The old man leant in towards Innocet and hissed, 'The captain has delivered the facility to transfer Quences's mind to the Matrix on his death. As is the custom.'

'Natural y,' said Innocet.

43.'Hang on,' muttered Chris to Arkhew. 'Does that mean that Quences isn't dead after al ?'

The little man looked at him in bewilderment. 'He hasn't read his wil yet.'

'And the doc.u.ments?' Innocet continued.

'Not a word!' warned Glospin. 'Those are private papers which you had no business to read.'

She stared in disbelief. 'You must be mad. This research of yours... it's wild nonsense. No one wil believe you.'

'I want the Family purged once and for all of this monstrous infection.'

'I forbid it,' she said. 'Those doc.u.ments wil not go to the Chapterhouse.'

His thin shoulders shook with laughter. 'Innocet, Innocet. Go back to your books.'

'If the Chapterhouse read those papers, Lungbarrow will be a laughing stock. There's going to be enough trouble over Owis without you making things worse.'

He was suddenly smooth and calm. 'I don't expect you to believe anything. But you've read the proof in the doc.u.ments already, so you know I'm right. Never mind the implications for our Family, my discovery will turn all of history and all your precious cla.s.sics on their heads.'

'Blasphemy.' Her face was like stone. 'I don't know who you're involved with, Glospin. But I'll not let you pa.s.s this irreverent nonsense on. I'll speak to the captain myself.'

'The captain's already gone. I'm fully empowered to make Quences's mind transfer myself.' He took her arm. 'Your devotion's very touching, Cousin. But you can't argue with genetic proof. You'l understand... once the shock's worn off. Our Family's hatched a serpent in its clutch. And what a serpent!'

'He's still alive and still our Cousin. So Owis has no legal right to exist!' A moment of panic crossed Innocet's implacable features. 'You've seen him! At the Capitol, you've visited -, 'Careful,' he said. 'That name's forbidden, remember?'

She lowered her head, took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. 'What have you done to your hand?' she said.

Glospin pulled down his sleeve, but Chris had noticed that the whole forearm had an inflamed burn scar.

'It's nothing. An accident at the Eugenics Faculty. It'll heal. Now give me back my doc.u.ment.'

'You have copies,' she said.

Glospin shook his old head. 'Deep down in your hearts you know I'm right. You're too late, Cousin. Quences wil be here at any moment. And after the old fool's read out my inheritance, I shal a.s.sume my rightful place as new Kithriarch of the Family.'

'Excuse me, Cousins,' b.u.t.ted in Owis, who had been trying to attract their attention. 'Someone says that as Replacements go, and given the fact that characteristics can skip a regeneration, I am almost half as intel igent as they might expect me to be.' He paused and looked baffled. 'Is that a compliment?'

'Dolt!' Glospin raised his cane to strike Owis, but a deep gong boomed. The far doors of the hal flung themselves wide open.

Arkhew gripped Chris's arm. 'It's starting,' he whispered.

The crowd of guests parted to let through the cortege. At its head, carrying an ornate staff twice her height, was the old bonneted woman in black whom Chris had seen in the rocking chair. She scanned the Family with a vicious eye as she ceremoniously led the way towards the raised plinth.

'Who's grandma?' muttered Chris.

'You mean Cousin Satthralope? She's the Housekeeper.' Arkhew turned away, but Chris pul ed him back.

'I think you'd better talk me through this, Arkhew,' he said. 'Give me any detail you think is important. Just treat me as if I know nothing.'

'My Family are shameful,' said Arkhew despairingly. He nodded at the younger version of himself, who was pushing eagerly to the front of the crowd. 'They get what they deserve.'

Chris shrugged. 'Al families are like that. You should hear my lot.'

Behind Satthralope glided the two huge wooden servants (the House Drudges, said Arkhew), their identically angular faces hard in the lamplight. A ma.s.sive ornamental bier trundled between them, apparently moving by itself. It was carved from black wood and covered with the fearsome beasts of a grotesque alien mythology. Their enamelled eyes rolled hungrily as the bier processed across the hail. A carved tail snaked behind it. High on the bier sat the wizened old man whom Chris had seen in Satthralope's mirror.

'Ordinal-General Quences,' guessed Chris. 'How come he's stil alive at his own funeral?'

