Christopher Priest - The Inverted World

“Six miles! Then the optimum’s moved faster?”

“Not as far as I know.” Kellen was looking over his shoulder at the girls. “I think I’d better be moving on now. Are you O.K.?”

“Yes. How are you getting on with them?”

Kellen grinned.

“Not bad,” he said. “Language barriers, but I think I can find a bit of common vocabulary.”

Helward laughed, and again remembered Pelham.

“Make it soon,” he said. “It gets difficult later.”

Kellen Li-Chen stared at him for a moment, then stood up.

“The sooner the better, I think,” he said. He went back to the girls, who complained loudly when they realized their break had been only a short one. As they walked past him, Helward saw that one of the girls had unbuttoned her shirt all down the front, and had tied it with a knot.

With the food Kellen had given him, Helward felt certain of reaching the city without any further problems. After the distance he had travelled, another five miles was as nothing, and he anticipated reaching the city by nightfall. The countryside around him was now entirely new to him: in spite of what Kellen had said it certainly seemed that the city had made good progress during his absence.

Evening approached, and still there was no sign of the city.

The only hopeful indication was that now the scars left by the sleepers were of more normal dimensions; the next time Helward stopped for water he measured the nearest pit and estimated that it was about six feet long.

Ahead of him was rising ground, and he could see a ridge over which the track-remains ran. He felt sure the city must be lying in the hollow beyond and so he pressed on, hoping for a sight of it before nightfall.

The sun was touching the horizon as he reached the ridge, and looked down into the valley.

A broad river flowed across the floor of the valley. The tracks reached the southern bank… and continued on the further side. As far as he could see they continued up across the valley until lost to sight amongst some woodland. There was no sign of the city.

Angry and confused, Helward stared at the valley until darkness fell, then made his camp for the night.

In the morning he started out soon after daybreak, and within a few minutes was by the bank of the river. On this side there were many signs of human activity: the ground by the side of the water had been churned into a muddy waste, and there was a great deal of discarded timber and broken sleeper-foundations. In the water itself were several timber piles, presumably all that now remained of the bridge the city had had to build.

Helward waded down into the water, holding on to the nearest pile for support. As the water deepened he started to swim, but the current took him and he was swept a long way downstream before he could haul himself on to the northern bank.

Soaked through, he walked back upstream until he reached the track remains. His pack and clothes weighed heavily on him, so he undressed and laid his clothes in the sun, then spread the sleeping-bag and canvas pack. An hour later his clothes were dry, so he pulled them on again and prepared to move off. The sleeping-bag was still not completely dry, but he planned to air it at his next stop.

Just as he was strapping his pack into place, there was a rattling noise and something plucked at his shoulder. Helward turned his head in time to see a crossbow quarrel fall on the ground.

He dived for cover into one of the sleeper-foundations.

“Stay right there!”

He looked in the direction of the voice; he couldn’t see the speaker, but there was a clump of bushes some fifty yards away.

Helward examined his shoulder: the quarrel had torn away a section of his sleeve, but it had not drawn blood. He was defenceless, having lost his crossbow with the remainder of his possessions.

“I’m coming out… don’t move.”

A moment later, a man wearing the guild-apprentice uniform stepped out from behind the bush, leveling his crossbow at Helward.

Helward shouted: “Don’t shoot! I’m an apprentice from the city.”

The man said nothing, but continued to advance. He halted about five yards away.

“O.K… stand up.”

Helward did so, seeking the recognition he anticipated.

“Who are you?”

“I’m from the city,” said Helward.

“Which guild?”

“The Futures.”

“What’s the last line of the oath?”

Helward shook his head in surprise. “Listen, what the — ?”

“Come on… the oath.”

“’All this is sworn in the full knowledge that a betrayal of any one — ‘”

The man lowered his bow.

“O.K.,” he said. “I had to be sure. What’s your name?”

“Helward Mann.”

The other looked at him closely. “God, I never recognized you! You’ve grown a beard!”

“Jase!”

The two young men stared at each other for a few seconds more, then greeted each other affably. Helward realized that they both must have changed out of recognition in the time since they had last met. Then they had both been beardless boys, agonizing about the frustrations of life inside the crèche; now they had changed in outlook as well as appearance. In the crèche, Gelman Jase had affected a worldliness and disdain for the order by which they had to exist, and he had mannered himself as a careless and irresponsible leader of the boys who “matured” less quickly. None of this was apparent to Helward as they stood there beside the river renewing their earlier friendship. His experiences outside the city had weathered Jase, just as they had weathered his appearance. Neither man resembled the pale, undeveloped, and naïve boys who had grown up together: suntanned, bearded, muscular, and hardened, they had both matured quickly.

“What was all that about, shooting at me?” said Helward.

“I thought you were a took.”

“But didn’t you see my uniform?”

“Doesn’t mean anything any more.”

“But—”

“Listen, Helward, things are changing. How many apprentices have you seen down past?”

“Two. Three, including you.”

“Right. Did you know the city sends an apprentice down past every mile or so? There should be many more down here… and as we all take the same route we ought to be meeting each other almost every day. But the tooks are catching on. They’re killing the apprentices, and taking their uniforms. Were you attacked?”

“No,” said Helward.

“I was.”

“You could have tried to identify me before you shot at me.”

“I aimed to miss you.”

Helward indicated his torn sleeve. “Then you’re just a lousy shot.”

Jase moved away, and went over to where his quarrel had fallen, he picked it up, examined it for damage, then replaced it in its pouch.

“We ought to be trying to reach the city,” he said when he returned.

“Do you know where it is?”

Jase looked worried.

“I can’t work it out,” he said. “I’ve been walking for miles. Has the city suddenly accelerated?”

“Not as far as I know. I saw another apprentice yesterday. He said the city had actually been delayed.”

“Then where the hell is it?” said Jase.

“Somewhere up there.” Helward indicated the track-remains leading north.

“Then we go on.”

By the end of the day they still had not sighted the city — though the tracks were now apparently the normal dimensions — and they made a camp in a patch of woodland through which a stream of clean water flowed.

Jase was far better equipped than Helward. In addition to his crossbow, he had a spare sleeping-bag (Helward’s wet one had started to smell, and he’d thrown it away), a tent, and plenty of food.

“What do you make of it?” said Jase.