Chapter 8

VIII

Birds, Bones, Slippers

Cubi sits on a street bench in the Human Quarter, across the road from the hospital where Perni is staying. He looks at the little, badly lit Polaroid of the Skeleton God in Oil Paint, his coat wrapped tightly around him. It's already in some private collector's gallery, hidden away. Already burnt to cinders and scattered on the wind. All he can think of is Perni. It's not his fault. None of this is his fault. But he feels ashamed all the same.

A small black bird lands on the side of the bench and frightens the life out of him.

The bird caws and then cocks its head to study Cubi with one eye.

"You little bastard," Cubi says, one hand on his heart. "You almost killed me. Don't sneak up on people like that."

The bird keeps its shiny black eye trained on Cubi. It changes the angle of its head slightly, a shrug perhaps, or an apology.

"That's okay," Cubi says. "It's not a good day for me. Don't suppose you could lend me fifty million rupees, could you?"

The bird says nothing.

"Just a thought," Cubi says. "How could someone want to destroy a painting so much? It's just a picture. If you don't agree with it, so what? If it's wrong, if Slink really is singing the song of our bones, then why should a dissenting view be so dangerous? The truth will bear it out. Then again, perhaps that's the point, eh?"

The bird blinks and shifts on its little feet.

Cubi sighs and stares at the hospital. "The moral responsibility of whoever has inherited this painting…"

The bird shuffles a little closer.

Cubi says, "Scrimshaw."

*

It's a rather unassuming building, as the Human Quarter goes. Rectangular, made of metal, plastic and glass, smooth colours, no patterns. A brass plate by the door reads simply, "Slinkist Society."

Inside, a young man with short hair and a tie stands behind a reception desk. A flat, silver skull is mounted on the wall behind him. He regards Cubi with disdain.

"I need to see Scrimshaw," Cubi says.

"Do you have an appointment?" the man asks abruptly.

"No, but-"

The man pushes a button under his desk and two burly men walk into the lobby through a small, inconspicuous door. "Please take a pamphlet," the man says. "We are glad that you have chosen the path of salvation. Your bones are indebted to you. Good bye."

Cubi holds up the Polaroid. "I'm the guy who inherited the Skeleton God in Oil Paint. I believe that Scrimshaw and I have some things to discuss."

The receptionist holds up a hand and the two burly men hang back.

*

Scrimshaw looks exactly as he does on TV. Cubi feels very short and moth-eaten all of a sudden, windswept and rained-upon as he is. Scrimshaw smiles a wide, ingratiating smile, while keeping a dominant posture.

"Cubiform, a pleasure to meet you," he says.

"Scrimshaw," Cubi says. "I see you on TV sometimes, in the morning, on that religious debate show. Can't say I prefer you to The Adventures of Captain Larva."

Scrimshaw is unfazed. "Well, we all have our different tastes, don't we?"

They sit on opposite sides of Scrimshaw's spacious desk. A computer sits to one side, a decorative skull, probably real, sits to the other.

"I was wondering if you'd seen my painting?" Cubi asks.

"I have seen your painting yes. I found it very offensive, but I'm sure that you know that."

"Have you seen it recently though? It seems to have gone missing."

Scrimshaw seems genuinely surprised. That, or he's a consummate actor. He grins from ear to ear. "Well, I can't say that I'm upset to hear that."

"Really?" Cubi says, trying to keep his temper. "So you know that the painting is in the possession of someone with the same view of it as you? It's not been stolen by, say, the CPG so that they can project it onto the side of Hive Central or post it on the internet at full resolution?"

Scrimshaw's smile fades. "Obviously, those outcomes would be less desirable."

"Obviously. Look, I'll be honest with you, I'm having financial difficulties, my friend is in hospital. I need about fifty million rupees. That's half what this painting is probably worth. If you can put this painting back in my hands, I'll give you - or your organisation - half what it sells for."

Scrimshaw squares his jaw and looks as virtuous as he can. "This isn't about money."

Cubi grits his teeth. "In that case, if you give me the painting and fifty million rupees, I'll ensure that it's destroyed."

"I don't have the painting, Cubiform, and if I did I'm not sure that I would agree with expending such an amount of money to coerce you to morality."

Cubi snorts. "Of course, in that case it would be cheaper to destroy it yourself."

Scrimshaw stands. "If you intend to accuse me of being a criminal, I would suggest that you do so through the police. Thank you for meeting with me. I only wish we could have had a more constructive discussion."

The two burly men materialise in the doorway, and Cubi decides that it would be prudent to leave.

*

Outside Perni's hospital again, Cubi sits back on the bench. The same bird is there.

"Yes?" Cubi says to the bird. "Of course I would. I'd sell the painting to the Slinkists to save Perni's life. I'd sell it to them so they could burn it and dance around it in a little circle. It's just a painting. It's silly to be offended by it and it's silly to imagine that it's worth more than a living being."

He sits forwards and sighs. "The best thing, would be if none of this had happened. Perni hadn't taken that job, Mec hadn't died, Redact hadn't been born… Now I have to go tell Perni about all this somehow, without building up her hopes or dashing them. In the end, it's all about her anyway."

Cubi stands and dusts down his coat and jeans. He crosses the road at a stroll, looking both ways, daring anyone to knock him over. Ground traffic gets lighter every year. Gyrocopters are where it's at now.

