Free States

17. EXITOSDEORO

THE MEAT BOAT left two days later from the quarantine dock, its brooding, over-decorated reptilian bulk almost filling the ancient channel. It was lying low in the water, giving the impression that it had just fed well.

In common with the others, Paul Minct had to steady himself against the smell from the holds. He held a huge nosegay of mint and rosemary to his hidden features, while the strength of the perfume sprayed about by Major Moyra was equally hard to stomach. Jasmine Shah contented herself with her fan and some smelling salts. She seemed lost in her own small fantasy.

They were led aboard by an obsequious whitey tattooed with the machinoix livery. The extravagantly furnished passenger quarters were clearly designed for the unwholesome comforts of the machinoix. It was a great honour, Sam Oakenhurst told them. The majority of quarters reserved for the machinoix were less comfortable. And there were quarters for the blankey slaves much closer to the meat.

He and the Rose stood together in the centre of Paul Minct’s cabin while the huge creature prowled about the edges, the nosegay still pressed to his beaded veil, inspecting the peculiar cups and little needles placed everywhere for a guest’s casual convenience. Sam Oakenhurst reached down to atiny table and picked up one of the razor-edged shot glasses. He gently touched it to the back of his wrist.

‘These colours are so muted,’ declared the Rose. ‘So gorgeous. So rich.’

‘There’s no-one doubts the machinoix ain’t rich, Mrs von Bek,’ chuckled Jasmine Shah, crowding in with Major Moyra to admire the vast chamber. ‘As Croesus, they say.’

‘Could buy and sell the Republic of Texas, even in my day,’ Major Moyra agreed. ‘But they don’t mess with human politics much. Ain’t that so, Mr Oakenhurst?’

‘That’s so, major.’

‘Built for a giant and furnished for dwarves,’ mused Jasmine Shah, making her own tour.

The atmosphere was one of general bonhomie as the would-be murderers saw their end-game laid out, already won.

Their adversaries’ confidence could be useful to them, Sam Oakenhurst decided, and later in their own cabin, Rose von Bek told him she had decided the same. ‘Their eagerness and anticipation can become our weapon. But it is three days to Biloxi. When will he strike, do you think?’

Sam Oakenhurst made a lazy gesture. He thought it would not be immediately. For the first time he was calmly ready for death. He did not much care how he died. He also knew that he could not accept death while his obligation to the Rose remained. He must make himself worthy of her.

She detected a certain heaviness in his manner. He assured her that he had never been on better form.

While a blankey, smelling strongly of meat, prepared their bed, Sam Oakenhurst said aloud: ‘If Paul Minct hopes to seduce whiteys to his cause he cannot know the machinoix. This fellow and his kind are as loyal to their masters as anyone can be. Disobedience or treachery is inconceivable to them. They would be disgusted and terrified if it was suggested. The machinoix never put their own to work on the meat boats. They trust their whiteys absolutely. There is no reason why they should not.’

‘Paul Minct must have some understanding of this. How does he think he can force them to divert the boat and sail into the Fault?’ The Rose shook her head.

‘Whether or not he plans to enter the Fault, he is without a doubt planning to trap us. He cannot see how we can escape and is happy to take his time. Yet why should he go to such lengths to kill you, Rose?’

‘He must be certain. And it is in his nature to make such plots. He knows that I have pursued him through the myriad branches of the multi verse and that I am of the Just. I must put an end to him, if I can. Betrayal is a sophisticated and legitimate art which he practises merely for the pleasure it gives him. But he has another ambition I cannot fathom, as yet.’

‘What did he do to you that you must punish him?’ Sam Oakenhurst asked.

‘He educated me to betray myself and thus to betray my people. ‘ She spoke softly, economically, as if she could not trust her voice for long. ‘The story I gave at Brown’s was true.’

‘And these other stories? Are they true? What we saw at Poker Flats?’

‘Myths,’ she said. ‘True enough. They describe the truth.’

‘And what does Paul Minct describe?’

‘Only lies, Sam.’

With hideous dignity the whitey bowed and left the cabin.