A Princess of The Linear Jungle

random reminders of it meant nothing.
    “Cold for April,” Peart said. “But I bet the Jungle Blocks ‘are steamier.”
    The entire crew of the Scoria-Vinnagar Vayavirunga Expedition sat on wooden crates set close around the industrial-style campfire. The fire disclosed four large tents pitched in an urban interzone deliberately stripped of all other structures. This barren swatch of territory, half a Block wide across the whole Borough, intervened between Hakelight proper and the enormous Wall that protected them from Vayavirunga.
    Merritt could sense the incredible mass of the Wall looming beyond their tiny sphere of illumination. The first time she had seen it up close, just this very day, she had been flummoxed. The top of the Wall seemed a thin line rulered against the blue of the sky. But the bottom of the wall, she knew, measured twenty feet thick! Composed of hewn granite blocks, so precisely shaven that no mortar had been necessary in their mating, the Wall dominated both the nearest buildings and any people daring to approach it, like a living stone creature poised to leap. Running from deep into the trashlands beyond the Tracks right up to the lapping River, the Wall cleaved the Linear City, here and, by counterpart, three ex-Boroughs distant, enclosing some seventy-five miles of unknown vegetation-fecund territory: the former Boroughs of Coconino, Fogtown and Gramercy. The base of the structure was a palimpsest of graffiti and wheat pasted posters from the ground up to about the height of one man standing on another’s shoulders. The texts varied from rude to worshipful, from germane to generic, from commercial to idiosyncratic.
    Merritt had rested a hand on the cold, implacable stones. “Who built this, and how?”
    Scoria replied, “Records are scanty. The period of construction was some three centuries ago, after all. The vegetable plague began, cause unknown, in the middle Borough, the old Fogtown, and started to spread inexorably, both Uptown and Downtown, at the rate of roughly three Blocks per year. The citizens of Hakelight did not believe in the threat immediately, so construction of the Wall did not commence right away. Yet when the Wall was finally finished, people say, the Jungle already lapped right up against the lowest courses of stone. So if you do the math, you see that it must have taken, um, thirty or forty years to finish the Wall.”
    Professor Durian Vinnagar chimed in. “Comparative studies of chisel marks between the bottommost and topmost courses, taking into account metallurgical advances and shifting masonry styles, seem to indicate a period of construction equalling thirty-seven-point-eight years, plus or minus one-point-five.”
    Scoria rolled his eyes. “Yes, as I said, between thirty and forty years!”
    Arturo Scoria’s touchiness was hard for him to sustain, however, even when subtly needled by his rival. For their procession down Broadway, through Colglazier and Hakelight, had been an undeniable triumph. Over the course of about twelve hours, with frequent sanitary, alimentary and ceremonial stops, the Expeditionary force had been seen and cheered by hundreds of thousands of citizens. The acclaim was like heady wine to Scoria, and to Merritt and the others as well. Even Cady Rachis, used to being the center of applause, had revelled in the outpourings.
    The charabanc had delivered the party to this barren interzone, to the surprise of everyone save their leader.
    “I’ve determined,” said Scoria, “that we’ll camp out here for the next few days, until our supplies are all accumulated, rather than take upresidence in any hotel. I want us to get used to roughing it, and also to build up some psychic affinity with our destination. This is as close as we can get until the Samuel Smallhorne delivers us into the actual Jungle Blocks.”
    That vessel had made good time, and now bobbed placidly at the Slip closest to the interzone. Captain Canebrake stood gamely ready to perform his part of the mission, registering neither approbation nor disdain for the dangerous assault.
    Four tents had been erected. One for the cyclists, one for Cady and Ransome, one for Peart and Vinnagar, and one for Scoria and Merritt.
    Balsam Troutwine, however, had secured—with Swazeycape monies—a luxury suite at the nearby Heatherlake Hotel. The practical-minded victualler was not planning to accompany them any further; after all, what use would his commercial skills and contacts be,