"The Inverted World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Priest Christopher)

5

The days passed slowly, and I made no more return visits to the city.

I had learned the error of my ways by throwing myself too enthusiastically into the physical side of the track-work. I decided to follow Malchuskin’s lead, and confined myself in the main to supervising the hired labourers. Only occasionally would he and I pitch in and help. Even so, the work was arduous and long, and I felt my body responding to the new labours. I soon felt fitter than I had ever done in my life before, my skin was reddening under the rays of the sun, and soon the physical work became less of a strain.

My only real complaint was with the unvarying diet of synthesized food and Malchuskin’s inability to talk interestingly about the contribution we were making to the city’s security. We would work late into the evenings, and after a rough meal we would sleep.

Our work on the tracks to the south of the city was nearly complete. Our task was to remove all the track and erect four buffers at a uniform distance from the city. The track we removed was carried round to the north of the city where it was being re-laid.

One evening, Malchuskin said to me: “How long have you been out here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“In days.”

“Oh… seven.”

I had been trying to estimate it in terms of miles.

“In three days’ time you get some leave. You have two days inside the city, then you come back here for another mile.”

I asked him how he reckoned the passage of time in terms of both days and distance.

“It takes the city about ten days to cover a mile,” he said. “And in a year it will cover about thirty-six and a half.”

“But the city isn’t moving.”

“Not at the moment. It will be soon. Anyway, we don’t take account of how much the city has actually moved, so much as how much it should have moved. It’s based on the position of the optimum.”

I shook my head. “What does that mean?”

“The optimum is the ideal position for the city to be. To maintain that it would have to move approximately a tenth of a mile every day. That’s obviously out of the question, so we move the city towards optimum whenever we can.”

“Has the city ever reached optimum?”

“Not as long as I can remember.”

“Where’s the optimum now?”

“About three miles ahead of us. That’s about average. My father was out here on the tracks before me, and he told me once that they were then about ten miles from optimum. That’s the most I’ve ever heard.”

“But what would happen if we ever reached optimum?”

Malchuskin grinned. “We’d go on digging up old tracks.”

“Why?”

“Because the optimum’s always moving. But we’re not likely to reach optimum, and it doesn’t matter that much. Anywhere within a few miles of it is O.K. Put it this way… if we could get ahead of optimum for a bit, we could all have a good long rest.”

“Is that possible?”

“I guess so. Look at it this way. Where we are at the moment the ground is fairly high. To get up here we had to go through a long stretch of rising country. That was when my father was out here. It’s harder work to climb, so it took longer, and we got behind optimum. If we ever come to some lower country, then we can coast down the slope.”

“What are the prospects of that?”

“You’d better ask your guild that. Not my concern.”

“But what’s the countryside like here?”

“I’ll show you tomorrow.”

Though I hadn’t followed much of what Malchuskin said, at least one thing had become clear, and that was how time was measured. I was six hundred and fifty miles old; that did not mean that the city had moved that distance during my lifetime, but that the optimum had.

Whatever the optimum was.

The next day Malchuskin kept his promise. While the hired labourers took one of their customary rests in the deep shadow of the city, Malchuskin walked with me to a low rise of land some distance to the east of the city. Standing there we could see almost the whole of the immediate environment of the city.

It was at present standing in the centre of a broad valley, bounded north and south by two relatively high ridges of ground. To the south I could see clearly the traces of the track which had been taken up, marked by four parallel rows of scars where the sleepers and their foundations had been laid.

To the north of the city, the tracks ran smoothly up the slope of the ridge. There was not much activity here, though I could see one of the battery-driven bogies rolling slowly up the slope with its load of rail and sleepers and its attendant crew. On the crest of the ridge itself there was a considerable degree of activity, although from this distance it was not possible to determine exactly what was going on.

“Good country this,” Malchuskin said, but then immediately qualified it. “For a trackman, that is.”

“Why?”

“It’s smooth. We can take ridges and valleys in our stride. What gets me bothered is broken ground: rocks, rivers, or even forests. That’s one of the advantages of being high at the moment. This is all very old rock around here, and it’s been smoothed out by the elements. But don’t talk to me about rivers. Then I get agitated.”

“What’s wrong with rivers?”

“I said don’t talk about them!” He slapped me goodhumouredly on the shoulders, and we started our walk back towards the city. “Rivers have to be crossed. That means a bridge has to be built unless there’s one already there, which there never is. We have to wait around while the bridge is made ready, and that causes a delay. Usually, it’s the Track guild that gets the blame for delays. But that’s life. The trouble with rivers is that everyone’s got mixed feelings about them. The one thing the city’s permanently short of is water, and if we come across a river that solves one problem for the time being. But we still have to build a bridge, and that gets everyone nervous.”

The hired labourers did not look exactly pleased to see us when we returned, but Rafael moved them and work soon recommenced. The last of the tracks had now been taken up, and all we had left to do was build the last buffer. This was a steel erection, mounted above and across the last section of track, and utilizing three of the concrete sleeper foundations. Each of the four tracks had a buffer, and these were placed in such a way that if the city were to roll backwards it would be supported. The buffers were not in a line, owing to the irregular shape of the southern side of the city, but Malchuskin assured me that they were an adequate safeguard.

