CHAPTER 6
Manserphine entered the second half of her banishment. Spring and the reconvening of the Garden were, depending on forecasts, between three and six weeks away.
Because of her discoveries in Aequalaïs she remade her contacts with the Shrine of Flower Sculpture. While she did not regret what she had done—it still intrigued and worried her that so much linked her with what lay to the south—events during and following the expedition put her off adventure. But the pain of the softpetal dress haunted her. For some reason, the Sea-Clerics had wanted it made for her, and they had wanted her to try it on. Why? Manserphine sensed that the Sea-Clerics were manipulating events, but the facts were sketchy and the links tenuous.
Meanwhile, she remained the only guest at the Determinate Inn. She was convinced now that Vishilkaïr and Kirifaïfra had other identities, other work, but no method of investigation suggested itself. However, a series of incidents with Kirifaïfra made her think; he would bring her a nightcap, cleaned her boots if she went out, and every so often there would be accidental meetings when nobody else was around. Looking at herself from his position one day, she wondered if he had taken a fancy to her. Surely not. She was completely out of his reach, and he must know that.
One evening she and Pollonzyn found themselves alone at the inn, a great fire roaring in the hearth, an unattended bar full of twinkling bottles awaiting them. They spoke of the Shrine of Flower Sculpture. Pollonzyn, who had remained a simple messenger for all her years there, felt it was time for promotion, but the two senior clerics, Cirishnyan and Ashnaram, were against this. Manserphine was unable to give advice, since she had been made Interpreter on the advice of her own mother, at the time a senior cleric of Our Sister Crone.
The evening wound on. Manserphine noticed that her tumbler was never empty, but she was too drunk to care.
Pollonzyn mused, “Perhaps we could persuade Dustspirit to drop a pollen spell into Cirishnyan’s mind regarding promotion.” She giggled, impressed with her own idea.
Manserphine giggled with her. Something in the liquor was making her very receptive to Pollonzyn’s remarks. She replied, “Scented! We shall perform that. Heavy pollen in Cirishnyan’s mind.”
Laughing and whispering they pulled on their cloaks and boots, then stumbled through the hall and out of the door. “Do we lock it?” Pollonzyn asked.
Manserphine had a key, and she locked the door. As they walked along the icy lanes leading to Novais, they tripped, bumped into verges, and held on to one another in an effort to stay upright. The middle of the night was long gone. In Novais, streets were empty and dark, while to the south the lamps of Blissis blazed.
At the Shrine they quietened as they crept through the front door, then tip-toed up the steps. Pollonzyn said, “You go on up. I shall establish that we are alone.”
Manserphine giggled. “All right. Don’t be long.”
In a minute she stood outside the door of the dust chamber. A whispering sensation at the back of her mind made her look round, and she felt her mind clear, as if through a shot of caffeine. She was alone. She felt warm and comfortable. Inside the chamber all was silent, the dust-making cloths unattended, but as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw that the glow of Blissis, shining through the orange portal, illuminated a face that stared at her.
“Manserphine,” said a hissing voice. “So you have returned. Now we must work.”
She must be drunk. The whiskey must be making her hallucinate. “Stop annoying me,” she replied.
“Manserphine, I know what is in your mind. I have access to the same sources as you, but you are far ahead of me in terms of dream skill.”
Suddenly Manserphine found herself focussed on the exact nuances of Dustspirit’s speech. “Dream skill? But I don’t dream. I have insomnia.”
“Your inner vision is profound. Do you think only you have access to the source of that vision? There are others. But if we are to understand and use your potential I must become embodied, and soon. You must help me in this task.”
Manserphine shook her head. “No. I can’t. I’m just hallucinating.”
“All this is real. I am an entity. I need you.”
“I don’t need you.”
“But is that true? I too have seen the spectral, white structure of your most intense vision. I too worry about the symbolic significance.”
Manserphine felt that her privacy had been invaded. It was impossible for any other to know the contents of her mind, and that surely proved that she was delerious, probably as a result of drink. And yet… The thought that here lay understanding niggled her. Could it be true?
