Part 29 (2/2)
”The ritual, Shaw. Botched. I should have seen it! That thing, Shaw-scarcely human. One shudders to think how she made it. Mud and clay and bone. G.o.d! Soulless, you see-pure will. Her will. No wonder, then, that the ritual tore it apart. Cut its strings. Left it empty. No wonder it couldn't survive the transit. And so, the whole sensitive experiment-botched! I could almost suspect she planned the thing. I could almost suspect she's in league with the b.l.o.o.d.y Germans. I hope Jupiter cuts off her ugly old head.”
”Speaking of Germans, I think I saw a pack of them sneaking up on the warehouse. Or someone up to no good, anyway.”
”Yes. I know. Jupiter and Miss Didot are more than capable of dealing with them, I'm sure.”
”Give me a b.l.o.o.d.y cigarette, will you, Atwood? G.o.d. Let's see. Eighteen boxes of matches, counting the gifts-twenty matches to a box, does that sound right?”
”It doesn't matter.”
”Of course it matters, Atwood. Our supplies are limited. I don't know how long they'll last. I don't know how long they'll need to last. Well-what's the answer?”
”Don't be a fool, Shaw.” Atwood reached out and pinched Arthur's shoulder. ”Not flesh, not fat, not bone. Not really. Don't you understand? This ill-fitting fleshly suit of yours, it's made of nothing but your thoughts-your memories-your soul. What the Tibetans, wiser than us in these matters, call the tulpa-the thought-form.”
Sun opened his eyes a crack, and looked at Atwood with what seemed to Arthur like suspicion.
Atwood tapped his head with his fingers. He looked somewhat wild-eyed, as if he were struggling to convince himself of an impossibility. ”Thus we are condensed from the stuff of the aether-poured as if into a vessel shaped by our will, a palpable materialization of the spirit. And so we bring with us the trappings of our daily life. The weaker minds will find it hard to say good-bye to them. Will find it hard to understand. To purify-to cut away what's not needed. So, for the comfort of the men, no harm done. Morale. I don't care what your inventory reports, Shaw. The true adept needs no food, no water.”
”True enough,” Sun said.
”Let's see you throw away your b.l.o.o.d.y cigarettes, then, Atwood.”
”Calm down, Shaw. Keep a level head, for G.o.d's sake.”
”Answer me, then. What do we do now? How do we get home? Atwood? You promised we'd be here only an hour. We were to come here, show it could be done, and go back.”
They had tried to perform the ritual in reverse, to relinquish their grip on Mars and pa.s.s backwards through the void, to wake in London. It didn't work. They remained stubbornly Mars-bound.
”That is what Lord Atwood said,” Sun agreed.
”We've been here all night. What's happened? Botched, you said. What do you mean by that?”
Atwood smoked and stared at the horizon.
”We do not know the way home,” Sun said.
”I beg your pardon?”
”We are too deep. We cannot merely wake, as if we were in a dream. We are here, Mr Shaw.”
Arthur looked up. The sky was a haze of dark cloud.
Sun shrugged.
”I see.”
Arthur smoked his cigarette down. He felt, frankly, a little numb. His hand shook-if it was his hand. It was almost a relief, after hours of foreboding, to have his fears confirmed. He could almost laugh. He'd done his best to save Josephine; no one could say he hadn't given it his best go, could they?
”Trial upon trial,” Atwood said. ”That is the magician's path. We will be the stronger for it.”
Not for the first time, Arthur considered hitting him. Instead, he slumped down beside Sun.
”d.a.m.n it!” He stood again. ”We need a destination. Something to keep us busy. If we sit here much longer, we'll go mad.”
”I quite agree,” Atwood said. ”Well said.”
”Lord Atwood and I have spoken,” Sun said. ”We have a plan. In fact, we have two plans; we are spoilt for choice, Mr Shaw.”
”The stars,” Atwood said. ”We need to begin again. To plan our course home. We must find high ground, from which to observe the stars.”
”I see. Or?”
”Or we go in search of the natives, and seek their counsel.”
”What natives?”
”Keep a level head, Shaw. Remember that we caused one to materialise in Mayfair. They're around somewhere. We have simply had the ill-fortune of arriving in a desolate area. If you woke up one cold misty morning on a Yorks.h.i.+re moor, would you conclude there was no life in London?”
”That one didn't seem inclined to a.s.sist us.”
”Well. We have rifles.”
Arthur stared out into the night. ”And Josephine?”
Atwood shrugged. ”Ask the natives.”
”Where, then? North, south, west? Where is north? I suppose we'll have to mark our route by leaving bread-crumbs, or get lost going in circles.”
”Hmm. I thought we might cut markings in the rocks, but the principle is sound.”
Sun opened his eyes again.
”While you were tallying our supplies,” Sun said, ”His Lords.h.i.+p and I performed the Rite of Mercury. We inquired of the spirits of the air where we might wander, to and fro and up and down on the face of Mars, in search of shelter. They did not answer us. And so, either the spirits of this world are silent; or dead; or they do not hear the voices of men, and will not obey our call. Isn't that right, Lord Atwood?”
”You know everything that I know, Sun.”
In the distance, there were signs of dawn. It was cold, and blue, and electric. It lit the edges of a tremendous cloud that swept up over the far mountains and poured up into the sky, like ink swirling in water. Dust; a thousand tons of it, a thousand miles away; dust and lightning and needle-sharp mountains, ten times taller than the Alps.
”Good G.o.d,” Arthur said.
Atwood put a hand on his arm and smiled. ”Think of this, Shaw. You have seen Mars. And whatever befalls you, you will always be a man who has seen Mars. And you're worried about counting matches!”
”Yes. Well. I don't like the look of that cloud; I vote we go another way. Sun-what do you say?”
A horrible wailing broke through the silence. The haze m.u.f.fled it, made it seem to come from all directions at once. It was some moments before Arthur was able to recognise it as human.
Sun was already on his feet and running back into the camp. Atwood and Arthur followed.
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