The hospital lobby is much warmer than the outside air. Cubi loosens his coat and wanders down the wrong corridor, doubling back to head towards Perni's room. When he gets there, the bed is unmade, but empty.

"Don't tell me she's buggered off," Cubi mutters to himself.

"I won't," Perni says, entering behind him, pulling along her drip, "because it wouldn't be true."

Cubi tries a smile, wonders if its appropriate. She laughs it off.

She's wearing a dressing gown over her hospital gown. Her pale calves stick out of the bottom, disappearing into a pair of cheap slippers. Her hair is clean; it curls naturally. She blushes under his scrutiny and pushes him into the chair next to her bed as she climbs in.

"I thought you'd done a runner," Cubi says.

"No, my bladder had an important appointment with the toilet." She pulls her feet under the covers and her slippers hit the hard flooring with a double clap. "So," she says, looking at Cubi, "I'm dead aren't I?"

Cubi takes a deep breath and suppresses an involuntary shudder at the recollection of his meeting with Redact. "You have one week to complete the project," Cubi says, "or to compensate Redact with forty or fifty million rupees."

Perni sighs. "Well, that's not so bad. I was expecting him to want to break my neck immediately - or worse. But, one week to live. Not so terrible. A thought experiment realised, isn't it?"

Cubi runs his fingers through his hair anxiously.

"What is it?" Perni asks. "There's more isn't there?"

"It's good stuff, but it's not that good, and I don't know how to tell you without possibly raising your hopes halfway through the sentence and dashing them to pieces at the end. It might be better for me just not to tell you."

"Ignorance is bliss," Perni says, "but I'm a miserable sod. Tell me, or I'll find a way to get it out of you."

Cubi laughs. "Is that a promise? Okay, maybe if I tell you it backwards, starting with what's gone wrong, that might be okay."

Perni screws up her nose. "I like it. Go on then."

"Okay," Cubi says, thinking for a moment. "The last thing you need to know is that the painting was stolen and it looks like I'll never see it again, nor get any money for it."

"Right."

"The first thing you need to know is that I inherited a painting that's worth perhaps a hundred million."

Perni takes this in her stride. "But it was stolen," she repeats, "and you'll never see it again, nor get any money for it."

"But, you know, I'd like to imagine that maybe I will find it or something, and get enough money, just in the nick of time. But it's so stupid to think that, not to mention - I mean, it makes - it's like the most infuriating thing to think how close I was to-"

Perni looks at Cubi affectionately. "I know. I understand."

"I'm sorry," Cubi says. "I'm really sorry. I wish there was something I could do. There should be something I could do, but it was taken out of my hands."

"Forget about it," Perni says. "It'll only make you upset."

"As opposed to just thinking about how we need to get a load of money to this extremely scary, extremely rich and powerful person? I'm going to be upset either way."

"You don't need to get a load of money to anyone, Cubi. I'm the one in trouble. Don't try and blame yourself or take it upon yourself to save me. Just, I don't know, just forget about me and keep me company for the next week, if you know what I mean. My last week, I might add."

Cubi looks distraught. "Perni…"

"Cubi," Perni says, ignoring his pleading tone, "if you want to do something useful, there's a shop across the road from the hospital that sells chocolate cakes. There's something of a smuggling ring in operation with visitors bringing it in for the inmates - patients, I mean. Sadly, no-one seems to want to visit a grumpy misanthrope like me…"

"Okay, I'll buy you a bloody chocolate cake."

"I want a muffin, actually."

"Muffin then."

"Get two, we'll have one each."

Cubi stands and heads for the door. Then he stops and turns around. "Perni! I can't just pretend that this isn't happening!"

"Yes you can," she says firmly, "for a few days. Because I asked you to. In a few days I can think about going to the police or fleeing the city, or something else perhaps. But not right now. Now I just want to relax. To relax and eat a chocolate muffin."

Cubi nods and, shoulders slumped, leaves the room.

*

Scrimshaw sits at his desk, tapping carelessly at his keyboard. A silhouette looms behind him. He leaps to his feet and spins round.

"Slink in his Tower!" he hisses. "Nepenthe, you scared the living shit out of me."

"I'm just here to check up on my finances," Nepenthe breathes.

"It's all going as planned. We agreed on the rate at which we would accumulate your payment, didn't we? If we go too fast it will draw attention."

"You had better not cross me, Scrimshaw. You know what I'm capable of."

"Quite," Scrimshaw says.

The figure steps back into the shadows and is gone.

Scrimshaw exhales unsteadily.

*

Perni sits upright in bed. She pats the sheet by her hip.

"Sit up here with me," she says.

Cubi kicks his shoes off and sits on top of the sheets next to her. He places the bag between his knees and opens it. "One chocolate muffin for you, and one for me."

Perni takes her muffin eagerly and begins stuffing her grinning mouth with it.

Cubi takes a tentative bite of his own muffin. "Hey, this is nice."

"My taste in muffins is unparalleled," Perni says.

The bed is narrow and their arms press together. Perni leans into Cubi slightly, and he balances himself by placing his hand on the bed just behind her. Their clothes brush together, whispering softly.

"Don't get chocolate crumbs on your sheets," Cubi says.

"They're my sheets."

"They're the hospital's."

"I'm using them."

"So don't get crumbs on them."

Perni brushes her hair behind her ear and smiles. After a few more bites she adds, "Thank you, Cubi."

He tries to laugh it off. "For what?"

"For the muffin. You know."

He looks down and blushes. "I know," he says.

"Good."