Part 33 (1/2)
”Yes, yes-but look! See, Mr Shaw? Atwood! Lord Atwood! Come look!”
Arthur took the rock from Vaz's outstretched hands. It was pinkish, and roughly the size of a house brick.
”See, Shaw?”
”I don't-”
Atwood s.n.a.t.c.hed it away. ”Thank you,” Atwood said. He was grinning like a madman. ”Well done, Mr Vaz. A sharp eye. See, Mr Sun? Mr Shaw?”
Arthur and Sun both peered at the rock.
On one side it was smooth, almost glazed, with jagged flinty edges. It resembled pottery as much as it resembled earthly stone.
Atwood turned it over. On the other side there was a neat right-angled corner.
”A fortunate discovery,” Sun said.
”Manufacture,” Atwood said. ”Clear evidence of manufacture.”
”One can't be certain,” Arthur said. ”It might be a product of natural forces we don't understand.”
”Admirable scepticism, Mr Shaw. But you lack vision. Can't you see it, can't you simply see it: the tremendous column of which this was once merely a corner of a plinth, rising steeply into the Martian sky, an ornament to a great Martian temple?”
”Where are they, then? Where are its makers? Where's the rest of the temple?”
”Gone. Dead. As if we walked among the sepulchres of the Valley of Kings. Perhaps even Mars has its Egypt.”
Then Atwood handed the rock back to Vaz, and told him to put it on his sled.
Sun bandaged Payne's skinned hands. Payne cursed and grunted, while Sun remained silent. Later Payne grumbled to Arthur that it was like being treated by a veterinarian, as if one were a carthorse.
Arthur and Vaz got the sled righted and loaded again, then they each took a rope over their shoulder and began to pull. Their route took them uphill, and into a zone of sharp little pebbles. No further evidence of architecture appeared.
”Together again, Mr Shaw.”
”We are indeed, Mr Vaz.”
They went some way in silence. It was an effort to speak.
Arthur quickly began to see why the sled kept tipping over so easily. It was the weird weightlessness. The d.a.m.n thing bounced and wobbled at the slightest disturbance. It was like a child's toy.
They moved on, bringing up the rear. Nothing behind them but the far horizon, the black clouds. Best not to look back at all.
”You know, Mr Vaz-I rather think you might have saved my life, that night in the fire. I always wanted to thank you.”
”Think nothing of it, Mr Shaw. Besides-we are in worse danger now.”
”Dimmick-might have-if you-if you hadn't ... well.”
Arthur's breath ran short. He thought back on the incident at Dr Thorold's house in Bloomsbury. Blood all over the doctor's study, blood on Dimmick's boots. Long ago now, a long-forgotten horror. He'd seen worse since. A certain wolf-like aspect to the black clouds streaming overhead. Getting faster now. He decided it was better not to tell that story. No doubt Mars had nightmares enough of its own; no need to trouble it with London's.
”Misunderstanding,” Arthur said. ”Won't happen again, I'm sure.”
Vaz glanced at Dimmick's back. He did not look entirely convinced.
”Shaw. May I ask a question?”
Arthur nodded.
”Mr Gracewell's Work.”
”Yes. We built another one, you know. Another Engine. Near Gravesend. Would have hired you on if I'd known.”
”It was for this, the Work?”
Arthur thought about how to explain Gracewell's Engine. He couldn't find the strength. ”Yes,” he said.
The sled's runners shrieked over stone. Up ahead Payne was grumbling about his feet, and beyond that someone-Dimmick, Arthur thought-was rather improbably whistling a cheerful little tune. Atwood was so far ahead that he could be seen only as a distant shadow, flickering in the haze like a black candle flame. Sun walked along beside him. The two of them were talking. They appeared to be arguing.
”Fog,” Arthur said. ”d.a.m.n fog. That thing-Milton, isn't it?-darkness visible.”
Vaz shuddered.
Ahead of them rose a dune. Atwood struck a heroic figure atop it: a silhouette of black velvet, limned with cold violet light, field-gla.s.ses in hand. Then he was gone again, replaced by Sun, and shortly afterwards by Dimmick. They had a dreadful time getting the sled over the dune, but after that it was downhill, and easier going for a while.
”You are a Christian, I presume?”
”I am, Mr Vaz. A fairly bad one, I suppose. Given all of this, I mean. Atwood and his magic, that is.”
”Why did you...?”
”All this? A woman.”
”A woman? I would like to see that woman. Does the Bible say anything about Mars? I don't recall. Do you think G.o.d watches Mars? I can't stop myself from thinking these things, Mr Shaw.”
”G.o.d? I took you for a Hindu, Mr Vaz.”
They'd never discussed religion back in Deptford, but here the subject seemed inescapable.
”A Roman Catholic. Not a very good one.”
”Ah. Well, well. I wouldn't know, anyway. Perhaps he does. There's a red star in the book of Revelation, isn't there? I suppose that must be Mars. But other than that, I don't recall. We may be outside G.o.d's bailiwick, one fears.”
”Yes. Yes.” Vaz nodded. ”That is what I fear.”