Rebel at the End of Time. Steve Aylett
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I can help you. Say the word.’
‘Which particular one? I don’t understand.’
‘This is not a jest.’ He looked around cautiously and lowered his voice further. ‘Do you recognise me? Does anyone? Where is here?’
‘You’re on the tip of my tongue. Are you a new jester?’
He replied as if he had been carrying the response ready in his pocket: ‘A court dance is the colour of favours in motion. Empires fall steadily, while outwardly they seem strong. Just as dawn comes steadily, not in surges. Not till the last.’
The remark had no familiar content. Was it a sort of password? ‘Would you care to amplify?’
The stranger looked confused, and repeated all four sentences at deafening volume. Then with a startled look he slipped quickly aside into the crowd as Baron Coma hulked over. Regina and the Baron looked about for him. ‘Who was that fellow?’ Coma asked, lowering his rhinoid head.
Regina absently stroked his head-crest. ‘He talked to me a great deal about how we all talk too much.’
‘He appeared almost to have a beard. I wanted to question him about the precise mechanism of the thing. I fancy myself with two or three beards, one on my snout and one on each shoulder. Ah well, perhaps later.’
She still gazed off into the milling assembly, wondering if some invisible transaction had taken place. ‘He seemed ... serious.’
Minutes later the Duke of Queens appeared at the summit of the pyramid, lights summoning around him and an air lens magnifying his figure like a screen.
The warm wind knocked his robes. ‘My people!’ he proclaimed, and received a cheer. Some of the crowd levitated to better view the scene, which was clearly to be highly theatrical.
‘Here we go,’ said Volospion, looking up. The Duke did cut a fine figure against the chemical sky.
‘You are my subjects,’ the Duke announced, setting up the dramatis personae. ‘By which I mean, my slaves. Do not dodge my meaning in search of comfort. I mean that you are less important than I, and worthless. Here I have given you a certain, though perhaps incomplete, definition of pyramidal society which may nevertheless prove to be very useful in practice if one is willing to act. The still force of regal scorn is granted by others – by you. This was once known as “zero point energy”. To thank you for your perpetual donation would be to expose the fact, but still you would do nothing to correct it. For years I have believed you to be lacking enough moral power to take a resolution of any sort, while aware that the resolve forced by desperation may sometimes be the right one.’ He spread his arms in generosity. ‘It seems I alone am left to act. Let this be an example!’
Regina leant to the Iron Orchid’s ear and whispered. ‘I have my part to play.’ And walking toward the pyramid ramp, she spread her arms, from which descended two curtains of scarlet gold in patterns of feathers. A scrolled cape sprouted from her shoulderblades and formed a train as she walked up the grand flight. Her sudden decoration drew gasps from the crowd, as it was rare that her monochrome body bore anything but inked designs and power rings.
‘It’s a drama!’ Bishop Castle trilled. ‘A … a situation! Does anyone know what it’s called, this sort of thing?’
The Iron Orchid frowned. ‘I think ... an arbitration?’
‘What “the hell” is it, my dear Duke?’ called Bishop Castle.
‘I think it’s a prelude, merely,’ Lord Jagged opined. ‘To violence, perhaps.’
Volospion had an expression of raw wonder on his face.
Regina Sparks had arrived at the platform atop the edifice. Standing beside the Duke, she turned to face the crowd. She held a prodigious scimitar in her upturned palms like a platter.
‘This tender young thing will provide the sacraface my empire demands!’ shouted the Duke impressively, his gilt face flashing in the sun.
The Duke and Regina turned to face one another.
‘Don’t be afraid, my dear,’ said the Duke, with a small nod.
The tide of guests parted at the base of the pyramid as a roaring machine cut through them and mounted the grand stairs. It was a twist of mechanism on two broad wheels, ridden by the stranger in the snakefruit jacket. He was leaning forward as if the machine could not move fast enough. At the summit he flew through the air between Regina and the Duke, skidding to a halt behind them and dismounting to stride forward.
‘What’s this about?’ asked the Duke.
The stranger snatched the sword from Regina and held it aloft. He seemed intoxicated with outrage. ‘With freedom comes responsibility,’ he bellowed. ‘And since we are not free, we act irresponsibly. Yet our masters feign shock and disappointment. Be proud of me now – I take full responsibility for this!’
And he plunged the sword into the Duke’s stomach.
The Duke groaned, sinking to the stone ground. The stranger grabbed the dazed Regina and swung her on to his machine, mounting it behind her and riding off down the rear slope of the pyramid. They buzzed away across the desert, expelling a trail of smoke.
The crowd went wild.
3 First Impressions
In Which Doctor Volospion Lays a Wager
As a panel in the summit platform lowered the Duke’s body into the building’s mysterious depths, Volospion swatted his awe like a fly. A number of onlookers converged to compare notes on the spectacle.
‘It was a completely ordinary tragic death, so what?’ said Baron Coma. ‘His life falling apart suddenly, there on the summit of his creation. He plunged in classic mode.’
‘Exactly,’ said Volospion, relieved at the negative opinion.
‘I observed it too,’ boomed Bishop Castle. ‘And feel impressed.’
‘Really?’ the Baron frowned under the shadow of his heavy horns. ‘You think I approached the event with a closed mind?’
‘Not you, antlered one. You are merely distracted, I’m certain, by all that inventive cranial horseplay of yours.’
‘I confess its endless permutations keep my thoughts constantly occupied. You have diagnosed the problem exactly. I failed to absorb the full impact of the Duke’s show because of it. Of course, the fellow with the clown car was an unexpected touch. Yes, some drama there.’
‘It was a motorized cycle, Baron,’ Lord Jagged informed him.
‘Murder wasn’t it, the bit at the end? A marvelous effect!’
‘I can’t imagine how it would matter,’ said Volospion mildly, swirling a goblet of chameleon vodka. ‘It’s no great departure from his sailing across one of Argonheart’s giant puddings a few years ago. Or the time he sat there with, what was it, “scarlet fever”?’
‘This was far more sophisticated, Doctor, as well you know.’ The Iron Orchid swiped him playfully with a fan. ‘And that wordy tantrum was redolent of history.’
‘Which?’ asked Bishop Castle, gathering more nibbles onto a plate. ‘The Duke’s or the boy’s?’
‘Well, both.’
‘And just what the party needed,’ added Lord Jagged, thoughtfully. ‘Substance. Texture. But the surprise twist was the thing.’
‘How do you mean, my brightest canary?’ asked the Orchid.
‘The interloper. You see, he’s done something quite clever, the Duke. A spectacle or vision is momentary. The value of it does not really survive the moment in which it was new. A story, however, such as the one the Duke has set in motion, goes forth and weaves itself among us all. It is participatory, ongoing, and even perhaps meaningful.’