The course of the road was easily delineated by the flat profile and two low, grassyridgesabout thirtyfeet apartthat might once have been walls. The landscape up here was different, as the road had been disrupted by several large pockmarks, some of which had filled with water and might have been natural dew ponds but for their uniform roundness. Here and there we could see rusty scrap and twisted aluminum poking out of the turf like a metallic harvest that no one had troubled to remove, and the wildstock were considerably tamer. As we approached the isolated herds that drifted across the upper pastures, they parted languidly to let us through, with only the mildest sense of curiosity. It portended well, as they spook easily, and Riffraff were known to kill and eat them. I even spotted an antelope I hadn’t seen before. It was a dark reddish color with stripes down its front and back legs, the latter doubling as a convenient place to display its bar code. I jotted down as much of its Taxa as I could before it turned away.
We walked like this in silence for a good forty minutes until we encountered the first proper structure we had seen since leaving East Carmine. The flak tower stood in a commanding position at the top of an escarpment that looked down on the broad, fertile valley hiding the remains of High Saffron. Cynics that Courtland and Tommo were, I think even they were impressed, and we all stopped to soak up the view.
The Flak Tower
2.5.03.02.005: Generally speaking, if you fiddle with something, it will break. Don’t.
Although I had seen the ocean on at least three occasions, I had never witnessed a more beautiful stretch of coastline than greeted my eyes that afternoon. The land was dappled with the shadows of the clouds as they drifted lazily across the sky, the sunnier patches highlighting points of interest better than any tour guide. The town nestled comfortably on either side of a long tidal estuary that led into a bay where several abandoned ships were anchored. The biggest of these was a flat-decked vessel so large that it was now an artificial breakwater, the sloping deck white with the guano of seabirds, and the gently rusting hulk altering the dynamics of the bay so dramatically that the whole area between the ship and the shore had silted in and was now dry land.
Of the town, not much could be seen from where we stood. The remains of the bypass appeared as a circular swathe of different-colored vegetation, and a bridge across the river was still standing. The town itself was hidden within the foliage of thick woodland, from whose canopy only a few buildings protruded. The outlying commercial and residential areas could just be seen as a faint grid pattern of different trees and brush. There seemed to be a road that led out to the east and another to the north, but of the open spaces Yewberry had hoped for, I could see nothing.
“We’ve still got a good four-hour walk to go,” I said, estimating the distance. “Less if we can meet the Saffron end of the spalled Perpetulite. Five minutes’ break.”
“We’ll take ten,” said Courtland, and he and Tommo trotted off toward the tower. Scrap found on trips like this could be claimed as personal trove and was worth 50 percent of its value—not a huge sum, unless you’d brought a handy wheelbarrow, but enough for a scone or two at the Fallen Man .
I looked around to make some notes. Easy vehicular access past the looming six-story tower was blocked by a large grassy mound. To one side was a corroded bulldozer, which had sunk a foot into the earth. Behind this was a jumbled collection of boxy-looking vehicles, which were all in the middle stage of rust death and shrouded with nettles, brambles and outcrops of hawthorn and elder. The tower itself was identical to the one at East Carmine, except that it had not been stripped of its narrow bronze window frames. The tower was one of eight that I could see, ringing the town from the highest points all around and, it seemed, connected by a series of steel posts at least twenty feet high and set at fifty-foot intervals. I walked to the first of the high posts and noticed that in places it was still draped with the remains of wire, and that glass insulators similar to those on the telephone poles were bolted to the steel.
I recalled Jane’s advice to go no farther than the flak tower, and since she had known with all certainty that the tower was there—something that Yewberry hadn’t—it meant that she probably knew what she was talking about. We had done enough for today anyway. I would make detailed notes of this area, and after that we would return, report the magenta tree and continue the expedition another day. No cash and no glory, and quite possibly a disappointed Council. But I like to think I take my role as team leader seriously.
I retraced my steps to the tower, where I could hear Courtland talking to Tommo. The main door was of bronze almost eight inches thick and had seized in the partially open position. I stepped inside and walked down a short corridor, then through an inner door. I had expected it to be dark inside, but it wasn’t. Two lightglobes were burning brightly in the interior. One was in Courtland’s hand as he searched the debris, and the other was fixed precariously to the ceiling, where Tommo was trying to dislodge it with a stick.
“What’s the point?” I said, “They’re Leapback. You can’t take them back with you.”
They ignored me, and I looked around. The room was large, perhaps half the size of the ground floor, with a room off to one side and another bronze door, which partially hid a flight of steps that led upward.
Dominating two walls were long sections of steel desks, upon which lay the shattered remains of remote viewers. I found a working shard that had text on it that moved when I drifted my finger across, but nothing like the one I’d seen in Zane’s parlor. The floor was covered with dust, rust, broken furniture, scraps of clothing, general rubbish and bones —some relatively new, others so old they crumbled to dust between finger and thumb. As I sorted through the debris with my foot I saw several red objects wink at me, and I picked up a crimson button and rubbed it on my shirt.
“Here,” said Courtland who had been exploring one of the antechambers. “I’ve found another of the missing.”
I walked across to where Courtland was waiting at a bronze door leading off the main room.
“She’s at the back,” he said, passing me the lightglobe, “ten years dead, perhaps more.”
I walked inside and found myself in what looked like a storeroom. There was only one narrow vertical slit for a window, and the shelves had collapsed so the floor was now covered with rusty tins, the odd jar and a heavy carpeting of dust that kicked up as I walked. But Courtland was right. Lying on the floor was the body of a woman, fully dressed and with skin stretched as tight as parchment across her bones.
She had a satchel next to her, and I emptied the hardened leather bag onto the floor. It had about twelve spoons in it, and a large quantity of coins.
“Wow!” said Tommo, reaching forward to collect them. “That’ll buy Lucy from Mrs. Ochre.”
“I don’t get it,” I said, mostly to myself. “She’s dressed for travel or light leisure, not for outdoor adventure.”
I scratched my head. The remains of Thomas Emerald had been wearing a brogue. I didn’t know where these two had come from, but they weren’t from East Carmine, and they certainly weren’t part of an expedition.
“We’re going back,” I told them, searching the woman’s clothing for a name tag.
“Going back?” echoed Tommo in surprise. “Lying-that-we-got-to-High-Saffron going back, or aborting-the-mission going back?”
“Aborting. We come back another—”
“But we don’t get paid,” he interrupted, “at least, not if you insist on being honest and stuff.”