Steph Swainston - No Present Like Time

“Come back!” said Mist. “Tell us how you know all this. Where are you getting it from?”

“ A History of Tris. It’s…” I faltered. “I could do with some cat.” I ran to the hatch and down the ladder, heading for the sickbay.

The book I stole from the library recorded that a group of radicals left the Pentadrica to found Capharnaum. San must have known. I was sure that he wanted their reintroduction to the Empire, and Gio provided the means. I knew that we had to stop Gio. I also knew that I had just flown an awful, demanding itinerary all over the Plainslands and that being back on a caravel was not helping the fact I badly needed cat.

I ducked along under the low beams. Smells of gravy and hot flour rose from below. The ship creaked; the deck was gloomy. I paused and listened at the sickbay door lit by a single swinging lanthorn because a compassionate voice emanated from inside. It was the Doctor. I thought she was addressing Lightning, but no other voice answered or interrupted her. The old woman was talking to herself.

“Over time, Eszai are supposed t’ get worn out and replaced. You’re no’ supposed t’ live forever, really.” I heard her bustling about. “My dear, you like stories? Of course you do, you’re a romantic. Hard t’ believe once I was a lit’le girl with brown plaits and a patched skirt tha’ spun ou’ when I twirled. I was walking down the cobbled back streets in a Hacilith summer, and I heard music. That were before you were born, Saker, a long time ago. Such music! It were a shawm an’ sackbut, though there could’ve bin a hundred of each, the way they wove t’ most tempting tunes. T’ music were coming from behind a high wall, with an arched green gate in it. I tried t’ gate but i’ were locked. I shouted to t’ musicians, but nobody answered. I sat down on t’ cobbles and began to cry.

“Then along the road there came this crowd of people, dressed in t’ most beau’iful costumes, with plum-colored feathers and foil masks. They caugh’ me up in their masquerade, an’ I slipped in behind them when the green gate opened t’ le’ them through. From then on, I were lost among t’ drunken guests of an outlandish party, and I, only a lit’le girl with a calico skirt, became their amusement. They whirled tall and grotesque around me, an’ I stared in fright. When I tired of t’ constant noise and mysterious innuendo, I tried t’ run away. I tried t’ ge’ out of t’ ornate garden, but t’ high wall trapped me in. Ladies and servants bat’ed me away, their sharp heels ripped my skirt. Eventually I crawled under a bush covered with these massive waxy flowers and I fell asleep. When I woke up I found myself out in the stree’ again. I had been cleared up and put ou’ with all the refuse from t’ party.

“Saker,” she said tiredly, “I heard how men break wild horses; tie their back legs, and when they attemp’ t’ run, they fall. That’s how i’ was for me before the Circle. You saved me then and we’ve been friends since. I’m saving you now. I can’t do withou’ you. Simply, if you leave me, I shall be alone forever.”

The voice stopped and all was quiet behind the door. I pushed it and slipped inside. The Doctor was sitting beside Lightning, playing a game of solitaire with glass beads. She put her wrinkled finger to her lips.

Lightning lay on his side on a cot that was attached head and foot to the ceiling and swung slightly with the ship’s motion. His wings were open, one thoroughly bandaged, the other spread to stop him moving on the mattress. The feathers had been cut down in accordance with Rayne’s theory of cleanliness. He was asleep. The blanket rose and fell with uneven breathing but in the indistinct light he looked like a tombstone effigy.

Rayne followed my gaze to a half-empty brandy bottle on the floor. “Tha’s the strongest narco’ic I can get him t’ drink,” she said. “He’s feverish and t’ wound’s infec’ed bu’ he refuses t’ take painkillers. He’s afraid of them, I think, having seen what drugs have done t’ his friend.”

I hugged her; her face only came up to my chest. Wrinkles beneath her eyes overlapped like an oyster shell. Her plain cotton frock smelled of wintergreen oil and steam. In the small cabin she stood tall whereas I had to stoop.

