“I cannot possibly have visitors because no one knows I am here and no one would care if they did know,” Frankie replies firmly, and carries on writing. Over by the side of the torrent, two monks have managed to draw up the teapot by hooking it with a rod. It looks… odd.
“Are you sure that’s a teapot?” Edie says.
“I have redesigned it,” Frankie announces.
“That happens to rather a lot of things here,” Denis says neutrally.
“The one we had was inoperable,” Frankie continues, “because it was designed on the assumption that it would only ever be half full. At least, I trust that is why it only pours correctly when the upper volume of the pot is empty. Unless… hm… is it possible that there are benefits to the steeping process in having a gas convection environment directly above the leaf suspension? Well, be that as it may, the pouring issue is a serious one. I scalded myself. Also, the quality of the tea was uneven. The end product, you understand. I controlled the leaves very carefully.” She appears to regard this as some species of deliberate action on the part of the old pot, which is now forming part of another apparatus over by one wall.
“My name is Banister,” Edie begins.
“I’m Esther Françoise Fossoyeur. You may call me Frankie. Hello, Banister.”
“Hello, Frankie.”
“It was nice to meet you and I’m glad we had this little chat! You can see yourself out, can’t you?”
She turns away. Edie stares at Dotty Catty, who gestures to keep things going, as fast as possible. The Dowager-Khatun looks a little twitchy, above and beyond what might be expected of a woman betraying her mass-murdering son.
“As for the Apprehension Engine,” Frankie says sharply, over her shoulder, “you may tell the Khan that it is not yet functional. There are some difficulties I had not anticipated. Observation of certain aspects of matter produces glitches which… eh, bien. I have almost perfected a power source. In fact, it is possible… hm.” She stares away to one side, and Edie can almost hear the sound of the universe splitting open as her gaze reaches into it, prods at it. “Yes. Interestingly, the tea experiments may provide the key. I… hm.”
Dotty Catty intervenes. “Frankie, Commander Banister is from the British government. I asked them to send someone…”
Edie Banister nods. “I’m here to rescue you.”
“Rescue me?”
“Yes,” Dotty Catty says. “We did talk about this.”
Frankie stares at her a moment longer. A single curl of black hair is tickling her cheek, and she brushes it away, leaving a smudge of char on her skin. Her face is very pale and pointed, and she has freckles. She must be all of five foot two inches tall, and proportionately tiny. The sleeves of her blouse are covered in mathematical notation written in ink. She frowns. “Oh. Did we? Yes, you’re quite right, we did. Because Shem wants me to make him a weapon. Yes. Do you know, he is very charming? I had no idea that was what he meant. He seemed so philanthropic. ‘An end to war.’ I am an idiot. I should have seen. Well, I won’t do it, of course. But now’s not the best time for me to leave. I’m just in the middle of something rather important.” She peers at Edie, flaps a hand. “Do you think you could come back in a few weeks, Banister?”
Edie stares at her. “For the teapot?”
“No, no. That will take a day, at most. No, for some testing of the compressor and the… eh, bien, your eyes are glazing over. For the machines, then. I have begun the process. I am isolating a standing wave. This wave, of course, is composed of water, but the dynamics are mathematically similar.” She gestures at the suspended water tank.
“A what?”
“A wave. From the river. I am taking the wave from the river and maintaining it in the box. You see, obviously, what that would mean?”
“No.”
“When I am very old I shall make a school for intelligent young persons to be educated in basic science.”
“Frankie,” Dotty Catty says firmly, “don’t be rude.”
Frankie gives a growl.
“All right! Very well, Banister, please listen closely and try not to say ‘What?’ too often or I shall scream…
“Truth may reasonably be understood as the consonance of our impression of the universe with the underlying reality. Yes? When what we believe matches the external truth about the world… You are staring at my trousers. What is wrong with them?”
Edie, who has been wondering whether to wallop this garrulous loony over the back of the noggin and carry her off, replies that there is nothing wrong with the trousers. In fact, this is true. They are odd, but shapely, and suggestive of decent legs beneath.
“Boff. So then: truth is the mind correctly understanding the world. So, like the water in the tank, the human mind is a wave. It is formed around the brain. A very complicated pattern generated by a moderately complicated thing according to fairly simple rules. Your brain is a special sort of stone. The stream runs over the stone, the surface ripples, yes? We call it a standing wave. So, your mind is the ripple. Life is the motion of water through the pattern. Death is the pattern disappearing when the stone is moved or ground away. You understand? For the mind to apprehend truth—to know, rather than simply to believe, the nature of the wave must change. The ripple must extend so that it is able to touch the bottom of the river, to know the reality directly, not via our eyes and our ears. The machine I make will extend the wave. It is like this new sonar: a new sense. A sense of knowing the truth. From this it follows that the world will change in positive ways. Voilà. C’est simple.”
“What’s the water?”
Frankie Fossoyeur stops and looks at her sharply. “I beg your pardon?”
“In your example. What replaces the water, in the case of the mind?”
“That,” Frankie Fossoyeur says, “is the first intelligent question I have been asked in twelve months. But you see, this is exactly the point. The water is the basic stuff of the universe. It is what matter and energy are made of. Hah! Tell the little Swiss I have overreached him!”
“Miss Fossoyeur…”
“Doctor.”
“Doctor Fossoyeur. What does it do?”
“It doesn’t do anything yet. It is a science, not a technology.”
“But in theory?”
“In theory it allows us to see the truth of things. The absolute truth. And perhaps later… well. The absolute truth is good enough to begin with, no?” She looks at Edie.
Edie looks at her a bit blankly. “I don’t understand.”
“How many wars will be averted? How many lives spared, if the truth cannot be obscured? If any statement can be tested for verity? Imagine the advances in understanding. In science. To know… Suppose you could look at the world, Miss Banister, and recognise lies and deception when you heard them. Would that not improve the lot of mankind? The death of falsehood. A new age constructed on the foundation of truth, Banister.”
“Commander Banister.”
Frankie Fossoyeur smiles suddenly. It’s like an English summer; a rare, rich blessing, warm on the skin. “Of course: Commander,” she says impishly. Her eyes travel the length of Edie’s body and she grins rather wickedly.
Edie Banister actually blushes. Lions and tigers and bears… oh, my…
“We really, really need to go,” she says.
“Non. I cannot escape. I must finish my work. You must come back another day. Or perhaps after, it will not be necessary. Hein?”
Dotty Catty huffs. “Frankie, no. Absolutely no. She cannot come back, she cannot wait, the whole thing must be tonight. The timing is precise.”