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THE INVERTED WORLD
by Christopher Priest
Copyright 1974 by Christopher Priest. All rights reserved. Printed in the
United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in
any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address
Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10022.
FIRST U.S. EDITION
To my mother and father
Wheresoe'er I turn my view,
All is strange, yet nothing new;
Endless labour all along,
Endless labour to be wrong.
-- SAMUEL JOHNSON
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Some of the situations described in this novel were incorporated into a
short story entitled "The Inverted World," which was first published in
England in _New Writings in SF--22_ by Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd.
Beyond a slight duplication of background and the inclusion of a few
similarly named characters, there is not much between the two that is common.
CHRISTOPHER PRIEST
PROLOGUE
Elizabeth Khan closed the door of the surgery, and locked it. She walked
slowly up the village street to where the people were gathering in the square
outside the church. There had been a mood of expectancy all day as the huge
bonfire took shape, and now the village children ran excitedly in the street,
waiting for the moment when the fire would be lit.
Elizabeth went first to the church, but there was no sign of Father dos
Santos.
A few minutes after sunset one of the men put a light to the dry tinder
at the base of the pile of wood, and bright flame crackled through and up. The
children danced and jumped, crying to each other as the timber popped and spat
sparks.
Men and women sat or lay on the ground near the fire, passing flagons of
the dark, rich local wine. Two men sat apart from the others, each lightly
fingering a guitar. The music was soft, played for its own sake, not for
dancing.
Elizabeth sat near the musicians, drinking some of the wine whenever a
flagon was passed to her.
Later, the music became louder and more rhythmic, and several of the
women sang. It was an old song, and the words were in a dialect Elizabeth
could not follow. A few of the men climbed to their feet and danced, shuffling
with arms linked, very drunk.
Responding to the hands that reached out to pull her up, Elizabeth went
forward and danced with some of the women. They were laughing, trying to show
her the steps. Their feet threw up clouds of dust that drifted slowly through
the air before being caught and swept up in the vortex of heat above the fire.
Elizabeth drank more wine, danced with the others.
When she stopped for a rest she realized that dos Santos had appeared.
He was standing some distance away, watching the festivities. She waved to
him, but he made no response. She wondered if he disapproved, or whether he
was simply too reserved to join in. He was a shy, gauche young man, ill at
ease with the villagers and as yet unsure of how they regarded him. Like
Elizabeth he was a newcomer and an outsider, although Elizabeth believed that
she would overcome the villagers' suspicions faster than he would. One of the
village girls, seeing Elizabeth standing to one side, took her hand and
dragged her back to the dance.
The fire burned down, the music slowed. The yellow glow thrown by the
flames dwindled to a circle about the fire itself, and the people sat on the
ground once more, happy and relaxed and tired.
Elizabeth refused the next flagon that was passed to her, and instead
stood up. She was rather more drunk than she had realized, and she staggered a
little. As some of the people called out to her she walked away, leaving the
centre of the village, and went out into the dark countryside beyond. The
night air was still.
She walked slowly and breathed deeply, trying to clear her head. There
was a way she had walked in the past, across the low hills that surrounded the
village, and she went that way now, lurching slightly on the irregularities of
the ground. At one time this had probably been rough pastureland, but now
there was no agriculture to speak of in the village. It was wild, beautiful
country, yellow and white and brown in the sunlight; now black and cool, the
stars brilliant overhead.
After half an hour she felt better, and headed back towards the village.
Walking down through a grove of trees just behind the houses, she heard the
sound of voices. She stood still, listening . . . but she heard only the
tones, not the words.
Two men were conversing, but they were not alone. Sometimes she heard
the voices of others, perhaps agreeing or commenting. None of it was her
concern, but nevertheless her curiosity was piqued. The words sounded urgent,
and there was a sense of argument to the conversation. She hesitated a few
seconds more, then moved on.
The fire had burned itself out: now only embers glowed in the village
square.
She walked on down to her surgery. As she opened the door she heard a
movement, and saw a man near the house opposite.
"Luiz?" she said, recognizing him.
"Goodnight, Menina Khan."
He raised his hand to her, and went inside the house. He was carrying
what appeared to be a large bag or a satchel.
Elizabeth frowned. Luiz had not been at the festivities in the square;
she was sure now that it had been him she had heard in the trees. She waited
in the doorway of the surgery a moment longer, then went inside. As she closed
the door she heard in the distance, clear in the still night, the sound of
horses galloping away.
