Thorn Boy and Other Dreams of Dark Desire (44 page)

I went into
one book room after another, stifled by the density of the air that
came at me like furred fists, almost knocking the breath from my
lungs. Robed scholars pored over open tomes around enormous tables,
their reverent fingers gloved in black silk as they handled the
ancient pages. All the book-cases around them were caged and
locked. I went into a smaller room, where an ancient man worked
alone at a high desk. He did not notice my entrance, as all his
concentration was centred on the book before him. His toothless
mouth worked silently as he studied the words on the page; there
was a repugnant intensity about him. He almost slavered as he read.
This, I thought, was the true tomb of Mipacanthus. Here were his
remains truly preserved, and the pawing scholars were
dissectionists, peering at the inner workings of the corpse. A wave
of nausea passed over me and I turned away, set on returning to the
plaza.

A flash of
blue registered in the corner of my eye as I stepped back into the
corridor. I caught an impression of swift, invisible passage, and
then, some way further down from me, I saw a trail of blue floating
stuff disappearing into a doorway, following whoever wore it.
Knowing at once it was the girl from the Pyramid, I almost ran down
the corridor in pursuit. What I would say when I confronted her I
had no idea, but the need to present myself was too compelling to
ignore. As I ran, the first sounds to break the breathing silence
of the Library careered from wall to wall above my head: the eerie
echoes of a recital. I recognised the quatrain:

This will
come... The great tails spread their eyes against the stars, and
through them shall men see themselves as gods of wisdom, and women
see themselves as beasts who have understandings beyond that of
gods or men...

Cairus had
interpreted this as meaning that once clear sight (enlightenment)
had been achieved by humanity (the tail of the peacock), men would
recognise their true spiritual state, based on intellect and
learning, while women would reclaim their earthy powers, their own
spirituality based on instinct and intuition. Another
interpretation suggested that the spreading tails represented
humanity’s vanity, and that men believed themselves (wrongly) to be
gods, while women were vicious creatures, no better than demons. I
had picked up quite a lot without realising it during the voyage
up-river.

I stepped into
the room.

It was in
dimness, a tall, narrow box of a place, with a single table in its
centre and the familiar lofty bookcases all around. A slender
thread of light came in from a narrow window high in the left hand
wall, snaring her in its radiance. She stood with her back to me,
leaning on the table with stiff arms, but there was no book before
her. If anything she seemed angry, as if she had paused for a
moment to catch her breath and calm herself. The veils hung over
her completely; they seemed almost cumbersome, yet I had seen her
float along in them like a mist. The sight of her taut spine, which
actually seemed to stick out through the thin layers of delicate
fabric, filled me with an intense longing and also a sudden fear. I
was afraid that should she turn to me, and throw back the veils,
something hideous would be revealed. Perhaps the experience with
Moomi the previous night had affected me more than I realised.

‘
Go
away! It isn’t here!’ she said. Her voice was clear and
low-pitched; melodious, yet unusual in a woman.

I was so
surprised, I took a step backwards towards the door. I must have
muttered something for she turned round in a billowing of blue, her
posture stooped and predatory. I could not see her face, although
there seemed to be twin darknesses behind the veils where her eyes
might be. It was obvious I was not whom she had expected to
see.

‘
Oh!’
she said in surprise, and uncoiled herself into an upright
posture.

I presented my
hands reflexively. ‘I saw you at the pyramid earlier...’

The words were
pathetically lame. I sensed her studying me, assessing me,
wondering, no doubt, how to escape me.

‘
What a
good memory you have,’ she said. Her tone was sharp, but the words
did not suggest immediate flight.

I smiled;
probably an awkward grimace. ‘I don’t mean to be importunate, but
when I saw you coming in here... Well, I’m on my own, and I
thought...’

‘
Yes,
you don’t have to tell me what you thought,’ she interrupted.
‘Sadly, I did not notice
you
earlier on.’

A wave of
embarrassment shattered against my heart. I felt young and stupid.
This was no local girl in the markets of Elanen, who might welcome
a forced introduction; this was a stranger of whom I knew nothing,
romantic fancies aside. I was making a fool of myself. I backed
away, uttering apologies.

