The Empire Of Glass Part 9

"I don't think so." The Doctor frowned. "I can't see anything."

"Well, there's something something beneath us." Galileo glanced over the side. beneath us." Galileo glanced over the side.

And saw mad, red eyes looking up at him.

Before he could shout a warning to the Doctor, the entire boat heaved to one side. The last thing Galileo saw before his head went beneath the waves and water forced its way into his mouth and nostrils was the Doctor's despairing face, and the bony hand that was pulling him down.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Steven cursed beneath his breath as he pushed through the crowds. d.a.m.n Vicki for getting herself kidnapped like that. It wasn't as if he didn't already have enough to worry about without having to track her down as well. The Nicolottis probably still thought he was Galileo Galilei and, judging by what they were going to do to him last time, the last thing he wanted to do was show his face in the alleys of Venice. The Doctor, however, had virtually ordered him to wander around the city and listen out for any odd stories of large flying creatures. Steven had argued, but arguing with the Doctor never did any good.

He paused for a moment on a wooden bridge that arced across a particularly sc.u.mmy ca.n.a.l. There was no bal.u.s.trade - just a wooden rim a few inches high, and he rested one foot on it as he gazed along the waterway. Wooden stumps projected out of the water like rotting teeth, and the houses were multi-coloured and festooned with climbing plants. The top two storeys of the walls to his right glowed as the sunlight slanted in across the roofs to illuminate them. A figure moved on a platform attached to one particular roof: a woman wearing a hat with a hole cut in the top.

Her hair cascaded out of the missing crown, and she was running her hands through it, spreading it out along the brim of the hat and angling her head to catch the sun's rays. Steven wasn't sure if she was drying her hair or bleaching it, but the artless, unselfconsciousness of her actions caught his attention and brought a strange lump to his throat. He looked away, aware of tears p.r.i.c.kling his eyes. Every time he thought he'd got over it, someting would remind him of his imprisonment.

How many years had he been locked up in that cell on Mecha.n.u.s?

After a while, every day had come to resemble the one before and the one after. Sometimes he had woken up, panicky and sweating, unsure whether he had been asleep for minutes, hours or days. He had come to hate the unfaltering beat of his heart, knowing that it was ticking away his life. He had always been under observation by the Mechanoids - or, at least, he could could have been, and he had lived out his incarceration a.s.suming that he was. He could do nothing without wondering what the Mechanoids were thinking as they watched. And now, to see a woman so obviously luxuriating in the warmth of the sun on her skin without worrying who was watching her, reminded him of what he had been missing all those years. Sunlight. Privacy. Female companions.h.i.+p. have been, and he had lived out his incarceration a.s.suming that he was. He could do nothing without wondering what the Mechanoids were thinking as they watched. And now, to see a woman so obviously luxuriating in the warmth of the sun on her skin without worrying who was watching her, reminded him of what he had been missing all those years. Sunlight. Privacy. Female companions.h.i.+p.

Steven sighed. This wasn't getting him any closer to finding Vicki.

He'd listened in to conversations in shops and taverns, in alleys, on bridges, in churches and shouted between windows, but n.o.body had mentioned seeing anything odd at all. Mostly they had been talking about taxes, the Pope and who was sleeping with whom. The only conversation that was even slightly out of the ordinary concerned the unusual number of Englishmen in old fas.h.i.+oned clothes who had recently arrived in Venice, and Steven didn't think that had any relevance to Vicki's disappearance.

A hand caught his shoulder and spun him around. He raised an arm to knock it away, but his wrists and elbows were suddenly pinioned by two burly men in half-armour, one on either side.

Between them was a man their equal in size but dressed far more elaborately. His eyes were a cold, pure blue in colour, and his face was set into lines of disdain and contempt.

"You have a choice," he said, his voice a deep growl."You can tell me where to find Galileo Galilei, or you can die."

"Who the h.e.l.l do you think you are?" Steven shouted, confused at the speed of events. He tried to catch the eye of someone in the pa.s.sing crowd, but the four of them were isolated in a little bubble of privacy in the centre of the throng.

