillat! How wonderfully appropriate! I sensed a great deal, of course, but not that particular morsel! Ha ha!” He waved a hand toward Clattersmash. “My Lord, you know Tsillanda Ma’ara, now Mademoiselle Crockery Clattersmash. Harrumph!”

  “I do indeed.”

  Clattersmash held out a hand and the prime minister reached to shake it, hesitated, then took it by the fingertips and raised it to the end of his mask’s beak, giving it a light peck. “You chose the female gender, then, Mademoiselle?”

  “I did,” she replied. “It occurred to me that those in the Council of Magicians would mostly select the male. I thought it might give me an advantage to go the other way.”

  “Shrewd, as always,” Brittleback responded. He turned to Spearjab and flexed his fingers toward the purple-clad Koluwaian. “You know Mr. Sepik, of course.”

  “Harrumph! Back from one of your long meditations, hey, Mr. Sepik!”

  The Koluwaian bowed and said, in a whispery voice, “I serve best when refreshed, Colonel. My occasional withdrawals are a spiritual necessity.”

  “Humph! If you say so, old thing! I can’t quite see how not being present makes you a better Servant, but there you are! There you are! And you’ve learned this new-fangled lingo, too, hey? Jolly good show! Fast work! What! And the togs?”

  Brittleback gestured toward the tall islander and said, “Mr. Sepik suggested that, in keeping with the changes to our society, his kind should be represented in Parliament, which I thought was a bloody good idea, so I made him my aide. I have acceded to his suggestion that all Servants who work with those of us in public office should be masked. A symbol of their authority over their fellows, so to speak.”

  “Splendid idea!”

  “Now to business, old fruit,” the prime minister said. “How many new Aristocrats do you have?”

  “Only three Yatsill,” the colonel replied.

  Lord Brittleback shook his head. “By the depths of Phenadoor! I should rejoice at their arrival but I find myself bloody unsettled. The parties that preceded you did little better. I fear we’re fast approaching a time when all will be Working Class and there’ll be no one left to do the thinking. Mademoiselle Clattersmash, did you gain any insight while in the Valley of Reflections?”

  “I’m afraid not, Prime Minister. We can but trust that this is the will of the Saviour.”

  “And what of the dissonance? From whence did it originate?”

  Clattersmash turned and indicated that Clarissa and I should step forward. I led my companion to her side.

  “Not from whence but from whom. These two were found in the normal manner, but as you can see, they themselves are far from normal.”

  “Saviour’s Eyes! They don’t look like the usual Servants! Were they the only ones?”

  “That is correct, sir. Furthermore, this one—” she gestured toward Clarissa “—was made an Aristocrat.”

  I saw Mr. Sepik start slightly at this revelation.

  “Ah!” Lord Brittleback exclaimed. “So the recent advances are explained! I shall present our guests to the House at once.” He stepped forward and touched Clarissa on the shoulder. “I was given a rather baffling something-or-other by the leader of our Magicians. He saw you in a Dar’sayn vision and had the thing constructed. Not bloody sure what it is, but take it, please, with my compliments, and I hope it’s of use!”

  He fished inside his jacket, pulled something out, and pushed it into Clarissa’s left hand.

  “Clarissa!” I cried out. “It’s a pair of goggles!”

  “Thank God!” she whispered.

  “What—?” Brittleback began.

  “She is blind without them!” I said.

  The Yatsill and Koluwaians watched as I reached up and began to untie my friend’s blindfold. She held the goggles close over her eyes. I gave her a warning then pulled the material away, and she quickly pressed them into place and held them steady while I buckled the leather straps around her head.

  “Done!” I announced. “Turn to face me, then open your eyes.”

  Clarissa spun until I saw myself reflected in the black glass lenses. The two little bumps on her forehead protruded above the eyewear. After a moment, she smiled widely, reached out, and grabbed me by the upper arms.

  “Aiden! You have no idea how good it feels to see you again! Heavens above! What a beard you’ve grown!”

  She looked down at herself, released me, and clapped her hands to her thighs. “Straight!” she almost wailed. “My legs! They really are straight!”

  Spearjab said, “Though with insufficient knees and numbers, hey? What! Ha ha!”

  Clarissa wheeled around and saw, for the first time, the quadrupedal mollusc-faced colonel.

  She said, “Oh!” and, for the first time since I’d met her, she did something typical of her gender.

  She fainted.

  ° °

  5. City and Home

  Clarissa was unconscious for but a moment, then stood, leaned on me heavily, and said in a hoarse voice: “My goodness, Aiden!”

  “Steady yourself,” I said. “You’ll get used to them, as I have.”

  Lord Brittleback asked, “Who leads the Servants in this group?”

  Spearjab pointed. “That one. Humph! Her name is Kata.”

  “Much obliged, old fruit. Miss Kata! You’ll find the foreman’s office at the top of the main avenue. Will you take the Workers there, please? He’ll give them their assignments.”

  Kata looked perplexed.