PART ONE
1
I had reached the age of six hundred and fifty miles. Beyond the door
the guildsmen were assembling for the ceremony in which I would be admitted as
a guild apprentice. It was a moment of excitement and apprehension, a
concentration into a few minutes of all that my life had been until then.
My father was a guildsman, and I had always seen his life from a certain
remove. I regarded it as an enthralling existence, charged with purpose,
ceremony, and responsibility; he told me nothing of his life or work, but his
uniform, his vague manner, and his frequent absences from the city hinted at a
preoccupation with matters of utmost importance.
Within a few minutes the way would be open for me to join that life. It
was an honour and a donning of responsibility, and no boy who had grown up
inside the confining walls of the crèche could fail to respond to the thrill
of this major step.
The crèche itself was a small building at the very south of the city. It
was almost totally enclosed: a warren of corridors, rooms, and halls. There
was no access to the rest of the city, except by way of a door which was
normally locked, and the only opportunities for exercise existed in the small
gymnasium and a tiny open space, bounded on all four sides by the high walls
of the crèche buildings.
Like the other children I had been placed in the charge of the crèche
administrators soon after my birth, and knew no other world. I had no memories
of my mother: she had left the city soon after my birth.
It had been a dull but not unhappy experience. I had made some good
friends, and one of them--a boy a few miles older than me called Gelman
Jase--had become an apprentice guildsman a short time before me. I was looking
forward to seeing Jase again. I had seen him once since his coming of age,
when he returned briefly to the crèche, and already he had adopted the
slightly preoccupied manner of the guildsmen, and I had learned nothing from
him. Now that I too was about to become an apprentice I felt that he would
have much to tell me.
The administrator returned to the ante-room in which I was standing.
"They're ready," he said. "Can you remember what you have to do?"
"Yes."
"Good luck."
I discovered that I was trembling, and the palms of my hands were moist.
The administrator, who had brought me from the crèche that morning, grinned at
me in sympathy. He thought he understood the ordeal I was suffering, but he
knew, literally, only half of it.
After the guild ceremony there was more in store for me. My father had
told me that he had arranged a marriage for me. I had taken the news calmly
because I knew that guildsmen were expected to marry early, and I already knew
the chosen girl. She was Victoria Lerouex, and she and I had grown up together
in the crèche. I had not had much to do with her--there were not many girls in
the crèche, and they tended to keep together in a tight-knit group--but we
were less than strangers. Even so, the notion of being married was a new one
and I had not had much time to prepare myself mentally for it.
The administrator glanced up at the clock.
"O.K., Helward. It's time."
We shook hands briefly, and he opened the door. He walked into the hall,
leaving the door open. Through it I could see several of the guildsmen
standing on the main floor. The ceiling lights were on.
The administrator stopped just beyond the door and turned to address the
platform.
"My Lord Navigator. I seek audience."
"Identify yourself." A distant voice, and from where I was standing in
the ante-room I could not see the speaker.
"I am Domestic Administrator Bruch. At the command of my chief
administrator I have summoned one Helward Mann, who seeks 'apprenticeship in a
guild of the first order."
"I recognize you, Bruch. You may admit the apprentice."
Bruch turned and faced me, and as he had earlier rehearsed me I stepped
forward into the hall. In the centre of the floor a small podium had been
placed, and I walked over and took up position behind it.
I faced the platform.
Here in the concentrated brilliance of the spotlights sat an elderly man
in a high-backed chair. He was wearing a black cloak decorated with a circle
of white stitched on the breast. On each side of him stood three men, all
wearing cloaks, but each one of these was decorated with a sash of a different
colour. Gathered on the main floor of the hall, in front of the platform, were
several other men and a few women. My father was among them.
Everyone was looking at me, and I felt my nervousness increase. My mind
went blank, and all Bruch's careful rehearsals were forgotten.
In the silence that followed my entrance, I stared straight ahead at the
man sitting at the center of the platform. This was the first time I had even
seen--let alone been in the company of--a Navigator. In my immediate
background of the crèche such men had sometimes been spoken of in a
deferential way, sometimes--by the more disrespectful--in a derisory way, but
always with undertones of awe for the almost legendary figures. That one was
here at all only underlined the importance of this ceremony. My immediate
thought was what a story this would be to tell the others. . . and then I
remembered that from this day nothing would be the same again.
Bruch had stepped forward to face me.
"Are you Helward Mann, sir?"
