Flaccus had no answers: to him, Water Style was sets and drills; he certainly didn’t believe they were harnessing the power behind the Wave. He blithely exposed the Candidates to dangers he could not see, and it changed them in ways that they didn’t understand. The loud fell silent, the subtle became frankly violent.
One morning Agrippina and Torbidda discovered they had had the same dream, of sinking into cold water and darkness. They realised they could easily lose themselves, and swore to pull each other back if the other was going too deep.
For lack of such a partner, the other Candidates suffered. As weeks turned to months, casualities mounted: two were murdered, two died in a suicide pact and two more were expelled (one had become incapacitated, the other insane).
‘They broke because they were weak,’ was Flaccus’ pat, unvarying explanation. Although he didn’t know what, he knew that there was something in the depths. His solution was to avoid it. ‘You can’t draw on what’s down there. Once It feels your presence, it’ll draw you in and consume you. So learn to float and concentrate on controlling the water’s flow. Ignore the rest.’ Constant pressure was his answer: ‘If you wish to master any wild animal, you break it.’
‘You don’t think it’s possible that Water has more than animal instinct?’ Torbidda asked. ‘That it has some sort of higher intelligence?’
‘No. Intelligence is revealed by election, discrimination. Water is a slave to its nature.’
‘Men are no less bound by causality’ – Torbidda pursued his question – ‘and perhaps more so. We can’t choose to make effects precede cause, but the pseudonaiades exist in a state where Time is liquid—’
‘Bah! The anthropomorphic theory didn’t sound any less preposterous when it came drooling from Bernoulli on his deathbed. If the pseudonaiades could act on the past, they wouldn’t still be our prisoner. And if they could see the future, they wouldn’t have let us capture them.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Torbidda. ‘They could be obliged to act a certain way, though aware it will be disastrous.’
‘Obliged by what?’
‘I don’t know,’ Torbidda admitted, ‘some force stronger than Time’s arrow—’
‘Stop embarrassing yourself. I told the Apprentices you had a child’s understanding of Wave Theory. Nothing’s stronger!’
The last Candidates were too exhausted to sneer at Torbidda, but only Agrippina took his side. ‘Then perhaps they know their bondage has a grander purpose.’
Flaccus rounded on her. ‘“Purpose?” I thought better of you. Soon you’ll be talking about God’s plan for us.’ Flaccus was extra-hard on Agrippina; he saw her solidarity with Torbidda as rank insubordination. He wanted the Candidates at each other’s necks, not cosying up together. ‘Water Style’s not the secret of the ages. It’s a way to fight. It won’t get you to Heaven but it might keep you alive through Conclave.’
CHAPTER 13
Footsteps among the columns. ‘Agrippina?’
Flaccus stepped out from behind a statue. ‘Candidates don’t help other Candidates.’
Torbidda didn’t bother to respond. He went back to his steps. The ripple only occurred when he willed it. Flaccus watched for a while, waiting for some slip. He said at last, ‘I didn’t teach you that combination.’
‘I worked it out with Agrippina. It’s obvious really,’ Torbidda said coldly.
Flaccus stepped into the puddle, upsetting its placid surface. ‘Yet it took the wonder child to discover it. I see brats like you every year. You learn a little and hear stories of Bernoulli and start to think that you’re like him. You’re nothing like him.’
Torbidda continued his set. ‘If you think you can goad me—’
Flaccus suddenly brought a knee into his stomach and stood aside so Torbidda tumbled face-first into the water. There was a moment of darkness before his eyes opened. Half his face was submerged. He felt Flaccus’ foot between his shoulders, keeping him down. ‘You’re scheming to let Cadet Seventy-Nine win, aren’t you? The moment I saw you I knew you for a liar.’
‘That’s what you taught us!’ Torbidda shouted, gagging as water entered his mouth.
‘Oh no, no one had to teach you. You’re a natural. I needn’t have worried – you’ll fight her because you want the yellow more than anyone.’ He leaned down and pressed Torbidda’s face until his nose and mouth went under.
Torbidda tried to lift himself up, but it was impossible under Flaccus’ much greater weight. He was drowning. He twisted his lower half and spread his legs wide and brought them together against Flaccus’ supporting leg. The Grand Selector fell, and Torbidda rolled over, gasping for air.
Flaccus picked himself up triumphantly. ‘See?’ He