“How can you know that?” she asked.
“We both tap into the same future networks. Manserphine, we could make a bargain. If you help me locate a body, I will tell you all there is to know about the flower crash—”
“You know?”
“Yes. I do not wish it to happen. The flower networks are precious.”
So Dustspirit knew about the forthcoming flower crash. Manserphine slumped back against the wall and tried to digest what she had heard. Again she considered it a phantasm of her own mind, but again she felt the strength of her desire for understanding, particularly regarding herself. She wanted it to be true; and as soon as she thought that, she knew she would give in to this spectre.
“All right,” she said. “This body. Where is it and what do I do?”
“Good! You have made the right choice. But I suspected you would. Manserphine, because I am a network entity I must manifest my abstract being—my memories, the stored procedures of the upper levels of my mind— into an electronic corpus. This means a gynoid.”
“Any gynoid?”
“No. The brain must be blank.”
“A gynoid just emerged from the ground, then.”
“Again no,” Dustspirit said. “You will be aware that some gynoids emerge spontaneously from network entities, but perhaps you do not know that sometimes the abstract bundles causing this to happen fail, like an arrow falling wide of the mark. When this occurs, the gynoid grows and becomes an adult, but the mind is left blank, since the abstract bundles are lost to the networks.”
“This talk of pure intellect becoming body sounds false to me.”
“It is true. Once such bundles are aware of other bundles, they evolve in abstract society, to become permanent sets of memory and procedure. They are not conscious like yourself, but are models of reality, and so may be counted individuals.”
“And did you lose your former body?”
“I was forced to enter the infinities of the networks,” Dustspirit said. “But now I wish to become embodied once more. I have seen the folly of the intellect, and desire to regain the understanding of the body.”
Manserphine sympathised with this since it chimed with the teaching of Our Sister Crone. Body and mind as one. Neglect neither. She said, “So I have to find an adult blank gynoid.”
“You will not be looking for a silent, dumb gynoid. Although the mind will be blank, it will not be empty. An endlessly repeating herringbone pattern is not empty, but it is blank because it does not vary. As they experience the world, such gynoids acquire habits that cycle in their minds with meaningless fervour, so that they seem to the outside observer obsessed or mad. You must find such a gynoid, then coax it to a safe, quiet place, where it will not be disturbed. You will be able to do this because the mind will be suggestible, on account of wanting to ingest behaviours. The place you choose must be outdoors since the gynoid will need to connect with the flower networks. In time, I will enter such a body. And then we can talk.”
Manserphine agreed to this, but added, “Where should I begin?”
“My feeling is that such gynoids—and there will be but a handful in Zaïdmouth—will be drawn to Blissis, since there they will find the highest concentration of behaviours to copy. Possibly a few will be drawn to Emeralddis, but there they will be destroyed. Novais may hold one or two. Go first to Blissis and begin your search.”
“I will.”
“One final instruction, Manserphine. I have enemies. Two such should be noted by you. They exist as gynoids. One is called Shônsair and one is called Baigurgône. You must avoid these two.”
“Why?” Manserphine asked, suspicious once more. “What have they done?”
“Before the Ice Age, we three clashed over ethics. They espoused a domineering, intellectual viewpoint, while I argued for the knowledge of the body and the mind as one. In their eyes I commit a sin by becoming involved with humanity. But I will say more later.”
Manserphine replied, “I shall need to know if I am to help you.”
“Go now. Return when you find success. Follow my instructions, and I promise to relate to you what I know of the flower crash.”
Manserphine stood up, but hesitated. “Is it imminent?”
“What is your impression?”
Manserphine thought back to her vision. “It seemed close to me.”
“Trust your feelings. They will often be correct, and what is more the emotions they bring symbolise the wisdom of your body.”
Departing the dust chamber, Manserphine descended the staircase. Pollonzyn had not reappeared. The Shrine was silent. But as she walked towards the exit, a door opened to reveal Cirishnyan and Pollonzyn.
Cirishnyan looked unhappy. “So you truly can knowledge Dustspirit,” she said.
