“They’re clean,” Tamora said, “but don’t let them come any closer. I’ll break their necks if they try.” She glared at Prefect Corin’s companions, who looked through her as if she did not exist.
Prefect Corin said, “The reputation of your companion is not the highest, but I understand that she tries to make up with bravado what she lacks in skill.” He glanced at Eliphas. “This man had a reputation, too. Where is he leading you? What trick is he upon? You are out of your depth, Eliphas. You should have stuck to gouging would-be widows wanting recipes for undetectable poisons.”
Eliphas said with great dignity, “I don’t know you, dominie, but I see that my jealous rivals have been whispering in your ear.”
Yama told Prefect Corin, “I am not sorry about your machines. I will destroy any you send against me. You must know that. And you must know that I will not serve.”
Prefect Corin said, “There are always more machines. Think of it as a test. The more you resist, the more we learn about you. The more you try to escape, the more we will chase you. If you came here hoping that I would allow you to go on your way unhindered, than I must disappoint you. Give in, boy. The river is wide, but it is not endless. The further you travel, the nearer you approach the war, where there are millions under the command of the Department. You cannot hide from all of them; you cannot override all of the machines. I can offer you much, and that is why I am here. We do not want to lose you.”
Yama met Prefect Corin’s mild gaze with an effort of will. He said, “How goes the war amongst the departments in the Palace of the Memory of the People?”
“We will win.”
“Perhaps not, since you have not already won.”
“What will you do if you do not join us? Trust Eliphas and his wild tales? Preach to the underclasses as you did on the roof of the Palace? Take care with your answer. I would not like to indict you for heresy against the word of the Preservers.”
“I go in search of my people, nothing more. And I do not believe that you serve the Preservers. You do not even serve the Department. You serve your own ends.”
“You were brought up in the traditions of the Department, and you should know that we are here to serve the people, not our own selves. I was sorry to hear of your father’s death, by the way. He was a good servant, although a weak man who clung to traditions long past their usefulness. He should not have become involved in this.”
Tamora said, “Yama, I’ll make them go. Just give me the word.”
“I will hear what he has to offer,” Yama said. He felt perfectly calm, despite the tremor in his hands. Crowds were gathering around the flooded fighting pit again. The body of the loser had been removed and the water had been cleaned.
Prefect Corin shrugged. “Perhaps I will not bother. Perhaps I believe that you have already made up your mind, Yamamanama.”
“But you cannot know for certain. That is why you came.”
“You dare to presume—” For the first time, Prefect Corin’s reserve was breached. He drew a finger down the white streak which divided the left side of his black-furred face and said, “You presume too much. You are not subtle, boy. But I will tell you this. We will not ask you to fight. We will ask only that we can study you to find out how you control machines. And when we know, why, you will be free to do as you will. You wish to find out why you are here and where you come from? All the resources of the Department will be at your disposal. You will be elevated through the ranks to the first circle of committees. If you wish to help the underclasses, do so within established structures of power. Otherwise you waste all that you might be. How can you justify throwing that away, because of pride?”
“You would raise me up to a level I do not deserve in order to give the Department power it does not deserve. The Department exists to serve those you call the underclasses. Perhaps it has forgotten that. Perhaps it would be best if the Department looked to its own faults before attempting to correct the faults of others.”
“Ah, Yamamanama. I admire your certainty. But do think a while on what I have said. We have no hurry. Your captain still awaits her passenger, although he would be ill-advised to journey with you, should you choose to attempt to leave.”
The gong sounded again. Prefect Corin turned toward the pit. He said, “We will watch the next bout. I think that it will amuse you. And while you watch, think on what I have offered.”
“It is the worst of the wickedness of this place,” Eliphas said, with a sudden passion.
Two men sat at either end of the pool, in the same kind of suspended basket chairs as the old man who had refereed the first bout. The men were masked and gloved. Thin cables trailed from the chairs into the water. As spectators thickened around the pit, the men sat quietly above the rising buzz of conversation and the rattle of betting markers. The net was not lowered this time; suddenly, without fuss, two kelpies were hanging at either end of the flooded pit, shadows floating as quiet and still in the water as the two men seated in the air above them.
Yama asked Eliphas what kind of contest this would be, but Eliphas simply said that Yama would soon see.
“But we should leave,” he said. “It is a perversion of old knowledge.”
Prefect Corin said, “Knowledge is like power. It is only effective if it is used. You will not use your power, Yamamanama. That is why we will triumph, and you will lose.”
The gong gently battered the air again. Above the pit, the men rolled and twisted in their basket chairs. The kelpies shot forward. They missed each other on the first pass. One smashed its blunt head against the side of the tank while the other somersaulted clumsily and bore in with a sudden rush. It ripped a gash in the belly of its opponent with a steel-tipped flipper, but failed to follow through.
Yama saw the thin cables that trailed after each kelpie and understood what was happening. The kelpies were living puppets, commanded by the masked and gloved men just as Nergal had commanded the spiders.
He seized control with a spasm of anger and disgust.
The kelpies shot past each other and crashed into opposite ends of the tank. The impact killed them instantly; their human operators were both stricken by seizures that jerked them out of their suspended chairs. One hung by his harness; the other toppled over and smashed into the water.
Yama collapsed against Tamora, momentarily blinded by feedback and red and black lightning.
Half of the spectators surged forward to see what had happened; the others were trying to get away. Knots of fighting broke out. A grossly fat woman stood in the middle of the mêlée, screaming with operatic force.
Yama shrugged off Tamora’s grip and started down the steps. One of Prefect Corin’s men tried to stop him, but Tamora kicked him in the back of his knee and he went down as Yama dodged past. He threw up the markers Mother Spitfire had given him and, as people scrambled for them, ran under the screen and dodged through the maze of gambling tables, overturning them as he went. He was fueled by rage and fear. His sight pounded with red and black in solid flashes. The thing inside him had come back; he was a helpless passenger in his own skull.
The entire building seemed transparent, with all the places where machines worked shining clear. Overhead, a hundred little spies exploded in sputters of white-hot sparks, crashing down amongst the gamblers and the tables, starting a hundred fires and doubling and redoubling panic. Yama was carried forward by a sudden press of people who shared the same thought: to get out before the fires took hold. His body knew what to do. It fought to keep its feet on the ground, for with one slip it would be trampled underfoot. One of Mother Spitfire’s black-robed bodyguards pushed through the crowd and reached for him, and Yama saw the machines in the bodyguard’s head and did something terrible.