Cubi and Perni, A Doodle

Chapter 16

XVI

Change

Perni is sitting on the side of her bed in her hospital gown when Cubi enters. She looks expectantly at the large plastic bag he holds.

"You got it?" she asks eagerly. "It feels like my birthday."

"It's just clothing isn't it? I haven't forgotten something?"

"No, just clothes. Lemme see."

Cubi opens the bag. Inside, coat hangers are neatly dangling from his hand. He passes each item of clothing to Perni.

"I'll give you the money for them as soon as I can," she says. "I just don't want to go back to my workshop today. Back to my unfinished project."

"I understand," Cubi says. "But, let me pay for them."

Perni dismisses the thought with a wave of her hand. "You don't have any money."

"I can afford to pay for clothes," Cubi says. Just not multi-million rupee contracts, he adds silently.

Perni shakes her head, adamantly. "I'm paying you back, you know you won't be able to stop me."

"Probably not."

She lays the clothes on the bed by her side and turns to Cubi earnestly. "Would you do something else for me, Cubi?"

"Sure."

"Could you leave me to get changed?"

"Oh! Yeah. I'll wait outside."

"Thanks. Is that what you're wearing?" she asks, adding, "You look very respectable."

Cubi looks down at his own almost-fitting suit. "Good. I left the tie at home, I'm no good with knots. I don't think they'll mind, though. They get all sorts in Honeyjewel Place. I could probably go naked and they wouldn't mind."

"Now there's a thought."

"No," Cubi says, "there's not. I'll leave you and your sense of humour to get changed, shall I?"

*

"Do I look okay?"

Cubi just nods.

"I look awful? Be honest."

"No! You look, well, you look beautiful."

"Shut the fuck up, liar," Perni says, nevertheless smiling as she says it.

She does look beautiful, Cubi thinks. She wears a black trouser suit, made of sleek apian silk. It flatters her long-limbed, broad-shouldered figure perfectly, as well as fitting her personality like a glove.

"Okay, well let's get out of here," Perni says.

"Don't forget the manuscript," Cubi says, looking around.

Perni leans around the side of her bed and grabs the bag with the manuscript in it. "I'll hold on to it for now."

"How far have you got into it?"

"Quite far, actually. What else did I have to do while lying around in here? I'll tell you about it over dinner."

"Dinner? But I only just had breakfast."

"You'll have to be very patient then, won't you?"

"Perhaps I can bribe or flatter it out of you."

Perni folds her arms thoughtfully. "I won't stop you from trying."

"So, what are we doing?"

"Good question. Spending the day together, I think. If you'll have me."

Cubi just turns to the door. "Let's go."

*

There's not much sun in Fernheath Park now. The trees are sickly and bare, petrified in some cases. They are nothing more than mooring points for the balloon houses that cluster over the park, drifting back and forth in the breeze. There are so many, they blot out the sun. The grass is long dead, only bare earth remaining.

Cubi and Perni sit slumped on a park bench, their feet in the mud.

Cubi looks up. "It's amazing that they don't all fall."

"They can't," Perni says. "They're lighter than air."

"I don't know about that. I just look up and see spherical houses hanging in the air. Maybe they just got stuck. Maybe any second from now they'll un-stick and fall on us."

Up above, an airphibian leaps into the blue gulf and crosses to a neighbouring balloon house, clinging onto the ropes wrapped around its bulk and recklessly clambering around to the front door.

"Did you know," Cubi begins, "that religious airphibians have only a passing belief in gravity? It's not an especially useful force for them, and they think that Quip may revoke it any time, purely on a whim. It would be lovely for the airphibians, of course. They'd finally have proper flight, instead of just the ability to glide long distances. But they rarely seem to think about what that would be like for the rest of us, all the humans and wingless apians and nematodes. Except perhaps to insinuate that we somehow deserve it."

"Tell me more about this skull woman," Perni says. "The one you slept with."

Cubi sighs. "Okay, firstly, when speaking about the skull women in my life, there's no need to narrow it down with such suffixes as 'the one you slept with'. Secondly, if she slept with anyone, it was not me, but my sofa."

"Okay, but tell me more about her," Perni persists.

"She helped to threaten me, but was otherwise nice… um, she had tattoos of all her bones…"

"All of them?"

"So she said, yes. But not on her face or neck."

"How much of the rest of her did you see?"

"Her arms and her feet."

"What colour were her eyes?"

"I don't remember."

Perni covers her face with her hands and turns to Cubi. "What colour are my eyes?"

"Brown with a slight greenish tint. And there's a little blue fleck in the corner of your left iris."

Perni lowers her hands. "There is?"

"Sure. I seem to remember it, anyway. Let me have a look."

Perni bites her lip and brings her face a little closer to Cubi's. She looks off, over his shoulder.

"Um," Cubi says, "you have to look at me, or I can't see your irises."

"Oh, yeah. That makes sense."

She looks into Cubi's eyes.

He leans close to her and touches his fingers to her cheeks. "Hold still."

"Is it there?" she asks softly.

"You're blushing," Cubi says gently.

"Unlikely," Perni says, affecting indifference. "My skin tone must have experienced a random quantum fluctuation in the last minute."

"Your cheeks are hot."

Her face grows redder. "No, your hands are cold. Anyway, I take it there's no blue fleck, or you wouldn't have changed the subject."

"It's there."

"Oh. So you know my eyes better than I do myself."