"I am Tommaso Nicolotti," the man said. "Galileo killed my son. I will kill him. That is the way of things." His voice was as toneless and dispa.s.sionate as his face. "My eldest son, Antonio, tells me that you are a friend and confidant of Galileo: so much so that Antonio mistook you for Galileo yesterday. That being so, you will tell me where he is."

"I don't know!" Steven snarled. "And if I did, I wouldn't tell you!" He tugged at the arms that were holding him, but they were as immovable as iron bands.

"Foolish," Tommaso chided. He pulled a thin, needle-like knife from a hidden sheath. "Very foolish. You will tell me, of course, and soon. I do not have time for elaborate games, so I will merely remove your ears and your nose. Then your eyes. You will will tell me." tell me."

Steven's heart was racing so fast and so hard that he could feel his eyeb.a.l.l.s bulge slightly with each beat. Desperate, he sagged forward as if he was going to faint, and fluttered his eyes upwards.

The armoured guards relaxed their grip slightly as his weight bore down on them, and he suddenly flung himself backwards. His heel caught the wooden rim of the bridge and he toppled backwards.

One of the guards reached out for Steven's hair, and Steven twisted, turning his fall into a dive. The last thing he saw before he hit the water was Tommaso Nicolotti's face twisted into a snarl of pure rage.

The shock of hitting the cold water drove the air from Steven's lungs. His heart hammered in his chest. He struck out beneath the surface, desperately trying to put some distance between him and the Nicolottis. There was so much murk suspended in the water that he couldn't see further than a few inches. He was close to one of the walls, and he reached out for the crumbling, weed-encrusted bricks, but his fingers just slid helplessly off. Roaring sounds deafened him, and his lungs burned as he tried to keep from gasping for air. Another ten seconds: he could manage that. Nine more seconds, then he could surface and breathe again. Eight more seconds before he dare Something smooth and metallic emerged from a large, dark opening and brushed past his body. Steven's hand caught on a projecting b.u.mp on its surface and his body was pulled along behind it before his mind could even catch up with what was happening. The enormity of what had happened filled his thoughts to the extent that he forgot that he needed to breathe, forgot that his heart was about to burst, forgot that his lungs were crying out for oxygen. All he knew was that there was something artificial down there with him, something the size of a small s.p.a.cecraft that vibrated with pent-up power, something that suddenly twisted sideways, turning into an intersecting ca.n.a.l, taking him with it.

And then it accelerated away, pulling out of his hand and vanis.h.i.+ng into the murk. The eddies of its pa.s.sage sent him spinning, and just as his tortured lungs over-rode everything else and he opened his mouth to breathe, his head emerged from the water. Coughing and spluttering, he floated for a moment in the murky waters of the ca.n.a.l. All thoughts of Tommaso Nicolotti had vanished from his mind, expunged by the undeniably artificial shape that he had felt beneath his hand. What was going on?

White on blue; that was all she could see. That was all there was.

Blue skies and blue seas, with an almost imperceptible horizon between the two. White clouds hanging against the backcloth of the sky, and white crests to the waves so far below. White on blue, and sometimes she didn't know which was sky and clouds, and which was waves and sea.

And red. The glossy redness of Albrellian's claws holding her arms and her legs and his great wings scything through the air.White and blue and red.

Vicki closed her eyes and tried to quell her nausea. She didn't know how long they had been flying for, but the pointed roofs and church steeples of Venice had vanished behind them long ago, and the sky had shaded up from black through cobalt blue to violet before the sun had appeared above the horizon. Now the sun was hidden behind Albrellian's body, sending their shadows skipping over the waves far below.

Vicki had given up asking Albrellian where they were going. He had said nothing since flinging himself out of the window and carrying her away. His claws were cutting into her flesh so tightly that her hands and feet had gone numb. She had tried asking him to loosen up a bit, but it was as if he couldn't hear her. Because of the way he was gripping her she couldn't even try to prise them open. Not that it would do her much good if she could. All Albrellian had to do was open his claws and she would fall, tumbling and screaming, all the way down to the distant waves.

Vicki sighed, and let her head hang down. Keeping it straight so that she could look ahead was just causing the muscles in her neck to spasm. How much longer was this going to go on? She wasn't sure whether to be bored or terrified.

The waves rolled ceaselessly beneath them. Wind buffeted her hair into her eyes. She looked up again, hoping that there would be some change to the dull, monotonous view.