‘
There
is no need for that,’ she snapped. ‘If you want my company, you
shall have it. I have finished here. We can go to the plaza while I
wait for my companion, and you can attempt to interest me, if you
are so inclined.’

Her forthright
manner did not comply with the image I had created for her, an
image which leaned more towards evasiveness and mystery. Still, I
had found her, and she had not dismissed me outright. And it seemed
I might have been right about her being a scholar, at least.

She slipped
past me into the corridor, the edges of her veils wafting out to
touch my clothes and hands. She carried with her a strange perfume,
sweet yet salty. I wasn’t sure whether or not I liked it. Intrigued
yet wary, I walked beside her. We were about the same height. ‘Are
you studying here?’ I enquired politely.

‘
No,
hunting
,’ she
replied. ‘You, of course, are a tourist.’

I objected to
her tone. ‘Not really. I’m here with my father, who is a devotee of
the prophet. He needed company for the journey, so I agreed to
come.’

‘
How
charitable of you.’

‘
Charidotis is fascinating. I don’t look on it as a wasted
trip. What are you hunting? A particular book?’

‘
What
else would you look for in a library?’

We walked out
into the sunlight, and the girl chose a table and sat down. She
made no move to order food or drink, and her air suggested she was
waiting for me to see to that. Rather nettled, I went to the
catering tables and purchased the cheapest items available, a small
bread slab, spiced meat pate, and a flagon of iced water. She made
no comment upon my choice when I returned to the table, nor thanked
me, but simply broke off a piece of bread, secreted it beneath her
veils and presumably chewed it.

‘
I’m due
to meet my father here,’ I said, looking round to see if I could
spot him or Moomi.

‘
Oh, he
will be delighted to find you with me!’ Her voice was
bitter.

‘
I don’t
think he’ll be bothered,’ I answered. ‘He’s not that sort of
man.’

She laughed
coarsely. ‘You don’t know what kind of woman I am.’

‘
Indeed
not. Perhaps we should begin with your name.’

‘
Ast,’
she replied. ‘It’s short and sensible.’

‘
Where
are you from?’

‘
Down-river. A dull place. You won’t know it.’

‘
I’m
Alexi,’ I said. She seemed not in the least bit interested, but I
forged on painfully. ‘We come from Elanen. Perhaps you know
it.’

‘
Probably. I travel a lot. All towns and cities are the same
essentially; full of people and their noise and stench.’

‘
You
prefer the countryside?’

‘
Not
really.’ She took a long drink of water, ignoring the cups I had
brought and taking it straight from the flagon. I had a feeling of
distaste, thinking I did not want to drink any of the water myself
now that she had touched it with her lips. She drank through her
veils, leaving a dark stain upon them. Was she really beautiful
beneath the tissues of her disguise, or had just I imagined it in
the dancing candlelight of the Pyramid? Her poise, however, did not
suggest a plain or ill-favoured woman.

‘
So tell
me about the book you’re looking for,’ I said. ‘I hope it’s not
another interpretation of the quatrains. I’ve had my fill of them
on the way here!’

‘
Ah, so
you’re an expert,’ she said.

I ignored the
sarcasm. ‘No, and nor do I want to be. You can read what you like
into the prophecies. There are as many interpretations as there are
interpreters.’

She nodded,
and her tone, when she spoke, was not so sharp. ‘Yes, that’s right.
It’s a case of finding the one interpretation that’s pertinent to
yourself.’

‘
I
prefer to create my own philosophies.’

She shrugged.
‘That’s reasonable, although perhaps ignorant.’

I affected a
scornful laugh. ‘I have no wish to become part of some mindless
adulation for a long-dead poet. I prefer to look forward. The past
is dead.’

‘
In some
ways, your views are refreshing,’ Ast conceded. ‘Still, you are in
no position to criticise something you know so little about. I
agree that the majority of people who come here are uninformed and
sheeplike. Still, there are mysteries to be penetrated, if a person
has the inclination to peer above the bowed heads of the
masses.’

‘
You
speak with some authority.’ I hoped to draw her out,
intrigued.