"Yes, I am."
"What age have you attained, sir?"
"Six hundred and fifty miles."
"Are you aware of the significance of this age?"
"I assume the responsibilities of an adult."
"How best can you assume those responsibilities, sir?"
"I wish to enter apprenticeship with a first-order guild of my choice."
"Have you made that choice, sir?"
"Yes, I have."
Bruch turned and addressed the platform. He repeated the content of my
answers to the men assembled there, though it seemed to me that they must have
been able to hear my answers as I gave them.
"Does anyone wish to question the apprentice?" said the Navigator to the
other men on the platform.
No one replied.
"Very well." The Navigator stood up. "Come forward, Helward Mann, and
stand where I can see you."
Bruch stepped to one side. I left the podium, and walked forward to
where a small white plastic circle had been inlaid into the carpet. I stopped
with my feet in the centre of it. For several seconds I was regarded in
silence.
The Navigator turned to one of the men at his side.
"Do we have the proposers here?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"Very well. As this is a guild matter we must exclude all others."
The Navigator sat down, and the man immediately to his right stepped
forward.
"Is there any man here who does not rank with the first order? If so, he
will grace us with his absence."
Slightly behind me, and to one side of me, I noticed Bruch make a slight
bow towards the platform, and then he left the hall. He was not alone. Of the
group of people on the main floor of the hall, about half left the room by one
or other of the exits. Those left turned to face me.
"Do we recognize strangers?" said the man on the platform. There was
silence. "Apprentice Helward Mann, you are now in the exclusive company of
first-order guildsmen. A gathering such as this is not common in the city, and
you should treat it with appropriate solemnity. It is in your honour. When you
have passed through your apprenticeship these people will be your peers, and
you will be bound, just as they are, by guild rules. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"You have selected the guild you wish to enter. Please name it for all
to hear."
"I wish to become a Future Surveyor," I said.
"Very well, that is acceptable. I am Future Surveyor Clausewitz, and I
am your chief guildsman. Standing around you are other Future Surveyors, as
well as representatives from other first-order guilds. Here on the platform
are the other chief guildsmen of the first order. In the centre, we are
honoured by the presence of Lord Navigator Olsson."
As Bruch had earlier rehearsed me I made a deep bow towards the
Navigator. The bow was all I now remembered of his instructions: he had told
me that he knew nothing of the details of this part of the ceremony, only that
I should display appropriate respect towards the Navigator when formally
introduced to him.
"Do we have a proposer for the apprentice?"
"Sir, I wish to propose him." It was my father who spoke.
"Future Surveyor Mann has proposed. Do we have a seconder?"
"Sir, I will second the proposal."
"Bridge-Builder Lerouex has seconded. Do we hear any dissent?"
There was a long silence. Twice more, Clausewitz called for dissent, but
no one raised any objection to me.
"That is as it should be," said Clausewitz. "Helward Mann, I now offer
you the oath of a first-order guild. You may--even at this late stage--decline
to take it. If, however, you do swear to the oath you will be bound to it for
the whole of the rest of your life in the city. The penalty for breaching the
oath is summary execution. Is that absolutely clear in your mind?"
I was stunned by this. Nothing anyone had said, my father, Jase, or even
Bruch, had said anything to warn me of this. Perhaps Bruch had not known.. .
but surely my father would have told me?
"Well?"
"Do I have to decide now, sir?"
"Yes."
It was quite clear that I would not be allowed a sight of the oath
before deciding. Its content was probably instrumental in the secrecy. I felt
that I had very little alternative. I had come this far, and already I could
feel the pressures of the system about me. To proceed as far as this--proposal
and acceptance--and then to decline the oath was impossible, or so it seemed
to me at that moment.
"I will take the oath, sir."
Clausewitz stepped down from the platform, walked over to me, and handed
me a piece of white card.
"Read this through, clearly and loudly," he told me. "You may read it
through to yourself before, if you wish, but if you do so you will be
immediately bound by it."
I nodded to show my understanding of this, and he returned to the stage.
The Navigator stood up. I read the oath silently, familiarizing myself with
its phrases.
I faced the platform, aware of the attention of the others on me, not
least that of my father.
"I, Helward Mann, being a responsible adult and a citizen of Earth do
solemnly swear:
"That as an apprentice to the guild of Future Surveyors I shall
discharge whatever tasks I am given with the utmost effort;
"That I shall place the security of the city of Earth above all other
concerns;
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