"Cheers," said Brisden.
The green fluid trickled across my tongue and then down my throat, leaving an almost unbearably bitter taste. I did not take all of it in case it proved useful and more would be needed later. Handing the flask to Anotine, I sat back and waited.
18
Twenty minutes passed and the only noticeable ef-fect was that my stomach had begun to ache. The others pulled up chairs and sat quietly, watching my every breath.
Doctor Hellman had been right in that there was no scientific basis to my belief that to ingest the brain liquor of the Fetch might afford me its special power of vision. All I could have said in my defense was that in light of the Fetch's remarkable abilities, the near emptiness of its skull was enough to prove that science had little to do with the natural laws that governed the island. To do so, though, would imply that all of the work the researchers had done in their long confinement had been nothing but an elaborate game of make-believe.
Every now and then, Anotine would ask me how I felt, and I would give her the same report as to my status. During her fourth inquiry, Nunnly interrupted, and said, "I think it is fairly evident he has a stomach ache. While we are waiting for Cley's head to take flight, could we at least discuss what we are going to do with the Delicate when he comes in search of us."
"Agreed," I said, and they all seemed relieved that I felt well enough to carry on a conversation.
"One thing we must take into consideration," said the Doctor, crossing his legs and then uncrossing them, "is that we do not know what our menacing friend is capable of."
"The signal gun seemed fairly effective against the Fetch," said Brisden.
"There is only one remaining shell for it, though," said the Doctor.
"With anything else, we are going to have to get dangerously close to that mouth of his to kill him," said Anotine.
"Could you create some weapons?" I asked Nunnly.
"It's not my specialty," he said, "but I guess I can put together just about anything in my workshop."
I thought of the crossbow that the people of Wenau had supplied me with, but I had no idea as to how to describe the operation of the firing mechanism. "What about a couple of long poles with sharp blades attached to the ends?" I asked.
"What about a big rock I can hit him on the head with?" said Brisden.
"We could just have him spend some time with Brisden," said Nunnly. "With that strategy, he might be persuaded to cut his own head off."
"What about a trap?" said Anotine. "I think we should trap him first."
"Do we have a net somewhere?" asked the Doctor.
"Slingshots for everyone," said Brisden.
I was about to suggest that we shock the Delicate into unconsciousness with the same technology utilized by the metallic chair in which I sat when the whole room suddenly tilted to the left. Gripping the armrests, I tried to steady myself as everything tipped back in the opposite direction. This seesaw effect rapidly increased in speed, giving way to a brutal spinning that made me feel as if I were descending into the funnel of a whirlpool.
"Something is happening," I yelled to my friends as they spun past. I was forced to close my eyes against the dizzying motion of the world around me, which elicited a sudden attack of intense nausea. The disorientation also disturbed my hearing, because though I knew the others were only a few feet from me, their voices seemed very distant. I could only catch snatches of what they were saying. Somewhere in my mofton-addled mind, I began to believe that it was the chair I sat in that was rotating. The phenomenon soon reached an unbearable speed that took my breath away. With my last shred of consciousness, I flung myself out of the metal seat.
For quite some time it felt as if I were turning somersaults in midair. Although I kept anticipating a sudden crash, it didn't happen. "Perhaps I have gained the power of flight" I thought. I finally opened my eyes, expecting a view from somewhere near the ceiling only to find the floor in my face. A moment later, the impact of the fall registered, as if my entire body suddenly remembered the collision. I grunted with the delayed pain, but the spinning had stopped, and the nausea began to dissipate.
Hands grabbed at my arms just beneath the shoulders, and I was being hoisted to my feet. At the same time, the others' voices became clear, and I heard Brisden behind me say, "Cley is quite a duffel bag full."
"The weight is all in his head," said Nunnly.
As soon as my field of view became more than the stone floor, I realized a change had occurred in my vision. The room appeared submerged in a clear, lime green light, and all of the objects that filled the tables gave off a mild incandescence that seemed associated with a vague jumble of whispering in my mind. The transformation was unsettling to say the least. I closed my eyes, and the indistinct voices fell silent.
"Are you all right?" asked the Doctor.
I nodded to him. "I'll be fine," I said, and my speech sounded low and throaty, almost unrecognizable to me.
"Cley, it's me, Anotine," she said, and I felt her hand upon my face. "Wake up if you can."
I wanted to tell her I was not asleep or faint, but I did not want to hear that foreign tone in my voice again. Nunnly and Brisden still held firmly to me, and I felt another hand reach down along my wrist—I assumed it was the Doctor's—in order to find my pulse.
"Come back to me, Cley," I heard Anotine say. Then she (ightly slapped me.
I smiled to let her know I was fine, and when I opened my eyes her face was before me, an absolutely radiant green. Her lips moved, and I knew she was speaking to me, but her words were blocked by the whispering inside my head, which had begun again the moment my eyes focused on her.
In addition to the alien voices, I also saw pictures that did not obscure my view of her, but played over it in a strange palimpsest. Numbers and chemical formulae were scribbled across her forehead. They wavered and swam in circles along with a school of words that spoke the meaning of it all to me. When I saw an image of Drachton Below superimposed upon her right cheek, holding up a beaker of violet liquid that became the center of her iris, I turned away. Shrugging off the supporting hands, I ran out of the lab, down the hallway, and out into the village.
Frantically, I fled from this new attribute whose power seemed to increase with every second. The architecture, the dying flowers in their planters, the steps in the myriad stairways I climbed and descended, all revealed themselves to me in a dizzying barrage of information. I had found the key that unlocked the symbols of Below's mnemonic design, and the secrets came at me from every direction, clamoring to have me know them, accosting me with their detail, leaping upon my back like so many malicious demons and riding through the alleys.
I flew rapidly through states of knowing—the formulae for deadly explosives, equations that equaled fear, philosophies of chaos and order and the insubstantial border between them. I saw phantoms, some I recognized from the Well-Built City, step forth from sculptures to expound upon their lives, and cornices and arches oozed music and poetry. When I was finally exhausted, I fell to my knees in front of the fountain of the pelican whose breast spurted an arched stream of water. The stone bird told a tragic tale concerning the death of Below's sister. There was no running away from the Master's brilliance. All I could do to stop it was close my eyes.
The relief that darkness brought calmed me, and I was able to regain my rationale. I crawled forward and reached up over the edge of the fountain to cup some water in my palms. Splashing this over my face, I breathed deeply.