“I shouldn’t like them to have to be used,” he said, “but if the city did roll these should stop it. I think.”

With the completion of the buffer our work was finished.

“What now?” I said.

Malchuskin glanced up at the sun. “We ought to move house. I’d like to get my hut up across the ridge, and there are the dormitories for the workers. It’s getting late, though. I’m not sure that we could get it done before nightfall.”

“We could do it tomorrow.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. It’ll give the lazy bastards a few hours off. They’d like that.”

He spoke to Rafael, who consulted the other men. There was little doubt about the decision. Almost before Rafael had finished speaking to them, some of the men had started back towards their huts.

“Where are they going?”

“Back to their village, I expect,” said Malchuskin. “It’s just over there.” He pointed towards the south-east, over beyond the southern ridge of high ground. “They’ll be back, though. They don’t like the work but there’ll be pressure in the village, because we give them what they want.”

“What’s that?”

“The benefits of civilization,” he said, grinning cynically. “To wit, the synthetic food you’re always griping about.”

“They like that stuff?”

“No more than you do. But it’s better than an empty belly, which is what most of them had before we happened along here.”

“I don’t think I’d do all that work for that gruel. It’s tasteless, it’s got no substance, and—”

“How many meals a day did you eat in the city?”

“Three.”

“And how many were synthetic?”

“Only two,” I said.

“Well, it’s people like those poor sods who work their skins off just so you can eat one genuine meal a day. And from what I hear, what they do for me is the least of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out.”

Later that evening, as we sat in his hut, Malchuskin spoke more on this subject. I discovered that he wasn’t as ill-informed as he tried to make out. He blamed it all on the guild system, as ever. It had been a long established practice that the ways of the city were passed down from one generation to the next not by tuition, but on heuristic principles. An apprentice would value the traditions of the guilds far more by understanding at first hand the facts of existence on which they were based than by being trained in a theoretical manner. In practice, it meant that I would have to discover for myself how the men came to work on the tracks, what other tasks they performed, and in fact all other matters concerning the continued existence of the city.

“When I was an apprentice,” Malchuskin said, “I built bridges and I dug up tracks. I worked with the Traction guild, and rode with men like your father. I know myself how the city continues to exist, and through that I know the value of my own job. I dig up tracks and re-lay them, not because I enjoy the work but because I know why it has to be done. I’ve been out with the Barter guild and seen how they get the local people to work for us, and so I understand the pressures that are on the men who work under me now. It’s all cryptic and obscure… that’s the way you see it now. But you’ll find out that it’s all to do with survival, and just how precarious that survival is.”

“I don’t mind working with you,” I said.

“I didn’t mean that. You’ve worked O.K. with me. All I’m saying is that all the things you’ve probably wondered about — the oath, for instance — have a purpose, and by God it’s a sensible purpose!”

“So the men will be back in the morning.”

“Probably. And they’ll complain, and they’ll slacken off as soon as you or I turn our backs… but even that’s in the nature of things. Sometimes, though, I wonder.

I waited for him to finish his sentence, but he said nothing more. It was an uncharacteristic sentiment, for Malchuskin did not seem to me to be in any way a pensive man. As we sat together he fell into a long silence, broken only when I got up to go outside to use the latrine. Then he yawned and stretched, and kidded me about my weak bladder.

Rafael returned in the morning with most of the men who had been with us before. A few were missing, though the numbers had been brought up to strength by replacements. Malchuskin greeted them without apparent surprise, and at once began supervising the demolition of the three temporary buildings.

First, all the contents were moved out, and placed in a large pile to one side. Then the buildings themselves were dismantled; not as difficult a task as I’d imagined, as they had evidently been designed to be taken down and put up again easily. Each of the walls was joined to the next by a series of bolts. The floors broke down into a series of flat wooden slats, and the roofs were similarly bolted into place. Fittings such as doors and windows were part of the frames in which they sat. It took only an hour to demolish each cabin, and by midday everything was done. Well before then Malchuskin had gone off by himself, returning half an hour later in a battery-powered truck. We took a short break and ate a meal, then loaded the truck with as much of the material as it would hold and set off towards the ridge, Malchuskin driving. Rafael and a few of the workers clung to the sides of the truck.

It was some way to the ridge. Malchuskin steered a course that brought us diagonally towards the nearest part of the track, and we drove the rest of the way towards the ridge alongside it. There was a shallow dip in the breast of the ridge, and it was through this that the four pairs of rails had been laid. There were many men working on this part of the track: some hacking manually at the ground to each side of the track — presumably to widen it sufficiently to take the bulk of the city as it passed through — and others toiled with mechanical drills, trying to erect five metal frames, each bearing a large wheel. Only one had been so far securely laid, and it stood between the two inner tracks, a gaunt, geometrical design with no apparent function.

As we passed through the dip Malchuskin slowed the truck, looking with interest at how the work was proceeding. He waved to one of the guildsmen supervising the work, then accelerated again as we passed over the summit of the ridge. From here there was a shallow downhill slope towards a broad plain. To east and west, and on the far side of the plain, I could see hills which were much higher.