Neither of them says anything for what seems like the longest time. Perni swallows and starts to say something.

"Cubiform Judge, call me Cubi!" someone shouts.

Cubi pulls back from Perni with a start. An airphibian glides down from above. "I'm sorry," he calls. "You two were having a moment, weren't you? And then I go and spoil it. Just thought I'd say hi, is all."

"Flib," Cubi says. "How are you doing?"

The gyrocabby touches down with a lightness one wouldn't think his portly frame capable of. "Fine, fine. I should ask you the same thing." He turns to Perni and adds, "You're feeling better, I hope."

"It wasn't a moment," she says. "It was an eye exam."

"Oh right," Flib says, clearly not following. "Here, let me just give you my card. If you ever need a gyro, you can rely on me, okay?"

Cubi takes the card and slips it into his pocket next to his mobile. "Will do. I'm not much of one for flying, though."

"Actually," Perni says. "We may need a gyro for a long distance journey over the next few days."

Cubi looks at her and she shrugs.

"Rightio," Flib says, grinning from eye to eye. "I'll leave you both to it, shall I?"

He winks at them and then crouches down, his long legs folding right back on themselves. With a pounce, he leaps high into the air, spreading his arms and legs to glide towards the nearest balloon house's tether.

As Cubi follows Flib's path up into the air, he can't help but notice the small black bird that, startled, flaps rapidly up into the midst of the balloons and disappears.

*

"This place is so posh," Cubi mutters for the umpteenth time.

Perni doesn't seem at all bothered by their surroundings. Merely says, "You look fine."

"I can feel them summing me up and disliking the end number."

"You look very smart."

"I feel like a little rat. Crawling on the ground with the winged ones flying overhead."

"Okay, the only people here with wings are the waiters, and the humans here outnumber everyone else put together."

"Oh, the humans here have wings, trust me. Metaphorical wings, but they're there."

"Shut up and have dinner with me."

"I am having dinner with you. I'm just simultaneously providing a witty commentary to the social situation."

Perni laughs. She laughs freely. Much more freely than a woman with a few days to live should be able to. "I said shut up and have dinner with me."

"Your wish is my command."

It is an exceedingly posh restaurant. Beeswax, brightly lit, lofty architecture aping a light, classically human style. Winged apian waiters move smoothly between the tables, heads held high. The diners are mostly humans in evening wear, but there are a few groups of quivers, their shadowy forms a blur of graceful motion, and even an airphibian couple sharing a romantic meal over a candle.

"Don't look," Perni says, "but the Queen of Cats just walked in."

Cubi looks over his shoulder at the entrance.

Perni rolls her eyes. "I said don't look!"

"She's smaller than I thought she'd be," Cubi says.

"She's only a cat," Perni answers.

"I've never seen one before. She walks on all fours."

The Queen of Cats is a lithe, black creature, not even a metre long. Her eyes are a bright, golden yellow, and something shiny and white glistens around her neck.

Perni coos. "She wears a diamond studded collar."

Cubi turns back to look at Perni as she speaks, and when he does so, he finds that the Queen of Cats is sitting on their table, casually licking her paw.

"She thanks you not to stare," the Queen of Cats says coolly, "or to talk about her when you think she can't hear."

Perni turns bright red. "Of course. I'm sorry."

The Queen of Cats jumps down from their table and winds off into the restaurant, disappearing under tablecloths and between legs.

Perni has a sip of water and tries to laugh off her embarrassment. "Cats work by different rules from the rest of us," she says.

"You're especially beautiful when you blush," Cubi says.

"Shut the fuck up," Perni retorts reflexively, grinning.

Cubi takes a few bites of his meal, honeycomb stuffed with zealous parsley, and some miscellaneous doughy thing on the side. "Tell me about Mec's book."

"I will. I'm only halfway through, but it's very interesting. I don't know about your friend's sources, but if he's not exaggerating-"

"He's not."

"-then he has a good case for Slink being an actual historical figure. A mortal, living one as well. And one quite removed from the mainstream Slinkist perception of him."

Cubi raises an eyebrow. "But Slink was a skeleton."

Perni shrugs. "Yeah, he says he's getting to that bit. I hope that he actually wrote it before- You know."

"I know."

"After dinner," Perni says suddenly, "I was thinking. I don't feel like going back to my workshop. It wouldn't feel especially safe. Neither would your place, what with the skull people threatening you and sleeping on your sofa and so on. So, I was thinking."

"Good," Cubi says. "Thinking is always a sound course of action."

"Well, I was thinking, there are some nice hotels in Honeyjewel Place. And I was thinking…"

"You told me that already. What was it that you were you thinking?"

"Can't you tell? Maybe we're not on the same wavelength on this. I think I'm getting ahead of myself. Ahead of you as well, maybe."

Cubi shrugs. "I don't think you are. Why don't you tell me exactly what's on your mind, just to be sure that we are both thinking about the same thing here."

"Okay," Perni says. She clears her throat and, toying idly with her fork, tells Cubi.

He nods, slowly. "Okay."

*

Cubi and Perni sit side by side on the edge of the bed, their jackets folded neatly away. The sheets are soft, clean cotton.

"So," Cubi says.

"So," Perni agrees.

Perni takes a deep breath and then slides her arms around Cubi's neck. He turns to face her and accepts her wary kiss, her lips touching his only lightly. Her hold on him tightens and he wraps his arms around her.

