CHAPTER 5
‘Flaccus believes in a mechanistic universe that can be mastered with levers and winches. Be warned. Nature is a far more subtle monster, and one that you must first understand if you are to tame her.’
The class stood in the Alchemistry Hall at the edge of a massive circular sheet, shivering in the frigid air. Five long chains were connected to the sheet. Varro ushered them closer. ‘Get comfy – not that close, Signore Vitale! Step back, Signorina Inzerillo. All right, let’s see …’ He looked at the levers in front of him, feigning confusion.
Torbidda stole a glance at Four and his acolytes and looked away quickly; Four was watching him. Fifty-Nine’s suicidal attempt to establish his independence had allowed Four to consolidate control of the city boys, making life trying for everyone else in general and Torbidda in particular: the girl was too big a target, so by default he had become the focus of Four’s campaign of vengeance. Leto observed that avenging fallen comrades was an excellent cause to unite a group – but Torbidda was less interested in history, than practical suggestions as to how he could survive.
Varro pulled one of the dangling chains, the sheet lifted and the children stepped back. The water started only two braccia down, but it looked at least five braccia deep. The pool’s surface was alive with writhing limbs, spastic hands and gnashing animal jaws as shapes turned and shifted unstably and cubes and spheres broke the surface and dissolved.
‘Look, children, at the monster our wisdom captured. Beautiful bride, isn’t she? The pseudonaiades are pure water, and water only. We compromised creatures are at once less and more than these elementals.’
‘All right, Torbidda?’ Leto whispered.
‘Fine,’ he said, fighting rising panic as Varro went on.
‘We’re going to get in. Don’t worry, it’s safe. To study pseudonaiades we must come to know it intimately. But let’s not get carried away with romance: the water of life is death to Man. First, I shall render it neutral.’
He began to work the crank beside the leavers and blue sparks hopped from the turning spokes. Varro watched the dial as he worked. ‘Spinther, be a good fellow and pull that switch – that one, there.’
As Leto did so, the slowly moving wheel changed direction suddenly and started spinning fast. The water’s surface was flooded with the cranking energy and an acrid metallic smell filled the room. The surface shot up in several agonised arcs and then, just as suddenly, was still.
Varro moved to another wheel and strained against it. There was a clunking noise, followed by sustained sucking, and the level of the water started to sink quickly. When it got past four braccia, the top of a tall rectangular box became visible, a layer of rust covering it like moss. As the water sank a little lower, they saw it was actually two connected boxes. Each had a door of thick greenish glass. The door on the left was open, and they could see an empty seat inside. The water level within the other container had not sunk.
Varro was climbing down even as the last of the water drained. ‘Come on, it’s safe. The monster’s sleeping.’ He jumped down into the quarter-braccia that remained and waded over to the box. ‘Wakey, wakey,’ he sang, tapping the other compartment. He turned to the class. ‘Well, come on! Don’t be scared.’
The children climbed down one by one, and by the time they were all in the hole, Varro was sitting inside the compartment on the right, strapping two domes over his ears. He inclined his head to the partition and the Cadets watched a column of water form, moving tentatively at first, as if testing the bonds of its prison, then it began to flow over the glass walls, searching for cracks. Torbidda took a step backwards, glancing at the ladder.
‘Look,’ said Four, ‘Sixty’s scared of water. It’s so true what they say about Old Towners and washing.’
His crew sniggered, even though the majority of them were from the Depths.
‘Can you hear it?’ Varro’s voice was distorted, each word echoing and overlapping, and there was a shifting vibrato to each syllable. ‘The peak of our Natural Philosophy is the Wave, but it would have been impossible without this device. The Helens had the Delphic Oracle. The Etruscans had the Cumaean Sibyl. We have this! Bernoulli called it the Confession Box. Remember, frame your queries in numerical terms, or you’ll get answers that only a theologian could decipher. Who’s got a question?’
Four made a suggestion.
‘Bit morbid,’ Varro remarked, but he pushed the dial, cleared his throat and asked, ‘Water, how many of these children shall survive the year?’
The water column merely continued its swaying. Varro pumped the dial for a few moments then pulled hard on it. The floor of the glass compartment crackled with blue bolts. They vaulted up the walls passing through the pseudonaiad and bending in transit.
‘How many?’ Varro repeated firmly, his voice authoritative.
The sound that came out was like a staccato wail, Aaaamneeevvvaaa. Varro fiddled with dials and the dulcimer sound was heard again, distorted and marred by moments of blank silence.