Manserphine stopped and turned to them. “What?”
“We overheard the knowledging between you and Dustspirit.”
Could this have been set up? “But—”
“You must not garden with her,” Cirishnyan said, angrily. “You are from another floral home bed and count as a weed here.”
“You overheard everything?”
The minutest hesitation, then, “Scented. We are not withered.”
Manserphine realised that Cirishnyan must be lying, for like her colleague Ashnaram she spoke only her own dialect, whereas Dustspirit had spoken to Manserphine in Venerisian cant. But since all dialects had formed from a proto-language there would be many parallels. How much had these two understood?
Manserphine walked to the door, where she felt safer, then said, “I like to grow in this floral home bed. Dustspirit is yours—”
“Do not blow away!” Cirishnyan retorted. “You will not seek this scentless, colourless coldbloom in wine meadow. She is ours.”
Manserphine realised it was time to leave. There would be no arguing here. “Flowered up,” she said. “Good pollen to you both.”
She turned and departed.
~
Next morning she considered her options. There was no doubt in her mind that she must follow Dustspirit’s instructions, and since she did not need to return yet to the Shrine of Flower Sculpture her task was not impossible. Of course the men would have to be kept out of her plans, for if they heard, Vishilkaïr would make cutting remarks, while Kirifaïfra would plead to help. This was a task for a lone woman.
She turned her mind to the safe place that Dustspirit required. From the rear door of the inn she surveyed the vegetable garden. Behind it lay an overgrown paddock, which she explored, finding at the back a line of old compost heaps screened from the rear of the inn by brambles and other undergrowth. A few early orchids rose from the damp soil. This would be ideal. Nobody came here and she could see the area from her own window.
Returning to the inn, she passed through the kitchen to the common room, where she found Pollonzyn sitting in the bay window seat.
“There has been another abstract petal theft from our floral home bed,” Pollonzyn said. “Again it is softpetal fragrance, large scale.”
“I shall come along immediately.”
“Scentless. Cirishnyan does not require you to garden. She suspects you shall cause a fray.”
“Am I plucked from your floral home bed?”
Pollonzyn seemed in an agony of indecision. “I do not believe so.”
Manserphine frowned. “Then why have you come to knowledge me?”
Again the hesitation. Manserphine glanced across to Vishilkaïr, who as ever stood behind the bar, and she gestured for a tankard of ale. He brought it across with a flourish, saying, “Beer for my dear. Cheer up, now.”
Pollonzyn waited for him to go, then said, “I wished to warn you! Cirishnyan has been knowledging about grafting you upon us. Her anger burns like summer drought, that Dustspirit chose you, not her. If you replant in our beds, you will be grafted.”
Manserphine grimaced. She was effectively banned from the Shrine of Flower Sculpture. What an irony to be banished from home and away Shrines. For some moments her spirits dived, and melancholy took her as she wondered if anybody in Zaïdmouth would ever want her.
“You are a good bloom,” she told Pollonzyn, touching her hand. “I’m obliged for the warning.”
“There is a final petal.”
“What?”
“This coldbloom in wine meadow that Dustspirit knowledged you about. Cirishnyan has already sent a covert out to begin a search.”
“Who?”
Pollonzyn seemed to be holding back tears as she stared at the ground. She drained her tankard, said, “I dare not knowledge you,” then rushed from the inn.
Manserphine thought for ten minutes, then returned to the kitchen, where she found Vishilkaïr and Omdaton making noodles. “I’m going out today,” she said, “and I’d like a lunch to take with me.”
Vishilkaïr could think of no wisecracking remark. He just shrugged at Omdaton and she agreed to put something together. Manserphine went up to her room. She would have to leave now for Blissis. She changed into a flowing green dress, found boots and socks, wrapped Kirifaïfra’s red scarf around her neck, then returned downstairs, where she collected her lunch and her coat. Then she was out in the damp streets.
