The line moved slowly, and the man chatted away. Finally, David discovered why it was going at such a glacial pace. People that entered the city had to plunge their arms into a large bucket of ice. An armed guard stood by it, looking at once bored and paranoid. A winning combination, David thought.
When it was Rob’s turn, he hesitated. “Looks cold,” he said.
The guard tapped the side of the bucket with his gun. “That’s the point. Now, if you don’t mind-”
Rob shoved his hands into the ice and screamed.
Moths fell from his eyes, rushed down his face. The entire crowd stumbled as one – a clumsy terrified creature -but they need not have. The moths were weak and fragmented senselessly before they even hit the ground. Rob growled and pulled his hands from the ice, the skin blackened and smoking. “Getting stronger,” he said. “Getting so much stronger. I-”
The guard fired his gun, rolling with the recoil, and a spear of ice drove into the Rob’s chest. Rob, looked down at it, brought a hand to the icy shaft, then fell to the ground, body quivering, ice sheathing his chest. Another guard, face twisted with disgust, walked over to the corpse and dumped a bucket of ice on its head.
When the Roiling had stilled, a couple of guards, covered from head to toe in protective clothing, dragged the body away.
David rubbed his hand furiously on his pants leg.
“Next,” the guard said, lifting another bucket of ice on to the table.
David smiled weakly and shoved his hands into the bucket.
The guard nodded absently and clicked a stopwatch. David shivered, the ice stung, and the chill ran up into his arms.
“How long?” David asked.
“Twenty seconds,” the guard said, watching him closely. “Most Roilings reveal themselves upon contact with the ice, but we have to be sure. You did seem to be having rather a nice chat with that fellow.”
It was the longest twenty seconds of David’s life. He was intensely aware of the deep level of scrutiny that he was now under, not to mention the ice pistols aimed at his chest. They may launch ice but David was certain they could pierce his heart just as well.
There was also that nagging doubt. Was it possible to be infected and not know it? Of course not, he knew who he was and what it felt to be him.
The crowd held its breath, including David.
Then the guard nodded – pulling the ice bucket away and resetting his stopwatch.
David considered taking a bow.
Ladies and gentlemen! I am still a human being, you need not be alarmed.
But he did not. Just stood there, unsure of what to do next.
“Have a pleasant stay,” the guard said at last. He coughed, when David still hadn’t moved. “You can go in now.”
“Thank you,” David said, in a voice that was anything but thankful, but the guard was already focussing on the next visitor.
David shrugged. His arms, dripping water, shook. He had passed the first stage at least. He took a couple of steps into the city.
Another guard stood there, just past the gates his mask dark with sweat. David did not envy him the humid cage of the mask, its rough material tight against his face.
“Where’d you take the Roiling?” David asked and because the Guard was nervous and bored – obviously anxious for a little distraction – he told him.
“We’ve a cool-room. All the Roilings are delivered there and frozen solid to make sure they’re really dead, and then we burn them. There haven’t been too many of the bastards, just enough to keep us on our toes.” He watched, with professional interest, as the next person plunged their hands in the ice, David noticed his grip change on his gun. “The protocols were only laid down a few days ago, the problem’s but a week old and it’s already becoming difficult to police. You heard about the train?”
David nodded, though he said nothing about his involvement in that incident. He had heard about it all right, he was never likely to forget it. “Who hasn’t? From all accounts it was terrible.”
“And it could have been much worse. By the time the Dolorous Grey reached the city they’d set the whole train alight, from engine to caboose. Nearly took Chapman with it. Not the best beginning to the Festival. But what can you expect with that so close.” The guard nodded towards the Obsidian Curtain. “And that was before we had the cemetery dead of the deserted suburbs come stumbling against the southern walls. Our cannon cut them to pieces, but I was in clean up duty. Sweaty, awful job, even with the cold suits, and not all of them were dead.” He made a disgusted face. “After the festival I’m out of here, I’ve a ticket on an Aerokin transport, one of the Blake and Steel line. Going to family in Hardacre. If the world’s falling to hell then I’m flying as far from the crumbling edge as possible.”
“What’s so wonderful about the festival that you’d want to stay?” David asked.
“You’ll know soon enough,” the guard said, sounding regretful that he was stuck out here. “It’s almost worth risking the Witmoths. Of course, the danger money they are paying us is extraordinary. Once I’m done here I should be able to live out my few remaining years very comfortably in Hardacre, free state and all, I hear it still snows up there.”
“Don’t you think we should try and fight it? Shouldn’t we do all we can to stop the Roil?”
The guard shrugged, and he spat upon the ground as though he had heard this argument one too many times. No doubt he had, surely some of Chapman’s troops thought it worthwhile to fight.
“Might as well try and stop a thunderstorm, all the people in Shale couldn’t do that. It’s a force of nature, not an army. Surely the Grand Defeat taught us that. Some people say it was our Industry that started it, warmed up the world enough for it to get a foothold; now it’s an engine that won’t be stopped. Greater cities than ours have fallen, what chance do we have? If the Council of Engineers can find some way of halting it then I’ll be happy, but I don’t think it’s likely, so we may as well live out the rest of our years as best we can. Who knows it may never cross the mountains. And if it does and a Quarg Hound bays outside my door, I’ll shoot it and the next and the next until my time is done.” The guard’s eyes were grim and hard, but they lightened for a moment. “Good luck, idealist. Enjoy the Festival.”
David considered the long line behind him and shook his head. When the Roil comes, it won’t wait in queue, he thought.
More guards armed with ice-weaponry stood at the gates, nodding as he passed through the thick outer walls and into the warren of streets that made up the city proper.
One of the oldest metropolises of Shale, Chapman’s stonewalls were sturdy and imposing, designed to keep out Cuttlefolk, they also kept out the light. Shadowy cobbled streets made their dank and musty circuit around the city. And everywhere was a heavy smell, fecund and earthy rather than Mirrlees’ metallic and hard odours.
However, for all its scent and shadows, Chapman was dressed up for the festival. Every available space on the street was covered with posters, advertising such wonders as “General Brown and his amazing balloon suit” or “Thrille to the throw of the Twins of Twig” or better yet “Mr Marcus the amazing Calculating Pig, let him calculate your future with the mystical power of Arithmetic. The smartest of our four-legged futurist friends”.
David wondered what kind of future anyone could hope for with the Roil just down the road, and what truly smart creature would ever find its way here?
For all its proximity to the Roil, the city lacked that ever-present sense of threat, of Government officials scrutinising every single thing. At every corner, soloists or bands played tin whistles and mandolins and sang about balloons or Roil beasts or working in the docks.
He waited for Cadell at the appointed place for an hour, then another hour, and the Old Man did not show up.