Gerrard Cowan - The Strategist

Still, it was clear she worked within certain boundaries that Mother had laid down. This was agony for her; she took out her anger on Canning, and the other unfortunates she held in the Bowels.

Aranfal, though, had become something of a favourite of the woman in the white mask. It was not a comfortable place to be; sometimes he would have traded places with Canning.

‘Watcher Aranfal!’ she cried, clapping her hands. ‘What a delight ! You have been avoiding me, hmm? You have. I know you have.’

She went to him and reached out a hand, brushing a tendril of blond hair from his cheek.

‘Why don’t you love me, Aranfal? I love you .’

‘Thank you, my lady.’

‘Am I wrong, my Aranfal? Do you love me? Tell me. Please. Tell me if you love me, or if you don’t. I can withstand the blow, Aranfal! I am so old, you must realise. I have seen so many come and go, and very few of them loved me, no, very few indeed.’ She sighed. ‘Tell me. Do you love me, or not?’

The Watcher stretched out a smile. ‘I love you, of course, Operator. I love you more than the stars.’

‘More than the stars!’ Shirkra clapped her hands together and spun on her heel, her green dress billowing through the cell. ‘That is good, that is good!’ She halted, and the eyes behind the mask suddenly narrowed. ‘You will not look at another, will you, Aranfal? I should take your eyes, perhaps, and hide them in my little cupboard, and then you will never look at anyone else, for it will be beyond you, hmm?’

Aranfal bowed. ‘As you wish, madam.’

The Operator’s shriek of laughter echoed off the stone walls. ‘As I wish, indeed! Someone who cares for my wishes, hmm? Mother won’t let me do anything , you know. All she worries about is the Machinery! “No fun until we find its remains! Work before play!” Who would have thought that victory would be so boring ?’

The Operator walked towards the one-time Tactician, who moaned as she approached. His eyes flickered, and he looked once more to the floor.

She raised a finger, and began to play with a memory.

They were in some kind of a harbour. Before them was a wall, and below that the grey sea. The cobblestones reeked of fish, rotting before them, dead eyes staring up into nothing. Canning was there, a more youthful version, with a woman at his side. She was younger than him, much younger, barely older than eighteen. The girl reached out to Canning and struck him, before climbing the wall, and falling, down to the sea below.

They were back in the cell. There was a dull glow of reddish light, fading into nothing.

The former Tactician wheezed, and blood fell from his lips. How does she make them bleed? ‘It did not happen like that … I know it did not … you have twisted it.’

Shirkra laughed. ‘No one is ever right about memories, not even the people who own them. What does it matter, anyway? They are so much more than … mere records.’

She leaned forward, and kissed Canning on the forehead. He flinched, but was too weak to move away.

Shirkra laughed. ‘Memories are strange things, you know. They are not just images in the mind.’ She reached out and touched a black wall. ‘This See House of yours – there are memories in the stones.’

‘When will you kill him?’

Canning caught Aranfal’s gaze for the briefest of moments, and the Watcher saw a spark there: the light of life. But it quickly expired, and the former Tactician’s head slumped forward once more.

Shirkra hesitated. ‘Kill him?’ The shadows in the cell grew longer. ‘That would be a kindness. I am not cruel, you know. I like my games, but I am not cruel. Still – I cannot kill him – no, I cannot.’

‘Why not?’ Aranfal stepped towards her. ‘You are the Mother of Chaos. Who can stop you from doing anything ?’

Shirkra snatched her mask from her face. She giggled like a young girl, her hand held before her little mouth. ‘You seek to trick me into bringing his death, Aranfal! You think it would be a kindness, hmm? I see through your tricks. If I kill him, you know, I will be in such trouble, because Mother loves him, hmm? She thinks she sees something in this creature, though what it is, I cannot tell.’

She turned upon Canning.

‘But then again – trouble. Hmm. What would happen if I got in trouble? Real trouble? Would it not be a bit … fun to get in trouble with Mother? I haven’t been in trouble with Mother for ages , you know. I’ve been so good all this time. It’s nice when you get in trouble with Mother. It shows she cares , ha ha ha ha ha!’

Aranfal laughed, though he did not know why. The longer you serve her, the more you become her. Everything is a cloud of nothing, and only laughter breaks it.

‘We should do it together, Aranfal!’ Shirkra was beside him, wearing her mask once again.

Chaos is making a plan, making it forever, abiding by it, building the rules, and then twisting in a new direction, a different way, hmm, without knowing where it will take—

She held his hand in hers. ‘Imagine, both of us getting into trouble with Mother! And Jandell would be so angry, too, wherever he may be – you told him you would look after Canning, hmm? I don’t need any powers to know that, ha ha. I know what he’s like. “Oh, promise me, Aranfal, promise me, hmm, won’t you look after my little child, who withers in the den of the vipers, hmm?”’

Aranfal looked to Canning. It’s true, it’s true, she knows you so well.

Children.

Another voice, from nowhere and everywhere.

The Strategist.

Come to me.

**

Aranfal was in the Underhall.

This was the largest room in the See House, as far as anyone knew, a vast cavern of damp stone, broken portraits, and rotten wooden furniture. It was said to be the dining hall of ancient Tacticians, before they grew tired of feasting in the Bowels. But no one came here, now.

Shirkra was at the back of the hall, her ear pressed against a wooden door that festered with mould. She was no longer wearing her mask. She called Aranfal to her, and beckoned him to do the same.

A thin, reedy sound came from beyond.

‘Music,’ he said. He looked at Shirkra, who nodded once, and giggled.

‘Why are we here?’ the Watcher asked. ‘How did we get here?’

Shirkra grinned at him. ‘Mother has summoned us. Didn’t you hear her?’

Aranfal nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘One must come promptly when summoned by Mother.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘It’s stupid to do anything else. Mother is very patient, you know, very patient, but it’s not good to test her, oh no, not good at all.’

The Watcher was afraid. He was Aran Fal.

‘Have you met Mother before, Aranfal, hmm?’

‘No. At least, not in her new guise.’

‘Ah. You knew her host.’ Shirkra giggled. ‘It will be so lovely to see you together! I love both of you so much!’

They walked through the door, and found themselves in a corridor. There were torches along the walls, burning in that strange flame of Strategist purple. As they went, a light grew before them, a tempest in the same colour.

The environment began to change. The corridor faded away, and the air became wet and cool. New sounds intermingled with the strange music: the movement of leaves in the breeze, a dappling of water on rocks, weird chirps and chirrups of animals.

‘Where are we?’ Aranfal asked. ‘It feels like we’ve gone outside. How can that be?’

Shirkra tutted. ‘Your questions are born of the Overland. We are not in the Overland, my Aranfal.’

Aranfal looked up and saw a bright moon, a perfectly smooth and circular body that radiated a cold intensity.