Tales from Kalgachia - 43

From MicrasWiki
Jump to navigationJump to search

At fifty-three years of age, Alice Deftly had seen some changes in Katarsis City. She was old enough to remember when the Kalgachi state was in its relative infancy and her home city was little more than a string of half-constructed granite buildings along its namesake river, overlooked by a sea of timber cottages and shacks up both sides of the valley. The electrical supply was shaky in those days, she remembered; the city had been heated by innumerable stoves full of unseasoned spruce and pine which permanently filled the valley with a sharp-scented haze of white smoke. She especially remembered that smell, which still prevailed in Kalgachia's backcountry parishes and assailed her with childhood nostalgia whenever she had cause to visit such places.

Katarsis was rather different now. It was, in fact, the most populous city in Kalgachia; the capital Oktavyan, being wedged in a steep crevice on the lower slopes of its namesake mountain, was only of metropolitan proportions in its underground quarters whereas Katarsis, in a shallow valley of fertile land irrigated by the meltwaters of the great Splatterhorn mountain, had been able sprawl freely both above and below the surface. Now it had everything; proper roads and railways linking it overland to Batavia and Northbloom, with other railways running entirely underground to the cities of Bergburg and Jollity and even Lapivril. Being the first main stop for trains full of imports from the Batavian frontier, the city's stores almost overflowed with consumer goods and a great proportion of Kalgachia's own raw materials made their way to its huge underground industrial district. Alice considered herself lucky to live in such a place, rather than somewhere like Schlepogora where the wealth of the nation was less evident and, when all the necessary gratuities and protection fees had been deducted in accordance with Laqi custom, less evenly distributed.

Alice well knew the credit for settling in Katarsis rested with her late parents, originally inhabitants of a 'breather' suburb outside the walls of Sansabury which had once denied entry to all but Deep Singers and liches. Being unblinkered by the hubris and denial of the latter classes, Alice's parents had been canny enough to perceive the collapse of the Minarborian state at an early stage and made their move at the head of what would become the Third Great Replanting, the migration of eighteen million Minarborians to the relative safety of the Octavian mountains. Among this great throng they had made the treacherous crossing of Toastytop Pass, pressed on to the northwest and settled in the huge refugee camp which would eventually become Katarsis city. By the time Alice was born, the place had attained some semblance of order despite its rugged privation and she remembered her childhood and adolescence as a happy one.

Her marriage to an officer of the nascent Kalgachi Defence Force, and the birth of a son which followed, had seemed to nudge her life inexorably through ever greater stages of bliss until the day when two of his uniformed comrades, accompanied by a chaplain, rang the doorbell of her underground home. As her mouth was clasped by her own trembling hand, they had announced with due solemnity that her husband had given his life along with several comrades to save a village on the Barilan River from a Tee-al attack. All she had of him now was an unnervingly-battered dog tag, a folded Kalgachi flag from his funeral and the little shrub planted on his grave at the Katarsis Military Cemetery, fed by his worldly remains and regularly trimmed to immaculate condition by a party of volunteer KDF reservists who mounted a daily guard of its entrance beneath an arch inscribed with the old Minarborian motto and battle cry, 'Pro Virgulto Omnia'.

There was a photograph too, of his mischievously jolly face smiling out from beneath a KDF bocskai cap. It sat framed on Alice's desk at work, crossed on its lower right corner by a strip of black ribbon. Alice's status as a combat widow had granted her the small consolation of improved job prospects in the Kalgachi civil service and had ultimately led to her to this very desk, deep underground in the Katarsis branch of Kalgachia's nationial security service, the Prefects. Here she received documents from the branch's deepest offices and prepared differently redacted versions of them for filing with junior departments, in accordance with their respective compartmentalised security clearances. It was a responsible job and although much of the documents' content had piqued her personal interest - especially the extent to which the clan politics of Kalgachia's Laqi population were being stage-managed by provocateurs, false flag assassins and material support to 'preferred' criminal elements - she had experienced no trouble keeping such things to herself. For her, this secret world was in fact a welcome distraction from the looming prospect of raising a son into his teenage years without a father.

It was as she signed a receipt for another such wad of documents that her immediate senior, known to all and sundry as 'Mr. Puddles', held open the door of her office as the document courier stepped out.

