a
what.
I was in the Museum—I
think
it was a Museum.”
Arjun paused to eat. He fumbled—his hand made him clumsy. It embarrassed him. He flushed and spoke too quickly. “Not so far from here. I ran for a while but not so far or for so long. Is there a museum here? I came to myself in the cellars, underground, in a storeroom or a prison room. There was a creature in there with me, in a cage; a kind of lizard, a kind of reptile, maybe, scaly and yellow-eyed, much, much larger than a man. Heavy and ancient and I thought slow until”—he raised his hand bitterly. “It spoke to me. It told me what my name was. It told me that this part of the city was called Fosdyke, and you agree, which is how I know that it was not a dream, unless you sisters are also a dream. It said that it could tell the future. It said that it was a kind of God. I think it wanted me to worship it, or at least to marvel at it, but I’ve seen more wonderful things, though I may not recall them just now. It smelled bad; it lived idly in its own waste. Its scales were dull. It looked stuffed until it moved. It was an ugly thing. Maybe it was wonderful once, long ago. It promised to tell the future if only I would touch it; to tell me what I was looking for, who I am, what’s missing from me; what sent me up onto the Mountain, if that’s really where I fell from, as you seem to think. I needed it so badly. I felt sorry for thecreature. I touched it. It did
this
to me. I think it started to speak, then, but men came—the men who were holding it, perhaps—and I ran. It told me to run. I paid a price for my prophecy and I was cheated. Does this sound mad? I don’t know this part of the city. Low sisters, what should I do?”
Ruth’s eyes glittered as Arjun spoke. She’d risen from her chair and put music on the contraption in the corner, and wound it up without taking her eyes off him; now the sound of a dusty and distant piano crept into the room. She sat again with her hands folded under her chin.
“I remember that museum,” Ruth said. “The Dad took us there. Years ago. Before the Know-Nothings locked it all away. When we were very little, and the city was so different. There were wonderful things there, from all over the city. From all kinds of places that don’t exist anymore. Marta, do you remember, there was a great blue silk flying-machine up on the roof, under glass? There was that painting of the woman weaving her hair into a golden map … I haven’t thought about the Museum for years.”
Marta shrugged. She’d produced a little leather pouch from somewhere under her dress, taken three loose pinches of something sticky and black out of it, and was rolling a cigarette. “There was no bloody talking lizard in it.”
Ruth said, “No, Marta, wait; there
were
lizards down there. I mean,
stuffed.
Big cats
and
lizards. Oliphaunts. Chimerae. Monopods—those great hairy things like mushrooms. Down in the basement, remember? All musty and mangy. From some old prince’s menagerie, or something.”
“I remember. You got lost down there and I had to come and find you.” Marta inhaled deeply and passed the cigarette to Ruth. It smelled sweet and thick.
“It was so dark down there. They hardly bothered to light it. No one went down there, even then. I remember feeling so sorry for all of them. Poor dead things. So far from home. Things out of time. No one ever cared for them. No one ever dusted them or polished their plaques or cleaned the glass, if they were in glass. I mean maybe someone came at night, but you never
saw
them do it. I could never imagine who brought those things there in the first place. Who’d sat down and decided where they should go, who’d carried them in, those huge great monsters? Who’d dare? It waslike they’d settled there themselves, to go to sleep, when they’d gotten tired of the world.”
Ruth held the cigarette delicately; she took short breaths on it and stared into the table’s candles.
Marta
what.
I was in the Museum—I
think
it was a Museum.”
Arjun paused to eat. He fumbled—his hand made him clumsy. It embarrassed him. He flushed and spoke too quickly. “Not so far from here. I ran for a while but not so far or for so long. Is there a museum here? I came to myself in the cellars, underground, in a storeroom or a prison room. There was a creature in there with me, in a cage; a kind of lizard, a kind of reptile, maybe, scaly and yellow-eyed, much, much larger than a man. Heavy and ancient and I thought slow until”—he raised his hand bitterly. “It spoke to me. It told me what my name was. It told me that this part of the city was called Fosdyke, and you agree, which is how I know that it was not a dream, unless you sisters are also a dream. It said that it could tell the future. It said that it was a kind of God. I think it wanted me to worship it, or at least to marvel at it, but I’ve seen more wonderful things, though I may not recall them just now. It smelled bad; it lived idly in its own waste. Its scales were dull. It looked stuffed until it moved. It was an ugly thing. Maybe it was wonderful once, long ago. It promised to tell the future if only I would touch it; to tell me what I was looking for, who I am, what’s missing from me; what sent me up onto the Mountain, if that’s really where I fell from, as you seem to think. I needed it so badly. I felt sorry for thecreature. I touched it. It did
this
to me. I think it started to speak, then, but men came—the men who were holding it, perhaps—and I ran. It told me to run. I paid a price for my prophecy and I was cheated. Does this sound mad? I don’t know this part of the city. Low sisters, what should I do?”
Ruth’s eyes glittered as Arjun spoke. She’d risen from her chair and put music on the contraption in the corner, and wound it up without taking her eyes off him; now the sound of a dusty and distant piano crept into the room. She sat again with her hands folded under her chin.
“I remember that museum,” Ruth said. “The Dad took us there. Years ago. Before the Know-Nothings locked it all away. When we were very little, and the city was so different. There were wonderful things there, from all over the city. From all kinds of places that don’t exist anymore. Marta, do you remember, there was a great blue silk flying-machine up on the roof, under glass? There was that painting of the woman weaving her hair into a golden map … I haven’t thought about the Museum for years.”
Marta shrugged. She’d produced a little leather pouch from somewhere under her dress, taken three loose pinches of something sticky and black out of it, and was rolling a cigarette. “There was no bloody talking lizard in it.”
Ruth said, “No, Marta, wait; there
were
lizards down there. I mean,
stuffed.
Big cats
and
lizards. Oliphaunts. Chimerae. Monopods—those great hairy things like mushrooms. Down in the basement, remember? All musty and mangy. From some old prince’s menagerie, or something.”
“I remember. You got lost down there and I had to come and find you.” Marta inhaled deeply and passed the cigarette to Ruth. It smelled sweet and thick.
“It was so dark down there. They hardly bothered to light it. No one went down there, even then. I remember feeling so sorry for all of them. Poor dead things. So far from home. Things out of time. No one ever cared for them. No one ever dusted them or polished their plaques or cleaned the glass, if they were in glass. I mean maybe someone came at night, but you never
saw
them do it. I could never imagine who brought those things there in the first place. Who’d sat down and decided where they should go, who’d carried them in, those huge great monsters? Who’d dare? It waslike they’d settled there themselves, to go to sleep, when they’d gotten tired of the world.”
Ruth held the cigarette delicately; she took short breaths on it and stared into the table’s candles.
Marta
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