Padre Rand, unsure, looked at him then down at his Bible. Jeffries put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Sit down, Padre. This is my responsibility.”
Padre Rand nodded and sank thankfully to the floor.
Jeffries stepped forward, his arms wide.
“I am Lieutenant Gilbert Jeffries, Number 4 Platoon, C Company, 13th Battalion of the Pennine Fusiliers.”
The tall, regal Chatt regarded him, its antennae waving gently in his direction.
“This One is Sirigar, liya-dhuyumirri, high anointed one of the Khungarrii Shura,” it said, its mandibles clicking and rubbing together like knitting needles. “That One is Chandar, this one’s gon-dhuyumirri olfactotum,” it indicated the smaller, submissive Chatt, and then the larger creature. “And that One is Rhengar, Scenturion, njurru-scentirri of Khungarr.”
Introductions complete, the creature turned back to the huddled captives. “This One offers you a blessing in the name of GarSuleth,” it said. It opened its arms, pulling wide the robe it wore, revealing more clearly the smaller vestigial limbs at its abdomen, also splayed, and then raised its head. From somewhere within its mouthparts it sprayed mist into the air. Jeffries breathed in and, within seconds, recognised the feeling of mild drug-induced euphoria. Keeping eye contact with the round, glassy unblinking eyes before him he inhaled again, slowly, deeply, deliberately.
EDITH HUGGED NELLY and Sister Fenton for reassurance. Some of the men closed ranks in front of them. The horrors of the last few days had begun to numb her, but the sound of the Officer’s voice picked at the thick scab of denial that had grown over her recent experiences to the raw emotional wound beneath. There was something about his tone, supercilious and defiant. The insect spoke back. In English. Edith could feel the hairs on the back of her neck bristle with fear. There was a hiss of spray as the creature dosed the air with a vapour from its mouth. Almost immediately, the world seemed to slow down. The fears and terrors of the recent past lifted from her, like dandelion clocks drifting away on her outward breath. A languid sigh escaped her lips as she sank down to the floor with her companions. Senses baffled, a great lethargy overcame her. She looked up. The officer was still standing as the others sank to the floor around him. She was sure she knew his voice but her thoughts had become as thick and slow as treacle and then they ceased to bother her altogether. These creatures would not harm them. She forced her eyes slowly upward and looked at them, feeling content.
JEFFRIES SMILED. RATHER helpfully, his own personal drug use had rendered him less susceptible than his fellows.
“Last man standing,” he said with a wry smile.
The antennae stumps on the smaller creature were moving feebly. It reminded Jeffries of the hospitals back in ’Bertie with their beds full of raw amputees, their fresh tender stumps waggling clumsily, as if manipulating phantom limbs.
“Interesting defensive technique,” he said, “dosing potential threats with a mild euphoric.”
Rhengar spoke, preceded by a curious expansion of its chest, as if the creature was unfamiliar with filling its lungs with enough air for the effort of speech. Jeffries found the process quite engrossing.
“You will come with us,” it said.
Rhengar turned to address the accompanying scentirrii in the harsh guttural smattering and clicks of its own tongue. They went over and picked up the Padre, who looked at them happily.
“Both of you.”
THEY WERE TAKEN out though the membranous aperture of the gaol chamber and led along passageways that sloped gently upwards and spiralled round. Set in niches along the way, luminescent lichen glowed, giving off a gentle blue-white light.
Sirigar walked on ahead, its silken vestments billowing out behind it. Before it now walked a smaller Chatt, some sort of juvenile nymph, perhaps, Jeffries thought. Its armour was translucent and not yet fully hardened and it swung some sort of censer before it, the heady incense masking all other smells. The accompanying Khungarr scentirrii escorted Jeffries and the Padre, while Rhengar brought up the rear.
Chandar was limping badly on one leg and attempting to keep up with Sirigar. Jeffries watched it trying to engage the creature in its own language. Its chattering grew excited before being abruptly cut off by a harsh plosive exclamation from Sirigar. Chandar dropped back, almost sheepishly, to walk beside Jeffries. The creature looked up at him, its antenna stumps twitching. “Your clothing is unusual,” it said, picking at the cloth of his jacket.
“If you mean clean, then yes. I pride myself on my appearance,” Jeffries brushed the Chatt’s questing fingers away from his jacket before straightening his tie. “I find people respond favourably to a good first impression. It’s always worked for me.”
Chandar looked at him. Jeffries was used to reading people, prided himself on it in fact, but it was frustratingly impossible to read the expressionless facial plates of his captors. The tone of voice they used offered few clues either, speaking in what was, to them, a foreign language.
“The Khungarrii have been watching you for some time,” it chittered. “The presence of your herd has provoked much debate.”
“So I saw,” said Jeffries, nodding towards Sirigar.
“Are you an anointed one? Dhuyumirri of your herd, like Sirigar? That One is high anointed one of the Khungarrii Shura.”
“Oh, if it’s faith you want, ask him,” said Jeffries, jerking his head at the chaplain. “He’s full of it.”
More scentirrii marched past. Approaching Chatts obediently stopped to let the party pass. Urmen, on the other hand, vanished out of sight down side passages at their approach; heads bowed, eyes averted. Jeffries caught sight of them cowering in openings or cloister-like passages. Sirigar swept on past them all. The creature led them to a spacious and well-lit passage, whose dominating feature was an imposing ornate opening, decorated around its edge with some sort of hieroglyphs. Jeffries very much wanted to examine them, but he wasn’t given the opportunity.
“We are come,” Chandar chittered. “The chambers of the Anointed Ones, the goro dhuyumirrii.”
A strong smell of incense greeted Jeffries from the darkened void beyond the door, an infusion of aromas that overwhelmed his senses and began to sting the inside of his nostrils, making his eyes water. Sirigar entered and the scentirrii ushered Jeffries and Rand into the chamber after, Chandar and Rhengar following.
The walls of a great domed chamber rose up, disappearing into the gloom above. Around the walls were curved man-sized alcoves that extended up from the ground, most were in shadow and the few he could see were occupied by more Chatts, who stood in them, facing the wall, their heads bowed. A low soft susurration filled the space, echoing in the dark space above. There was a noise like the soft clatter of cutlery in a canteen that, Jeffries realised, was the constant ticking and scissoring of mandibles in prayer. This was obviously some sort of sacred space, a temple of some sort, he mused.
Overhead, in the gloom, was what appeared to be a giant web. Sirigar paused to perform a gesture of deference and worship as they passed beneath it, clicking in what Jeffries assumed were reverent tones. The web, or what it represented, must have some great significance for them and he recalled what Napoo had said about this GarSuleth weaving the world. He noticed that some points on the web had been picked out with pieces of the bioluminescent lichen, but the meaning of their arrangement was lost on him.