She breaks the kiss and pulls back. "Is this okay?" she asks.

"It's perfect," Cubi whispers.

Perni runs her hands over the sheets experimentally. "Shall we lie down?"

Cubi nods.

She laughs nervously. "This seems so strange. Unreal almost."

Cubi touches her cheek affectionately, feeling her grow warm as she blushes. "I'm glad though," he says, sensing the colour rise to his own cheeks.

"Yeah," she says. "Come on."

They lie down on their sides; heads on the soft, cold pillows; facing one another.

Cubi looks into Perni's eyes and says, "I think I'm laying on a complimentary mint."

"Yeah," Perni says. "Me too."

She suddenly sits up, and turns her back to Cubi. She moves the mint onto the bedside table and starts to unbutton her blouse. Cubi watches her silently, rolling his mint slowly between his thumb and forefinger. She glances over her shoulder at him nervously.

He smiles shyly.

And then she grins, involuntarily, the corners of her mouth spreading up towards her prominent cheekbones. Her eyes are radiant.

She lets the blouse fall.

Chapter 15

XV

Chase

The court is a lofty chamber deep in Hive Central. Zzrh stands in the winding tunnel that passes by its entrance, hands in his pockets, unlit cigarette in his mouth. He watches it casually, his compound eyes receiving dim artificial light from all directions.

Zzg arrives and pulls the cigarette from his mandibles, screwing it up and shoving it in her pocket. He touches a feeler to one of hers in disinterested greeting.

A crowd is gathering at the entrance to the court, a thick huddle of winged and wingless apians and a few neurops. They brandish television cameras like standards, and when the defendants emerge they thrust out microphones and recorders like stabbing swords. A storm of camera flashes bathes the tunnel in bright, flickering light.

"No comment?" Zzrh says.

"No, they'll have a statement," Zzg says sagely.

Sure enough, one of the defendants makes a grandstanding proclamation at the entrance to the court, mercifully inaudible where Zzrh and Zzg stand.

"He's the one," Zzg says.

Zzrh taps his shoe on the ground, trying to dismiss an itch. "Are you sure? Not just a figurehead?"

"No," Zzg says, certainty growing in her voice. "He's the one."

"Right."

As the defendants start to leave, there is a brief commotion. Zee clearly attended the bail hearing with a couple of her troopers. As the two groups pass one another, the apian who made the proclamation says something under his breath. The reporters press in closer, scenting blood. Zee looks completely unconcerned. One of her troopers laughs derisively. When the troopers don't take the bait, the defendants walk on, smirking.

Zzrh slides his arms out of his jacket and hands it to Zzg. "Don't mess with my cigarettes," he tells her sternly.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Zzrh crouches down and unties his shoelaces. He pulls his shoes off one at a time, before handing both pairs to Zzg. He places each foot on the beeswax floor experimentally, testing the traction of his soles, the grip and flexibility of his digits. Freed from the confinement of his jacket, he flexes his wings slowly, checking that the slits in the back of his shirt provide sufficient freedom.

The huddle of reporters moves down the tunnel, following the progress of the CPG thugs. Zzrh follows at a distance.

Zzg walks in the opposite direction. "I'll just put these things in the car shall I, like a good little worker?"

"Yeah, thanks. Good luck to you too," Zzrh calls back.

The last thing he hears Zzg say is "Shut up and earn your salary!"

The thugs take the shortest route to the outside air, emerging onto the sloped side of Hive Central, beneath a bruised and mottled dawn sky. Lesser Sun hangs near the horizon, shining weakly. Greater Sun peeps over the balloons of Fernheath park, rising lazily, or perhaps timidly.

The beeswax here is harder and rougher beneath Zzrh's bare feet. His soles cling to it easily. Ahead, the CPG thugs crouch and start to beat their wings, faster and faster, a steady hum arising from the motion. And then they leap into the air, shooting up into the sky like a cluster of rockets, looping around and down towards the river.

Zzrh lets the wind play on his feelers for a moment, getting the feel of the air.

And then he starts to lift himself up into the sky. His wings are a blur, beating the air with a furious hum, but he is barely trying. The muscles on his back take this as a brisk walk. His soles leave contact with the ground.

Rather than going for an extravagant launch into the sky, Zzrh stays low, keeping level with the side of Hive Central, dropping in altitude to gain speed. The smooth ground shoots past below him faster and faster. The river looms ahead. Above, the small specks of the CPG thugs break up and head in different directions. But Zzrh know which one is the only one worth worrying about.

The air tugs on his feelers as it whips past, rippling his clothes violently. As he reaches the river he banks sharply to the right, following the path of his target. He is keeping pace now, perhaps getting a little too close. With a twist of his thrumming muscles, he begins to climb higher, watching Honeyjewel Place and the Nematode Quarter spreading out below him. The distance between him and the apian-shaped silhouette above starts to widen. The silhouette drops suddenly, accelerating rapidly towards the utilitarian rooftops of Squarebury. Zzrh beats his wings harder, struggling to gain altitude and speed. His wings tear a path through the air like a rusty chainsaw, the muscles on his back screaming with the effort.

The silhouette grows into a colour image, just as it drops into one of Squarebury's identical streets. Zzrh dives in after him, no time to get an idea of just what he is diving into.

