Chapter 45
“‘And in conclusion’,” I read aloud, “‘it is my belief that the future of Pathia as a stable and sovereign nation requires that we take all necessary steps to ensure the integration of a modern and robust credit unit system which will allow us to compete on international markets and increase the stability and productivity of our domestic industries.’ Yeah, he goes on like this for…another three pages.”
“That’s quite the revelation,” Drakeforth said.
“Faith in the economy is what keeps the economy growing. Bombilate said it, and the Knotsticks are losing their sand over it. If people question their faith in the current standard value of the knowledge economy, it will all fall apart.”
“It will all fall apart eventually,” Drakeforth replied. “It’s not faith in knowledge that keeps the Pathian economy turning the pages of the ledgers. The faith people have in the artefacts and ideals on display in places like the museum is what drives economic growth.”
Drakeforth sipped a cup of tea. “In Pathia, the Godden Energy Corporation doesn’t need to harvest double-e flux from the dying. They are gathering it from the faith inherent in the system. The knowledge economy and the careful regulation of that knowledge.”
“Well yes, Bombilate goes into detail about that in his research paper. That’s why they killed him. He was going to destabilise everything. The dig at Errm: the Knotsticks are looking for new artefacts to inspire faith.”
“Strong faith will protect the markets against the revolution that is to come,” Drakeforth nodded.
“Tree,” Goat said.
“Right, so where is the technology they are using to extract all this latent empathic energy?”
“In the pyramids,” Drakeforth said.
“Tree,” Goat said.
“That’s where they are storing it. The Godden engine we saw was simply a pump, keeping everything ticking over. We’ve seen no evidence of a pipe or cable network in the desert.”
“Same as their internet service, radio waves and satellite.”
“Tree,” Goat said.
I shook my head. “Empathic energy doesn’t travel wirelessly. Outside of the range of an empowered object’s anthropomorphic field, the radiance dissipates. It has to be sent through some kind of pipe or cabling system.”
We fell silent, both lost in thought.
“Boat,” Goat announced, and stood up. “Ah, Tree. Tea. Boat. You’re welcome, it’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. If we are going to save the world, then we should get to the roof immmm—no, not yet. Wait. Here.” He gestured for us to both remain where we were, and backed towards the door. A moment later, he was gone.
“We should follow him,” I said.
Drakeforth stood up and collected his hat.
Goat was halfway down the stairs when we caught up with him. He nodded in acknowledgement of us and bounded down the remaining flights and out into the street.
Once there he turned this way and that, agitation tightening his face.
“Goat, where are we going?”
“Sand. Ship. Tree,” Goat pointed in three different directions, and seemed at a loss as to which way to go first.
“Where’s the airship?” I asked.
“The police have it.” Drakeforth joined Goat in the dance of uncertainty. “They’ll have it in impound.”
“Where is that?” I stepped in time with the other two.
“In Pathia,” Drakeforth stopped dead.
“You think?” I glared.
“Yes, constantly, and even yet, I still manage to miss the occasional important detail. We need Harenae.”
Finding a pathologist was a mysterious process that happened very quickly. We asked around and word spread, and the young woman with a map of the entire city in her head came strolling towards us within the hour. We had time to drink water and watch a funeral procession for a fly before she arrived. The mourners carried a platform with a tiny casket draped in flower petals. It was a solemn affair, and I wondered how the poor thing came to its end. At the end of the line, the woman in black twirled and danced. The floating material of her dress moved to its own current and she barely touched the ground. It seemed strange to celebrate death in this way, though the sorrow of the mourners was expressed in her every leap.
“Where to?” Harenae asked.
“Police impound lot. We need to collect our friend’s…ahh… vehicle,” I said.
“Easy,” Harenae said. “Just the three of you? Any luggage this time?”
“No, just us.”
“Walk this way,” Harenae replied, and led us into a maze of narrow streets and alleyways. These were the places even litters couldn’t fit, and we marched in single file under dusty awnings and past stalls selling spices and fruits that I couldn’t name.
The police impound lot was mostly empty, and Goat’s airship was tied down with more ropes than a circus tent.
Harenae led us to the kiosk and waited while we tried to explain the situation.
“Do you have your licence and registration?” the officer asked.
“Goat,” Goat said.
“Yes, Mister Goat, however without documentation confirming your legal right to own and operate this vehicle of yours, we can’t release it to you.”
“Goat,” Goat said.
“Do you think this officer knows how to spell pedestrian?” I murmured to Drakeforth.
Harenae shrugged off the shady wall she was leaning against, “Hey, Cuz.”
The officer in the kiosk looked up and nodded, “Hey Hare, ‘sup?”
“Not much. How’s aunty?” Harenae asked.
“Sweet as,” the officer replied. His dialect had gone from being relatively formal to back-dunes colloquial.
Harenae nodded and we stood in silence for a few moments. “Y’reckon y’can sort these pasties so I can get paid and get outta y’hair?”
“Yeah, nah,” the officer scratched his jaw apologetically.
“Aww c’mon,” Harenae grinned at him.
“Y’gonna get me in the fa’asi,” he replied.
“Yeah, nah,” Harenae grinned wider.
The officer sighed and slid off his chair. Exiting the kiosk, he came around and unlocked the gate to let us into the yard.
“Chur, bro,” Harenae said.
“Come on, Goat. Let’s get you in the air.” I hurried him across the dusty ground to the tethered airship. Drakeforth signed forms for the officer and we untied the boat.
Goat scrambled aboard, and from the bleats of his herd, the crew were pleased to see their captain back on deck.
“Where you fellas goin’?” Harenae asked me.
“Where are we going?”
“Yeah—yes. Sorry, where are you planning on going in this?” Harenae switched to talking more like a woman with one of those private academy educations.
I hesitated, “Goat seems to have an idea on how the Knotstick Order are transferring the empathic energy they have been harvesting from the faith of those who believe in everything, from the knowledge economy to the sanctity of the Shroud of Tureen, to where they are storing it for the Godden Energy Corporation in reservoirs hidden inside the pyramids.”
“You’re looking for the path,” Harenae replied.
“I don’t know what we are looking for.”
“Pathologists know the path. Sometimes the path isn’t clear. But we know the path.”
“You’re pitching for more work?”
“I’m offering to help.”
Drakeforth strode past us and climbed on to the boat as it started to strain against the last rope.
“Untie that last rope and jump on.” I turned and scrambled over the rail.
“She’s coming with us?” Drakeforth asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”