The Engineer Reconditioned (34 page)

"So, please tell me again what now happens with this Sirus Beck."

"Sirus Beck will carry out the task charged to him by our Lord. He will carry the Holy Fish to the mountains of the Waters of Change. There he will baptise the Fish in each spring as in the birth. The Fish, meanwhile, will be reborn here in the new year, two days before the drinking of the Eucharist."

"Does anyone travel with him to the Waters of Change?"

"No, this is not allowed."

"What about the sheep?"

"The sheep will not attack a Baptiser."

There, thought Erlin, another dead giveaway. I'll have to get a sample of that new year's Eucharist. Loaded, sure to be. No coincidence either that the springs called the Waters of Change feed into every damned river on this continent. Erlin wondered how the Clergy got past the fact that each of the hundred or so churches had its own fish and its own new year.

Sirus Beck saw the grey shapes of Gurnards in deep pools and in rivers and streams blunt-nosed against the current. He felt their power — the power of God in them, and he hated it, hated that he could not resist it. He saw sheep upon the hill feeding on bloody human flesh and the box moon opened and spilt writhing worms across the land. He saw his world and every part of it he saw was loaded with deep significance. The tangled branches of heather trees spelled out the glyphs of a secret language. A sugar dog defecating behind a rock was a sign from God, its every pant a holistic representation of the turning of the world. There was glory and there was terror. Beck, in some deeply buried and logical part of himself, thought it all too ridiculous. If this was holiness he wanted none of it. If there was a God then he should mind his own business. The resentment of that thought gave him pain, and the pain woke him.
This is the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in,
thought Beck. The mattress was soft. He was between clean sheets and heavy scented blankets were layered above him. He was warm and dry and he did not want to move, until something prodded him to move and he felt a stinging in his fingers. This is how it will be, he realised. For the rest of his life this prodding would move him on as soon as he got comfortable. Like every Baptiser before him he would die an old man trying to get to that one last spring. It was one of the inconsistencies that had destroyed his faith — that the Gurnard was reborn even before it died.

"You are awake," said the Wife of Ovens.

Beck opened his eyes and gazed at the bulky shape standing at the foot of his bed. She smiled at him beatifically. He wanted to strangle her, but even a Baptiser would not get away with that. He glanced to one side of her, at the slim dark-skinned woman he had seen earlier. What was she? Some freak from the islands brought to entertain the Wife? Her clothes, he noted, were very clean and looked expensive. In fact he did not recognise the grey and orange material of her coverall. He sat up.

"Yes, I'm awake, and soon I have to be moving."

"Of course. That is how it must be," said the Wife.

"Yeah. Who's this?"

The Wife gestured with one pudgy beringed hand. "This, Baptiser, is Erlin Tazer Three Indomial."

"What kind of name is that?"

"It is the kind of name they give people from Earth."

"Funny."

"I must prepare the way for you. Dress yourself, Baptiser, then come at once to the tank room. The Gurnard awaits."

The Wife swept out of the room, gesturing for the purported Earther to go with her. To Beck it looked as if Erlin wanted to say or do something else, but she went with the Wife. That was always the safest move. Beck got out of bed and washed himself with the water and soap provided, before inspecting the well-made travelling clothes that had also been provided. It would not do for a Baptiser to be seen in the clothes of a common tramp. Beck was glad to see that his belongings, other than his clothes, had not been discarded. He still retained his pack and his gun. Opening the weapon to check it over, he saw that all three shells were in place in their chambers. He would be safe from sheep yet. As he dressed there came a sharp knock at the door and the woman, Erlin, quickly stepped into the room. She had some strange instrument in her hand. Holding a pair of sheep-hide trousers before his genitals he glared at her.

"I'm a doctor," she said quickly. "I need a blood sample." Beck eyed the instrument.

"Then give one yourself," he said.

"Please, it's very important."

"Yeah, you're right, my blood is."

She stepped toward him and he quickly stepped back.

"I bet the Wife of Ovens doesn't know you're here," he said, and it was a threat. Erlin frowned at him then pocketed the instrument she had been holding. Beck peered with curiosity at the pocket she had put it in, at the cloth, the way it sealed, at the rest of her coverall. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. So was she.