To my surprise the tracks ended only a short distance beyond the ridge. The left outer track had been built for about a mile, but the other three were barely a hundred yards long. There were two teams already at work on these tracks, but it was immediately clear that progress was slow.

Malchuskin stared round. On our side of the tracks — that is, on the western side — there was a small cluster of huts, presumably the living quarters for the track-teams already here. He headed the truck in that direction, but drove some way past before stopping.

“This’ll do,” he said. “We want the buildings up by nightfall.”

I said: “Why don’t we put them up by the others?”

“It’s my policy not to. I have trouble enough with these men as it is. If they have too much contact with the others they drink more and work less. We can’t stop them mixing together when they’re not working, but there’s no point in clustering them together.”

“But surely they have a right to do what they want?”

“They’re being bought for their labour. That’s all.”

He clambered down from the cabin of the truck, and began to shout at Rafael to start the work on the huts.

The truck was soon unloaded, and leaving me in charge of the re-building, Malchuskin drove the truck back over the ridge to collect the rest of the men and the materials.

As nightfall approached, the re-building was nearly completed. My last task of the day was to return the truck to the city and connect it to one of the battery-recharging points. I drove off, content to be alone again for a while.

As I drove over the ridge, the work on the raised wheels had finished for the day and the site was abandoned but for two militiamen standing guard, their crossbows slung over their shoulders. They paid no attention to me. Leaving them behind, I drove down the other side towards the city. I was surprised to see how few lights were showing and how, with the approach of night, the daytime activities ceased.

Where Malchuskin had told me I would find recharging points I discovered that other vehicles were already connected up, and no other places were available. I guessed that this was the last truck to be returned that evening, and that I would have to look around for more points. In the end, I found a spare point on the south side of the city.

It was now dark, and after I had attended to the truck I was faced with the long walk back alone. I was tempted not to return, but to stay the night inside the city. After all, it would take only a few minutes to get back to my cabin in the crèche… but then I thought of Malchuskin and the reaction I would get from him in the morning.

Reluctantly, I walked around the perimeter of the city, found the tracks leading northwards and followed them up to the ridge. Being alone on the plain at night was a rather disconcerting experience. It was already cold and a strong breeze was blowing from the east, chilling me through my thin uniform. Ahead of me I could see the dark bulk of the ridge, set against the dull radiance of the clouded sky. In the dip, the angular shapes of the wheel structures stood on the skyline, and pacing to and fro in their lonely vigil were the two militiamen. As I walked up to them I was challenged.

“Stop right there!” Both men had come to a halt, and although I could not see for certain I had an instinct that the crossbows were pointing in my direction. “Identify yourself.”

“Apprentice Helward Mann.”

“What are you doing outside the city?”

“I’m working with Track Malchuskin. I passed you just now in the truck.”

“Oh yes. Come forward.”

I walked up to them.

“I don’t know you,” one of them said. “Have you just started?”

“Yes… about a mile ago.”

“Which guild are you in?”

“The Futures.”

The one who had spoken laughed. “Rather you than me.”

“Why?”

“I like a long life.”

“He’s young though,” the other said.

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“Been up future yet?”

“No.”

“Been down past yet?”

“No. I only started a few days ago.”

A thought occurred to me. Although I could not see their faces in the dark I could tell by the sound of their voices that they were not much older than me. Perhaps seven hundred miles, not much more. But if that was so, then surely I should know them for they would have been in the crèche with me?

“What’s your name?” I said to one of them.

“Conwell Sturner. Crossbowman Sturner to you.”

“Were you in the crèche?”

“Yes. Don’t remember you, though. But then you’re just a kid.”

“I’ve just left the crèche. You weren’t there.”

They both laughed again, and I felt my temper weakening. “We’ve been down past, son.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re men.”

“You ought to be in bed, son. It’s dangerous out here at night.”

“There’s no one around,” I said.

“Not now. But while the softies in the city get their sleep, we save ‘em from the tooks.”

“What are they?”

“The tooks? The dagos. The local thugs who jump out of shadows on young apprentices.”

I moved past them. I wished I’d gone into the city and hadn’t come this way. Nevertheless my curiosity was aroused.

“Really… what do you mean?” I said.

“There’s tooks out there who don’t like the city. If we didn’t watch them, they’d damage the track. See these pulleys? They’d have them down if we weren’t here.”

“But it was the… tooks who helped put them up.”

“Those as work for us. But there’s a lot as doesn’t.”

“Get to bed, son. Leave the tooks to us.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Aye… just us, and a dozen more all over the ridge. You hurry on down to bed, son, and watch you don’t get a quarrel between the eyes.”

I turned my back on them and walked away. I was seething with anger, and had I stayed a moment longer I felt sure I would have gone for one or the other of them. I hated their manly patronization of me, and yet I knew I had needled them. Two young men armed with crossbows would be no defence against a determined attack, and they knew it too, but it was important for their self-esteem not to let me work it out for myself.

When I judged I was out of their earshot I broke into a run, and almost at once stumbled over a sleeper. I moved away from the track and ran on. Malchuskin was waiting in the hut, and together we ate another meal of the synthetic food.