The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [83]
"Will it work?" – Aramis.
"I am not the Bookman. My skill is not in replication." The spider crouched over Orphan. Its eyes bore into Orphan's. Bile rose in Orphan's throat and was stuck, almost suffocating him. "Perhaps. For a little while. It might be long enough."
"The balloon?"
"Yes. He will carry the Translation."
"You are using him as bait."
"Yes. And the other must follow his own path. Let him find his title."
"We are taking a risk."
"Enough!" The spider leaned over Orphan. It had no smell. Orphan wanted to scream, to beg, but the pain in his hand was terrible and he was more afraid than he had ever been before. He whispered, "Please…"
The spider, gently, moved one of its legs and pressed it against Orphan's forehead. Pain, more pain, erupted like a volcano inside his head, lava burning his eyes, his tongue, a slow river of molten pain covering his entire body.
This time he did scream. The leg pressed down, deeper, reaching into his brain.
He heard the Binder's voice, faint, murmuring, "I need to make an impression of the–" and then there was more pain, a storm of it. He screamed again, and then a blackness like the rushing of a giant wave slammed into him, and he lost consciousness.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The Mysterious Island
I remember the green stillness of the island and the empty ocean about us, as though it was yesterday. The place seemed waiting for me.
– H.G. Wells, The Island of Doctor Moreau
When Orphan woke up he was lying on his back and the ground was rolling. The pain had receded; was, in fact, gone. He discovered to his surprise that his head was clear, his senses alert. He could smell the sea, and feel the texture of the curved floor, a smooth, light material. He opened his eyes. The sky overhead was a cloudless blue. The rolling of the floor continued. He turned his head and saw the sides of a boat.
Where–? His thumb! Horrified, he raised his hand to his chest, stared at it. What–?
"It's a prosthetic," a familiar voice said above him. "As good as the real thing, boy."
It was Captain Wyvern. Orphan raised his head. He was lying in the bottom of a boat. It seemed to be floating in place. Sharing the boat with him were Wyvern and Aramis. "Stand up."
He stood up. He stared numbly at his thumb. It was… he tried to move it and discovered no difficulty. It was made of… He touched it. It felt warm. A hard metal of some sort? Its colour was almost like that of skin, but he seemed to sense or see a darker shade underneath, something like silver. He raised his hand, lost his balance, and used it to grab hold of the side of the boat. The thumb worked as if it were his own. No. It was his own thumb now.
"What… happened?" he said. And then, "The Binder–?"
"You needed to go to Caliban's Island?" Aramis said, echoing his question of the – was it the previous night? How long had he been unconscious?
"Yes," Orphan said.
"And I told you there is one who could help you. The Binder could."
Orphan shuddered. The thought of the spider filled him with horror and his mind shied away from the thought. Instead he said, "I need a pee."
Wyvern sniggered. It was the kind of sound geckos make as they scuttle across a ceiling. Orphan, ignoring him, walked cautiously to the other end of the boat.
He relieved himself into the sea. Heroes shouldn't have to need to pee, he thought. It was quiet. He had a sense of an immense space opening all around him, of him standing small and alone in the centre of a vast emptiness.
I'm not a hero, he thought when he was done. It made him feel better. Heroes had a tendency to die. Orphan, so far, had managed to stay alive. Just.
"Turn around," Aramis said.
Orphan turned. And stumbled again.
The island rose before him.
It was an unexceptional-looking