And there was.

Far ahead, just breasting the horizon, an island had appeared.

Vicki squinted, trying to make out more details. It was a vibrant green against the calm sea, like an emerald set on blue velvet. As they got closer, Vicki could make out a fringe of golden beach and buildings half-hidden by the foliage: geodesic domes and smooth-walled cones, upside-down pyramids and slender towers supporting oval caps. To one side of the island there was a cleared expanse of ground that had been covered with a flat, grey surfacing material. Vicki gasped as she caught sight of ranks of egg-shaped metal objects that glinted in the sun, lined up on the grey surface. They looked suspiciously like short-range s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps.

Albrellian said something, but the wind s.n.a.t.c.hed it from Vicki's ears. "Pardon?" she yelled, and chuckled slightly at her politeness.

"Laputa said I," Albrellian said.

"The island?"

"Yes, the island."

Vicki craned her neck, trying to see Albrellian's face. "So we're talking again, are we?" she shouted.

"What-" Albrellian hesitated. "What to say was not sure I. On impulse acted did I, away like that taking you. Angry at the Doctor was I, and ..."

Vicki wasn't sure whether Albrellian had trailed off or whether the wind had whipped his words away again. "And what?" she prompted.

"And wanted to you to talk did I."

"We were talking, weren't we?"

"Properly wanted to you to talk did I, with care to your words to listen, into your eyes deeply to look."

That, Vicki reflected, didn't sound very promising. She was about to say something else when they began to lose height, descending towards the island. She couldn't help noticing that despite the idyllic landscaping, the island was ringed with towers on which weapon batteries were mounted. The closest battery was tracking them as they approached Laputa.

"We are are safe, aren't we?" Vicki asked. safe, aren't we?" Vicki asked.

"Do not worry," Albrellian said. "Biomorphic code recognize will they my."

"Are you sure?" She hoped that her voice didn't sound as nervous to Albrellian as it did to her.

"Before it has worked. Of leaving the island us disapprove do they, but when we do, shoot down us can hardly they." Albrellian sounded smug. "After all, do not a war to start want they."

"Want who?"

"Braxiatel and his Jamarian cronies."

Before Vicki could ask who Braxiatel was, Albrellian folded his wings and dived towards a balcony halfway up one of the towers.

Vicki suppressed a scream as the bland, curved surface rushed towards them. At the last moment Albrellian flung his wings wide open to brake their descent. A flurry of air forced Vicki to close her eyes. She felt Albrellian release her legs and then, as her feet swung to touch the ground, her arms. She opened her eyes to find him settling calmly on the balcony in front of her. Behind him was an opening screened by a transparent s.h.i.+eld through which Vicki could see a luxuriously appointed apartment with glowing computer screens and control surfaces.

"Home to welcome my," Albrellian said.

Vicki folded her arms. "And do you want to tell me why you've brought me here?"

"Would have realized by now hoped I would you," Albrellian said.

"It is because love you I."

A rat swam straight at the view screen of Braxiatel's skiff as the vessel left the Grand Ca.n.a.l, peering at the tiny camera lens as if it could actually see inside. The vessel accelerated past the creature, knocking it aside, and Braxiatel caught a last sight of its little legs scrabbling away ineffectually as it tumbled in the skiff's turbulent wake.

At least, he hoped it was a rat. It might have been the Devgherrian Envoy out for a night on the town. Braxiatel had left instructions with his Jamarian staff that none of the envoys were allowed off the island, but the envoys knew full well that the Jamarians had no power to stop them. Some of them respected Braxiatel's instructions, but others - and Albrellian was a prime example - were out every night.

Braxiatel couldn't blame them. After all, he was living in Venice rather than on Laputa because he didn't like being cooped up.

A quick check of the monitor screens showed no gondolas or fis.h.i.+ng vessels around, so Braxiatel accelerated through the murky water of the lagoon. Up on the surface a wake would be forming, but there was no one around to see it, apart perhaps from some foolhardy swimmer. Braxiatel waited for a few seconds, just long enough for the ever-present mists to draw in and hide the land, and then he ran his hands across the controls. The skiff's course changed, angling up toward the surface. The water grew lighter, bluer, until, in a sudden flurry of foam, the skiff broke the surface and continued smoothly upward into the sky. Within moments the waves had vanished into the mist below, and the skiff was cruising at seagull height.

