‘And why would they do this?’
I shrug. ‘Historical reasons, mainly: although not much is known about what exactly happened here after the Collapse. The commonly accepted version is that someone brought a billion gogols here for a private terraforming project and set themselves up as a King. Until the gogols rebelled. Anyway, the fact that the gevulot system is in place is pretty much why Sobornost has not just eaten this palace yet. It would be too much trouble to decrypt everything.’
All right, you two, says Perhonen. Sorry about the delay, I didn’t want to interrupt. The symbols are astrological. The exact sequence only appears in one source, Giulio Camillo’s Memory Theatre. It’s an occult system from the Renaissance. Thibermesnil is a castle in France. Here are the details. She sends a spime down our neutrino channel. Mieli looks at it and leaves it hanging in the air, between us.
‘Fine,’ she says. ‘So, what does all that mean?’
I frown. ‘I have no idea. But I think everything we need is in my old exomemory. What we need to do is to figure out how to get to it. I think I need to become Paul Sernine again, whoever he was.’ I pour myself some more cognac.
‘And where do you think your old body is? Did he – you – take it with you when he left? And what is the point of those markings?’
‘Could be. And as for the symbols, I don’t know – I always had a taste for theatrics. I’m certainly not getting any flashes from them.’ I feel slightly disgruntled at my past self. Why the hell did you have to make this so complicated? But the answer is obvious: so that secrets would be secrets. And hiding them among other secrets is a textbook way to do it.
‘So there is no way we could brute-force this, to get access to your memories through the Watch? We could use Perhonen to-’
‘No. There are three things they do better than anyone here: wine, chocolate and cryptography. But’ – I lift my index finger – ‘it is possible to steal gevulot. The system is so complex it’s not perfect, and sometimes you can trigger whole cascades of gevulot branches by getting a person to share the right thing with you at the right time. Social engineering, if you like.’
‘It always comes down to stealing for you, doesn’t it?’
‘What can I say? It’s an obsession.’ I frown. ‘We even know where to start: I had a significant other here. But we do need some proper gevulot-breaking tools. Maybe more: using this toy gevulot sense they gave us would be like trying to pick a lock with a brick in the dark. So I think it’s time you contacted your employer to put us in touch with some gogol pirates.’
‘What makes you think that-’
‘Oh, come on. Your employer is from Sobornost, clear as day, maybe some powerful copyclan, out to score points with the Founders. He/it/they – whatever pronoun they use these days – will have contacts with the pirates here, the Sobors are their main customers.’ I sigh. ‘I never cared much for them. But if you want to dig up treasure, you have to be prepared to get your hands dirty.’
She folds her arms. ‘All right,’ she says. ‘I will point out – to deaf ears, I’m sure – that it is not particularly wise or healthy for you to ask questions or make inferences about our mutual… benefactor.’ There is a trace of irony in her voice when she says the last word. ‘In any case, it seems there are three things we can do. One: figure out why you would leave the Watch to yourself. Two: try to find your old corpse. Three: get in touch with the only people on this planet with less morals than you.’
She gets up. ‘I will see what I can do about option three. In the meantime, you and Perhonen will work on number one: we will leave option two until we know more. And get yourself cleaned up.’ She turns to leave.
‘Wait.’
‘Look. I’m sorry I escaped. It was a reflex. I haven’t forgotten my debt. You have to understand that this is a little strange.’
Mieli looks at me, and smiles cynically, but does not say anything.
‘In my profession, the idea is not to get too caught up in the past. If we are going to work together, I hope you can try to do that as well.’ I smile. ‘I don’t apologise to many people. Or get caught by many people. So consider yourself lucky.’
‘Do you know,’ Mieli says, ‘what they do to thieves where I come from?’ She smiles. ‘We fill their lungs with life-support synthbio. Then we throw them out. Their eyes pop, their blood boils. But they can live for hours.’ She takes my glass from the table and walks away with it. ‘So consider yourself lucky.’
The anger makes Mieli feel strangely awake. Being angry at the thief is a pure, clean feeling. For a long time, her anger has been wrapped up and locked away, but this is good and straightforward. She takes deep breaths and paces around her room, even enjoying the sense of fighting gravity for a while. Then she swallows the rest of the thief’s alcohol. It is a perfect counterpoint to the emotion, a sharpness that turns into warmth. The guilt comes immediately after that. I’m letting him get to me again. Bastard.
She leaves the glass hanging in the air and curses when it falls to the floor. The room makes her uncomfortable: it is too two-dimensional, and the gravity reminds her of the Prison. But at least there is a faint scent of roses.
He is going to think about that vacuum line for a long time, Perhonen says. Good one.
I don’t mind him thinking that I’m some savage barbarian. He certainly makes me feel like one. Mieli sets the glass aside. Some peace and quiet now, please. I need to talk to the pellegrini.
Are you sure you’ll be all right?
I’ve done this before, remember? We went to Venus from the other side of the System to see this bitch. I think I can handle a little journey in my head.
You go, girl. And then Perhonen is gone.
Mieli lies down on the bed, closes her eyes and imagines the temple. It is in the shadow of Kunapipi Mons, a shield volcano rising from the basalt plain. The surface of the rock is covered in a thin layer of lead and tellurium, condensed from the metal fumes that rise from the canyons and furrows where the temperature exceeds seven hundred Kelvin.
The temple is a stone shadow, a projection of some higher-dimensional object, with strange geometry: the black corridors she walks along suddenly open into vast hollows crisscrossed by stone bridges at impossible angles. But she has been through this labyrinth before, and follows the metal flower markings unerringly.
In the centre, there is the axis, a little trapped singularity, floating in a cylindrical pit, a falling star, suspended. That is where the goddess lives. Even now, Mieli remembers how she felt at the end of her journey here in the physical world, in a thick q-suit, beaten down by the relentless gravity, limbs burning with fatigue.
‘Mieli,’ the goddess says. ‘How nice to see you here.’ Strangely, she looks more human here than when she chooses to manifest to her on her own. The lines on her face and neck and the corners of her eyes are visible. ‘Let me see where you are. Ah, Mars. Of course. I always loved Mars. I think we will preserve that place, somewhere, once the Great Common Task is done.’
She brushes a lock of hair away from Mieli’s forehead. ‘You know, I do wish you would come here sometime without having to ask for something. I have time to all those who serve me, and why wouldn’t I? I am many.’
‘I made a mistake,’ says Mieli. ‘I let the thief get away from me. I was inattentive. It will not happen again.’