"Alice?" muttered his head as it poked into the room.

Alice restored her pen to its holder by the inkpot and sat herself a little more upright. "Yes sir?"

"Could you stop by my office in about ten minutes?"

"Of course, sir," she said. "Will I have time to finish these afterwards?" she indicated the new stack of papers.

"Best to leave it for now," said Mr. Puddles with an apologetic smile, gently closing the door as he left.

"Hrm," muttered Alice to herself. She had been to Mr. Puddles' office for an appraisal only the previous week, and there seemed no reason to go back there any time soon. Unlike other department heads, Mr. Puddles was not one to act the sex pest on his female staff and Alice hoped he was not about to start - he had always been a kindly sort until now. Taking the stack of papers in one hand, she withdrew a small golden key from a necklace in the depths of her blouse and went over to a cabinet built into the wall. Behind its small varnished door was the thick metal door of a safe, into which she placed the papers. She returned to her desk, took a hand mirror from one of its drawers and studied herself - makeup passable, facial wrinkles as few as she could hope to expect for her age, a few strands of hair to tuck away and re-pin. She regretted trying on the perfume she had bought from a Nezeni girl at a flea market the previous weekend - it smelled faintly like cat urine after a while, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

The first thing Alice noticed upon entering Mr. Puddles' office was the conspicuous absence of the usual tea or biscuits on his desk and the oddly fidgety countenance of the man himself, directing her to take her seat with a terse knife-handed gesture. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

"Well then," came his words in a tone of forced jollity, "how are things with you today?" It was as awkward a conversational opener as Alice had ever heard from him.

"Just got a new job in, sir. I managed to get the reports from Committee Twelve out yesterday."

"Yes I do appreciate you staying on for that. You weren't kept too long, I hope?"

"Only forty-five minutes."

Mr. Puddles smiled. "Listen, Alice, I've, uh..." he began to wring his hands. "...I've just got back from a meeting at the Personnel Department, and uh, your name was raised."

Alice pouted. "Oh?"

"Well I say your name... more the name of your son."

"My little Bobbin, sir?" said Alice. "But why would they...? Unless... oh no..." a bolt of fear ran through her like lightning, followed by a wave of cold sweat.

Mr. Puddles clenched his teeth into an awkward smile. "It seems he recently passed the upper age limit to undertake his Urchagin, but has not done so. Personnel were mystified and quite frankly, so am I. What in the Garden is going on with him?"

"But Mister Puddles," muttered Alice through a quivering bottom lip. "I had no idea they took an interest in such things. I..."

She found herself dumbstruck. Participation in the Urchagin, the three-week initiatory camp for Kalgachi youth, was no longer mandatory for all citizens but it was mandatory for those who wanted to serve with the Prefects, along with a whole host of other government jobs. Alice had done hers, but-

"I made your record of service quite clear to them," said Mr. Puddles, "but it seems rather deeper offices than mine are having a bit of a crackdown on those with family issues. They didn't seem impressed by anything I had to say."

"But Bobbin's not been the same since he lost his father," said Alice. "I tried to get him to sign up for the Urchagin, dozens of times. Made threats even, but the boy's retreated into himself. He's had..." she hesitated before forcing out the words in a whisper, "...psychiatric issues."

"Psychiatric issues?" Mr Puddles' strained edifice of jollity slipped a little.

"But it's nothing that would affect my job here, sir. He's seeing people for it. I've got all the paperwork from the DHPW. I can show you everything."

Mr. Puddles sighed and leaned back in his chair. "It's not me you need to satisfy, Alice. Personally I wouldn't have taken it this far. I've seen how well you work down here. But Personnel were quite adamant. Their mind is made up... most likely it was made up before I even stepped into their office. We're going to have to let you go."

Alice emitted an involuntary yelp. Only when Mr. Puddles passed a handkerchief across the desk did she notice the tears streaming down her own face.

"I'm so sorry about this," said Mr. Puddles. "You know you're lucky in a way. At one time, the only way out of the Prefects involved nine grams of lead and a shallow grave in the frontier forest. I wasn't successful in saving your severance or pension but they're letting me provide a reference. I'm not allowed to recommend you for government work, but-" He silenced himself when he noticed Alice was doing more sniffling than listening.

