Memoranda

16

"Stand and observe" said the Doctor. He un-screwed the small glass stopper from the top of the vial and very carefully poured the shimmering liquid onto the surface of the mirror. It flowed out with a lazy thickness and puddled in a mound before spreading flat to cover a good portion of the glass.

"What is that?" asked Brisden, standing now and leaning forward to get a better look. He weaved slightly from the drink and blinked his eyes twice in order to clear them.

Nunnly also began to show an interest when the shallow pond of silver started to swirl within its boundaries. "A dream?" he asked.

Doctor Hellman shrugged. "A piece of the ocean," he whispered, as if speaking too loud might cancel the effect he was looking for.

"It's beautiful," said Anotine.

"Watch now," said the Doctor, "and you will see what I am talking about."

Images began to form in the liquid mercury. First there came the vague outline of a person. Then it was clear that the figure was holding something round up to his eyes. As the details slithered into place like crease-snakes in the silver, I thought for a moment that it was going to be me on the floor of Anotine's bedroom, inspecting the steel ball. Instead the detail coalesced and began to move, revealing Below, biting into the fruit of Paradise.

"I see a man," said Nunnly. "He's eating something."

"Quite right," said the Doctor.

"Now it is changing into the same man, holding a kind of dog creature on a leash," said Anotine.

"Look carefully at the next scene," said Hellman.

Then I was there, sitting across from Below in his office at the Ministry of Benevolent Power back in the old days of the Well-Built City.

"Why, that's Cley," said Brisden.

"I see him," said Nunnly.

My head slowly spun into the fruit of Paradise from the first scene. Below lifted me and took a bite, and the series of tableaux began to play from the beginning again with perfect accuracy at the speed of dripping honey.

"The man you see in all of these scenes …Well, the ocean beneath us contains the entirety of this man's life, every movement from every instant of his existence. He is ever-present on the surface of the silver waves. This is the merest portion of that sea, and it happens to hold three distinct incidents. I believe the man whose life is being detailed is Drach-ton Below, our employer. Cley, as you saw, shares one scene with him, but it is proof that he must know him."

"Couldn't it all be a dream?" asked Nunnly.

"I used to think they were dreams," said the Doctor, "but now I think they might be memories. If this is so, then we have been trapped all of this time in a world that has as its essence the soul of Below. If you want to survive, I suggest we follow Cley's advice."

"I don't want just to survive," said Anotine. "I want to escape."

"If I can save him, I think I can convince him to return you all to the lives you left when coming to the island," I said, unable to look into Anotine's eyes as I made the false promise. I prayed that the Doctor would not have been self-effacing enough to realize that he and the rest of them were no more than the insubstantial stuff of thoughts. I let my proposition sink in for a moment before lifting my head, and asking, "Who is with me?"

Nunnly nodded in silence.

Brisden gave a grunt that was obviously meant as an affirmation.

Anotine said, "I'll do anything to leave here."

When I looked at the Doctor, he smiled and nodded, but in his expression I saw a hint of sadness. "There's no choice but to follow you," he said.

I was a little taken aback by his gaze, but I could not stop. I had them where I needed them. As long as I could attain the antidote without ever having to tell Anotine the entire truth, I would be able to continue.

"Very well," I said. "Tomorrow, when the sun is directly overhead at noon, I want you all to meet me at Anotine's. From that moment on, you will have to do whatever I ask of you, no matter how strange or dangerous it might seem. I will explain as much as I can as we proceed. But if I were to tell you the plan now, the Fetch would surely be upon one of us as soon as the alcohol wore off. You've got to trust me that your safety is my greatest concern, although there will be moments of doubt. From now until tomorrow, return to your work and work diligently. When you cannot work, sleep. Try not to consider, even for a moment, the possibility of what might happen."

When I finished speaking the others looked at me strangely for they had never heard me address them with so much self-confidence. For a moment I had fallen back into the autocratic speech patterns of a Physiognomist, First Class. I was somewhat startled myself, but managed to counter its effect with a smile.

By the time we left Nunnly's, it had stopped raining, and the sun shone in its final hours. The temperature had also nearly returned to its usual warmth. Anotine and I, ignoring my advice to the others of work and sleep, shuffled through the wet green leaves that littered the wood and marveled at the starkness of the naked branches silhouetted against a pink twilight. We said nothing but held tightly to each other. I wondered what she was thinking, but did not ask for fear that she would ask the same of me.

When we reached the edge of the island, it became obvious that the disintegration process had accelerated past the rate it had been earlier that afternoon. The clearing where we had all met and watched Brisden push the winch over the rim was now, itself, gone. Trees fell before us to the growing nothing, and the crackling sound of their disappearance, which at one point had been so faint, was now readily audible, like the feasting of an invisible swarm of insects.

On the way back to Anotine's rooms, we discovered that most of the blossoms that had filled the planters of the terraced village had shriveled and turned brown. She stopped to pluck one of the dead vines and crumble it between her fingers. At first, her look was that of the researcher, studying how the crumbs of stem came apart and floated away toward the stone of the terrace floor. Then her lips curled back and her eyes winced in a show of disgust. For the remainder of our walk back to her rooms, she kept wiping her hands together even after all trace of the dead plant was gone.

Later, we lay in bed and Anotine kissed me. She requested that we work toward discovering the moment again as we had tried the previous night before the monster's interruption.

"The time is not quite right" I said, gently pushing her back onto the pillow. Had she understood the signs, she would have seen that my body was yearning for a "discovery of the moment." In order to calm her and myself, I proposed that I would tell her a story.

