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By Root 550 0

kept on, while his eyes, the Councillors’, and the wax Sleepers’ all fixed themselves on Brentford, “The Council would like very much to exonerate the Subtle Army, as well as, it may add, the Administration, of any suspected support for the said theories. The Council would therefore appreciate total and open collaboration from all parties. Regarding the hunting quotas, it is, alas, not possible, in the current situation, to give satisfaction to the Flagler Fjord Eskimos. Since you care so much, and rightly so, for our food autonomy, Mr. Orsini, you will find it agreeable that the Subtle Army contributes to it in the form of a planned, reasonable hunting campaign. And you will find it convenient, Captain-General, that the hunting be trusted to the Navy Cadets as a permanent mission, so that they can show their utility and dedication to the City. The Council has spoken.”

Mason had stayed with the Seven to review the details of the “campaign.” Brentford had carefully avoided Peterswarden on the way out and, the boreal draught on his back chilling him to the bone, hurried back toward the hall, from which he could see that the night had already fallen. He was angry at the way things had turned out. His intervention had been useless to Mason and done nothing but strengthen the Council’s suspicion of himself. As to the final decision, it had been, as usual, nothing but a sadistic show of strength, and if it ever hid some darker agenda, that would probably be more of the same.

It wasn’t until he was in the hall that he managed to calm down. He walked to the fountain across the marble floor. This was at least one place where he could go to the pole. He watched the fountain as the coloured lights played pleasantly through it, but it was only when he spotted Helen’s profile among the stalactites that he finally felt better.

CHAPTER XVI

The Hollow Earth

Why, poor man, have you left the light of day and come down to visit the dead in this sad place?

Homer, The Odyssey

It was dark, and cold. A blizzard had started to blow from the north, forcing its way through the Air Architecture, and though this had blunted it a bit, it was now bellowing and whirling around Gabriel as he hurried toward the low, circular Fisheries Building that housed the Septentrional Scavenging and Sewerage Service. Bowed over, he looked like a hounded man, which he was, after all: he felt that were he to look back at his own shadow, he would discover it had turned into Wynne’s. He could still feel his yearning for Stella burrowing relentlessly in his stomach, but it was now blended with apprehension over having to meet the Scavengers, whom New Venetians avoided almost superstitiously. Nothing, of course, was forcing him to do so, but his growing curiosity about the mysterious dead woman, and the possibility that she could have something to do with him, made this visit seem the best way to waste the time he could not pass with Stella, as well as his last chance to feel that he was not entirely reduced to a flayed, writhing mass of longing and love.

Two Scavengers were loitering in front of the Fisheries, seemingly waiting for their shift to start (there had been no further rumours about a strike), but more likely guarding the place from prying eyes. Since their masks hindered them from smoking, they passed back and forth a small bottle of something they sniffed at through their long white beaks. They stiffened as Gabriel approached, and he felt grateful to Brentford for having confided to him, for use if he ever “got into trouble,” the secret word that would gain him a modicum of attention from them and, hopefully, entrance to the Fisheries. He advanced toward the guards, a little too close for his comfort, his hands visible and well apart.

“Ring around the rosies,” he whispered, feeling ridiculous, faintly afraid of becoming the butt of some tasteless joke.

The Scavengers looked at each other, then back at him. Observing no further reaction, Gabriel felt he had to explain himself.

“I’ve been sent by Brentford Orsini,” he said, stretching the truth