‘The usual mutterings.’
‘This time there might be something in them. The girl sat in on his dealings, didn’t she?’
The quaestor realised that his interrogator knew the answer to almost every question he had come to ask. He watched the syringe as it filled with his blood. ‘She seemed curious,’ he said. ‘She says she’s interested in scuttler relics. Fancies herself as a bit of a scholar. I didn’t see any harm in letting her sit in. It was Crozet’s decision, not mine.’
‘I bet it was. The girl has a talent, Quaestor, a God-given gift: she can detect lies. She reads microexpressions in the human face, the subliminal signals most of us barely notice. They scream at her, like great neon signs.’
‘I don’t see…’
He pulled out the syringe. ‘The girl was reading your acquisitions negotiators, seeing how sincere they were when they said they’d reached their limit. Sending covert signals to Crozet.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I was expecting her to show up. I listened for the signs. They brought me here, to this caravan.’
‘But she’s just a girl.’
‘Joan of Arc was just a girl. Look at the bloody mess she left behind.’ He put a plaster on the quaestor’s arm, then slid the syringe into a special niche in the side of the case. The blood drained out as the plunger was pushed down by a mechanical piston. The case hummed and chugged to itself.
‘If you want to see her…’ the quaestor began.
‘No, I don’t want to see her. Not yet, at least. What I want is for you to keep her in your sight until you reach the Way. She mustn’t return with Crozet. Your job is to make sure she stays aboard the caravan.’
The quaestor pulled down his sleeve. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘You’ll do more than your best.’ With the case still on his lap he reached over and picked Peppermint up, holding the stiff creature in the fist of one of his vacuum suit gauntlets. With the other hand he took hold of one of Peppermint’s forelimbs and pulled it off. The creature thrashed wildly, emitting a horrid shrill whistle.
‘Oh,’ Grelier said. ‘Now
‘No,’ the quaestor said, frozen in shock.
Grelier placed the tormented animal back down on the table and flicked the severed arm to the floor. ‘It’s just a limb. Plenty more where that came from.’
Peppermint’s tail writhed in agonised coils.
‘Now let’s talk particulars,’ Grelier said. He reached into a pocket of his suit and pulled out a small metal tube. The quaestor flinched, one eye still on his mutilated pet. Grelier nudged the tube across the table. ‘The girl is a problem,’ he said. ‘She has the potential to be useful to the dean, although he doesn’t know it yet.’
The quaestor tried to hold his voice together. ‘You actually know the dean?’
‘On and off.’
‘You’d know if he was alive, I mean?’
‘He’s alive. He just doesn’t get out of the Clocktower very often.’ Grelier looked at Peppermint again. ‘Ask a lot of questions for a caravan master, don’t you?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Open the tube.’
The quaestor did as he was told. Inside, tightly rolled, were two pieces of paper. He pulled them out gently and flattened them on the table. One was a letter. The other contained a series of cryptic markings.
‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with these.’
‘That’s all right, I’ll tell you. The letter, you keep here. The markings, including the tube, you give to a man named Pietr.’
‘I don’t know anyone called Pietr.’
‘You should. He’s a pilgrim, already aboard your caravan. A wee bit on the unstable side.’
‘Unstable?’
Ignoring him, Grelier tapped the case, which was still humming and gurgling to itself as it assayed the quaestor’s blood. ‘Most of the virus strains in circulation aren’t particularly dangerous. They induce religious feelings or visions, but they don’t directly meddle with the host’s sense of self. What Pietr has is different. We call it DEUS- X. It’s a rare mutation of the original indoctrinal virus that we’ve tried to keep a lid on. It places him at the centre of his own private cosmos. He doesn’t always realise it, but the virus is rewiring his sense of reality such that he becomes his own God. He’ll be drawn to the Way, to one or other of the orthodox churches, but he’ll always feel in conflict with conventional doctrine. He’ll bounce from one sect to another, always feeling himself on the verge of enlightenment. His choices will become more and more extreme, pushing him towards odder and odder manifestations of Haldora worship, like the Observers.’
The quaestor had never heard of DEUS-X, but the religious type Grelier had described was familiar enough to him. They were usually young men, usually very serious and humourless. There was something already in their brains that the virus latched on to. ‘What does he have to do with the girl?’
‘Nothing, yet. I just want him to come into possession of that tube and that piece of paper. It will mean something to him already, although he’ll never have seen the markings written down that precisely. For him it will be like finding illuminated scripture, where before all he had were scratches on stone.’
The quaestor examined the paper again. Now that he looked closer, he thought he had seen the markings before. ‘The missing vanishing?’ he asked. ‘I thought that was just an old wives’ tale.’
‘It doesn’t matter if it’s an old wives’ tale or not. It’ll be one of the fringe beliefs with which Pietr has already come into contact. He’ll recognise it and it will spur him to act.’ Grelier studied the quaestor very carefully, as if measuring his reliability. ‘I have arranged for a spy to be present amongst the Observers. He will mention to Pietr something about a girl on a crusade, something already foretold. A girl born in ice, destined to change the world.’
‘Rashmika?’
Grelier made a gun shape with his hand, pointed it at the quaestor and made a clicking sound. ‘All you have to do is bring them together. Allow her to visit the Observers and Pietr will take care of the rest. He won’t be able to resist passing on the knowledge he has gained.’
The quaestor frowned. ‘She needs to see those markings?’
‘She needs a reason to meet the dean. The other letter will help — it concerns her brother — but it may not be enough. She’s interested in the scuttlers, so the missing vanishing will prick her curiosity. She’ll have to follow it to its conclusion, no matter how badly her instincts tell her to stay away from the cathedrals.’
‘But why don’t I just give her the tube now? Why the need for this cumbersome charade with the Observers?’
Grelier looked at Peppermint again. ‘You really don’t learn, do you?’
‘I’m sorry, I just…’
‘The girl is extraordinarily difficult to manipulate. She can read a lie instantly, unless the liar is completely sincere. She needs to be handled with a buffer of unquestioning, utterly delusional self-belief. ’ Grelier paused. ‘Anyway, I need to know her limits. When I have studied her from a distance, she can be approached openly. But until then I want to guide her remotely. You are part of the buffer, but you will also be a test of her ability.’
‘And the letter?’
‘Give it to her personally. Say it came into your possession through a secret courier and that you know nothing beyond that. Observe her closely, and report on her reaction.’
‘And what if she asks too many questions?’
Grelier smiled sympathetically. ‘Have a bash at lying.’
The medical case chimed, its analysis complete. Grelier swung it around so that the quaestor could see the results. On the inside of the lid, histograms and pie charts had sprung into view.
‘All clear?’ the quaestor asked.
‘Nothing you need worry about,’ Grelier replied.
On his private cameras, the quaestor watched the ruby-hulled cockleshell spacecraft lift off from the caravan. It flipped over, its main thrusters throwing wild shadows across the landscape.
‘I’m sorry, Peppermint,’ he said.
