The Infinity Concerto (Songs of Earth and Power) by Greg Bear

Author:Greg Bear [Bear, Greg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: E-Reads
Published: 2012-11-18T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Yard was at Euterpe’s center, a broad, flat brick building surrounded by streets uncharacteristically wide for the human town. Helena marched ahead of him with a look of puzzlement, then resolve. “Nobody likes to go here,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at Michael. Her eyes were a little wild, like a wary deer. “Savarin comes here more often than the rest of us.”

The entrance to the yard was narrow, barely two feet wide, blocked by a heavy woven wicker door a foot thick. Helena pulled a knob and glass chimes tinkled faintly within. A peephole slid open in the brick wall beside the door and a yellow, bleary eye peered at them.

“Sherebith, it’s me,” Helena said. The wicker door opened with a hollow scraping sound.

“Yes, Miss Helena. What can I do for you?” A yellow-faced, plump woman in a long gray gown stood in the half open entranceway, one arm on the door, the other folded across her chest. The plump women stared at Michael with neither trust nor liking.

“This is a friend,” Helena said. “I’d like him to see the Yard and meet Ishmael. Michael, this is Sherebith.”

Michael held out his hand. “Glad to meet you,” he said. The woman looked at the hand, grimaced in disbelief and opened the door wider. “Come in,” she said in a resigned tone, marching ahead of them. “He’s been quiet today. The others are following his example. Thank whomever for small favors.”

Sherebith led them down a dark corridor made of close-spaced bricks the color of dried dung. Faint light entered through narrow slits at intervals of six or seven strides; the only other illumination came from wax candles ensconced between the slits. Despite the musty smell, the floors and walls seemed clean and well-tended. Sherebith went first, followed by Helena and then Michael, who had the nagging urge to look over his shoulder.

The interior was silent. At the end of the corridor, another heavy wicker door studded with more glass chimes. “Alarms,” Helena said, tinkling one with a finger. Sherebith opened the door and set them all ringing.

The door led to an open court about ten feet square, walls and overarching parapet also of yellow brick and devoid of ornament. In each of the four walls opened another door. Sherebith stepped to the one directly opposite and unlatched it. As it creaked open, a damp odor wafted out, combining the worst traits of musty cellars and the sewer sludge Michael’s father used on the family garden.

The candles burned dimmer in the heavy air beyond. There were no slits for lighting, but covered ventilator holes in the ceiling admitted dim barred spots of day.

The room’s opposite walls were lost in darkness. Square brick columns supported the low ceiling, each side holding a guttering candle. They walked past pits dug into the floor, each about ten feet on a side and faced with brick and tile. Michael counted seven. “Compound three,” Sherebith said. “I call it Leader of the Howl Compound, because of Ishmael.

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