A washing line whips low over his head, almost taking one of his feelers with it. Another is directly ahead. He twists awkwardly, avoiding it with a narrow margin. Ahead, the other apian weaves recklessly between more washing lines, picking up speed, occasionally batting at one maliciously, leaving a shower of underwear and pyjamas in his wake.

Zzrh dives down, swooping low over the street to get under the chaos overhead. The wingless apians in the street gasp with surprise, throwing themselves out of his way. The drop has increased his speed. He is keeping pace with his reckless target, but barrelling carelessly into groups of pedestrians himself.

Arching his back, he shoots up again, executing a tight barrel roll to avoid a pair of criss-crossed clotheslines, trying not to lose sight of the target as he approaches the end of the street. The thug takes a right at the last possible moment, executing a ninety-degree turn at high speed and surely almost ripping his wings off in the process.

Zzrh follows after him, straining even harder to pick up lost speed. The thug is clearly hoping to throw off any pursuers. Or perhaps he's just a really, really dangerous flyer. Either way, this is not going to be as easy as it could have been.

No sooner has Zzrh come to this realisation, then his quarry darts down a narrow side alley, and, writhing his wings to readjust his path, Zzrh follows after him, shooting into the cool darkness of the alley, feeling cool shadow pass over him, momentarily obscuring his vision. The instinct to slow down is almost overpowering, but, a consummate flyer, Zzrh trusts his feelers to read the flow of air, and zips ahead blindly, rounding a tight corner that he can't even see.

Ahead, a vertical crack of light signals the alley's exit. The thug darts out and takes another impossibly sharp turn. Zzrh takes the turn as fast as he can, but it takes an enormous effort. He swings close to the side of the building on the opposite side of the alley. A wingless apian below shouts a curse at the pair of interlopers buzzing through the town so negligently. Zzrh mutters something under his breath - half apology, half instructions on where she can stick it.

At the next turning, the thug loops tightly back round on himself, shooting down a street parallel to the one he has just left. He must be on amphetamines, Zzrh decides, or spend hours every day training. Perhaps Zez's Flight: A Manifesto is actually an exercise book.

Zzrh realises that he'll have to slow considerably to take the same tight turn. Instead he takes a larger loop, up and over, the world turning upside-down. The street the thug turned into pans out over the nearest row of roof tops above Zzrh's head. He rolls over, restoring the world to its more familiar orientation. The thug is nowhere to be seen in the street below.

Another narrow alleyway shoots off from it - so narrow that Zzrh almost doesn't notice it. On impulse or instinct, Zzrh banks sharply in the same direction as the alley heads off in, trying to follow its path through the peaked rooftops with his gaze and divine where it emerges. He heads for its exit in a straight line, flying low over the buildings.

His instinct for the city's geography has come through. The alley emerges onto a street exactly where he expected, all that remains to be seen is if this is the only exit, or if he has arrived before or after the thug. Tiring from the exertion, Zzrh slows his wing beats and settles on the roof on one side of the alley, looking down expectantly.

The thug bumbles out of the alleyway casually, rolling over, legs outstretched - confident, perhaps, that his aerobatics have shaken off any pursuers. Zzrh starts his aching back muscles beating his wings again, in a more leisurely blur. He dives off the rooftop, allowing himself to plummet a couple of storeys before levelling out, and follows the thug at a modest distance.

*

Zzrh sits down on the cracked concrete and sighs into his mobile. His back muscles are just emitting a dull lethargy now, but tomorrow morning it will have turned into a constricting ache that will stop him flying for a good few days. He hates taking the tube - not least because he can't smoke. Not that he seems to be actually smoking anymore, thanks to Zzg.

Zzg finally answers and Zzrh brings her up to speed, speaking into his mobile in low, clear tones.

"There seems to be a group of winged apians here," he tells her. "It's some ugly storage company. Ironically very human style of design. I think they've rented a container. Spirit knows what they're keeping in it. There's three of them, but its not the same three from the courthouse. I only recognise one of them."

Zzg sounds very satisfied. "I'm notifying Zee. Keep an eye on them and keep your head down. When Zee turns up, try not to get caught up in any violence."

"Good advice," Zzrh says.

"How was your flight?"

"Jealous?"

"Green with envy."

Chapter 14

XIV

Skull Mask

Thunder rumbles and rain begins to fall. Cubi pulls the hood of his coat over his head and hunches forward. Soon his feet are splashing in the bursting raindrops that cover the pavement. The faux beeswax buildings of Antennaton loom from the haze of falling water. Cubi walks briskly down the familiar streets, towards home.

"Cubiform…" A soft voice seems to coo, half shrouded in the hiss of rain.

Cubi keeps walking, yawning into a sleeve-concealed hand.

"Cubiform. We see you…"

Cubi straightens up and looks around, startled.

Three humans, their faces concealed behind skull masks, are crouched by the side of a letter box. They stare at him with bright eyes shrouded in dark make up and shadow. They are wearing clothes appropriate for a night out on the town, but seem unfazed by the rain as it soaks them through. At least one of them is a woman.

"Hello," Cubi says.

The three of them just peer around the post box. One of them lets out a low, prolonged hoot.

"Okay," Cubi says. "Nice chatting with you."

He walks onwards, hearing their quiet splashing as they follow him. He looks over his shoulder. They scurry from shadow to shadow, hiding behind the street furniture and peering around it at him.

"You're really scary," Cubi calls back. "I tremble in my water-laden shoes at the prospect of being peered at by skeletons."

