From his pocket he pulled another bottle of the drug. As he did so, a piece of paper fell to the floor. It was the paper that Willow had seen Valerian take from Kepler’s study.
Boy looked at Willow, her eyes wide. Valerian took a long swig of his drug, then rinsed it down with a few mouthfuls of brandy. It was early morning, and as he slumped back in his seat he immediately fell fast asleep, snoring like an old, old man.
2
At dawn the camera played them a beautiful vision of the waking winter city, but they were all asleep, and the vision went unseen. Across the roofs and towers flooded a soft pink light that presaged snow, without doubt. Yet still it would not come and the City froze in its filth.
The Tower room had grown cold, and Willow lifted her head from the cushion on the floor. Her movement woke Boy. It was very early still, but they were soon wide awake. Boy felt awful. His arms were like wires, his legs like metal trunks, his neck like an iron bar. All he did was live, it seemed-live like one of Valerian’s machines, with a heart-machine that pushed acid round his veins until they screamed in fear of what might be.
Boy had not slept well. Nightmares had ridden through his mind while he lay huddled on the floor. Unwanted thoughts returned to him again; those questions that Willow had been asking nagged at him. Who were his parents? Maybe it was important to know. Did he need to know, to know who he himself was? He was no longer sure.
He got up and walked around the room, stretching his legs. He found himself standing by the camera obscura table, staring at the moving image of the City waking up, coming to life.
Seeing that Valerian was still asleep, he dared to touch the handle that rotated the image. Willow came to stand by him and watched as Boy moved the lens around to view different scenes.
As he did so, a patch of light moved from the table and fell on the floor, illuminating the paper that Valerian had dropped.
Willow picked up the paper.
“What is it?” asked Boy.
Willow shook her head. “I don’t know. Look.”
She held it for him to see.
Boy was not very good at reading, and the paper was covered in many symbols and signs that he knew were not words or letters at all.
But there was one word at the top of the paper that he could easily read.
BOY.
Valerian began to stir. Boy dropped the paper onto the table.
“We cannot stay here long,” Valerian said, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. That same hand began to search impatiently for another of the little bottles that took away his pain. “The Watchmen will be looking for you. I have no doubt. Perhaps we should move to Kepler’s house-it may be a little safer there…”
“But there was something,” said Boy.
“What?” said Willow.
“Why I couldn’t get to see the Master of Burials.”
“Oh, spare us!” snorted Valerian. He crossed the room and began to fiddle with some bits of the camera, cursing occasionally when he couldn’t manage with only one hand.
“I thought you might be interested,” Boy said to Valerian’s back. “What you said about him doing some strange studying and so on.”
Valerian ignored him.
“Tell me,” said Willow to Boy. “What was it?”
“Well, I got talking to this woman at the gate. It seems he’s obsessed with some animals he owns. It’s all he spends his time doing. He’s got this collection of animals, but they’re all strange-he’s got bird-headed snakes and dogs with cats’ heads. There’s cats with wings, and Willow, he’s got dragons! They’re tiny, but I saw them all!”
Willow stared at him in wonder.
“You’re sure?” she said.
“I saw them with my own eyes. Snakes with birds’ heads. Fish with a head at each end. And the dragons! But the thing is, they’re all dead. I think he wants to make them live. I don’t think he’s doing his real job at all-he just spends all his time in this huge room under the glass dome, working on them.”
Willow shook her head.
“Dragons? Real dragons?”
“Yes,” said Boy. “They’re small, but-”
“Poppycock!” said Valerian. Neither of them had noticed that he had been listening. “There are no such things.”
“I saw them.”
“Tell me,” Valerian said. “What exactly did you see?”
Boy looked at Valerian and suddenly he hated him. Why did he have to treat him so badly all the time? Boy did his best, he always did what he was told, he worked hard, and yet all the man ever did was snipe and bark and criticize. Valerian looked at him now, and Boy expected his face to be full of scorn, but as he held Valerian’s gaze, Boy saw that he was earnest, even interested. He was listening.
“What did you see?” asked Willow in a reassuring voice.
“Animals,” said Boy. “And there were lots of them. And they were all weird. None of them looked like anything I’ve ever seen, or seen pictures of, or even heard of. They were all lying on his great table. On marble slabs.”
Boy paused. He pulled a face.
“Oh! There was so much blood.”
“Blood?” asked Valerian, with real interest.
Heartened, Boy went on.
“Yes, blood, and… things, from taking them apart.”
“The animals?” Valerian asked.
Boy nodded and scratched his nose.
“So he is dissecting them?” Valerian said.
“He’s taking them apart,” said Boy. “To see why they won’t live, I suppose.”
“These animals,” said Valerian, “all of them are strange, perverse things? Like nothing you have seen before?”
Boy nodded.
“And you think he’s trying to make them live?”
Boy nodded.
“And he’s taking them apart to see why they don’t?”
Boy nodded.
Valerian shook his head.
“No,” he said gently, “he’s not taking them apart, he’s trying to put them together.”
Boy tried to remember exactly what he had seen.
“Could it be that?” Valerian asked.
Boy nodded.
“I think,” said Valerian, “I think we should pay another visit to the Master of Burials. We’ll get the name of the cemetery where Gad Beebe is buried yet!”
He began to rummage all around the Tower room, pulling out various peculiar devices and equipment.
“But, Valerian,” said Willow. “Valerian!”
“What is it?” he shouted back. “We don’t have the time!”
“You were going to tell us. About what’s happening to you.”
“Yes,” he snapped, “I’ll tell you on the way. Here, Boy, take this. It’s delicate. Be careful! And, Willow, this bag, if you please. Very good.”
Having checked around the outside of the building using the camera, they hurried from the Yellow House. As they went, Boy saw the paper with his name on it on the table and snatched it up, unseen. If Valerian didn’t want it, then he did. It had his name on it after all-and Boy reasoned therefore that it belonged to him.
3
But Valerian did not tell them on the way. He did not tell them about the approaching horror, about the road that Fate was leading him down.
Instead he instructed them as they walked in the use of the pieces of apparatus they were carrying, repeating himself until they understood.
When they reached the residence of the Master of City Burials, Valerian had stared at the woman in the pillar, gazing deep into her eyes without saying anything for a long time. Finally he spoke, in a low and soft voice.
“You will go and tell the Master that Valerian is here to see him. Tell him I can make his animals live.” Boy and Willow watched amazed as without a word the old woman shuffled off her stool and went to do as she was bid. It was just as if Valerian had cast a spell on her.
Five minutes later a small door within the main door opened, and they hurried inside.