"Are you really from Earth?"

"Yes."

"Turn around."

She looked askance at him. He nodded down at the trousers he was holding.

"I am a doctor you know."

"That gives you no rights to my body, now turn around or get out." Erlin turned and Beck finished dressing himself.

"Now why should you want a blood sample?" he asked.

Erlin was indecisive. "They say you were an acolyte, but that you ran away, that you are a heretic and unbeliever."

"They say right," said Beck with some viciousness.

"How does it feel then to come back as a Baptiser?"

"It feels like Hell."

"How do you reconcile your — "

There came a rapping on the door before it was suddenly opened. Morage stepped into the room with a sneering grin on his face. Behind him came two priests obviously selected for their size rather than their piety.

"The Wife of Ovens awaits you, Sirus Beck. It would be better if you followed your calling willingly." It was a mild dig. Morage's attention was on Erlin rather than Beck. Beck stooped and took up his pack. He caught Erlin by the arm. "The Wife awaits the both of us, as it happens." He led Erlin past Morage and his two thugs.

"Wait," said Morage, angry, but unsure.

Beck turned and addressed the two thugs. "I am a Baptiser. Do you seek to delay me?" When this elicited no response he hurried Erlin down the corridor.

"Damnit, stop. Stop them," Morage hissed, but the two thugs were too confused and scared to take any precipitate action.

"I never did like that one," said Erlin, once Morage was out of sight. "Something sneaky about him."

"Morage is a thief and a sadist. He strips the acolytes of their personal effects when they join the Church and he has been responsible for the deaths of many."

"The Wife allows this?"

"He would have taken you for religious counselling. You would have been stripped of your belongings and part of your skin before the Wife found out. She would have forgiven him his fervour. Why are you here, Earther?"

"I can look after myself," said Erlin, avoiding his question.

"Then do so!" he snapped, and left her as he took the most direct route to the tank room. They sang hymns while Sirus took up the small carry-pot containing his unwelcome companion for the rest of his life. The tempo of the singing changed as he walked to the door and he knew, that once the door was closed, the rest of the day would be spent in sermonising, for most of the Clergy anyway. There was one there, crouched coughing up blood in a corner, who would not make it through the day, let alone to the new year's Eucharist. Not that the foul water of the new Gurnard would have saved him. Something had died inside him, too deeply imbedded to be ejected as was usual, and the smell of death was on his breath.

As the outer iron-scaled doors of the church closed behind him, Beck lengthened his stride. It wasn't so bad really. The pot was not too heavy and wherever he went people would give him food and lodging for free. Some would resent it and others would make him welcome, but no one would dare refuse. He gazed at the hills, and at the mountains beyond, and strode on into his new life. Hanging at his left side, under his left arm, the Gurnard swirled in its opaque water reminding him that it was not his life. There were no more choices.

The church was out of sight and he was following a narrow path through a forest of heather trees sprung up through ground covered with blanket fungus, when a familiar voice called to him.

"May I join you for a little way, Sirus Beck?"

Erlin came toward him through the trees, her boots sinking into the blanket fungus. She had come prepared, carrying a large pack and wearing a rain cape. There also appeared to be some kind of weapon holstered at her hip. She was regarding the pot hanging at his side, not even trying to hide her fascination.

"You realise that if the Inquisition find out you are with me you'll end up in a drowning jar?" he asked.

"Yes, I realise that, but I don't know why."

Beck continued walking and Erlin fell in at his side.

"Neither do I," said Beck. "But then the Church has many rules that make no sense."

"Yet here you are, a Baptiser, carrying a Holy Gurnard to the Waters of Change."

"If I had a choice this pot would be smashed on the ground and I would be going my own way." And even as he said it he felt a stab of pain in his guts. It was dangerous even to think like that. There was a long silence between them, which Erlin eventually broke.

"You wanted to know why I wanted a blood sample?" she said.

"Yes, I did."