Cubi turns to look where he's going and stops dead in his tracks. A woman in a skull mask is standing right in front of him, rain streaming down her white plaster features and bare, tattooed arms. Her hair is long and braided - apparently black in this light. The tattoos on her arms depict, in great detail, the bones that lie beneath the skin.

She stands up straight, feet wide apart.

"Oh!" Cubi says. "How do you do?"

She says nothing. As Cubi walks around her, trying to look as friendly as he can, she twists her upper body around to keep her skull face and fervent eyes aimed squarely at him. After Cubi has passed her, she walks close in his footsteps, stopping completely still whenever he looks over his shoulder.

When Cubi takes the next right, there are five more humans in skull masks to greet him, blocking his path. He looks back to see the first four rounding the corner, spread out, blocking his path backwards.

They all stand still, either upright or crouching animalistically. Whenever he looks away from one group, the other moves closer. Frantically, Cubi looks around for an avenue of escape. The pavement back and forth is blocked. A large van obstructs his path across the road to the left. A small alley descends down some steps to his right. Another two humans in skull masks are down there, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, sealing off the narrow passageway completely. They stare at him with their heads slanted to one side.

As he looks down the alley, hands seize him from behind. His arms are held fast, each by one person. A pair of tattooed arms wrap around his shoulders, completing the hold. His hood is pulled back and a masked face with long, braided hair leers at him from the side, as the five humans to the front approach closer. Rain strikes Cubi's face at an angle. He forces his eyes to stay open as water collects in his eyelashes.

The foremost of the five opens a flick-knife with a sudden, metallic sound that makes Cubi jump. The hands and arms holding him grow tighter.

The man or woman with the flick-knife is wearing loose clothes, all black. Cubi can't takes his eyes off of theirs. Wide, with more white than iris, they stare back at him, stabbing into him like the long blade of the knife before his face might.

The knife-wielding leader brings the blade closer to Cubi's face. Raindrops glisten on its smooth metal edge. He tries to move back, involuntarily, but is unable to overcome the combined strength of those holding him. One of the skeletons to his left passes something ceremoniously to the leader, who presents it for Cubi's inspection with a flourish.

It is a doll, with long-ish blond hair, dressed in jeans and a dowdy raincoat. It is quite obviously supposed to be Cubi. Once certain that Cubi understands, the leader slides the long blade of the knife into the dolls stomach, and brings it back out in a cutting motion, ripping through its chest. The doll has a skeleton, apparently. Its split ribs protrude from the ragged gash down the middle of its torso.

The hands holding Cubi force his arms up. The leader drops the doll into Cubi's palms, closing his fingers around its midriff with gentle care. And then the five humans in skull masks in front of Cubi fall backwards, moving to a strange, ethereal rhythm. As Cubi looks around, he realises that the rest of them are disappearing as well. The alley to his right is deserted. Soon his arms are freed, and the only one remaining, as far as he can tell, is the tattooed woman with her arms around his shoulders.

He tries to remain as still as a statue as she slides away from him. She chuckles throatily, and then sprints off. Cubi shudders explosively, gasping. He looks down at the doll in his hands. It darkens rapidly as it becomes saturated with rain. Stuffing spills out of its wound.

A heavy thud booms to Cubi's right and he almost breaks into a run. But instead of some new danger, he sees that the tattooed woman has slipped on the wet steps that lead down into the alleyway. She sits dazed at the bottom of the steps, one hand to her head.

"Are you okay?" Cubi calls without thinking.

She says nothing, just groans.

"Think," Cubi says to himself. "Think carefully about what to do now. Oh, fuck it, I was never much of one for thinking before I act."

Unsteadily, still shaking profoundly, Cubi heads down the steps. There are five, he counts. At the bottom, street level is waist high. He reaches out a hand to the woman. Suddenly she seems to recover her senses. She scrabbles to her feet and bolts. Or rather, she tries. On the second step she puts weight on her left leg, lets out a gasp of pain and crumples up.

Cubi walks over to her and looks down. "Are you okay?" he asks her warily. "Should I call an ambulance?"

She just growls, eerily.

Cubi sighs. "Yes, very spooky. Look, you've done all your threatening. It was very effective. Look, I'm still shaking like mad."

He shows her his hands. It's true.

"But at this point," Cubi says. "I think you have to choose between being sensible and admitting that you need help, and trying to keep up the act and just embarrassing yourself."

She looks up at him. Her eyes are bright and passionate. "No ambulance," she says.

Cubi nods. "Can you walk?"

She lifts her left leg up awkwardly, wincing and places some weight on it experimentally. She lets out a little gasp of pain. "No," she says.

"Well, I'm no doctor. You might have broken something for all I know."

"It's just a sprain," she hisses. "Fuck off already."

Cubi turns towards the steps, then looks back at the woman. "My apartment isn't far from here. It's upstairs, but there's an elevator."

"So?"

"Just thought you might like to rest up. Get out of the rain. Have a cup of tea."

She sighs and looks at Cubi like he's a deluded puppy. "No, I don't want to go back to your apartment, thank you very much."

"Your choice."

Cubi looks around. There's nowhere to sit, so he leans against the wall.

"Aren't you going yet?" the woman asks.

Cubi shrugs. "Just thought I'd see you off. Aren't you going yet yourself? Go on, walk away."

She glares at him. "You're enjoying this, you bastard."

