“This thing, the Sarcophagus. Is it really all they say?”
“It seems to communicate. The Oct want to try and teach it to talk,” Oramen said. “They have a thing called an Enabler machine which the Optimae use to talk to such dug-up curiosities.”
“Perhaps it’s an oracle,” Droffo said, smiling lopsidedly, stretching his stitched cuts and grimacing again. “Ask it what’s going to happen next.”
What happened next was that, two shifts later, on what was in effect the following day, tyl Loesp sent word by telegraph from Rasselle that there must have been some terrible misunderstanding. Vollird and Baerth must themselves have been victims of a conspiracy and persons unknown were patently plotting to drive a wedge between the regent and the Prince Regent for their own ignoble ends. Tyl Loesp thought it best that he and Oramen meet in Rasselle to discuss matters, reassure themselves of their mutual love and respect and arrange all subsequent dealings in a manner such as would lead to no more rash actions nor unsubstantiated, hinted-at accusations.
Oramen, after discussing this signal with Droffo, Dubrile and the half-dozen or so junior officers who had become his advisers — all acclaimed by their men rather than owing their advancement to tyl Loesp — replied that he would meet tyl Loesp here at the Falls, and he must bring no more than a dozen men with him, lightly armed.
They were still waiting on a reply.
Then, in the middle of what most people were treating as the night, news came that the Sarcophagus was speaking, and the Oct had appeared in force in the chamber around it, arriving via submarine vessels which had found or created channels in the Sulpine river which were still liquid water rather than ice. There was some confusion over whether they had taken over the chamber or not — work was apparently continuing — but they were there in unprecedented numbers and they were demanding to see tyl Loesp or whoever was in charge.
“I thought they were just coming to use this language-teaching device,” Oramen said as he pulled on clothes, wincing with each stretch of arm and leg. Neguste held out his jacket and helped him into it.
Droffo, who was ambulatory if far from fully recovered and who had intercepted the messenger bringing the news, held Oramen’s ceremonial sword belt in his one good hand. His other arm was cradled by a sling. “Perhaps when the thing spoke it said something disagreeable,” he suggested.
“It might have chosen a more agreeable time, that’s sure,” Oramen said, accepting his sword belt.
“Dear WorldGod,” Oramen said when he saw the interior of the great chamber at the Nameless City’s heart. He and Droffo both stopped in their tracks. Neguste, following behind — determined to go wherever his master went to ensure he shared whatever fate awaited and never again be thought either frightened or disloyal — failed to stop in time and bumped into them.
“Begging pardon, sirs,” he said, then saw between them to the chamber. “Well, fuck me upside down,” he breathed.
There were hundreds and hundreds of Oct in the chamber. Blue bodies glistened under the lights, thousands of red limbs shone as though polished. They had entirely surrounded the Sarcophagus, arranging themselves on the cleared floor of the great space in concentric circles of what looked like prostrated devotion, even adoration. The creatures all appeared motionless and might have been mistaken for dead had they not been so neatly and identically arranged. All were equipped with the same kind of body-encompassing suit that Ambassador Kiu had worn. Oramen caught the same strange scent he had smelled all those months ago, the day he’d heard his father had been killed. He remembered encountering Ambassador Kiu on his way to the mounting yard, and that curious smell. Faint then, it was strong now.
Around Oramen, his personal guard, commanded by Dubrile, jostled into position, trying to leave no gap. They surround me, Oramen thought, while the Oct surround that. But why? The guards too were distracted by the sight of so many Oct, glancing nervously as they took up their positions around Oramen.
White-coated technicians still moved about the chamber and along the scaffolding levels, seemingly untroubled by the presence of the Oct. On the platform where Oramen had stood earlier and experienced the Sarcophagus seemingly trying to communicate with him, the covers had been drawn back so that it was possible to see what was going on. Two Oct were there, along with some white-suited human figures. Oramen thought he recognised both Leratiy and Poatas.
A guardsman was reporting to Dubrile, who saluted Oramen and said, “Sir, the Oct just appeared; their ships are somewhere behind the ice of the Falls; they melted their way through. They came in, some through here, others floating in from places up in the walls. The guards didn’t know what to do. We never thought to have orders to cover such a thing. The Oct seem unarmed, so I suppose we are still in control, but they refuse to move.”
“Thank you, Dubrile,” Oramen said. Poatas was waving wildly from the platform. “Let’s go and see what’s happening, shall we?”
“Oramen-man, prince,” one of the Oct said when Oramen arrived on the platform. Its voice was like dry leaves rustling. “Again. Like meetings meet in time and spaces. As our ancestors, the blessed Involucra, who were no more, to us always were, and now are again without denial, so we are met once more. Think you not?”
“Ambassador Kiu?” Oramen asked. The ambassador and another Oct hung unsupported in front of the light patch of grey on the cube’s surface. Poatas and Senior Technician Leratiy stood nearby, gazing on with expressions of barely controlled excitement. They looked, Oramen thought, as though they could not wait to tell him something.
“I have that privilege,” Ambassador Kiu-to-Pourl said. “And to he I you introduce; Savidius Savide, Peripatetic Special Envoy to Sursamen.”
The other Oct turned fractionally to Oramen. “Oramen-man, Prince of Hausk, Pourl,” it said.
Oramen nodded. Dubrile and three of the guards were positioning themselves at the corners of the platform, making it almost crowded. “I am pleased to meet you, Envoy Savidius Savide. Welcome, friends,” he said. “May I ask what brings you here?” He turned to look round and down at the hundreds of Oct arranged in glittering circles round the Sarcophagus. “And in such numbers?”
“Greatness, prince,” Kiu said, drifting closer to Oramen. Dubrile went to interpose himself between but Oramen held up one hand. “Unparalleled greatness!”
“An occasion of such importance we are made as nothing!” the other Oct said. “These, here, our comrades, we two. We are nothing, no fit witness, no worthy acolytes, utterly insufficient! Nevertheless.”
“Deserving or not, we are here,” Kiu said. “Of incomprehensible privilege is this to all present. We thank you boundlessly for such. You put us forever in your debt. No lives lived to the end of time by billions, trillions of Oct could so repay our chance to witness.”
“Witness?” Oramen said gently, smiling indulgently, looking from the two Oct to Poatas and Leratiy. “Witness to what? That the Sarcophagus has spoken?”
“It has, sir!” Poatas said, stepping forward, flourishing his stick, waving it at the pale grey patch on the object’s surface. He gestured at one of the pieces of equipment on a tall trolley. “This device simply projected images and sounds and a sequence of invisible wave-fronts through the ether into the face of what we have called the Sarcophagus and it spoke! Sarl, Deldeyn, Oct, several Optimae languages. Repetitions, at first, so that we were disappointed, thinking that it only recorded, regurgitated, had no mind after all, but then — then, prince, then it spoke in its own voice!” Poatas turned to the pale grey square and bowed. “Will you indulge us once more, sir? Our most senior person is present; a prince of the royal house which commands two levels, he who is in charge here.”