Nothing But Blue Skies (13 page)

The guard's nostrils twitched ever so slightly.

‘Has it possibly occurred to you,' Gordon continued, ‘that your boss is a raving lunatic? More to the point, a dangerous raving lunatic who reckons it'd be all right to bugger up the weather, start a war, maybe send thousands of people off to die on a waterless rock out in space? Would that sort of thing bother you, do you think?'

This time the guard's eyelids flickered.
Progress
, Gordon told himself.
Definite progress
.

‘Of course,' he went on, ‘he probably won't get away with it; not all of it, anyway. I don't suppose he'll really be able to do much damage to the climate, because all this dragon stuff is a load of bullshit. And as for invading Australia, I don't reckon we'll actually get as far as sending in the ground troops; I expect we'll just drop a few thousand tons of bombs on Sydney and Melbourne and then call it a day, the way we usually do. Even so,' Gordon went on, after a short pause for breath, ‘it seems a shame that all these dreadful things are going to happen just because of one guy behind a desk who happens to be as nutty as a Topic bar—'

This time the guard actually said something. ‘Shuttup!' he said.

‘But—'

‘I said shut up,' the guard roared, grabbing Gordon by the collar and slamming him against the wall of the lift. ‘Colonel Wintergreen is a man of destiny, and you can't say stuff like that. Understood?' He turned and scowled at Neville. ‘And that goes for you too, sunshine. Got that?'

‘Never said a word,' Neville replied smugly.

‘Good. Keep it that way.' The guard let go of Gordon's shirt and let him slide to the floor. ‘And to think,' he added, ‘the Colonel's gonna name a city after you. You make me sick, you do.'

It was probably just as well that the lift doors opened before the guard had a chance to take this theme any further, since he seemed to be quite upset with Gordon about something. The rest of their journey through the maze of corridors passed, however, without further bloodshed. Eventually they came to a locked fire door, with a bell push mounted on the wall beside it. The man who answered the door was wearing a slightly different uniform.

‘Sign here,' the guard said. ‘And here, and here, and here, and here, and here, and here. Right, they're all yours.'

The new guard watched his colleague march back down the corridor, while massaging his right wrist. ‘You're the weathermen, aren't you?' he said. ‘Yes,' Gordon replied. ‘That's us.'

‘Follow me. Oh, and if you were thinking of trying to make a run for it - well, I wouldn't. OK?'

‘It's all right,' Gordon said, dejectedly, ‘we won't give you any trouble.'

The new guard shook his head. ‘No, you're missing the point,' he said. ‘If you try and escape, all that'll happen is, you'll get lost in these bloody awful corridors and I'll have to spend the weekend finding you. If you're sensible and come with me, we'll have you out of here in about half an hour.'

Gordon couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. For one thing, the guard sounded—Normal. Almost normal. Considerably more normal than anybody he'd spoken to since he'd left the office. That, of course, wasn't saying a great deal, but it was still enough to make his heart sing like a nightingale at a talent contest.

‘Did you say out of here?' he whispered.

‘Of course.' The guard chuckled. ‘You didn't think we were going to leave you here with all these nutters running around loose, did you?'

‘Oh, thank God.' Gordon really hadn't expected that there'd be tears, but when they came he didn't try and keep them back. ‘For a moment there, when that other guard said Colonel Wintergreen was a man of destiny, I honestly thought I'd had it. Really I did.'

‘Colonel Wintergreen,' the new guard said gravely, ‘is potty. Crazy as a barrelful of ferrets. Come on, let's get you two out of the corridor, just in case those bastards change their minds.' The new guard shut the fire door behind them and locked it. There were four huge mortise locks on the inside of the door, along with various bolts and chains. After spending time with Colonel Wintergreen, he could understand why.

‘This way,' the new guard said. ‘Not very far now.'

‘Wonderful,' Gordon said. ‘Where are we going, by the way?'

‘I'm taking you to the high altar,' the guard replied over his shoulder. ‘The Grand Archimandrite wants a quick word with you before the sacrifice.'

CHAPTER FIVE

‘S
o thereyou are,' the scientist said. The dragon looked up at her. The refractive effect of the water in his bowl made the human's face look grotesque, monstrous; that and the sheer size of the enormous creature staring down at him. That huge wide mouth could swallow him whole. He felt like a human looking up at a dragon.

‘Can you hear me?' the scientist went on. ‘If you can, I'd like you to flick your tail or wiggle your fins or something. Will you do that for me?'

The scientist was obviously trying to speak softly and comfortably; to the dragon, of course, it came through as a rolling, thunderous wave of sound, ponderously slow and terribly distorted. Every instinct, piscine and draconian, told him to get the hell out of there, swim away as fast as he could. But there was nowhere to swim to, and besides, the scientist might interpret it as cooperation. He forced himself to lie motionless in the water.

‘Are you sure you can't hear me? Or are you just playing hard to get? It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you. Really. I'm on your side.'

The dragon fought back the urge to set tail and flee. As if anything as big as that could ever be on his side . . . It took an effort to make himself remember that most of the time he wasn't just that big, he was a hell of a lot bigger. But that was different. It was different because he was one of the good guys.

‘I'm going to assume you can hear me,' the scientist went on. ‘My guess is that you're frightened and confused, you don't know who I am and you have no reason to trust me. I guess it's up to me to prove myself to you. Okay?'