"Excuse me? I offered to help you. I'm waiting for you to stop being childish and realise that you want to accept that offer."

They both look up sharply, at a distinct cawing sound. A small black bird is perched on the edge of the alley. It looks down at Cubi with both eyes.

"You were a big fucking help, you were," Cubi tells it.

It cocks its head to one side as if in answer, and then turns to look at Cubi dead-on with one side-facing eye.

When Cubi looks down, the woman is trying to crawl off. She makes excruciatingly slow progress, gasping and panting as she goes.

"You'd go quicker if you had someone to support the weight on your left side," Cubi says.

She tries to ignore him, but after much effort she has barely moved a metre from her starting point. She turns and looks back at Cubi. "You can't help me to walk to where I'm going," she says.

"Shame," Cubi says. "I wanted to see all the people going about their daily business in skull masks. We'll go back to my apartment, okay?"

"Don't fucking try anything," she says firmly.

"Like what? Threatening you with a knife?"

"We would never have really hurt you," she says. "We just wanted to get a point across."

"I wonder whatever it could have been," Cubi says, stepping over to her.

She holds up her tattooed arms and he takes her hands.

*

"Tea, milk, no sugar."

"Thank you."

"Will you take the mask off now?"

"No."

The woman in the skull mask lies propped up on Cubi's sofa. Her left leg is surrounded with pillows. Her trainers sit on the floor next to the sofa. She lifts her mask up slightly and sips tentatively at the tea, as if expecting it to be poisoned.

Cubi sits on the armchair opposite her and starts slurping his own cup of tea.

"Don't you have a television?" she asks.

"I have two. One in the kitchen and one in the bedroom. I only watch television when I'm eating or trying to get to sleep."

"Weird."

"Says the woman in the skull mask."

"Granted. Each to their own."

They sit in silence, drinking slowly for a few minutes. Then Cubi says, "I'm dying to ask about the tattoos."

"What about them?"

"Well, for a start, which bones do you have as tattoos?"

She looks down at herself. Her bare feet are tattooed in the same manner as her arms. "It's very comprehensive, trust me."

"Must have hurt."

"Lots of things hurt. It's the price you pay for being alive."

"Nice way to think about it," Cubi says. Then he gestures to the array of pillows. "How's the leg? Any better?"

She stares at the offending limb. "I'll find out if I move it, I think. But I don't really want to right now."

Cubi's mobile goes. He answers it and then hangs up a few seconds later. "You guys don't have my mobile number do you?" he asks.

She shrugs.

The little mutilated doll is sitting on the arm of Cubi's chair. He pats it on the head. "It is a very good likeness," he says.

"We wouldn't really do anything like that to you. We just wanted you to…"

"To be afraid."

"Well, when people ridicule Slink, it hurts us. I guess we just wanted to hurt you in return."

"Bit of a difference between hurting someone's feelings and making them feel afraid for their life."

"Maybe we went too far."

Cubi sits forward slightly, a serious expression on his face. "Scrimshaw put you up to this didn't he? He's the only Slinkist who knows that I inherited the painting."

The woman doesn't speak, but her demeanour is a definite enough answer.

"I knew it," Cubi says. "And please, take the fucking mask off. If I wanted to turn you in to the police I'd already have done it."

The woman impulsively lifts the skull mask up and off, exposing a face with chiselled, well-formed features. Her eyes are dark pits of black makeup, slightly ridiculous-looking without the mask.

"Do you have a name?" Cubi asks.

"Call me Apogee," she says.

"I'll get you a blanket, Apogee," Cubi says. "In the morning you're leaving. Under your own steam, with my help, or in an ambulance. We'll find out which."

*

When Cubi gets up the following morning, Apogee is gone. The sofa has been tidied up and her skull mask sits propped against the arm.

The Birds and the Bees

I think it's pretty clear that I'm not going to win NaNoWriMo. Instead I shall probably be thrown on a heap of disgarded manequins and left to grow mouldy. Not such a bad end, I suppose, compared to some.

My new target, regardless of any being-thrown-on-a-heapness that may occur at the end of the month, is to make 30,000 words by December, and to finish this novel by Christmas. As I typed this, Ray Charles sung the following:

Can’t you see
What you’re doing to me?
The honey bee
Makes to spy at me.
The birds above
Sing a song of love.
Though I have cried constantly,
That’s not the thing to do.

Which seems like a nice set of lyrics for my novel.

Now starting Chapter 17. Will post them as quickly as I can be bothered to proof read them...

PS. I do not actually know Ray Charles. He was singing on my CD player. Also, I believe that he is dead.

Chapter 13

XIII

Unlucky for Some

"They're getting a bail hearing tomorrow," Zee says.

"That must be a record. Scum always have the best lawyers," Zzrh answers.

"Yeah, but it's not like anyone made it too difficult for them. It's all community relations. We have to arrest the racists to appease the humans, but we have to be extra nice to them or we get accused of political correctness or suppressing freedom of speech."

The two of them are waiting on the sloped side of Hive Central, under the clouded evening sky. Winged apians and gyrocopters buzz overhead, but the ground is quiet and deserted. Zee is out of her body armour now, wearing just a white shirt and black trousers. She stamps her feet and rubs her arms as defence against the chill air.

"Say," Zzrh says, "do you still have that lighter on you?"

"Sure."

Zzrh sticks a cigarette in his mandibles and leans down to the flame that sparks in Zee's hand.

