Chapter 35
Goat’s airship floated in the wash of the disintegrating pyramid. We scrambled up the goat-hide ropes and cast off. This mostly involved Goat running around and pulling on levers while the rest of us took half steps and made ineffectual offers of assistance.
“Perhaps I should make us all a cup of tea?” Drakeforth suggested.
“Oh please… If you want us to drink it, then I’ll make it.” Eade walked off to the kitchen before either of us could compose a suitable comeback or an explanation for why she suddenly fell overboard.
“What did you see?” Drakeforth asked, his face looking quite sickly in the shimmering glow of the pyramid that was still erupting.
“I’m not sure. There was a lot of empathic energy. I was floating in a thousand lives. All fragments. Then I saw the tree, and she was on a swing. Then Professor Bombilate appeared and told me to find him.”
“Excellent. Where exactly did he say to find him?”
“If I knew that, don’t you think I would have led with it?”
“I thought you might be working on building dramatic tension.”
“I have no idea where he is,” I admitted.
“What do we know? You have a fascinating ability to interact with empathic energy. You had a vision of sorts featuring Professor Bombilate and The Tree.”
“And her,” I replied.
“You saw some odd things while under the influence of the double-e flux, and you saw Professor Bombilate.”
“Yes, which is odd, because I don’t know the man at all.”
“That is odd. He is the leading authority on infornomics in the world. I thought you might have at least read something about him.”
“I have this weird quirk where I don’t read every single article or book ever written about every single thing. Computer psychology? I’m your expert. The Cragmark film franchise? I was a member of the fan club from the age of seven.”
“They made nineteen of those sensies, didn’t they?” Drakeforth asked.
“Technically, they made sixteen. The last three were a spinoff attempt at a reboot, which upset many of us hardcore Craggers. A large number of angry forum posts were made on that subject, I can assure you.”
“A tragedy for the entire entertainment industry.” Drakeforth nodded sympathetically, which made my eyes narrow.
“You can be sarcastic about many things, Drakeforth. Just keep your snide remarks about the single greatest story ever told to yourself.”
“If someone wishes to immerse themselves in a virtual reality experience for hours at a time, then who am I to judge?”
“You cannot be serious. You judge everyone and everything!”
Drakeforth did his best to beam at me. “Precisely.”
“That’s it!” I did a dance that was more like a convulsion. “I know where to find Professor Bombilate!”
Drakeforth regarded me steadily; I could almost see him replaying the conversation in his head.
“I was immersed in empathic energy. The tiny flakes of the life force of all those people. Who knows how many they have been pumping into the pyramid?”
“Yes, yes, generations of people, I am sure,” Drakeforth ushered me along to the point.
“Bombilate was entire. He was whole. He stood there and talked to me.”
“Which means he’s still in one piece. Possibly still alive even…” Drakeforth took a deep breath. “Pudding, there are moments when you almost give me hope for the future of humanity.”
“Don’t get all squishy on me now, Drakeforth.”
“Where in all of Pathia would they be keeping him?”
I looked out at the sparkling remnants of the pyramid summit. We were hardly making a fast getaway in this drifting wreck. “Remember the tank at the monastery? The one where the old sisters and brothers went when they were ready to die? We need to find an extraction tank like that. It must be what they are doing with Bombilate.”
“You think the professor sacrificed himself to some secret cult of Arthurians?” Drakeforth asked.
“It’s the only thing that makes any sense,” I said.
“It’s the only thing that makes any sense?” Drakeforth echoed. “Pudding, have you taken complete leave of your senses?”
“Yes!” I slapped my thigh and danced an impromptu interpretive thing. “I got you! I finally got you! I said something sarcastic and you completely fell for it!”
“What if you’re right?” Drakeforth interrupted my victory celebration.
“Have you taken complete—? Wait… That’s not fair. I got you.”
“How often do things that make no sense actually prove to be true?”
“Nev— Well hardly ev— Sometime—” I fell silent. “It’s still the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”
“You said it,” Drakeforth replied.