An hour’s walk brought her to the edge of Blissis. To the north stood the imposing bulk of the Wild Network Guildhall, seat of gynoid power. Standing here she could smell hops on the wind from some brewery, and a more unpleasant odour of decay and filth. As she walked into the streets of the urb she passed hovels stacked together like damp cardboard boxes, lines of poverty relieved only by stone and brick taverns. There were painful signs of moral decay—delicate gladioli and pelargonium trampled into the mud by stumbling boots. She sighed. Noon had passed but still the urb was quiet, just a few drunks lying in the gutters, while the automatic trams that were a feature of less decayed sectors rolled slowly along metal rails, every one empty. Blissis came alive at night.
She was unsure where to begin. Dustspirit had explained well enough what she must do, but it was by no means an easy task, and there was the threat of a Flower Sculpture agent who might at this moment be searching alleys and drug dens for signs of blank gynoids. Where to go?
At the end of the street she noticed what looked like half a dozen houses cemented together into a disintegrating building. Approaching, she saw two women guarding the front entrance, and when she saw glowing sigils painted on outside walls she realised this must be the Shrine of Complete Inebriation. In the rough, cheap cant of the urb these sigils spoke of wine and herbs, and chemicals synthesized from rare mushrooms. Manserphine shivered. She felt dirty. Not far away lay the Shrine of the Delightful Erection, where dubiously sticky rituals were enjoyed by men and women.
She approached the guards, smiling at them when they noticed that she was not just a drunkard. “Morning,” she said, adopting local cant. “You two got a moment? Bit of a prob you could help us with.”
One of the guards was half asleep, but roused herself to say, “Piss off, y’bloody beanpole. Can’t you see we got jobs to do?”
“I only wanted a chat. Not a damn lecture.”
“Just piss off, or else, y’bloody posh bitch.”
Manserphine scowled. The other guard glanced at her. This was an unusually tall woman, strong, even noble compared to the other, with dark hair, and brilliant eyes that seemed to shimmer with colour as the sun struggled out of snowclouds racing off the sea. Her complexion was flawless, her hair clean.
Manserphine was not to be beaten. “I only need a bit of advice. Looking for gynoids, weird ones, for a friend. Nothing urgent, just a job. We all got jobs, ain’t we?”
The taller guard considered this, while the other took a swig from a flask. Eventually she said, “What kind of gynoid were you after?”
“Is there any particular haunt around here where they go?” Manserphine countered.
“One or two. Gynoids are rare. Only a few fall prey to hedonistic existence, and consequently their numbers are small.”
Manserphine realised that this was no resident of Blissis. The guard’s speech was measured, yet it did not seem to come from any of the five urbs. As Interpreter, she was familiar with all dialects and social conventions. Most likely the woman had grown up in Veneris then lived in Blissis, giving her a cross-urb accent. Still, it was disconcerting.
After a moment’s thought she replied, “I’m looking for a mad gynoid, a loony. Just the one, I s’pose. You must know something.”
The other guard belched, then turned to her colleague and shouted, “Stop playing up to her, y’damned freak. You speak bad as her. Unclench your arse and get smashed, like normal people!”
“I know little of gynoid haunts,” the tall guard replied, ignoring her colleague. “You might try Cider Central, which is a notorious drinking hall.”
“Gynoids drink?”
“Not alcohol. There are other substances that can intoxicate them.”
“Fuck this!” the other guard yelled, pulling out a rusty sword from her belt. “Piss off, bitch, or it’s worm time!”
Manserphine ran away. The rest of the day she spent east of the urb in the vermin infested swamps that comprised the region, thinking of plans for the night, rejecting them, then devising still more unlikely ideas, until she was fed up with the whole affair and tempted to return to the Determinate Inn. But she stayed. She owed it to herself.
As dusk became evening she heard the strains of music floating from Blissis, mixed with shouts and cries, and the shrieking wheels of fully laden trams. Returning to the central sectors, which housed the greatest concentration of dens and taverns, she strolled the now frantic streets, illuminated by oil lamps, deafened by yelling and laughter and skreeking metal rails. Blissis was transformed. The local population had been doubled by an influx of people from Novais, Veneris, and even a few men from Emeralddis. There were brawls, drug vendors in every alley, smashed bottles and smacked noses. Blood, smoke and alcohol. Manserphine avoided looking at anybody in case they picked a fight.