"I did the best I could, sir," came her muffled words from beneath the handkerchief. "Here and at home, I really did..."

"It's nothing personal, you know," said Mr. Puddles. "We Prefects have the most exacting vetting standards in all Kalgachia. It's the nature of the job. That's how it has to be. You're not the first good worker I've had to drum out of here and I dare say you won't be the last. They might come for me one day. It's just a risk we have to live with. For the Garden's sake."

"Don't talk to me about the Garden's sake," snapped Alice suddenly. "Wasn't it enough for my husband to be ripped apart by a Tee-al?"

"Well I can't answer for that," said Mr. Puddles. "If you want my advice, go along to your church later today. Speak to the Credent, clear your head. That's what they're for."

Alice's shoulders sank and her reddened eyes emerged from the handkerchief, gazing at the ceiling to hold back any more tears. "Was there anything else?" she said.

"Nothing else," said Mr. Puddles, rising from his seat to open the door. "I'll have to supervise you while you clear your desk, I'm afraid. Protocol."

Alice forced the faint glimmer of a smile. "I understand," she croaked. "You've been very kind to me here."

"I've had every reason to be. You'll be missed."



+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +



It was late into the evening by the time Alice entered her parish church, a chamber carved from rock deep beneath the city. Bobbin, as usual, had been tapping away on the GAHDN terminal of their similarly-underground home when she had arrived there. It was expensive to have such a terminal at home instead of using the free one at the parish library, but the boy had made a habit of asking for it and after his father had died, Alice had bought the thing as a treat to cheer him up. Over time, his modest circle of friends at school had withered away and been replaced by whoever he conversed with over the GAHDN; now, without a Prefect's salary, Alice knew she would not be able to afford the line rental fee for long. She resolved to break the news to Bobbin later - he tended to become irritable when denied access to the GAHDN for any length of time and Alice was in no condition to fight that battle yet. Instead she had prepared dinner and served it to him at the terminal, receiving the usual grunt of thanks in response. Then she had placed her own meal into a crock pot, placed that in a cloth bag and slipped away into Katarsis' labyrinthe of underground streets and galleries.

It was this culinary offering which Alice now poured into the putrefact of her church, a great stone vessel rimmed by candles, to the protest of her own rumbling stomach. Chunks of mutton and root vegetables plopped into the stinking brown sludge of previous offerings before Alice took a new candle, lit it from one of the others and stood it alongside them. For a time she was entranced by the oily iridescent film on the surface of the sludge pool as it swirled in the wake of her offering, causing the dull reflections of the candles above to glide around, join and part like some spectral waltz. Somewhere within, according to the teachings of the Ketherist church, Alice's failings in the face of the Garden were being made good as a billion hungry microbes began to transmute the meal she had surrendered to them. When the oil and candle flames had settled, she moved on into the church proper.

This church, like most others in Kalgachia, was the deepest part of its parish and was carved from the bedrock in the manner of an amphitheatre whose arena served as the altar. At the heart of the latter stood a shrub beneath four ultraviolet lights, invoking Minarbor and his Four Best Friends. Alice had always made sure to attend this place every Byeday to maintain her church attendance record, which functioned as a social credit system throughout Kalgachi civil society and had been essential for her government job, among other things. The bustle and jostle of a Byeday crowd had always tainted the liturgy somewhat and lent the tenor of bawdy theatre to some of the proceedings - but now, as Alice looked down over empty rings of pews to the altar shrub below, something about the solitude of the place revealed a holy quality which she had never quite felt before. It was intoxicating enough that for the briefest moment, the thought of committing herself to a monastery ran through her mind. She could certainly understand why others did it.

At some point - though she did not recall doing so - Alice had descended the tiers to the bottom and was now sitting on one of the ringside pews. She regarded the altar shrub in detail, studying its warping little branches and glossy green leaves. Then, quite unbidden, a faint voice crossed her mind:

- touch the shrub -

She ignored it. One would get in trouble for such things during a service.

- touch the shrub -

Alice shook her head but it only seemed to excite the voice.

- shrubby touch, touchy shrubby -

Alice could have sworn she heard the rustle of leaves, though not a breath of wind stirred in the place.

