The Vagrant and the City. Peter Newman

trapped here, Harm’s trapped here. But you can go anywhere you like.’ Jem raises a finger. ‘I’d give anything to be with Vesper and you can’t even be bothered—’

      Amber eyes snap up, silencing. With another shake of his head, Vesper’s father turns away, striding towards the front door.

      Jem glares after him. ‘Oh yes,’ he hisses when he considers the distance safe. ‘Walk away. You’re good at abandoning people, aren’t you?’

      From further away the man hears Vesper calling for him to come back, then Harm’s voice, trying to soothe the situation. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I’ll talk to him …’

      All the words reach his ears, stinging in different ways, but he does not stop, his legs having a momentum of their own. Through the hallway to the front door he goes, then out into a hot afternoon.

      A young male goat is waiting outside the door, peering in for signs of Vesper, hopeful. When, instead, it finds her father bearing down, it retreats with a scream, bounding quickly out of sight.

      The man barely notices, his attention focused inward as he descends the hill.

      Though forgotten, the sky-ship and its passengers are still there, and Genner steps out of formation to block the man’s path.

      ‘Champion,’ he says, saluting. ‘I had a feeling I’d be seeing you before the end of the day.’

      The man stops, blinks.

      ‘I assume the Bearer has told you about our needs.’

      The man nods.

      ‘Good. The sooner we can leave, and I can give you a full briefing, the better.’ Genner is about to turn away when a thought occurs. ‘Apologies. I’ve been waiting to act on this for a while now. There’s time for you to say goodbye, if you want.’

      The man looks back up the hill, scowls, then shakes his head.

      ‘In that case, Champion,’ says Genner, pointing to the open hatch, ‘please follow me.’

      *

      The journey to the Shining City is brief, a matter of minutes, but during this time the man’s scowl weakens. He moves from looking angry, to looking at his hands. He tuts at himself, then raises a fist, knocking three times, firmly, on his forehead.

      Hills become fields flying by beneath the sky-ship, a blur of brilliant green, and then the great platinum pillars come into view. Each one a landing pad decorated with vertical gardens. The sky-ship comes to a stop directly above one, wings turning, engines lowering it gently into place.

      The hatch opens and Genner sighs as he unstraps himself. ‘That’s a relief. Between us, Champion, I’ve grown to hate flying. Of course,’ he adds, ‘it’s not quite over yet.’

      They climb through the hatch to arrive on top of the pillar, where wind punches at them, playful. Within the circular platform six smaller circles are etched with precision, and within each circle stands a bullet-shaped capsule seven feet tall and three across. Static electricity charges the air, prickling skin and further animating Genner’s windswept hair.

      Doors swing open on each of the capsules, revealing a narrow, padded space. There are capsules for the squires, for Genner, and one for the man. ‘The pilot will have to wait for the next wave,’ says Genner. ‘In you go –’ gesturing towards the open door of one of the narrow chambers.

      The man climbs inside and doors swing closed at his back, eager, shutting out the light. With a hiss, the padding expands, pressing arms against sides, pressing legs together, hugging tight.

      Trapped in the dark, there is nothing for the passenger to do but wait. The charge in the air builds, and then there is a lurching sensation, his stomach detecting movement other senses cannot.

      As if by magic, each capsule lifts into the air, sailing on invisible currents, arcing down towards a similar set of circles set into a metal disc at the pillar’s base.

      The landing is abrupt, though the capsule’s inner padding removes the sting before shrinking away, allowing doors to open.

      Genner is already at the base of the pillar, watching the man limp out into the light. ‘I wish I could say that’s the last time we’ll be using those for a while, but I’d be lying.’

      Seen from the air, the Shining City appears nothing more than a vast circle of pillars around the Sanctum of The Seven, a huge cube of silver, rotating and ponderous, suspended in the sky. However, the bulk of the city exists underground. Hollow hills scatter between and around the pillars in neat rows; housing hidden under grass, dirt and plastic. Tunnels thread them all together, and lead deep beneath the earth, to laboratories, training facilities, factories and vast storehouses, dug out by immense machines from a bygone age.

      Genner guides the man to an entrance concealed in the side of a hill. The two of them enter, following metal corridors lit by sunslight bouncing from mirrored tubes. Muffled sounds reach them, the singing of children, deferent, and the soft steps of purposeful feet. The very air hums with work being done. Everyone in the Shining City has designated duties, their time measured carefully and portioned out to maximize efficiency.

      ‘How’s your leg doing?’ Genner asks. ‘I noticed it giving you trouble earlier.’

      The man doesn’t reply but makes more of an effort to walk normally.

      ‘What I’m saying is: we can help.’ He comes to a stop in front of a circular door, emblazoned with a winged eye, and raises one arm. A square of light glows underneath the skin on the back of his hand as he sings his identification.

      There is the briefest pause and then the door sighs open.

      Inside is an empty room, white walls overlaid with a grid of green plasglass.

      A woman awaits them, also in white, save for her gloves and the lens fitted over her right eye, which are black. Genner salutes and she returns the gesture.

      The man gives her a curt nod.

      ‘This,’ says Genner, ‘is Val, our most experienced Purifier. She works with those that have been exposed to the taint, those that survive the purging anyway. Actually, you’ve seen some of her work. She oversaw the reconstruction of Harm’s eye sockets.’

      ‘Ah yes,’ says Val. ‘I remember that case. In the end we could only provide cosmetic assistance. Too much nerve damage. A shame.’

      ‘Without doubt, Val is our best, and she’s been authorized to assist you.’

      The man frowns.

      ‘Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.’ He backs out through the door. ‘I’ll be outside when you’re done.’

      The man’s body leans in the same direction as if to follow, but he stays where he is.

      A moment later, the door closes, sealing the room.

      ‘Stand here,’ says Val, pointing to the middle of the grid. ‘Let us look at you.’

      The man complies and the plasglass lines that run along the floor, ceiling and walls burst to life, covering the man in a net of green light.

      Val adjusts the lens over her right eye, closes her left. For a full minute she studies him, making a slow circle. Throughout, her concentration is intense, as if she is staring through, not at him.

      ‘Interesting,’ she says at last.

      The man looks at her, patient.

      ‘As in: this will be an interesting challenge. Structurally, you’re in reasonable shape. Your leg needs repair, and I have concerns about one of your lungs in the longer term. But these things are easily hidden, provided you don’t need to fight.

      ‘It’s the rest of you.’ She tuts, and the man folds his arms. ‘The hair will have to go back to an appropriate length and you need to put on some weight. Our champion should project strength, not pity.’ She walks