  “Oops!” Brittleback exclaimed, realising he’d used English words to name things that had no meaning for the islanders—foreman’s office; avenue; assignments. “Hum!” he muttered. “This is bloody awkward!”

  Mr. Sepik stepped forward and said, “I’ll deal with it, sir.”

  “Ah, good fellow!”

  Sepik ordered the Koluwaians and the six young Yatsill to gather in a group. While they were doing so, I stepped over to him and said, “Mr. Sepik, my companion and I were transported here from Koluwai. Do you come from that island?”

  “No. I am from a neighbouring island,” he replied. “I was sailing to Koluwai to trade when a storm appeared over my boat. I was sucked into it and awoke here.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “I was just a boy.”

  He usher
ed the group away, back in the direction we’d come, and I returned to Clarissa’s side.

  The prime minister transferred his attention to the three new Aristocrats. “Hallo, chaps, what’re your names?”

  “Lord Prosper Possibly, Prime Minister,” the first replied.

  “Baroness Bellslant Jangle,” said the second.

  “Earl Nesting Beardgrow, sir,” the third responded.

  “Bloody excellent!” Brittleback exclaimed. “You go off with Colonel Spearjab and he’ll sort out estates for you.”

  He received three nods of acquiescence.

  Spearjab waved at me and said, “Cheery-bye, old thing!” then, “Toodle-pip, Miss Clarissa! Humph! Harrumph! What!” before leading his wards away.

  The prime minister shouted after him, “Stop off at a tailor shop, Colonel! Have yourself and the nippers kitted out!”

  He next addressed the remaining Aristocrats. “That goes for the rest of you, too. Clothes, please! Clothes! Can’t have you running around with bare shell on display! By the Saviour’s Eyes, it’s positively indecent!” He gestured toward the Ptall’kor. “And take this bloody thing back to its pasture, would you?”

  The Yatsill named Sir Gracious Whipstripes stepped forward and said, “I regret to inform you, sir, that Tokula Pathamay was killed by an Amu’utu. He declared his name. We brought his remains back with us.”

  “Blast it!” Brittleback exclaimed. “We can ill-afford the loss. Very well, make a detour, would you, and cast his remains into Phenadoor with all due ceremony. At least he’s gained that which is denied the rest of us, Saviour be praised!”

  Whipstripes nodded and, with his colleagues, reboarded the Ptall’kor.

  As the living vessel departed, Mademoiselle Clattersmash said, “If there’s nothing else, sir, I shall depart. I feel a wee bit out of sorts. Perhaps a Dar’sayn meditation will help. I shall go to the Temple of Magicians.”

  “Out of sorts, old fruit? Probably exhaustion. The journey to the Shrouded Mountains is a bloody demanding one. Off you pop, then, Mademoiselle.”

  She gave an awkward bob and went on her way. Lord Brittleback clapped his hands in satisfaction. He then spoke to Clarissa and me. “Well now! Your physical structure is a mite different from the other Servants’. Taller. Paler. Why is that?”

  Clarissa found her voice and answered. “Because we aren’t Koluwaians, sir. Our origins lie elsewhere.”

  “Humph! How odd! Well, let us not tarry here, hey? Parliament awaits! Don’t be concerned—they’ll ask you a lot of bloody questions, for certain, but I won’t allow the session to trundle on forever. You’ll be clothed, fed, watered, and housed in good measure. Come along! Come along! In we bloody well go!”

  He ushered us up the steps. As I ascended, I again became aware of the heavier gravity. Clarissa felt it, too. “Phew!” she gasped as we reached the top. She stopped, turned, and surveyed the city that was fast growing around us. “I feel like I’m dreaming. It looks as if a crazed architect is re-creating London.”

  “I can understand why Kata is feeling uneasy,” I noted. “It must be very unsettling for someone who’s only ever lived in the Koluwaian fashion.”

  “Chop-chop!” Brittleback cried out. “Follow me, please!”

  We walked behind him, past a Yatsill in the uniform of a concierge—though with the addition of a brightly decorated hedgehog-faced mask—through tall doors and into a high vaulted hallway. Its floor was inset with a colourful mosaic of irregularly shaped ceramic tiles. Wooden scaffolding had been erected against its walls, and far overhead, platforms stretched from one side of the space to the other, close to the ceiling. A Yatsill was up there, painting a bewildering mural.

  Oil lamps cast a complex web of shadows around us as we proceeded along the corridor. The click-clack of Lord Brittleback’s feet echoed loudly, as did those of the various other Yatsill we saw hurrying back and forth between arched doorways that gave access to rooms to the right and left of us.

  “There’s so much to bloody organise!” the prime minister declared. “Social and economic policies, regulations and mandates, infrastructure and administration, industry and leisure, this and that, one thing and another, whatchamacallits and thingamajigs.”

  We stopped in front of another set of doors, lofty and narrow. Two Yatsill, dressed as Grenadier Guards and wearing duck masks, stood to either side of the portal. A great many muffled voices were audible from the chamber beyond.

  “And this,” Brittleback continued, “is where all the decisions are made.” He reached up and grasped a handle. “Welcome to the House of Lords.”