- touchy shrub -

The voice sounded like her own, but its puerile jollity was far from what she felt at that moment. "Oh shut up," she mumbled to herself.

- but shrub! -

Alice sighed, then looked around to make sure she was alone. She stood and walked over to the shrub, confident that a quick run of her hand through its leaves would do no great harm and would shut the voice up. She had only felt the tickle of the first leaf on her fingertip when an almighty bang resounded through the church like the thunder of some jealous archon, causing her to gasp and jump back. It took a moment for her to realise that it was the sound of a door being closed, followed by a succession of echoing footsteps which just as abruptly stopped.

"Oh good evening!" came a voice through the harsh constellation of blue lights above. Alice recoiled again and squinted into the darkness beyond. Her eyes picked out enough of the silhouette, standing at the vestry door, to recognise the parish Credent in his robes.

"I was just about to go home," he said. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Credent Calibanus..." said Alice, her voice cracking a little. "Forgive me. Are you locking up now?"

"Only the vestry, my dear. I keep the main doors open at all times. Madam Deftly, isn't it?"

"Yes, brother Credent." Alice looked awkwardly at her feet upon being recognised and shrunk back from the shrub a little more. "I didn't mean to violate your altar... forgive me. I got... confused."

"Confused?" a note of mischievous mirth lifted the Credent's voice. He had heard that old phrase enough times before and knew exactly what to read into it. "There's nothing that need confuse you where shrubs are concerned, my dear. And this is just as much your altar as mine." To Alice's unnerved disappointment, the man came trotting down the steps between the pews to meet her. "Truth be told, I can hardly keep my hands off the thing myself. I've had, what... five parishes now... and this is the most beautiful little shrub I've had the pleasure to work with. Discreet and obliging at every moment, like the Radix Salvator himself."

"Is he... I mean it... is it fed from the putrefact?" Alice glanced awkwardly at the high entrance whence she had come.

"But of course," said the Credent. "I give it a ladle of the stuff each morning. The sins of all the parish are strained out of the world through those little roots." His voice dropped to a mischievous whisper. "They say the greater the sin, the greener the shrub. In which case my congregation must have a fair number of sinners."

"And I suppose I can count myself among them," sighed Alice. "I came to make a donation of my own."

"And at such an hour, too!" The Credent took Alice by the hand and sat her down on one of the front pews. "What's troubling you?"

"I was fired today."

"Fired? Oh dear, I'm sorry to hear that. I was told you have a government job?"

"Had."

"Well I can only assume your bosses were the demanding type. You came up in a discussion with my Proctor the other day, you know. He noted an unusual frequency of requests he was getting for updates on your church attendance record. Showing your face here on a Byeday is good enough for me, I'll have you know... quite why it wasn't good enough for your employers I have no idea."

"That isn't why I was fired."

"Oh?"

"They fired me because my son didn't take his Urchagin."

A taut grimace crossed the Credent's face. "Oh my," he muttered, "but why?"

"I don't like to talk about it in respectable company, brother Credent, but... the boy has had problems. Since his father died."

"Ah yes, Lieutenant Deftly... it all happened before I took over this parish, of course, but I read about it in the paper. Quite the hero he was, loading all those children into a Whirdlebirb... such a pity he couldn't save himself too."

"Yes," came the weary sigh of Alice, who had long since taken her fill of pithy eulogies for her fallen husband. "I've tried so hard to look after little Bobbin by myself. It was fine for a while, but adolescence is hitting him like a... well, like a Tee-al."

"So he needs a father figure?" said the Credent. "Have you considered getting him to join the-"

"Absolutely not!" snapped Alice.

"Oh but I didn't mean in the same capacity as your late husband. There are plenty of non-combat roles that-"

"Brother Credent, with all due respect I've been through this with my husband's fellow officers. Bobbin isn't any more receptive to the idea than I am. He wouldn't join up in any capacity."

"Not even the partis-"

"No."

"What does he want to do, then?"

"From what I can tell, his aspirations are limited to sitting on the GAHDN all day."

"What does he do on there?"

"Spouts idle gossip on discussion forums with other dropouts. Mainly about television shows."

"Have you considered cutting off his GAHDN access?"

"Brother Credent, he would literally murder me if I did. And that's the problem. It'll be a long time before I'm earning my old salary again... if ever... and the GAHDN terminal will have to go if I'm to keep food on the table. I don't know what to do."

