Watson, Ian - Novel 16 by Whores of Babylon (v1.1) Page B

you.’
                 He
winked, and began to stride off in sprightly style.
                 ‘Thank
you for your courtesy, sir!’ Alex called after him.
                 ‘My
pleasure. My whim.’
                 ‘How
do you mean, “ Babylon isn’t here to discover me”?’
                 The
man wagged a finger. ‘You Greeks have a saying: Know Thyself. Explore thyself.
You’re quite wrong. Your own life has no purpose and no goal - though of course
the world would be purposeless without any people in it. Accumulate
information, my boy! Forget about generalities and principles! Compile the list
of whatever happens to you - never try to sum that list up.’
                 Wagging
his hand in farewell, the man went on his way, leaving Alex baffled. Maybe that
had been his mischievous intention: to call Alex a fool at much greater length
than the other man, and more circuitously.
                 On
the subject of circuits, the zigzag ramps of the temple awaited. Alex still had
to hide the tape, which might be packed with information, or might be blank.
     
                 *
* *
     
                He stood puffing at the summit of
the temple. His heart beat fast, and the package still pressed against his
bowels.
                 He
had passed too many people on the way. One intersection of the ramps had been
occupied by a great cage of tiny scampering monkeys with inquisitive bright
eyes. A lower intersection had opened into the heart of the temple, ruddily
lamplit and shadowy, where shapes of magi moved beneath looming fearsome
statues and where linen curtains concealed musicians - he heard kettledrums
beating softly, harps rippling like waterfalls, the whistling of an ocarina,
entertainment for Marduk while the god’s brazen nostrils inhaled the reek of
charring flesh and blood. Within, the geometric temple was a cavern, its
pillars resembling stalagmites. Hiding places abounded, but also places from
which hidden figures could easily spy whatever he did. You would have to be a
habitue to hide anything safely there.
                 So
he rested at the summit for a while, taking in the view: the sprawling, walled
suburbs over the water to the west where garden green glinted amidst houses;
the bend of the Euphrates to the south, with the Borsippa canal
forking off into farmland; the road to Nippur to the east.
                 Behind
him a terracotta dragon - like those at the Ishtar Gate, but rampant - reared
to half his height again, a spade gripped in one claw to support it. Spade and
dragon: symbols of Marduk. Lower down the ramps he had passed terracotta
statues of lions, too. A spiky lightning rod rose highest. He kept his back to
the dragon, letting it block the view to the north where the Tower of Babel pulled at his mind.
                 Defeated,
yet feeling that none the less he had scaled a peak, he descended the ramps
again.
     
                 *
* *
     
                Emerging from the courtyard by the
west gate, he soon found himself upon the river road a few hundred cubits south
of the great stone bridge. People of many nationalities passed by, as though
the port of the world was here. He saw Arabs, Armenians, Indians, fellow-
Greeks (of course); even a Chinese face. He soon spotted Deborah leaning on the
balustrade of the corniche, alone. Before he could reach her, to his
exasperation Gupta appeared up steps from the quays below, grinning.
                 ‘Greetings,
Alex! Did you find what you were seeking? Or did you lose it? Ha ha! Did you
pray for guidance? If so, here I am.’
                 Alex
realized that he had quite forgotten to pray. Well, that wasn’t true. He never
had any intention of praying; but maybe he ought to have done so . . .
                 ‘Hi,
Alex,’ said Deb.
                 ‘What’s
down