‘laaaamneeed vaaaav—’
‘Anyone know what that means?’
Doubtfully, Torbidda spoke up. ‘It’s the Ebionite High Language, Sir.’
‘Madonna!’ Varro exclaimed. ‘We have a linguist! Very good, what does it mean?’
Torbidda swallowed and said, ‘Thirty-six.’
‘That’s all?’ said Four. ‘But how do we know that’s correct? Ask it how many will die today.’
Varro was preparing to relay the message when an answer came unprompted.
‘Khaaaaaheeeeee—’
‘It means eighteen,’ said Torbidda doubtfully.
‘Eighteen? What, in one day?’ Four exclaimed. ‘This is bunk!’
Suddenly animated, the pseudonaiad reformed as a square pillar, reared back and butted its ‘corner’ on the glass. The Confession Box shook, but Varro only laughed. The pseudonaiad lost cohesion for a few moments after the blow, then sluggishly reformed. Ripples undulated over its surface. Suddenly it struck again, hitting the same place.
‘Settle down now,’ said Varro, once more pumping on the switch.
A crack appeared in the glass, jerkily spreading out, fast and slow, but always getting wider.
‘… perhaps we should return to this another time.’
Four was first up the ladder, Leto fast behind him.
Varro called, ‘Spinther, wind up that wheel, would you, there’s a good boy. The rest of you, take your time, nice and orderly.’
The pseudonaiad struck the glass again, and the climbers’ pace speeded up.
CraAAAck
‘Let me up! Let me up!’ Varro pushed by Torbidda and pulled a girl off the ladder. Torbidda helped her up, all the while keeping his eye on the box.
The pseudonaiad again flowed over the glass, studying the crack, judging what it needed. A few drips fell from the crack and wriggled on the floor like worms. It reeled back again.
KRAAK
The glass shattered and the children screamed as the water came rushing through the fracture and hit the ground. It reformed quickly, orientated itself on its human quarries and threw itself at the ladder, narrowly missing a boy who pulled his foot away with a yelp. Torbidda and the girl were stranded in the pit with this monster. Above, Varro checked the control board and shouted ‘Keep turning, Spinther! Needs a little more.’
Varro ran to the side of the pit. The class were watching the pair stranded below with interest. No one offered to help.
‘Shock it!’ cried Torbidda.
‘It’s not charged yet. You!’ Varro pulled Four out the circle. ‘Help Spinther turn it.’ He pushed him towards Leto. He looked back down and shouted, ‘Keep moving, Cadets! Don’t let it corner you.’
‘What are you doing?’ said Leto as Four pulled against him on the wheel, making it impossible to turn.
‘Sixty’s going to get a bath after all!’
The male Fusus twin was circling. Leto didn’t have time to argue – and anyway, it would be pointless. He let the Fuscus boy get behind him, then let go of the wheel, which yanked Four off his feet as it spun wildly in the direction Four had been pulling. Leto elbowed the Fuscus boy in the nose, then reached out with one hand to brace the wheel before turning back to Four, who was still sprawled flat. He stomped hard on Four’s stomach then he returned to the wheel and started winding desperately.
The girl, terrified, clung to Torbidda as the pseudonaiad reared up. If he did nothing, they would drown together. He needed more time.
He elbowed her in the face and dived aside as the water stampeded, enveloping the stunned girl as Torbidda ran to the other side of the Confession Box. He slammed the door behind him, but there was no lock – why would there be? As he clung onto the handle, the girl dropped lifelessly out of the pillar of water, which collapsed into a wave and crashed against the glass.
Torbidda felt it pulling against the other side. He couldn’t hold it much longer. He screamed into the head set, ‘Help!’
The door was wrestled open, Torbidda screamed and the water filled the compartment.
Then there was pain, and blue light—
When he awoke, the last of the lifeless water was going down the drain, once more subject to gravity. Varro was looking down at him with an expression of wonder, and Leto with one of concern.
Torbidda noticed his bloody lip. ‘You fought for me, Spinther? Idiota.’
‘Don’t take it to heart,’ said Leto. ‘I didn’t have time to think it through.’
‘Oh, what a mess,’ said Varro, regarding the girl’s body. She was dead, with no wound but the bloody nose Torbidda had given her. ‘I don’t suppose anyone knows her name?’
‘I know her number,’ Torbidda said. ‘It was Eighteen.’