Finding Cider Central, she first studied it from the shadows of an empty doorway. It consisted of one gigantic hall lit yellow, smoke rising from a dozen chimneys, the doors open to the night, every window alive with silhouettes. Music amplified by stacks of giant poppies blasted out. Door guards sat on high chairs, but they did nothing to bar the clientele, however dangerous they appeared. Manserphine’s heart sank. She was so much an outsider here that even the most inane question would seem suspicious.
At length she summoned her courage and walked up to the door guard who seemed least aggressive, a bald woman with a face full of scars. She began, “Looking for a gynoid, a mad one. Got any inside?”
The woman stared at her, then in a bored voice replied, “Not really. Why? Gotta contract?”
“No. Jus’ curious.”
The woman laughed. “Oh, yeah. Like curiosity ‘bout their innards. Get real, lady. You ain’t got no dig here. Go take some pills.”
Manserphine stayed put. “There’s this gynoid haunt I’ve heard of. Whassit called?”
“Rootbar? Only deadbeats go there. Down the street, second on the left. Check out the red house. What’s all this fuss, anyhow? You’re the second poshbint I’ve see’d today after loonies.”
“Who else?”
“Big bitch, built like the side of a lavvy.”
Aitlantazyn! Chilled to the bone, Manserphine nodded and turned, while the woman muttered, “Bloody bints,” just loud enough for her to hear.
The red building was a simple house with a door smashed into fragments. Outside stood a woman with staring eyes. An addict, Manserphine thought. She approached and asked, “This is rootbar?”
“Roots here, yes. Coming in? Want a natural high? All safe, all pure, no nasty chemicals. I chew ‘em meself.”
“All right. Can I go in?”
“Eollyndy said so.”
“Who’s Eollyndy?” asked Manserphine.
“Me, me! Eollyndy said so.”
The woman was too drugged to make sense. Manserphine entered the gloomy house and made for the sound of talking. She walked into a room, ducking to avoid the low lintel, to find a space empty of furniture but containing six women, all lying on matresses, all chewing rhythmically. Silence. Heady smoke permeated the air. In the centre of the room lay a brass bowl filled with what seemed to be pieces of curled string. Ignored by the stoned women, Manserphine knelt at the bowl to examine their drugs. Roots. She understood. These were human beings, emotional refugees from the Shrine of Root Sculpture in Veneris; the advanced biotechnology of root species created addictions to which clerics of that Shrine succumbed during their careers. Their presence here was heresy. Certain roots turned brains into porridge, others caused skin to fall off, while others created bone cancers and sclerosis. Only here could they satisfy their cravings in peace.
In this room there was nothing but death. Manserphine stood and returned to the door, but she heard footsteps upstairs. There must be more people here. She made for the stairs, but a dark figure blocked her way, a figure that Manserphine did not immediately recognise.
“It is bad fragrance to ignore Cirishnyan,” said a low voice.
Manserphine shrank back from Aitlantazyn’s imposing bulk. The gynoid stepped down to confront her.
“You were knowledged not to come to these beds.”
Manserphine nodded. “I’m gardening differently.”
“Scentless. We understand you, Manserphine. Ungrafted, you have caused bad fragrance.”
Manserphine tried to appeal to the gynoid’s sense of fellowship. “We gardened together down salty meadow. What has altered? We can grow together.”
“We are different species. I smell only flowers. You smell of crone.”
“Does what we endured with the saltysand mean nothing?”
“It is past,” Aitlantazyn declared. “I am floral home bed only, pollenation between different species being impossible.”
So that was that. Manserphine sighed. “I shall find nothing but dessication here, then. Eollyndy lied when she knowledged this a safe bed.”
“Eollyndy?”
“The doorwarden.”
“She is irrelevant,” Aitlantazyn said. “She does not even indulge. Now, good pollen to you. Leave wine meadow and head for your home bed.”