“I was joking!”
“It doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Where would they hide something like that in Pathia?”
Drakeforth looked to the pyramid. The fountain of glittering energy gushing from it had subsided, and various emergency services were converging on the area with a jarring disharmony of sirens and flashing lights.
“In there?” I asked.
“Why not? Close to the storage system for their ill-gotten gains.”
“We should go back, have a good look around.”
“Did you just say we should go back and get arrested?”
“What? No?”
“Weird, because that is exactly what ‘go back and have a good look around’ sounds like.”
“We can’t just leave,” I said as the lights flashing about made the shadows of the ship dance.
“Leaving is what Drakeforth is best at,” Eade announced, setting down a battered tray of full cups.
“Where’s Goat?” Eade asked.
I think he’s up in the wriggling,” I said waving in the general direction of the macramé maze of knotted ropes and cords that seemed to be important in holding the mass of inflated goat-intestines together.
“Rigging,” Eade said, and sipped her tea.
I drank a mouthful of hot tea to stop me snapping at her, and a helicopter thudded into our airspace, fingers of searing white light stabbing at the deck before steadying and pinning us under their thumbs.
“Act natural,” Drakeforth warned.
“That is possibly the worst advice I have heard in a long time,” I muttered.
An amplified voice boomed over the rotor wash. “You! On the—the—whatever that is! Land immediately and prepare to be boarded!”
Goat bounced through the rigging like a fly trying to get through a closed window. The spotlight left us and chased him; he whooped and howled before leaping for a thick plaited cord and dragging it down to the deck in slow motion. A ripping, gaseous noise echoed through the night air. The stink of it made me gag. Drakeforth covered his face and Eade turned green.
A cloud of stinking warm gas exhaled in a loose-lipped flubbering from the net of balloons. We slowly slipped towards the ground, settling on the sand like a beached ship.
People in uniforms circled the ship. We did not assist them in getting on board; however, they managed themselves well enough.
Goat insisted on shaking the various officers’ hands and seemed to be offering them tea. Four of them tackled him to the deck and handcuffed his wrists behind his back. Then they advanced on us.
“You are all under arrest,” the first officer announced.
“On what charge?” Drakeforth asked.
“We are still writing a list. I can assure you it is comprehensive and long.”
“We are innocent of all charges,” Drakeforth replied.
“Of course you are. We have to prove you are guilty. Until then you are entirely innocent,” the officer nodded.
“So we can go, then?” I asked with a sudden surge of hope.
“Not on your life,” the officer replied. “Escort these suspects to detention. They will be held for questioning and forensic examination.”
“Forensic examination? Doesn’t that require us to be dead?” I asked.
The officer shrugged. “Depends entirely on how cooperative you are during questioning.”
“I’m a tourist! You can’t arrest me!” I squeaked.
“Of course we can’t.” The officer gestured to a companion and they pulled my arms back and handcuffed me.
“A mugshot will look great in the holiday album—if you ever get out of jail, that is,” the officer said.
“Don’t tell them anything, Pudding,” Drakeforth warned.
“I don’t know anything!” I managed to shout over the noise.
“That’s the idea!” Drakeforth yelled back.
Eade and Goat were already in the back seat of a 4WD with cartoonishly large balloon tyres. We were shoved inside and the doors closed, bringing air-conditioned silence to the night.
“Geese are terrifying,” Goat suddenly blurted. Eade stared at him, her face an unpleasant mix of confusion and pity. Goat looked confused and went back to staring out the window.
Someone banged on the roof and the vehicle roared to life. It sounded like a large predatory animal in full rut. It took me a moment to realise that this is what an engine burning fossil fuel must sound like.
“I can see why they soundproof their vehicles,” I said.
Drakeforth closed his eyes. “The lengths to which some cultures will go to avoid using empathic energy are quite extreme.”
“Not as extreme as the lengths cultures using empathic energy will go,” I replied, and closed my eyes against the flashing lights.