The old man was wrapped in furs. His head drooped, apparently too heavy for his scrawny neck to support.

'He's the Family Kithriarch,' said Arkhew. 'This is his chosen Deathday. That's why he's riding the ceremonial catafalque. He won't die until he has read out his will. Then he'll be interred in the Family vaults under the House.'

'If he lasts that long,' Chris said, but the potential grisliness of the proceedings chilled him. 'How old is he?'

Arkhew thought for a moment. 'I can't remember. I know it's a fair age. He must be over seven thousand by now.'

'What?' exploded Chris. 'Seven thousand years?'

44.[image]

'Give or take a hundred,' said Arkhew, taken aback. 'Don't forget that later regenerations tend to be shorter in their longevity.'

'Hang on a minute,' said Chris in gathering realization. 'Is this Gallifrey by any chance?'

Arkhew's jaw dropped in incomprehension.

'Silence!' shouted Satthralope and banged her staff on the floor. 'The House of Lungbarrow greets the reunion of its kith on this occasion of solemnity, the thirteenth and final Deathday of its four hundred and twenty-second Kithriarch Quencessetian.o.bayolocaturgrathadeyyilungbarrowmas.'

A hand-like chair slid sedately up behind her and she climbed up into its palm. Staring ahead, she waited for the old man enthroned on the ma.s.sive bier to begin.

Chris moved forward through the gathering, sometimes literal y through them, guiding Arkhew in front of him. He pointed to a stack of objects piled beside Quences's bier. 'His Deathday presents,' said Arkhew. 'They're interred with him in his vault.'

Quences, his head nodding slightly, focused his watery eye on each of the crowd in turn.

After a while, the Family began to mutter among themselves. Satthralope's chair shifted its fingers irritably.

'Well?' hissed the Housekeeper. 'Your audience is waiting. Deliver that interminable speech you've been composing for the past year.'

Quences cleared the phlegm from his throat. 'No,' he croaked.

'No? What do you mean "No"?'

The old man gave a curdled moan. 'Not until all the Cousins are a.s.sembled.'

'We are waiting,' she said emphatically as if the old man was half senile and deaf. 'All forty-four of us. Do you want a roll-call?'

He shook his head. 'No. No will-reading until al the Cousins are here.' There was a loud animal snort of disapproval. The b.e.s.t.i.a.l catafalque on which the old man sat shuddered irritably.

'Drudge!' called Satthralope to one of the servants. 'Bring me the Family register.' As the creature glided away, the Housekeeper leant sideways in her chair towards Quences. Her face was lit with fury. Chris moved in closer to hear as she muttered at the old man. 'I know what you're up to. I know who you mean. This has been argued before. That miscreant has been disinherited and banished from the Family. You did it yourself.'

'The matter was never settled,' growled Quences.

'Oh, yes it was. He is dead - or as good as - and he has been replaced.'

A number of the Cousins turned to look at Owis, who was smiling gormlessly beside Innocet.

'The matter is not settled,' repeated Quences. 'No will. Not until I'm ready.'

More rumours started to run through the crowd. It was reported that the House of Lungbarrow was on the agenda at an emergency session of the Council of Cardinals at Prydon Chapterhouse.

Somebody called out, 'What about the birth of a Replacement Cousin? Isn't that il egal if no one's died?'

Satthralope's chair reared up, raising the old woman high above the crowd. 'Who's insulting the House? Ra.s.silon's Death! Anyone who questions this House's probity will answer to me! How many more disinherited do you want?'

'How high can you count to?' heckled another voice.

'What about our inheritance?' shouted another. And others called out in agreement.

Arkhew sank to the floor, his hands dithering, shaking, imploring in the onset of a new panic. 'Please stop it,' he whispered. 'I don't want to see. I can't bear it. Not again!' He made a sudden lunge and clamped himself to Chris's ankle. The young Adjudicator was transfixed, unable to move as the little man clung on, unable not to witness the approaching horror.

45.Silence fell suddenly. Quences was struggling to descend from his bier. He allowed the remaining Drudge to help him to the floor and then brushed it away with contempt. Satthralope made no attempt to help as he hobbled towards her chair and leant his weight on its back. 'You mob of milky, self-sc.r.a.ping whiners. Where's your sense of familial duty? You have as few wits between you as a rush of startled tafelshrews. Not one of you... No, not one is worthy to inherit my legacy.'