Braxiatel sighed and leaned back in his chair. It was a lovely day out there. Best make the most of it: things were bound to go rapidly downhill once he got to Laputa.

Galileo's mouth and nostrils were full of salt water, and his lungs were burning with the desire to breathe. The sudden plunge into the cold lagoon had disoriented him completely: he didn't know which way was up and which was down. His arms and legs flailed wildly, involuntarily, churning up the water and confusing him even more as bubbles and sediment roiled in all directions. The desperate urge to breathe was like a huge lump in his throat, and his heart was pounding against his ribs hard enough to break them. He could feel the wild pumping of blood in his ears and his neck and his temples. Red-flecked darkness crowded around him, pressing insistently upon his ever-weakening thoughts. He could feel his movements becoming weaker, his arms beating more slowly through the resisting water, moving like weeds with the current. He was dying. He was already dead.

His right hand suddenly met with less resistance as it thrashed.

Blindly he pushed himself in that direction. Moments or eternities later, his head broke water. Desperately he whooped in great gulps of air, and it was the sweetest, most precious thing he had ever tasted. He would have swapped all the wine in his cellars for it, and never regretted the transaction.

As his senses calmed, Galileo became aware of his surroundings.

The mist had closed in, and he could only see for a few feet, but there was no sign of either the Doctor or the boat. Over the rus.h.i.+ng of blood in his ears he could make out a commotion in the water nearby. Weakly, he swam towards the sound, and within moments he could see, through the mist, two figures. One - an unnaturally etiolated figure with a prominent horn - was holding the other's head under the surface of the lagoon. Around the head of the submerged figure, a halo of white hair floated on the water.

Beyond them, scarcely more than a dark blot against the mist, was the overturned shape of the Doctor's boat.

For a moment, but only for a moment, Galileo considered swimming around the struggling figures. The Doctor was old and feeble, and the other creature was like nothing Galileo had ever seen or heard about before. He never really knew why he didn't leave them, but suddenly he found himself drawing on his last reserves of energy to swim into the fray. The creature that was holding the Doctor's head beneath the surface glanced up as he splashed towards them, glaring at Galileo out of two small, red eyes that held a glint of madness within them. As Galileo moved to grab its arm it lowered its head toward him. The horn that extended amazingly from its head waved before Galileo's eyes like a fencing foil. He swam sideways for a few feet, but the creature followed him with its horn. It obviously wasn't going to let itself be interrupted.

The Doctor's struggles were growing weaker now, and his hands were fluttering against the surface of the water like drowning sparrows.

Something b.u.mped against Galileo's arm. He jerked back, expecting another of the Doctor's G.o.dless attackers to come lunging from the water at him, but it was only a hollow metal tube.

It took Galileo a few seconds to recognize it as the Doctor's spygla.s.s, and a few seconds longer to realize how useful it could be. Before the creature could register what he was doing he scooped it from the water and swung it like a club. The tube caught the creature just below its mighty horn, bending the metal and sending a jarring shock all the way up Galileo's arm. The creature bellowed in pain, and glared at Galileo with surprise and fury in its tiny mad eyes. Galileo swung the spygla.s.s again, aiming at one of the eyes. The creature tried to duck but the Doctor's body bucked violently, jerking both of them out of the water a little further. The spygla.s.s caught it at the almost imperceptible junction between its k.n.o.b-like head and its skeletal body. The tube twisted even further, and green fluid sprayed from a gash in the creature's skin.

Screaming shrilly, it let go of the Doctor. He bobbed to the surface, coughing and spluttering, as the creature fell back into the water.

It resurfaced briefly, its head at an angle, and scowled at Galileo.

"Later..." it hissed, then submerged again. Galileo waited, spygla.s.s poised, for it to bob to the surface again, or grab at his legs and pull him under, but nothing happened."Thank you, my boy," the Doctor said from behind him.

Galileo manoeuvred himself around in the water until he was facing the elderly man. "What was that thing?" he asked. "A demon from the nether regions of h.e.l.l?"

