Art Pact 38
Our first view of Opus Dint was from what Bannerman optimistically called the "East Vista", a dingy row of low concrete buildings - shop-fronts with a couple of levels of flats above, most of the shops sporting "CLOSING DOWN SALE" banners tattered and worn from years of abandonment. Along a lengthy canyon of grey walls and boarded-up windows we saw the freakish dark mirrored surfaces of the spires and confections that made up the outer shell of the mansion.
"Look at the size of the thing," Caroline said. "What's it made out - I mean, how do they get the - is it all metal?"
"It's clad, I think," Bannerman explained. "I mean, I think so. To be honest, we don't often go into that part of the house. The view out isn't as good as the view in, if you see what I mean. Plus it used to be where my father's father's mother lived, all that wing. She was a bit... uh.. formidable. Especially towards children."
"Aw, I had an aunt like that." She put a consoling hand on his shoulder. It was the first time I'd seen her touch him. Falling back she whispered to me: "how much do you think it's worth?"
"Just to check," I said, "you're definitely not a gold-digger, right?"
She gave me a funny look, rolled her eyes, and that was that.
The closer we got, the more impressive and impossible the mansion seemed. For one thing, it clearly should not have been where it was - just how clearly we would discover ten minutes later, when we spotted the crushed remains of a tube station under one of the gargantuan flying buttresses that surrounded the curtain wall. I couldn't find any name for the station - the wall had severed a sign but only the final two letters were visible: RE.
"Do you think it fell?" Paul asked me. "I mean, you know"—he made a gesture with his two open hands, descending, as if I didn't understand what falling was—"fell? From the sky?"
"It's too big, surely. It would have been smashed under its own weight, even if it fell a couple of meters. Anyway, are you saying Bannerman's an alien or something? Because he looks pretty human to me. Caz has her flesh hooks out, it looks like, and they're sticking in him."
"No, I'm sure he's human. I patched him up, remember? Nothing out of the ordinary about his..."—he clicked his fingers—"physiology. He's perfectly normal, physically speaking that is. I can't say anything about his psychology. That's your department, surely."
"I'm not a-" I began.
"Here we are!" announced Bannerman. "The great western entrance!"
He'd told us, of course, about the great entrances. There were five: one for each point of the compass, and the great North-East entrance, which was the grandest of all. The western entrance, he'd said, was his favourite. He liked the fact that it was the smallest, as he was the youngest and smallest of his family, and the understated decoration that surrounded it. Viewing it directly I could only wonder at what the other gates must have looked like, because the words "small" and "understated" would not have been the words I'd have picked to describe the entrance, not in a thousand years.
First of all, the door that filled the entrance was not one door but several, each door containing a smaller door within it except for the smallest, which was large enough itself that three men on horseback could have ridden through it side-by-side. The door that surrounded that could have accepted a couple of elephant riders, the next door up a trawler (had there been enough water to float it through), and the ultimate door (and the door-frame itself) could easily have accepted an air-craft carrier or a small skyscraper (were it laid out on its side). I was not even sure how gates of that size could have been built, let alone what the builders had expected might need to come in through them.
As for decoration: the frame around the door, and the two guiding prong-like structures that jutted from the base of it, were covered in carvings (or sculptures, it was difficult to tell). Literally covered: there was hardly an inch of frame visible beneath the gaudily coloured dragons, lions, human and inhuman faces, shields, unicorns, horses in barding, minstrels, crows and doves, and countless other heraldic items and random animals. I could not tell what they were made of because they had all been painted over in bright colours, so realistic and detailed that I only realised a pigeon was not part of the display of birds when it leapt into the air and fluttered away at my approach. The two ravens it had been nesting between looked at me with their large black eyes and I had to force myself to reach out a hand and confirm that they were part of the structure.
"Look at the size of the thing," Caroline said. "What's it made out - I mean, how do they get the - is it all metal?"
"It's clad, I think," Bannerman explained. "I mean, I think so. To be honest, we don't often go into that part of the house. The view out isn't as good as the view in, if you see what I mean. Plus it used to be where my father's father's mother lived, all that wing. She was a bit... uh.. formidable. Especially towards children."
"Aw, I had an aunt like that." She put a consoling hand on his shoulder. It was the first time I'd seen her touch him. Falling back she whispered to me: "how much do you think it's worth?"
"Just to check," I said, "you're definitely not a gold-digger, right?"
She gave me a funny look, rolled her eyes, and that was that.
The closer we got, the more impressive and impossible the mansion seemed. For one thing, it clearly should not have been where it was - just how clearly we would discover ten minutes later, when we spotted the crushed remains of a tube station under one of the gargantuan flying buttresses that surrounded the curtain wall. I couldn't find any name for the station - the wall had severed a sign but only the final two letters were visible: RE.
"Do you think it fell?" Paul asked me. "I mean, you know"—he made a gesture with his two open hands, descending, as if I didn't understand what falling was—"fell? From the sky?"
"It's too big, surely. It would have been smashed under its own weight, even if it fell a couple of meters. Anyway, are you saying Bannerman's an alien or something? Because he looks pretty human to me. Caz has her flesh hooks out, it looks like, and they're sticking in him."
"No, I'm sure he's human. I patched him up, remember? Nothing out of the ordinary about his..."—he clicked his fingers—"physiology. He's perfectly normal, physically speaking that is. I can't say anything about his psychology. That's your department, surely."
"I'm not a-" I began.
"Here we are!" announced Bannerman. "The great western entrance!"
He'd told us, of course, about the great entrances. There were five: one for each point of the compass, and the great North-East entrance, which was the grandest of all. The western entrance, he'd said, was his favourite. He liked the fact that it was the smallest, as he was the youngest and smallest of his family, and the understated decoration that surrounded it. Viewing it directly I could only wonder at what the other gates must have looked like, because the words "small" and "understated" would not have been the words I'd have picked to describe the entrance, not in a thousand years.
First of all, the door that filled the entrance was not one door but several, each door containing a smaller door within it except for the smallest, which was large enough itself that three men on horseback could have ridden through it side-by-side. The door that surrounded that could have accepted a couple of elephant riders, the next door up a trawler (had there been enough water to float it through), and the ultimate door (and the door-frame itself) could easily have accepted an air-craft carrier or a small skyscraper (were it laid out on its side). I was not even sure how gates of that size could have been built, let alone what the builders had expected might need to come in through them.
As for decoration: the frame around the door, and the two guiding prong-like structures that jutted from the base of it, were covered in carvings (or sculptures, it was difficult to tell). Literally covered: there was hardly an inch of frame visible beneath the gaudily coloured dragons, lions, human and inhuman faces, shields, unicorns, horses in barding, minstrels, crows and doves, and countless other heraldic items and random animals. I could not tell what they were made of because they had all been painted over in bright colours, so realistic and detailed that I only realised a pigeon was not part of the display of birds when it leapt into the air and fluttered away at my approach. The two ravens it had been nesting between looked at me with their large black eyes and I had to force myself to reach out a hand and confirm that they were part of the structure.
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