bleeding. His guests recoil, suitably impressed. After the study in motionless that was Dr Trintignant, they are woefully unprepared for the murderous speed of the Europan organism.
‘Yes, it is a Denizen,’ he tells them, while his keepers tend to the creature’s injuries. ‘The last of its kind, I have it on good authority.’
‘Where did you find it?’
He parrots the lie Rifugio has already told him. ‘You know what Ultras are like, with their pets. I don’t think they realised quite what they’d been tormenting all those years.’
‘Can it speak to us? I heard that they could talk.’
‘Not this one. The idea that most of them could talk is a fallacy, I’m afraid: they simply weren’t required to. As for the ones that did have language, they must have died over a hundred years ago.’
‘Perhaps the ones that were clever enough to talk were also clever enough to stay away from Ultras,’ muses Carroway. ‘After all, if you can talk, you can negotiate, make bargains. Especially if you know things that can hurt people.’
‘What would a Denizen know that could hurt anyone?’ Grafenwalder asks scornfully.
‘Who made it,’ Carroway says. ‘That would be worth something to someone, wouldn’t it? In these times, more than ever.’
Grafenwalder shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so. Even the ones with language weren’t that clever. They were built to take orders and use tools. They weren’t capable of the kind of complex abstract thought necessary to plot and scheme.’
‘How would you know?’ Carroway asks. ‘It’s not as if you’ve ever met one.’
There’s no malice in her question, but by the time the Carroways depart he’s in a foul mood, barely masked by the niceties of Circle politesse. Why can’t they just accept that the Denizen is enough of a prize in its own right, without dwelling on what it can’t do? Isn’t a ravenous man-fish chimera enough of a draw for them now?
But the Carroways must have been sufficiently impressed to speak of his new addition, because the guests come thick and fast over the next week. By then they’ve heard that he has a Denizen, but most of them don’t quite believe it. Time and again he goes through the ritual of having them scared by the captive creature, only this time with a few additional flourishes. The glass is as secure as ever, but he’s had the tank lined with a false interior that cracks more easily. He’s also implanted a throat microphone under the skin of the Denizen, to better capture its blood-curdling vocalisations. Since the creature needed to be sedated for that, he also took the liberty of dropping an electrode into what his keepers think is the best guess for the creature’s pain centre. It’s a direct steal from what Goodglass did to Dr Trintignant, but no one has to know that, and with the electrode he can stir the Denizen up to its full killing fury even if it’s just been fed.
It’s still too soon to call, but his monitoring of Circle gossip begins to suggest that interest in Trintignant is declining. He’s still jealous of Goodglass for that particular coup, but at last he feels that he has the upper hand again. The memory of Rifugio’s lies has all but faded. The story Grafenwalder tells, about how the Denizen came to him via the Ultras, is repeated so often that he almost begins to believe it himself. The act of telling one lie over and over again, until it concretises into something barely distinguishable from the truth, feels peculiarly familiar to him. When his keepers come to him again and report that a more detailed analysis of the Denizen DNA has thrown up statistical matches with the genome of a typical hyperpig, he blanks the information.
What they’re telling him is that the Denizen isn’t real; that it’s some form of genetic fake cooked up using a hyperpig in place of a human, with Denizen-like characteristics spliced in at the foetal stage. But he doesn’t want to hear that; not now that he’s back on top.
The last of the guests to visit are Ursula Goodglass and her husband. They’ve waited a lengthy, although not impolite, interval before favouring him with their presence. Once their shuttle has docked, Goodglass sweeps ahead of her husband’s palanquin, trying to put a brave face on the proceedings.
‘I hear you have a Denizen, Carl. If so, you have my heartfelt congratulations. Nothing like that has been seen for a very long time.’ She looks at him coquettishly. ‘It is a Denizen, isn’t it? We didn’t want to pay too much attention to the rumours, but when everyone started saying the same thing—’
‘It is a Denizen,’ he confirms gravely, as if the news is a terminal diagnosis. Which, in terms of Goodglass’s current standing in the Circle, it might as well be. ‘Would you like to see it?’
‘Of course we’d like to see it!’ her husband declares, his voice piping from the palanquin.
He takes them to the holding tank, darkened now, and issues assassin’s goggles to Ursula, assuming that her husband’s palanquin has its own infrared system. Allowing the guests to see the floating form, albeit indistinctly, is all part of the theatre.
‘It looks smaller than I was expecting,’ Ursula Goodglass observes.
‘They were small,’ Grafenwalder says. ‘Designed to operate in cramped conditions. But don’t let that deceive you. It’s as strong as three men in amp-suits.’
‘And you’re absolutely sure of its authenticity? You’ve run a full battery of tests?’
‘There’s no doubt.’ Rashly, he adds, ‘You can see the results, if you like.’
‘There’s no need. I’m prepared to take your word for it. I know you wouldn’t take anything for granted, given how long you’ve been after one of these.’
Grafenwalder allows himself a microscopic frown. ‘I didn’t know you were aware of my interest in acquiring a Denizen.’
‘It would be difficult not to know, Carl. You’ve put out feelers in all directions imaginable. Of course, you’ve been discreet about it — or as discreet as circumstances allow.’ She smiles unconvincingly. ‘I’m glad for you, Carl. It must feel like the end of a great quest, to have this in your possession.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It does.’
The palanquin speaks. ‘What exactly was it about the Denizen that you found so captivating, if you don’t mind my asking?’
Grafenwalder shrugs, expecting the answer to roll glibly off his tongue. Instead, he has to force it out by an effort of will, as if there is a blockage in his thought processes. ‘Its uniqueness, I suppose, Edric.’
‘But there are many unique things,’ the palanquin says, its piping tone conveying mild puzzlement. ‘Why did you have to go to the extremes of locating a Denizen, a creature not even known ever to have existed? A creature whose authenticity cannot ever be confirmed with certainty?’
‘Perhaps because it was so difficult. I like a challenge. Does it have to be any more complicated than that?’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ the palanquin answers. ‘I merely wondered if there might not have been a deeper motive, something less transparent.’
‘I’m really not the man to ask. Why do any of us collect things?’
‘Carl’s right, dear,’ Ursula says, smiling tightly at the palanquin’s dark window. ‘One mustn’t enquire too deeply about these things. It isn’t seemly.’
‘I demur,’ her husband says, and reverses slightly back from the heavy glass wall before them.
Grafenwalder judges that the moment is right to bring up the lights and enrage the Denizen. He squeezes the actuator tucked into his pocket, dripping current into the creature’s brain. The lights pierce the tank, snaring the floating form. The Denizen snorts and powers itself towards the wall, its eyes wide with hatred despite the glare. It slams into the weakened inner layer and shatters the glass, making it seem as if the entire tank is about to lose integrity.
‘We’re quite safe,’ he says, anticipating that Goodglass will have flinched from the impact. But she hasn’t. She’s standing her ground, her expression serenely unmoved by the entire spectacle.
‘You’re right,’ she comments. ‘It’s quite a catch. But I wonder if it’s really as vicious as it appears.’
‘Take my word. It’s much, much worse. It nearly bit through my glove when I was inside that tank, wearing full armour.’
‘Perhaps it doesn’t like being kept here. It didn’t seem very happy when you turned the lights on.’
‘It’s an exhibit, Ursula. It doesn’t have to like being here. It should be grateful just to be alive.’
She looks at him with sudden interest, as if he has said something profound. ‘Do you really think so, Carl?’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Absolutely.’
She returns her attention to the tank wall. The Denizen is still hovering there, anchored in place by the tips