"A creature from another globe, circling another sun," the Doctor said, treading water. "Perhaps you'll believe me now." He paused, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Are you alright?" Galileo asked.

"Perfectly fine, thank you very much," the Doctor replied, opening his eyes again, "although how much longer I would have remained in that state is a moot point. Thank you for your timely intervention."

Galileo waved the buckled spygla.s.s at the Doctor. "You said it would come in useful," he said, and smiled.

"Indeed," the Doctor said. A scowl crossed his face. "But did you have to damage it so badly? It was was the only one I had." the only one I had."

Cardinal Roberto Bellarmine was sitting on the edge of the sumptuously comfortable bed that he had woken up in, gazing around the plain but elegant room and amazed at the fact that people still slept in Heaven, when the door slid silently open. The creature that entered was thin to the point of starvation. Its skin was k.n.o.bbly, like the bark of a tree, and a horn like a slender willow branch extended upward from a skull the size of a clenched fist. In fact, it looked like nothing so much as a man made out of sticks.

"Good morning," it said, and bowed. "Your presence honours us."

Bellarmine fought down a moment of revulsion and crossed himself, hoping that the good Lord would forgive him. This... this angel? angel? ... was no less a servant of the Lord than he himself was. ... was no less a servant of the Lord than he himself was.

More so, in fact, as it was obviously in a position of some responsibility. Bellarmine sighed, and smiled slightly. He had spent his life talking about humility. The Lord was now giving him the chance to put his words into practice.

"Thank you," he said, standing, "but it is I who am honoured to be here. I..." He hesitated, unsure of himself for the first time in years.

"I am unfamiliar with what is required of me here. Do I... I mean, I am not worthy to, but will... He He wish to meet with me?" wish to meet with me?"

The angel, if that was what it was, nodded. "He will talk with you soon, but there are more pressing matters to attend to in the mean time. They are waiting for you."

"Ah," Bellarmine said, "of course." The angel stood aside to let him leave the room. "After you," Bellarmine said, bowing his head. The angel nodded, and led the way.

They walked along a corridor whose ceiling was arched and whose walls and floor were made of what felt like blue marble veined with gold. There were no tapestries, no paintings, no decoration of any kind. Doors led off at regular intervals, indistinguishable from his own. Were all new arrivals to Heaven given rooms here, Bellarmine wondered. He opened his mouth to ask the angel, but restrained himself at the last moment. After all, he had eternity to find the answers to all his questions. There was no point in looking too eager.

A long balcony to his left distracted his attention. Outside he could see a blue sky and the tips of green trees. How like his native Italy.

Even the air smelled the same. Perhaps Heaven was meant to feel like home to all new arrivals.

The corridor opened into a vast hall, still floored in the gold-veined marble. The ceiling was suspended so high above his head that clouds drifted across it. Winged forms circled in the distance.

Seraphim, perhaps? Cherubim?

The angel led him across the empty plain of the hall towards a pair of large doors. They swung open as he reached them, revealing a room like an inverted cone, with a lectern in the middle of the small stage at its point and serried rows of seats receding into the distance towards its ceiling. The seats were occupied by angels of infinite variety: some winged and feathered like birds; some sh.e.l.led like turtles with heads bobbing on the end of long, wizened necks; some with hard, glossy skins, bulging eyes and feelers extending from their foreheads; some short and squat with many legs; some furred and graceful like foals; some like metal boxes upon which tiny lamps winked on and off; some like men but with red skins, or green skins, or skins that glowed with pearly, s.h.i.+fting colours; some that were just blurs in the air with glowing red eyes - at least, he a.s.sumed they were eyes. They were all watching Cardinal Bellarmine as he advanced uncertainly into the room. He turned to ask a question of the spindly angel that had guided him, but the doors were closing behind him. He was alone on the podium before the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude of Heaven. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the lectern and rested his hands upon it.

His eyes glanced around the room, meeting the gaze of as many of the angels as possible. What did they want of him? What was he there for? Was this some form of judgement upon him?

For a few moments there was an expectant, tense silence, then, without stopping to consider his words, Bellarmine said: "I am unworthy to stand here before you. I am unworthy even to contemplate your faces, let alone dare to speak to you, and yet I am here. Let us begin."