“How is he?”

“In a serious condition. T’ wound won’ close. I’ will take a long time, stabs have t’ heal from t’ base up and this one’s deep. He los’ a lo’ of blood. He’s weak, but a’ least he’s eating. A blood transfusion is t’ las’ resor’. I told him, ‘Lie still or i’ will trouble you for a century.’ I’m treating his sprained arm as well. What about you? You look like you’re dependen’ again.”

“Yes…I’m…I’m back on the needle. Is there any way I can help Lightning?”

She seized my wrist firmly and pushed my loose sleeve back. “Shi’, Jant. T’ pet cat you’re keeping has been scratching your arms again. What a mess. Thought you’d beaten i’ las’ time. More fool me.”

I crouched down against one of the ribs that supported the deck above. If you use drugs, in time you grow unusually familiar with the corners of rooms. My own predictability sickened me: “Do you have any cat?”

“Yes. I had t’ bring new supplies ’cause someone made off with t’ ship’s complement of skylarks. No pity this time, Jant. You use your habi’ t’ bask in sympathy, soaking i’ up like a sponge.” Rayne shuffled to prop her ample bottom on the work surface, obscuring her medicine case. “T’ chest stays locked. I can shou’ for Wrenn. He’s easy strong enough t’ chuck you in t’ brig.”

“I’m not violent,” I said, aghast.

“I know. Bu’ in a few hours you’ll be desperate.”

I wanted to get away. “Look, I don’t want to take cat anymore but I don’t have the willpower to stop. In the last week I’ve had three nights without sleep and small shots give me the energy to keep going. I am trying, Rayne.”

“You certainly are. Wha’s your dosage?”

“Five grains every two days.”

“Shi’. A Zascai wouldn’t live long a’ tha’ rate. I thought I felt t’ Circle strain to hold you.”

Slumped against the hull and starting to shiver, I wretchedly submitted to her examination. She cleaned down my track marks and peered at my tongue and red-rimmed eyes. Macabre old woman. “If you don’t qui’ soon ca’ will kill you. You have one bugger of a problem.”

“What problem-Gio determined to ravage the Fourlands’ only idyll, or Tern’s adultery that I dwell on for hours at a time?”

“Silly boy. Tern’s infideli’y is her way of coping with your drug habi’.”

“It’s the other way around,” I said. “I use cat because I can’t bear to think of her affairs.”

“Pull yourself together! You and Tern blackmail each other…but she’s more likely t’ enjoy i’, whereas you hurt yourself t’ ge’ her attention. You’re addic’ed t’ sympathy-from Tern, from me and even Saker. Well, i’s run out bu’ you’re still dying. Stop get’ing guilt kicks from asking for help and then rebuffing i’. Stop saving all your pain till later, live in t’ real world. I know i’s harsh but i’s no’ as bad as t’ damage you wreak on yourself trying t’ escape. If you don’ break t’ vicious circle, you’ll wreck both your lives.”

“Tern left me first…She doesn’t care about me anymore,” I complained.

“Don’ argue,” Rayne snapped.

“I’m not arguing. I agree with what I’m saying!”

Lightning stirred and Rayne continued quietly. She turned her back on me and began to sort through vials. I didn’t want to listen but I had no option. “I find tha’ selfishness is t’ worst chronic disease of Eszai. Tern also suffers from t’ condition. She loves you as a daredevil, how you used to be-flying t’ Ressond gale, climbing t’ cliffs a’ Vertigo. Admi’ that you’re a lo’ less beau’iful lying on t’ floor staring a’ t’ ceiling. An’ after ninety years t’ res’ of t’ Circle’s bored and sick of you collapsing all t’ time… Sometimes I think t’ greatest strain on San is restoring everyone’s livers. Tornado challenges ten men to a drinking contes’, Frost sups enough coffee for ten men, and you do both stimulants and narco’ics.”