"The KDF do assistance grants for combat widows. Surely you could-"

"Hang out the family laundry for everyone to see!?" Alice almost shrieked. "Maybe if my husband was a common Skivnik, brother Credent, but he was an officer and my friends are officer's wives... they pick up gossip like sharks smell blood. Outing my son to the KDF as a social defective would put the status on me before long."

"Is that not a price worth paying, for your son's sake?"

"It would be if he made the most of it. But if you knew my son..."

"I don't recall ever meeting him."

"He stopped coming here long before your time, when his father died and he... changed. He doesn't like the noise and crowds now. Our psychiatrist says he's succumbed to some sort of latent autism."

"So it's a medical matter?"

"So they say, but there was nothing autistic about him when his father was around. He was such a jolly little boy... gregarious even."

The Credent sighed, stood and began pacing around the shrub. "All the same, madam Deftly, we are where we are. I wouldn't fear too much for the lad if he's on the DHPW radar. They're rather good in my experience... I liaise with them often. In my line of work one often encounters psychotics with a religious fixation, looking for solutions that only a sanitarium can provide."

"Are you suggesting my Bobbin belongs in a sanitarium?"

"Not necessarily. My point is that he'll always be in safe hands. I'm more concerned for you."

The shift in focus to Alice caused her to slump silently in the pew. To her own surprise, she began to weep. "I just don't know what to do," she sniffled.

"Now now," said the Credent as he returned to lay a hand on Alice's shoulder. "It's bad form to be sad in the presence of a shrub. Tell me, have you participated in any extraliturgical church activities in the last year?"

"What?"

"Helping out with the partisans, passion plays, processionals, that kind of thing."

"Uh... no..."

"Hrm, that'll only get you a grade four at best."

"Grade four of what?"

"Forgive me, I was just thinking of ways to spruce up your records. If your son's blown a hole in your civic status - through no fault of yours or his, I should add - you can start to rebuild it with a little more involvement here."

"But I won't have spare time for long. I need to get back into work. I don't know if I'll even find work. I can't get another government job..."

"All we'd need is a little help on the weekends. In the meantime we can place you with a church-owned business. Or even the parish proctorate itself... that'll get you to a grade two. What are your skills?"

"Filing and editing."

"Interesting. I'll have a word with the Proctor."

"Will my housing be downgraded?"

"What grade are you in now?"

"Managerial."

"Shouldn't be a problem. Can you wave a tree branch gently for about four hours?"

"Can I what?"

"Wave a tree branch. A small cut one, about the size of that shrub. Just enough to make it rustle a bit."

"For four hours?"

"For four hours."

"I suppose I can try, but-"

"Can you be here at dawn next Thanksday?"

Alice screwed up her eyes. "Uhh... yes. I think so. Well, I'll have nothing else to-"

"Excellent!" The Credent jumped to his feet. "Don't worry, I'll provide the robes."

"Wait... what am I doing, exactly?"

"Just a bit of a processional. Starts here, then we wind our way up top, go along the river for a while, cross the Cussmere bridge, do a circuit of Octavia's Wishing Shrub and return by the same route. We'll have the choir out, the icon bearers, the aspergillant flicking the sludge, the Proctor and his partisans with the ceremonial guard, I'll be up front with the golden hozier, and you'll be doing your rustling along with a few others. It'll be a jolly old time... there's cake and Batavian beer back here afterwards."

"Sounds... tolerable. What is it for?"

"What's what for?"

"The processional. What does it commemorate?"

"When we get to Octavia's Wishing Shrub, the partisans fire their guns in the air to scare off malevolent archons. That's about it. I'm told it's some kind of syncretised folk tradition from Zaprogian times."

"I see."

"Well then," the Credent slapped his robed arms against his sides like a penguin. "I'm glad we had this little talk but I won't intrude on your quality shrub time any longer. See you Thanksday?"

"Yes," said Alice quietly as a wave of unanticipated relief washed over her. "See you Thanksday."

The Credent was halfway up to the exit when Alice called to him again: "Credent Calibanus?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Thank you."

The Credent offered a silent smile before proceeding on to the exit, toddling up the steps like an excited child.