In spite of the Spielbergesque special effects and the instinctive horror and revulsion, there was something terribly insidious about the scientist's words. Monsters aren't the only enormous things that appear in the sky and talk to you in voices like thunder. Gods do the same thing, and they're even easier to believe in than (to take an example at random) dragons. He wanted to reach out and put his fins over his ears; but his fins were too short and he wasn't actually sure where his ears were, or if he had any at all.

‘First things first,' the scientist continued. ‘I don't know when you last had anything to eat, but I'm prepared to bet you could use something right now. Am I right?'

The dragon stayed put.

‘I'll take that as a Yes,' the scientist said. ‘Now then, what would you like to eat? We've got - let's see, there's ants' eggs, some sort of crusty, flaky stuff that reminds me of what you get when you stick your finger up your nose and press hard, but maybe you guys really like it. Of course, if neither of those tickles your fancy, all you've got to do is tell me what you'd like. And yes, I know you can't talk to me through all that water, but I'm sure we could work something out. You could flick your tail in Morse code, or I could hold up little cardboard letters and when I'm holding up the right one you could do a somersault or something. If you're interested, I could see about rigging up a miniaturised underwater mike.'

The dragon hadn't eaten for a very long time and was extremely hungry, but not so hungry that he could face the thought of more ants' eggs. They tasted, he'd discovered, exactly the way a dragon would expect them to taste. He'd rather starve. The only problem was fighting down the irresistible goldfish urge to swallow the disgusting things as they drifted past his nose; it was like not blinking when someone sticks a finger in your eye, only harder.

‘Ants' eggs it is, then. Oh, and by the way: if you're playing dumb in an attempt to make me think you're just a common-or-garden goldfish, hoping that I'll get bored and throw you out of the window or flush you down the bog, forget it. I know that the moment you escape from confinement, you'll change back into your regular shape and whoosh, that'll be the last we see of you. Okay? Now, are you sure you wouldn't rather have something else besides ants' eggs? I think they look utterly revolting, but what would I know?'

If only he could close his eyes at will . . . But goldfish eyes didn't work like that. All he could do was try and brace himself for the nausea that would follow on a split second after he'd swallowed the first egg. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn't be so bad this time, but without much success. He'd never been much good at lying to himself, even under the best of circumstances.

‘Bombs away,' the scientist said. ‘My God, you
are
hungry, aren't you? Well, at least that's one problem solved, we know what to feed you on. That's a relief. Last thing we want is for you to die on us. We'd hate that.'

The dragon couldn't close his eyes, but he could more or less close his mind; not as well as he'd have liked, because it was something only dragons could do, and he'd been stuck in this dreadful parody of his real shape so long that he was starting to forget how to do it. But he was at least able to blur out the world around him - like half-closing one eye and focusing the other on something a long way away. Instead, he opened his mind to thoughts of open air, clouds, gentle breezes filling the soft skin of his wings, thermal currents tugging at his ears as he flew. He imagined flipping over onto his back in mid air and letting a warm, firm wind carry him, of the warmth of the sun on his belly and the fresh chill of the air in his eyes and nostrils. It was comforting, up to a point; but all the time he was worryingly aware that he was a fish imagining what it would be like to be a dragon, maybe inaccurately. Had he ever actually done any of the things he was thinking about? He wasn't sure.

Rain. He tried to think about rain. He found that he could-n't. Now that was disturbing.

‘Like I was saying,' the scientist went on, ‘it's essential that we trust each other, or we'll never get anywhere. I won't get what I want. You'll have to stay in that horrid little bowl. I'll bet you it's really nasty being stuck in there. I mean, you're used to wide open spaces, unlimited movement; my heart bleeds for you, it really does. All right, you're saying, so why don't you let me out of here? And yes, I'd love to. Really I would. Except - well, first, I need to be able to trust
you
. I mean, what assurance have I got that as soon as you're out of there and back in your own shape, you won't flatten me and this whole building with one slash of your tail? I'm not asking for hostages or an affidavit or anything. I'd happily take your word. Any word'll do. Say anything. Say “Xylophone” or “Sideways”, I don't care. For God's sake, how can we talk this over like rational creatures if you just lie there opening and shutting your mouth?'

The dragon hadn't realised he'd been doing that. He wasn't quite sure how to stop doing it, either. He'd have blushed with embarrassment if he wasn't bright orange already.

‘Well,' the scientist said, ‘at least I can be up front with you, and then maybe you might just feel you're able to return the favour. And if not well, I'm in no hurry. I'm not the one stuck in the wrong shape in a poxy little bowl.'

A single ants' egg floated lazily by. The dragon hated himself for swallowing it.

‘You know, if I could be sure you're actually listening, this'd be a whole lot easier. Otherwise - well, here I am, a grown woman with two PhDs, talking to a goldfish. If I was me, I'd have me locked up. Anyway, here goes. Oh, this is
silly
.' The scientist walked rapidly away, becoming nothing more than a white blur on the edge of the dragon's curved vision. It was a while before she came back.

‘Sorry,' she said. ‘Temper tantrum, not very scientific. But you see, I've waited my whole life for this moment. I've been studying weather since I was a kid in school. All these years, I knew you existed - I didn't dare breathe a word of it, of course, or they'd have slung me out of Princeton so hard I wouldn't have stopped bouncing till I reached Utah, but I never stopped believing. And now you're here and I'm here, this is such an incredible moment for me, and you're just hanging there like an empty Coke bottle - it's so frustrating I'm ready to burst into tears. Please don't do this to me, it's so unfair. All I need is just one flick of the tail, anything to prove to myself that I'm not crazy . . . Is that really so much to ask? Really?'