She was
utterly still for a moment. ‘You would be surprised. The blind
worship of Mipacanthus, and the continuing interpretation of his
words - which become ever more esoteric and divorced from his
original intentions as the years pass - are a screen for what is
essentially a simple truth. Mipacanthus
was
unparalleled, but perhaps not in the way
most people think. They are blind and lazy. He has been deified and
now they worship him, perhaps because he was pleasing to the
eye...’

‘
He was
also incredibly prolific,’ I said, wishing to contribute to her
remarks. There’s enough of his writings to keep a whole world busy
interpreting for centuries. However, I think you can read what you
like into the quatrains. Most of the interpretations are verified
only in retrospect.’

Ast nodded
again. ‘Mmm. I don’t dispute that. The book I am searching for does
not attempt to foretell the future, but simply to explain the
past.’ She leaned towards me a little. ‘Do you know anything about
Mipacanthus?’

I shrugged.
‘Not really. Only that he was young when he died, and he wrote a
lot.’

Ast laughed.
‘Your inexperience is pleasing! You are like an uninterpreted
quatrain, aren’t you. Nobody’s had their paws on you!’

I was
embarrassed by her remarks, not least because she had divined a
certain truth about me.

‘
Let me
tell you a little,’ she continued. ‘While Mipacanthus lived, he had
a retinue of priestesses who cared for him. No others were allowed
near him. They were appointed by his mother on the day of his
birth. In some books, you will find it written that she was a
sorceress, who had commerce with demons. It is said the priestesses
kept a terrible secret about the boy, that he was not entirely
human, though that is probably propaganda. There is no proof that
Mipacanthus’ father was not the king! The books that make the most
interesting reading are the least reliable.
Unfortunately!’

I smiled. ‘Is
your book like that, the one you’re looking for?’

Ast
ignored the question. ‘When Mipacanthus died - and he was
not
that
young, about
twenty-nine - the priestesses embalmed his body themselves, and it
was sealed into the gold and crystal catafalque. The secret, if
there was one, is now hidden for eternity.’

‘
Unless
someone breaks open the tomb.’

‘
Or
recognises the knowledge in one of the books. Mipacanthus wrote
more about himself than people realise. They find global-scale
pronouncements in what are clearly simple observations on his own
life. I, and my companions, are scholars. We come regularly to
Charidotis to study in the Library - for as long as our funds will
sustain us.’

‘
I had
guessed as much.’ I felt proud of myself for anticipating her
profession.

‘
I look
like a scholar, then?’ Her voice was arch.

‘
Not
exactly. It was just a feeling.’ I paused, and then added
hurriedly. ‘I saw your face briefly in the Pyramid, and I would
like to see it again.’

Ast shifted
restlessly in her seat. I had made her uncomfortable. ‘You are
intrigued by the unseen,’ she said. ‘By mystery. Mipacanthus should
fascinate you just as much.’

‘
You are
a living mystery,’ I countered, ‘while Mipacanthus is not. I’m sure
his secrets are fascinating, but he is still dead.’

‘
A pity
you don’t have more imagination,’ Ast said waspishly.

‘
I have
plenty but I prefer the present to the past, experience to
theorising.’

‘
Experience can be dangerous.’ She reached out and touched
the lip of the water jug with the tips of her long fingers. ‘People
are selective in their interpretation of the prophecies. Sometimes
the truth stares them in the face and they see something else, a
harmless fantasy.’

I wished she
wouldn’t keep steering the conversation back to the prophet. I felt
we had more interesting things to talk about. Did she find me
pleasing? Would she walk with me in the city? Could anything else
happen between us? Did I really want that? I was still confused
about whether I liked her or not. However, my curiosity - if not my
actual desire - was aroused. I was eager to look upon her face
again. Only then, could I decide whether I wanted more from her.
Ast had recognised my inexperience with women. Perhaps she would
find that attractive. I struggled to think of something witty to
say, but at that moment noticed my father and Moomi sitting at a
table on the other side of the plaza. They had obviously not seen
me. ‘My father’s over there,’ I said. ‘I’d better attract his
attention.’