  After pulling the door open, the prime minister ushered us through into an enormous circular room with a raised circular dais at its centre surrounded on all sides by benches, which were set progressively higher from front to back, the rearmost ones being far away and at a considerable altitude. High overhead, the domed ceiling was inset with large panels of stained glass. The light that shone through them illuminated the vast space with a soft haziness, through which dust motes drifted lazily. Everything looked and smelled brand new.

  The seats were packed with top-hatted and bonneted Yatsill.

  We walked through a narrow passage, between seats, from the door to the stage, and as we drew closer to the platform the words of the individual who stood in the centre of it emerged from the general cacophony.

  “. . . and, in conclusion, it must be evident to the right honourable ladies and gentlemen that these bladed weapons are far more suited to our needs than absurd and impractical projectile launchers. Those few who’ve urged the manufacturing of the latter are allowing themselves to be seduced by what can be done rather than by what should be done. I urge them to reconsider and to vote aye to this amendment, thus ensuring the City Guard is appropriately armed. What say you?”

  The crowd roared, “Aye!”

  A Yatsill seated behind a desk at the edge of the stage and dressed in red robes, a tricorn hat, and a very long curve-beaked bird mask, banged a gavel.

  “The motion is passed!” he bellowed. “Thank you, Viscount Whoops Bumpknock. I now give the floor to Lord Upright Brittleback, the prime minister.”

  The crowd cheered as Brittleback escorted us up onto the dais.

  “My Lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” he announced, holding his arms outstretched. “None can deny that a dissonance has come among us. Indeed, one need only look at this magnificent chamber to see how significant its effects have been. I think it fair to say that we have all embraced this new permutation, and—”

  “No!” someone shouted. “No, not all of us!”

  The prime minister turned to the red-robed Yatsill and said, “Lord Speaker-Judge, I would—”

  The gavel banged on the desk.

  “I recognise the Right Honourable Yarvis Thayne,” Speaker-Judge announced.

  Ten benches back, the Yatsill who’d objected stood up. The creature, an unusually thickset specimen, wore neither clothes nor a mask. “Thank you, Lord Speaker-Judge,” it said. “No, Prime Minister, not all of us have embraced the destruction of the old ways. Some of us ask why it is necessary. Some of us denounce the devastation of the forest and the replacement of perfectly serviceable tree houses with brick-built monstrosities.”

  “Monstrosities, Yarvis Thayne?” Brittleback cried out. “Monstrosities? I see nothing monstrous in progress!”

  “Progress? What for? We have long enjoyed stability and tranquillity. Why change?”

  “In order to become more than we bloody well are, old fruit! By the Suns, what will you object to next? Our language? Our ability to think? Would you have us revert to an animal state though we’ve been blessed by the Saviour with intelligence? It won’t do! It won’t do at all! We, the Aristocrats, have the ability to shape this world. Whatever we do must assuredly be as the Saviour intends. Would you have us remain immobile merely because the divine plan is obscure to us? No, sir! No! I say forward! Forward, not backward, nor static!”

  Mo
st of the gathered Yatsill loosed hurrahs of approval. Shaking his head disapprovingly, Yarvis Thayne sat back down.

  The prime minister gestured for quiet, and when the crowd had settled continued, “I have at my side the origin of the dissonance, Miss Clarissa Stark, and her companion, Mr. Aiden Fleischer. As you can see, they are, in form, rather peculiar.”

  “Thank you,” Clarissa murmured.

  “Indeed, they claim a different origin from that of the Servants.”

  “Different?” came a distant voice from the backbenches. “How is that possible?”

  “That, sir, is the very question we shall seek to answer now.” Brittleback turned to us. “I give you the floor, chaps. Would you explain?”

  The crowd fell into an expectant silence.

  I said, “Um.”

  Clarissa touched my arm and whispered, “May I, Aiden?”

  I nodded. “Please.”

  My companion surveyed the gathered Yatsill. Raising her voice, she declared, “We are of the same species as the Servants but our origins lie far from their birthplace, which is called Koluwai. We are from Great Britain, on the other side of the planet Earth.”

  I saw masks turn as the Yatsill looked at one another.

  “From the great where on the other side of the what?” Brittleback asked.

  There then commenced one of the most frustrating debates imaginable. Again and again, Clarissa attempted to describe our world, but no matter what her choice of words, they were quite obviously lost on the Yatsill, who failed utterly to comprehend even the notion of continents, let alone the idea that Ptallaya was one planet among many.

  Clarissa attempted to describe the differences between humans; tried to explain how racial characteristics, or culture, or both, separate the nations of Earth; tried to make it clear that Ptallaya and Earth were globes floating in a vast void; but, plainly, to the Yatsill it was incoherent nonsense.

  Somehow, the conclusion was reached that the storm had behaved unusually and had damaged us.

  Clarissa quietly spoke to me from the side of her mouth. “The more I talk, the less they understand.”

  Yarvis Thayne stood again and was announced by Lord Speaker-Judge.