"What about?" she asked.

"Wait and see," I said.

She seemed more interested in making love, but I coerced her with more lies, telling her that it would enable the discovery of the present at a much sooner time than if she refused to listen.

"Very well," she said, moving in close to me and resting her head on my arm.

I thought for a moment, staring at the face of the moon out the back window opening. She moved her nails in wide circles along my chest with the same graceful motion as in her experiment beneath the tree in the private garden. If I couldn't think of something to tell quickly, I would not have been able to hold myself in check, although my entire plan depended upon it. Then, like a ghost, a wispy cloud moved slowly in front of the moon, and I had what I was desperately searching for.

"This is the story of The Woman and the Green Veil" I began. "Once there was a very vain man with a position of great power …" I employed voluminous detail and slowly told the tale of my betrayal of Aria Beaton in the third person, as though the foolish hero were someone I had never met. Anotine's hand stopped moving, and I could tell she was listening intently. I spoke in as soothing a voice as possible.

More than an hour passed in the telling, and by the time I reached the part where the Physiognomist butchers the young woman's face in a foolish attempt to make her more virtuous, Anotine was, to my relief, fast asleep. I went on telling the rest of it, aloud, to myself, as if it were a confession of sorts.

The images came out of my memory in single file—Aria's face covered by the veil because I had made it so ugly that to gaze upon it meant sudden death, my imprisonment on the island of Doralice, my return to the Weil-Built City. I saw the false paradise, an enormous crystal egg, that Below had built underground to house Aria and Ea, the Traveler from the wilderness of the Beyond. Then the Master bit into the white fruit, the city was destroyed through explosions, and we managed to escape. Again, I witnessed the birth of Cyn, Aria's daughter, whom I was forced to deliver one stormy night. Somehow, that birth had caused Aria's face to heal to its original beauty. She left the veil with me when she and Ea and their children had gone off to the Beyond. This last detail, my uncertainty as to whether her leaving it was to remind me of my guilt or a sign of forgiveness, was where I ended the story. The experience of giving voice to every memory left me feeling perfectly calm.

I had never felt so exquisitely comfortable in all my life as while lying there, but I had to fight my inclination to doze off. With great care, I rolled Anotine back onto her side of the bed and then slowly swung my feet around to sit up. After waiting some time to see if she was deeply asleep, I stood and went over to the brown rug. There, I sat down cross-legged as I had somewhere read the pagan holy men of the territory do to meditate. I concentrated and conjured a lit Hundred-To-One; then I turned my attention to materializing something else that the mnemonic world could not as yet provide.

In my mind's eye, I pictured a Lady Claw scalpel, the kind the old Physiognomists, like Kurst Scheffler and Muldabar Rei-ling had once used. These instruments were supposedly more difficult to handle than the modern, double-headed type, but it had been said that they could cut bone as if it were pudding. The instrument glinted in the light of my thoughts, and I saw it from every angle. Even the fine, three-finger inscription on the handle did not escape me.

My self-induced trance lasted for as long as my story had, and when I finally opened my eyes, I stood and walked down the hallway to that mysterious dark closet. It had come to me in my meditation that the instrument would be in there on one of the shelves.

Once inside, I discovered that it was perfectly black. I felt along the inner wall of the room, letting touch be my guide. Before too long I found where the shelves began and started tentatively feeling around. These shelves reminded me of Mis-rix's Museum of the Ruins, and I thought of the pride with which he had shown me his display. My fingers came in contact with fur, ceramic, linen, and glass, and then with lumps of a soft unformed gel, which I guessed might be the element of things waiting to become.

I was beginning to think that my theory about the closet and the materialization of objects might have been all wrong, when I slid my hand across the dusty surface of a shelf and felt a sting on the tip of my index finger. Even a retired Physiognomist knows the feel of a scalpel, though it be the slightest caress. I knew the nick had drawn blood, and I smiled as I closed my fist around the handle. As I lifted it, I was startled by the sound of heavy breathing behind me.

"Cley," said a voice that I was sure was not Anotine's.

"Misrix?" I asked, rapidly placing the speaker.

"Yes," he said with a hiss.

"How long have you been in here?" I asked, careful to keep my voice to a whisper.

"I'm not here," said the demon. "I'm only speaking to you. I could not enter the mnemonic world again. It was hard enough to get my voice to travel over."

"How long have we been connected in reality?" I asked.

"Almost an hour."

"An hour …" " I found the discrepancy in time impossible.

"You've got to hurry," he told me. "The chances of retrieving you grow slimmer by the minute."

"My plan is mad," I told him.

"I can see what you are thinking."

"Absurdity seems to be the order of the day, though," I said, hoping he might try to talk me out of it.

A minute passed, and I thought he was gone. I prepared to leave.

"Cley," he said, frightening me again, "you are going to use the woman, aren't you?"

"For her own good," I said.

A wheezing laughter broke out around me everywhere, echoing in the small room. As it diminished, I could hear him very faintly call, "I'll be watching."

I brought the Lady Claw out into the bedroom and laid it on the table alongside the signal gun that the Doctor had left with me. Seeing the gun, I thought it might be better to have a weapon more truly suited for self-defense. Until very early in the morning, I meditated upon the derringer I had at one time carried, but no matter how precisely I saw it or desired it, it never appeared in the closet. I realized in dejection that there were probably limits to the complexity of the objects that could be materialized. As the dawn began to show itself out beyond the field and wood, I crept back to bed.