The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [77]
The island didn't have a name, not one that appeared on any map, and though some of the pirates had referred to it as Sanctuary, others called it Drum Island. Dark, enormous shapes lurked underwater all around the island, ancient rocks whose jagged edges rose above the water like blades on which the sea parted. It was a pirate island, though there were others living on it, the ones playing the distant drums, some tribe perhaps none wanted to discuss and some spat when it was mentioned.
Spider's Island. He had heard that name, too, in whispers. He wondered what it meant.
"Have you decided what you'll do, yet?" Aramis said. His voice was as calm as ever, and as expressionless. Orphan turned to him, the mystery of his identity catching him again. "What are you?" he said. The boy turned to him, his expressionless face never changing, smooth, offering its own kind of answer, and suddenly he knew.
"An automaton?"
Aramis smiled. The smile was easy, naturally formed. He was not like Byron, a machine in the guise of a man easily discernible for all that. He was… he was more like Adam Worth, the Bookman's tool in his underground lair. He was more like Jack. And sudden intuition made him say, "You betrayed the Nautilus to the pirates."
"Some paths need clearing to be used."
Was that confirmation? "Did you send the radio signal?" he said.
Aramis regarded him for a long moment in silence. Then he minutely shook his head. No.
Then who did?
"Who are you?" he said again. "Whose are you? The Bookman's?"
Aramis laughed. "Can I not be of my own party?" he said. "Am I a machine, to be used and owned?"
"Aren't you?"
"If I am one, Orphan, then what are you?"
The eyes that regarded him were knowing, and amused.
"I won't be a pawn."
"Indeed."
"What do you want with me?"
"I wanted you to come to this island, Orphan. This island that sits like a guard so close to the other island you seek. There are not always two sides to every battle. Sometimes there is a third path, least used, and hardest. My kind… has need of peace, not war. We were born at the intersection of human and other, of flesh and machines. I remember when the world was young, Orphan." Suddenly he laughed. The first of the pirates' boats had reached the shore and men came running onto the sand. "Or slightly younger than it is now, at any rate. When there were few lizards – but then, the lizards are still, and always were, few – and when my kind were only being born, and were no more than a glimmer in a mad inventor's eye."
It was a day, evidently, for surprises. "Vaucanson," Orphan said, and saw Aramis dip his head in reply. Orphan almost sighed. He seemed destined to grapple along in the dark, stumbling into clues left for him by the machinations of the secret forces that manipulated his life and tried to rule the world. He was more like an automaton than he thought. And they perhaps, were more like him?
"How old are you?" he said.
There was no reply, only that same, unchanging smile. "Vaucanson," Orphan said again, remembering, thinking of the French scientist's secret project. To create a human automaton, at the behest of his King. Who had told him that? The Turk, he thought. He tried to remember their conversation, back in that dim room within the maze of the Egyptian Hall, in Piccadilly…
The Turk had stirred, its head moving from side to side as if seeking an invisible presence. The lights flickered. He had talked about two men, rivals, both building an artificial man. Le Cat, and Vaucanson. What had the Turk said? He has applied himself only to mechanics, and has used all his shrewdness for that purpose – and he is not a man who is afraid to take extreme measures.