"I have an interest in parasites, and I have come here to study them." Beck looked at her. The only parasites he knew anything about were sheep ticks. Erlin went on, "There is a parasite here with a very strange life-cycle. Its eggs hatch out in the mountain springs."

"I don't see the relevance."

"Well, parasites have all sorts of strange strategies for survival, breeding ... sometimes they use more than one host, though I don't think this one does. There's one on earth that actually gets into an ant, makes the ant climb to the top of a blade of grass and there cling on until a passing sheep eats it. The sheep is its next host you see — "

"On Earth sheep eat ants?"

"No, grass."

Beck snorted his disbelief. "If you're not going to tell me why you want a blood sample, just say so. I don't need this bullshit. I had enough of it in the Church."

"No, really, I'm not lying."

Just then there came a coughing snort from the shade of the heather trees. This was followed by a low moan and a raspy panting. Erlin pulled her weapon from its holster and looked around carefully. Beck glanced with idle curiosity at little flashing red lights on the gun. After a moment he said, "No need to worry yet. That's only a sugar dog. Save your worrying for when we get beyond the trees. It's flockland there." To himself he muttered, "Grass indeed."

The sugar dog came out of the trees far to their right, paralleling their course. Erlin stared at it in fascination, took a device from one of her pockets and pointed it at the creature.

"What are you doing?"

"Recording images of it."

Beck studied the glinting little device she held. It was just the kind of thing Morage would like to steal. How it must burn him that she had escaped him.

"Why?" he asked her.

"I've never seen one before. It looks like a cross between a bloodhound and a bull frog." The words were familiar to Beck, but not in that combination. Bull he knew as a word for untruth, just as he knew of the little black frogs that lived in the southern swamps, that 'hound' was another word for dog, and that 'blood' was red in his veins and green in the translucent flesh of sugar dogs. So much was different about Earth. Perhaps if he had not been so wrapped up in his own concerns he would have been fascinated by this. Perhaps she hadn't been lying about the sheep. The sugar dog huffed and wuffled through the leaves near them as they followed the trail, then it moved away to the West. In the distance, on the faces of the hills, flocks of sheep could be seen hunting, but they were no danger to sugar dogs. Sugar dogs were as poisonous as the plants they ate.

"Do you know why they are called sugar dogs?" Erlin asked.

"Because they like sweets," said Beck.

"Sugar kills them though."

"Yes, it also kills anyone caught feeding it to them."

Erlin waited for an explanation.

He told her, "They are protected by Church and civil law. Anyone caught feeding any form of sugar to a sugar dog is executed by posting."

"Posting?"

"Chained to a flockland post."

"Sorry, I don't understand."

"You will soon." He pointed ahead to a distant object jutting up out of the leaves. They walked in silence until they reached it. Here was a steel post cemented into the ground, from which hung a chain and a steel collar. All around it the leaves were trampled and scattered with chewed human bones. At the base of the post lay half a human skull that had been scraped empty. Erlin quickly grasped what it meant to be posted.

"The sheep don't attack Baptisers, so the Church tells us. I don't believe everything the Church says." With that Beck drew his gun and checked it, as he had done a number of times since leaving the church. He also made sure the shells in his belt were easily accessible, despite the Gurnard pot hanging at his side.

"Isn't that a bit awkward?" asked Erlin, indicating the pot.

"The discomfort would be greater if I did not carry it," said Beck. "Let's keep moving." He gestured with his gun and then kept it in his hand as they continued walking.

The sun was a blue-green ellipse on the horizon with the box moon in silhouette just beside it, when they saw their first sheep close to. A flock of twenty of them had trapped a ground skate and were levering up its wings with their claws and biting off chunks of fishy flesh.

"Sheep are nothing like this on Earth," said Erlin, then regretted speaking when two sheep turned their curled-horned heads towards her and exposed yellow fangs.

"Quiet. Keep walking," Beck whispered.

The sheep returned to their easy meal and did not pursue.

"Their heads are like the heads of Earth sheep and they have hooves on their feet, but on Earth, sheep are quadruped. They don't have claws." Erlin shivered. "They're like something out of Christian fable: Satan, or satyrs."