Christopher Priest: The Inverted World

I remembered Malchuskin’s instructions and, choosing a door at random, I opened it and went inside. There were two women inside; they were amused but helpful when I told them what I wanted.

A few minutes later I lowered my aching body into a bathful of hot water, and closed my eyes.

It had taken me so much time and effort to get my bath, that I had wondered whether I would benefit by it at all; the fact was that when I had towelled myself dry and dressed again the stiffness was not nearly as bad. There were still traces of it when I stretched my muscles, but the tiredness had gone from my body.

My early return to the city had inevitably brought Victoria to mind. The glimpse I had had of her at the ceremony had heightened my curiosity. The thought of returning immediately to dig old sleepers out of the ground paled somewhat — although I felt I shouldn’t stay away from Malchuskin for too long — and I decided to see if I could find her.

I left the bathroom, and hurried back to the elevator. It was not in use, but I had to summon it to the floor I was on. When it arrived I was able to study its controls in rather more detail. I decided to experiment.

I travelled first to the seventh level, but from a brief excursion into its corridors I could see no immediately obvious difference from the level I had just left. The same was true for most of the other levels, though there was more apparent activity on the third, fourth, and fifth. The first level was the dark tunnel actually beneath the city itself.

I travelled up and down a couple of times, discovering that there was a surprisingly long distance between the first and second levels. All other distances were very short. I left the elevator at the second level, feeling intuitively that this would be where I would find the crèche, and that if I was wrong I would go in search of it on foot.

Opposite the elevator entrance on the second level was a flight of steps descending to a transverse corridor. I had a vague recollection of this from when Bruch had taken me up to the ceremony, and soon I came across the door leading in to the crèche.

Once inside, I locked the door with the guild key. It was all so familiar. I realized that until the moment I shut the door my movements had been guarded and cautious, but now I felt at home. I hurried down the steps, and walked along the short corridor of the area I knew so well. It looked different from the rest of the city, and it smelt different. I saw the familiar scratches on the walls, where generations of children before me had inscribed their names, saw the old brown paint, the worn coverings on the floors, the unlockable doors to the cabins. Out of long habit I headed straight for my cabin, and went inside. Everything here was untouched. The bed had been made up, and the cabin was tidier than it had ever been when I was using it regularly, but my few possessions were still in place. So too were Jase’s, though there was no sign of him.

I looked round once more, then returned to the corridor. The purpose of the visit to my cabin had been fulfilled: I had no purpose. I headed on down the corridor, towards the various rooms where we had been given lessons. Muted noises came through the closed doors. I peered through the circular glass peepholes, and saw the classes in progress. A few days earlier, I had been in there. In one room I saw my erstwhile contemporaries; some of them, like me, no doubt headed for an apprenticeship with one of the first-order guilds, most of them destined for administrative jobs in the city. I was tempted to go in and take their questions in my stride, maintaining a mysterious silence.

There was no segregation of the sexes in the crèche, and in each room I peered into I searched for a sight of Victoria; she did not appear to be there. When I had checked all the classrooms I went down to the general area: the dining-hall (here there was background noise of the midday meal being prepared), the gymnasium (empty), and the tiny open space, which gave access only to the blue sky above. I went to the commonroom, that one place in the whole extent of the crèche which could be used for general recreation. Here there were several boys, some of whom I had been working with only a few days before. They were talking idly — as was usual when left alone for the purposes of private study — but as soon as they noticed me I became the centre of attention. It was the situation I had just now resisted.

They wanted to know which guild I had joined, what I was doing, what I had seen. What happened when I came of age? What was outside the crèche?

Curiously, I wouldn’t have been able to answer many of their questions, even if I had been able to break the oath. Although I had done many things in the space of a couple of days, I was still a stranger to all that I was seeing.

I found myself resorting — as indeed Jase had done — to concealing what little I knew behind a barrier of crypticism and humour. It clearly disappointed the boys, and although their interest did not diminish the questions soon stopped.

I left the crèche as soon as I could, since Victoria was evidently no longer there.

Descending by way of the elevator, I returned to the dark area beneath the bulk of the city, and walked out between the tracks to the sunlight. Malchuskin was exhorting his unwilling labourers to unload the bogie of its rails and sleepers, and he hardly noticed that I had returned.

The days passed slowly, and I made no more return visits to the city.

I had learned the error of my ways by throwing myself too enthusiastically into the physical side of the track-work. I decided to follow Malchuskin’s lead, and confined myself in the main to supervising the hired labourers. Only occasionally would he and I pitch in and help. Even so, the work was arduous and long, and I felt my body responding to the new labours. I soon felt fitter than I had ever done in my life before, my skin was reddening under the rays of the sun, and soon the physical work became less of a strain.

My only real complaint was with the unvarying diet of synthesized food and Malchuskin’s inability to talk interestingly about the contribution we were making to the city’s security. We would work late into the evenings, and after a rough meal we would sleep.

Our work on the tracks to the south of the city was nearly complete. Our task was to remove all the track and erect four buffers at a uniform distance from the city. The track we removed was carried round to the north of the city where it was being re-laid.

One evening, Malchuskin said to me: “How long have you been out here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“In days.”

“Oh… seven.”

I had been trying to estimate it in terms of miles.

“In three days’ time you get some leave. You have two days inside the city, then you come back here for another mile.”

I asked him how he reckoned the passage of time in terms of both days and distance.

“It takes the city about ten days to cover a mile,” he said. “And in a year it will cover about thirty-six and a half.”

“But the city isn’t moving.”

“Not at the moment. It will be soon. Anyway, we don’t take account of how much the city has actually moved, so much as how much it should have moved. It’s based on the position of the optimum.”

I shook my head. “What does that mean?”

“The optimum is the ideal position for the city to be. To maintain that it would have to move approximately a tenth of a mile every day. That’s obviously out of the question, so we move the city towards optimum whenever we can.”

“Has the city ever reached optimum?”

“Not as long as I can remember.”

“Where’s the optimum now?”

“About three miles ahead of us. That’s about average. My father was out here on the tracks before me, and he told me once that they were then about ten miles from optimum. That’s the most I’ve ever heard.”