Part 38 (1/2)
”I won't.”
”I hope she finds her way here. Not that I could do much now. The carca.s.s...” He looked down at his withered body, ”...has seen better days. But I could look. I like to look. Even at you, if you don't mind me saying.”
”What do you mean, even?” Tesla said.
Kissoon laughed, low and dry. ”Yes, I'm sorry. I meant it as a compliment. All these years alone. I've lost my social graces.”
”You could go back, surely,” she said. ”You brought me here. Isn't there a two-way traffic?”
”Yes and no,” he said.
”Meaning?”
”Meaning, I could, but I can't.”
”Why?”
”I'm the last of the Shoal,” he said. ”The last living preserver of Quiddity. The rest have been murdered, and all attempts to replace them brought to nothing. Do you blame me for keeping out of sight? For watching from a safe distance? If I die without somehow re-establis.h.i.+ng the tradition of the Shoal, Quiddity will be left unguarded, and I think you understand enough to know how cataclysmic that could be. The only possible way I can get out into the world and begin that vital work is in another shape. Another...body.”
”Who are the murderers? Do you know?”
Again, that subtle shadow.
”I have my suspicions,” he replied.
”But you're not telling.”
”The history of the Shoal's littered with attempts on its integrity. It's got enemies human; sub; in; ab. If I started to explain we'd never be finished.”
”Is any of this written down?”
”You mean, can you research it? No. But you can read between the lines of other histories, and you'll find the Shoal everywhere. It's the secret behind all other secrets. Entire religions were seeded and nurtured to distract attention from it, to direct spiritual seekers away from the Shoal, the Art and what the Art opened onto. It wasn't difficult. People are easily thrown off track if the right scent is laid down. Promises of Revelation, Resurrection of the Body, that sort of thing-”
”Are you saying-”
”Don't interrupt,” Kissoon said. ”Please. I'm getting into my rhythm here.”
”I'm sorry,” Tesla said.
It's almost like a pitch, she thought. Like he's trying to sell me this whole extraordinary story.
”So. As I was saying...you can find the Shoal everywhere, if you know how to look. And some people did. There were several men and women down the years, like Jaffe, who managed to look through the shams and the smoke screens, and just kept on digging up the clues, breaking the codes, and the codes within the codes, until they got close to the Art. Then of course, the Shoal would be obliged to step in and act as we thought fit on a case-by-case basis. Some of these seekers, Gurdjieff, Melville, Emily d.i.c.kinson; an interesting cross-section, we simply initiated into a most sacred and secret adepthood, to train them to take over in our stead when death depleted our numbers. Others we judged unfit.”
”What did you do with them?”
”Used our skills to blank all memory of their discovery from their heads. Which often proved fatal of course. You can't take a man's search for meaning away one day and expect him to survive it, especially if he's come close to finding an answer. It's my suspicion one of our rejects had remembered himself, or herself-”
”And murdered the Shoal.”
”It seems the likeliest theory. It has to be somebody who knows about the Shoal and its workings. Which brings me to Randolph Jaffe.”
”It's hard for me to think of him as Randolph, ” Tesla said. ”Even as human.”
”Believe me, he is. He's also the greatest error of judgment I ever made. I told him too much.”
”More than you're telling me?”
”The situation's desperate now,” Kissoon said. ”If I don't tell you, and get help from you, we're all lost. But with Jaffe...it was my stupidity. I wanted someone to share my loneliness with, and I chose badly. Had the others been alive they would have stepped in, stopped me making such a cra.s.s decision. They would have seen the corruption in him. I didn't. I was pleased he'd found me. I wanted the company. Wanted somebody to help me carry the burden of the Art. What I created was a worse burden. Someone with the power to get access to Quiddity but without the least spiritual refinement.”
”He's got an army too.”
”I know.”
”Where do they come from?”
”The same place everything originates. The mind.”
”Everything?”
”You're asking questions again.”
”I can't help it.”
”Yes, everything. The world and all its works; its makings and unmakings; G.o.ds, lice and cuttlefish. All from the mind.”
”I don't believe you.”
”Why a.s.sume I care?”
”The mind can't create everything.”
”I didn't say the human mind.”
”Ah.”
”If you listened more closely you wouldn't ask so many questions.”
”But you want me to understand, or you wouldn't be spending all this time.”
”Time out of time. But yes...yes, I want you to understand. Given the sacrifice you'll have to make it's important you know why.”
”What sacrifice?”
”I told you: I can't get out of this place in my body. I'll be found, and murdered, like the others...”
She shuddered, despite the warmth.
”I don't think I follow,” she said.
”Yes you do.”