More insults were flung by the crowd. Chris glanced round and saw that Glospin was standing at the back. His eyes were fixed on Satthralope. A wicked smile was playing across his face.

Satthralope banged her staff for order. 'Silence! How much more shame will you pour on our House and on the Loom that bore us all? Hasn't there been enough?'

As if in answer, a shudder rumbled through the structure of the House. Arkhew yelped with fright. His grip on Chris's ankle tightened.

'Read the will!' shouted the Cousins. 'What about our inheritance!'

'Never!' Quences sat back down again. 'Not until all the Cousins are here.'

'Can't you guess who who he means?' called Glospin. He began to push through the Cousins, swinging out at them with his stick. He reached the dais and turned to face his Family. 'Don't you know who he's waiting for? Isn't it obvious?' he means?' called Glospin. He began to push through the Cousins, swinging out at them with his stick. He reached the dais and turned to face his Family. 'Don't you know who he's waiting for? Isn't it obvious?'

And Chris knew too. The Cousin whose name was banned; who never turned up on time; who had been so reluctant to stay.

The shouting got worse.

'All right!' shouted Satthralope. 'If that's what you want. Then we can al wait as long as Quences sees fit!'

She struck her staff on the floor again. There was a whirring noise as the wheels and orbits of the clock above them began to turn. With a dul clang, the clock started to chime. The great doors to the hall slammed themselves shut. The House began to tremble.

The Cousins stared about them in alarm.

'No!' shouted Glospin. He lunged towards Quences, but faltered and stumbled. His face went white as he clutched at his chest in pain. He toppled to the shaking floor.

The Cousins panicked, running wildly for the doors, only to find their paths blocked by the towering Drudges.

Chris cried out as Arkhew twisted his ankle. The little man was pointing up at the clock on the gallery. A skinny figure was turning and spinning on the intersliding dials. It was Arkhew, his distant face contorted in a silent scream. 'It's my dream,' Arkhew was shouting. 'My dream!'

And somewhere, Chris realized, he was lying on an attic floor with web in his eyes. Not my dream at all, he thought. I'm being shown it, because someone wants me to know.

The tremor was deepening. The big tables suddenly stampeded across the hall, scattering food in their wake. One Cousin was trampled in the rush. Dust plumed down from the rafters. Bats, disturbed from their roosts, flittered over the terrified Cousins' heads.

As the rumbling grew to a roaring quake, a darkness, far blacker than the silvery twilight outside, rose inexorably up the full length of the tall windows.

46.

Chapter Eight.

Fragments

'What happens?' whispered Chris. 'What happens next?'

With the dark came a silence that was stifling. Arkhew clung to Chris, too shocked to speak.

The mirror of reality cracked and opened like a slowly exploding flower.

s.n.a.t.c.hes of time, trapped in shards of shattered mirror gla.s.s, came spinning, oh so slowly, past them. Different tableaux trapped in different fragments, reflecting back and forth, creating corridors of jangling light and echoes of the past: the nightmare memories that haunt the darkened House.

Chris and Arkhew stood together, timeless, as time itself danced and fragmented around them.

In the Hal , the terrified Cousins are trying to drag open the great doors. The huge Drudges are forcing them back.

Innocet stands on the dais. She is trying to calm the crowd of Cousins. Someone throws something. Innocet clutches at her face. She is bleeding where she has been hit. clutches at her face. She is bleeding where she has been hit.

In a wooden box-trap, a little creature like a shrew is screaming.

Glospin lies in bed, pale with a transfixed stare. Satthralope sits beside him, rocking herself slowly as she holds his hand. In a sudden spasm, he clutches tightly at her arm. Then he falls back, his fevered eyes close and his his hand. In a sudden spasm, he clutches tightly at her arm. Then he falls back, his fevered eyes close and his mouth drops open. After a moment, Satthralope takes a black rose from her bonnet and places it on his chest. mouth drops open. After a moment, Satthralope takes a black rose from her bonnet and places it on his chest.

'Good riddance,' muttered Arkhew.

'Was he dead?' said Chris. 'Was Glospin dead?'

'That finished off his schemes!' Arkhew pointed to another mirror shard as it spun slowly past. 'Look over there.

Look at the despair.'