Manserphine watched the gynoid leave, then collected her own thoughts. The search must go on. At least now she had grasped the character of this urb, and had a better idea of the odds she faced. At the front door she smiled at Eollyndy and said, “Ta-ta for now. Gotta go.”
Eollyndy stared at her. “Going away? Want a natural high? All pure, all safe.”
Manserphine paused to consider the woman. Eollyndy watched her every move, eyes circular like an entranced child. Suddenly Manserphine recalled what Aitlantazyn had said; this one does not indulge. Yet Eollyndy had the crazed appearance of a root addict. Could it be…?
“Eollyndy,” she said, “where should I go now?”
“Roots here, yes. Coming in? Eollyndy said so.”
Manserphine felt a surge of hope. She had almost walked past this one, thinking her human. Well, there was only one test.
She re-entered the house and from her pocket pulled out a compass. Creeping back to the door, she waited until a street-woman walked by and Eollyndy exhorted her to indulge, then, as Eollyndy watched the departing figure, she passed the compass over the gynoid’s exposed neck.
“Oh, sorry!” she said, as Eollyndy noticed and jumped away.
Eollyndy seemed confused. The compass had registered a strong field. This was a gynoid, and Manserphine knew she was the one.
Now she would have to use all her skill. New behaviour would temporarily confuse the blank gynoid, but Eollyndy would soon want to copy and repeat it. She had to become wholly convincing, almost intimate with Eollyndy, luring her with the promise of new behaviours.
She took the gynoid’s hands in her own, and said, looking into her eyes, “You’re tired, aren’t you? I like you lots. Come with me. Don’t you want to sleep?”
Eollyndy stared, but ventured no answer except, “I chew ‘em meself.”
“Come with me,” Manserphine repeated. She stood back and laughed, then danced on tip-toes. “Don’t you want to sleep?”
The strangeness of Manserphine’s behaviour attracted Eollyndy. Manserphine again took the gynoid’s hands, then hugged her. Physical intimacy would doubtless be a novelty to the gynoid. She kissed Eollyndy.
“Come with me,” she said, making her voice as alluring as possible. “You’re tired, aren’t you? Come with me.” Again she danced, and again she kissed the gynoid.
“I’ll come with you,” Eollyndy said.
Manserphine took Eollyndy’s hand and led her away, and like a docile animal the gynoid followed, until they were away from Blissis and breathing cold midnight air. Manserphine felt a joy strong enough to make her want to leap and shout, but she repressed it for fear of confusing Eollyndy. This period of transition could disturb the gynoid. Already she must start impressing on Eollyndy what she wanted her to do: lie still, sleep, wait. Somehow she would have to convince Eollyndy that this was the new pattern of her blank mind.
At the Determinate Inn they walked around to the garden at the rear. Lamps were extinguished and the inn was quiet. Manserphine led Eollyndy to the orchids by the compost heaps, and gently encouraged her to lie down.
“You’re tired,” she repeated, over and over. “You want to sleep.”
Eollyndy pursed her lips, as if requesting a kiss. Manserphine obliged, then said, “Soon the sun will rise, and the stars will go. The sun will ascend, then descend into the west. The night will come, and with it the stars.”
“Yes. I’m sleepy. I’m tired. It is night, and with it the stars.”
Manserphine repeated the mantra a few more times, then stood. These were crucial moments. She would have to leave. With luck Eollyndy would feel an urge only to lie still and experience the slow rhythm of day and night. What a difference from frenetic Blissis life. That was probably a good thing, however, since the novelty would appeal to her.
“I’ll come tomorrow morning,” Manserphine promised, “and every morning after that, and we’ll lie beside one another, and kiss, and watch the sun rise.”
“I’m sleepy. The night, and with it the stars.”
Manserphine tip-toed away, then turned. Eollyndy lay in repose, eyes wide and gazing at the heavens. Manserphine waited for ten minutes, then walked a further twenty paces, crouching low to hide behind a tree. For an hour she watched. Eollyndy did not move. At length, fatigue overcoming her, she left the garden for her own room.