"Put the cigarette down," a morose voice announces.

"Zzg," Zzrh says. "So happy to see you."

She steps out of the hive entrance, wiping her feelers over the hard surface of her eyes. "Been having fun today?" she asks.

Zzrh spits the cigarette out. "You bet. You?"

"I always find interviewing thugs to be so very relaxing."

"Really?"

"What do you think?" she says bluntly. "You had fun, I'm sure."

Zee draws a breath through her mandibles and backs away. "I'll leave you two to settle your arguments by yourselves. See ya."

"Night, Zee. Zzg, fun? No, no. Boring research. Very boring."

"We do have a TV in the break room."

"Then, since you were hard at work, you wouldn't have seen me, would you?"

Zzg sighs. "I can't believe you got on TV. Who's doing all the work? The wingless detective, that's who. The one with wings is on TV."

"They just wanted me to make a statement, I had no idea I'd end up on the news."

"You're a narcissist. Any excuse to look like a scruffy sleuth in front of a crowd."

Zzrh's mobile goes and he takes the excuse to break the conversation. After a few terse words he turns and looks at Zzg. "Looks like we've finally found our Zruz."

*

"That's about as dead as they come," Zzrh says.

"I've seen deader," Zzg answers. "What did the fisher have to say?"

"She caught a smelly, river-ruined body in her net, traumatising her for life. That's as much as she can tell us."

"Are we sure it's really Zruz?"

Zzrh looks at the body lying on its back on the quayside: a winged apian staring up at the increasingly troubled sky. A few wingless apians in white coveralls are examining the fisher's decrepit motorboat. The dominant sound is of water sloshing around disobediently in the river.

Zzrh goes over to one of the forensic scientists and takes a clear plastic bag from her. Inside is a brown leather wallet. He fiddles around with it through the bag. "Pilot's license and DVD rental card, both his."

Zzg makes a face. "Pilot's license? Did his wings not work?"

"He worked for a hotel, remember, with mostly wingless guests."

"What about his pass card?"

"His what?"

"For getting in and out of the hotel."

Zzrh fiddles around some more. "Don't think it's in here."

"It wasn't in his apartment either," Zzg says, adding, "We got a warrant for the place while you were having fun."

"So, what do you think? Someone killed Zruz to get his pass card and get into the hotel to kill Ogive?"

Zzg pulls her overcoat around herself more tightly. "And it just happened to be the one with CPG connections? What if he killed himself to throw us off the scent? Or the others killed him for that reason - or over a dispute."

"Then why is his pass card missing?"

"To throw us off the scent, I said that already."

"Or maybe it was someone else," Zzrh reasserts. "Ignoring the fact that Zruz is CPG, we can say that anyone with a motive could have taken his card and murdered Ogive."

"Why should we ignore the fact that he's CPG?"

"Because he's dead. Do you think we could get a narrow enough time of death on him to exclude him as the murderer?"

Zzg looks at the forensic scientists as if divining answers from their movements. "I doubt we could from his body alone, but if he was alive on the night of the murder, he might show up on CCTV somewhere in the city. By the river, perhaps, assuming he was killed and not just dumped here."

"How did he die?" Zzrh asks.

"Do I look like a doctor to you? Look yourself."

"No chance, he's gone all mushy in his exoskeleton."

Zzg turns towards their car. "Where the hell do we start now?"

"Did your interviews with the thugs not turn up much?"

"Nothing conclusive. Nothing inoffensive either. I was told to go lock up all the humans. They seemed pretty adamant that humans must have done it."

"Maybe the Slinkists did do it, and they want us to think that the CPG tried to frame them for the murder."

"Oh, right," Zzg says. "So the Slinkists want us to think that the CPG want us to think that it was them, so that we'll think it was the CPG, when in fact it was them?"

"Yeah."

Zzg swats at Zzrh's feelers. He ducks too slowly and winces as her hand connects.

"Try coming up with an idea that's halfway sensible," she says.

Zzrh strokes his feelers tenderly. "Hardly my area of expertise."

Chapter 12

XII

Perni’s Toes

“They can’t be the same bird,” Perni says.

“But why is there only ever one of them? And they’re all looking at me! If it’s not just one bird, then it must be a conspiracy of dozens of birds. That’s much more frightening, I think.”

“You just have too much to think about. You need to have a rest and stop trying to be a detective. That’s what detectives are for.”

“I had breakfast with a detective this morning,” Cubi says.

“Really?”

“I don’t know why.”

“Perhaps he was impressed by your amicable demeanour and wants to be your friend.”

“No, I wonder if maybe he thinks that I’m involved in something to do with Mec’s death and the theft. Oh Nog! Perni, you don’t think he thinks that I murdered Mec to get my hands on the painting?”

“Hold still. I’m sure he can tell that you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Aren’t you finished yet?”

“One nail to go. But this is just the base coat. Then comes the colour, then comes the top coat.”

Cubi sits in the chair by Perni’s bedside, with his feet in her lap. She applies nail polish to his toes with painstaking care. Someone else’s makeup bag sits by her side. In fact, as far as Cubi knows, Perni doesn’t own any makeup.

“Is purple really my colour?” Cubi asks.

“I don’t think it’s the colour for either of us. But it’s the least awful colour in the bag.”

“Are you sure you’re going to get your slippers back? Maybe she just wanted to get rid of it for good.”

“Slippers are a small price to pay, Cubi,” Perni says grandiosely. “I was struck by a vision. Personal revelation. A message from my subconscious, from Nog, or the Divine Spirit of the Hive Queen. I was struggling to get to sleep last night, when I saw my toes, right before my eyes, as clear as a plasma screen TV with the brightness turned all the way up.”

“Where were your toes through all this?”

“I don’t know, it was dark. Attached to my feet as usual, I presume, but perhaps they were in fact before my eyes. We’ll never know now.”

“Shame.”

“But in my vision, my toenails were a lovely colour.”

“What colour?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“Not purple then?”

“And right next to my toes, were another set of toes. And I knew that they were your toes, Cubi. And they were the same colour! And I knew then that it was the most important thing in the world for us to have matching toenails. Worth even more than my treasured casual, indoor footwear.”

“If it’s that important, why have you stopped?”

“I need to let the base coat dry, Cubi.”

“Oh. Did you really have a vision?”

She squeezes Cubi’s ankle, making him squirm. “About toes? What do you think?”

“Stop it, that tickles! People are expected to believe crazier things.”

“True. But I’m not the one to tell them to do it.”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Perni says, examining Cubi’s feet. “I was thinking about all sorts of horrible things, so I tried to think about you instead. And suddenly I wanted us to have matching toenails. Or something matching, anyway.”

Cubi isn’t sure what to say. He finds Perni’s concern for his toes strangely very touching. Perni takes the nefarious bottle of purple fluid from the makeup bag and examines it casually, although Cubi can tell that she’s not really reading the ingredients, just trying to look like she’s doing something.

After a while, Perni starts applying the purple polish to Cubi’s toenails. Then his phone rings.

“Hello?”

Nothing in response but that strange rubbing sound. Cubi grimaces.

“Who is it?” Perni asks.

“Um, a pervert, perhaps?”

“Ooh! Let me hear!”

Cubi hands her the phone and she presses it to her ear. She starts to laugh naughtily. “Who is this? What are you doing?”

She hands it back to Cubi and he disconnects with a push of a button. “Freaky,” she says. “I never get dirty phone calls. I must not be attractive enough.”

“I’m not sure what it is,” Cubi asserts.

“Well, it sounds like an admirer to me…”

“Nice. Thanks.”

She squeezes his ankle again, eliciting a squeak. “Hold still and stop worrying about everything.”

*

When Perni has finished with Cubi’s toes she pats the bed by her hip and he squeezes up next to her again. Their feet are four in a row before them.

“See,” Perni says. “They match now.”

“Matching purple,” Cubi agrees dubiously.

Perni studies his expression and laughs. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

Cubi blushes and Perni’s smile widens even more.

“Stop it,” Cubi says. “You’re just tormenting me for the fun of it.”

She squeezes him around the waist. At some point during the motion, the moment passes and she releases him again, clearing her throat. “Cubi,” she begins, carefully, “don’t get angry, but I think I’ve done all the lying around that I can. Tomorrow I’m going to… check out. De-commit myself. Whatever you call it. I just can’t waste the rest of - the rest of the next week lying around by myself.”

Cubi nods. “I understand.”

“Cubi…”

“What is it? Perni?”

She shrugs, as if what she has to say is of no consequence. “I still have some money left over from the project. I know you probably have things to do, your friend is dead and everything.”

“Perni, you know I’m only occupied with that because I want to find the money for you.”

“I know. It’s just, I was wondering if you’d like to go out somewhere special. Dinner in Honeyjewel Place, something of the sort. You know.”

Cubi taps his leg distractedly. “I know.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Would you like to?”

Cubi looks surprised. “Oh, Perni, of course. I assumed that I’d already said yes, or that you’d know I’d say yes, or something like that.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be doing it because I want to.”

Perni looks right in Cubi‘s eyes. “Can I ask you something else?”

She has the most intricate brown irises, Cubi can‘t help but be entranced. “Anything,” he says.

“What’s in the bag?”

Cubi looks down at the plastic bag he leant against the chair when he first sat down. “Oh that! It’s a copy of the manuscript for Mec’s last book. I’ve been seeing about publishing it. It’s incomplete, and it needs work. It’s not worth enough, before you start to think it might be.”

“That’s okay. I just wondered if you’d bought me something.”

“Would - would you like me to have bought you something?”

“No, no. It’s okay.”

“I can buy you something if you want,” Cubi says firmly. Then, more uncertainly: “What kind of something?”

“I don’t know. I just wondered. I shouldn’t have said anything. A book is interesting enough. Have you read it?”

“I’ve started it, but I can’t concentrate.”

“Can I read it?”

Cubi swings his legs round to grab the bag. When his bare feet touch the floor, they meet with an ice cold surface. He hops back on the bed quickly, bumping into Perni slightly. She takes the bag from him and pushes back playfully.

As Perni pulls the manuscript from its bag, its title is slowly revealed, splashed across a page in bold writing: Slink: Man or God.

“Ooh,” Perni says. “Weighty and controversial - just how I like them. Will you leave this with me tonight? I need something to read, rather than sitting here and worrying about, well…”

“Our toes.”

She laughs. “Yeah. Better keep my mind off toes.”

Cubi wriggles his own digits, comparing them to Perni’s. “It is nice that they match.”

Perni moves her feet closer to Cubi’s to ease the comparison. “It is nice, yes.”