Bethaneve hugged him as the guards went back to the front door. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sniffing and clinging tightly, ‘but I didn’t know where else to go.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m okay, yes. I managed to dodge the Meor troopers when they were beating the crowd.’
Slvasta gave Keturah an awkward look. The woman’s surprised gaze darted between him and Bethaneve.
‘Ah, right,’ he answered, then cursed himself for his own cowardice. ‘Come on up to my office.’
‘There’s no time. They’ve arrested Javier, Slvasta. The sheriffs beat him terribly and threw him into one of their jail wagons.’
‘Crudding Uracus. When was this?’
‘About five o’clock. They took him to the Ganuzi Street Station. There’s a judge gone there already. They say the judge is using suspension powers to pass sentence.’
‘What’s suspension?’ he asked.
‘The Captain can order suspension of civil laws in an emergency,’ Keturah said. ‘The order came through from the Captain’s Palace this morning. It allows the Meor to use armed force against whoever the local commander believes is threatening the state.’
‘What?’
‘There’s a copy on your desk. I put it there.’
Slvasta just stood there. Too much was happening. He didn’t know what to do or say.
‘They’ll sentence him to the Pidrui mines,’ Bethaneve said. ‘And there’ll be no appeal allowed because the sentence was issued during suspension. Slvasta, he’ll never get out of there. They won’t even admit he’s been taken there. Uracus, they won’t admit they’ve even arrested him.’
Slvasta wanted to ask what the Pidrui mines were; he didn’t like the way there were so many things he was ignorant of. ‘All right, can we get a lawyer? A civil rights one?’
‘There are no civil rights under suspension,’ Keturah said. ‘That’s the whole point of it.’
He gave Bethaneve a desperate look. ‘Then what can we do?’
‘I don’t know. I thought you . . .’ She struggled against her tears. ‘You’re an officer.’
Slvasta tried to think. One thing he knew for certain: Javier wasn’t going to be freed using any legal means. He turned to Keturah. ‘This suspension order, it allows any Meor officer to do what he wants?’
‘More or less, yes.’
‘Can you find that copy for me?’
She took a moment. Her shell flickered, allowing him to sense her thoughts, how much she hated the day’s events, her contempt for the organization she worked for, the haughtiness of the officers. ‘Yes.’
‘Thank you. Please bring it to the back courtyard.’
Keturah gave Bethaneve a quick timid smile. ‘Good luck.’
‘Where’s Coulan?’ Slvasta asked. ‘Did he get arrested as well?’
‘No. He’s outside, fuzzed. We thought I had more chance of getting in here.’
‘Good call. Now, listen: he has to get us a cab. Do either of you know a driver who’ll be sympathetic?’
‘Probably. Coulan knows a lot of people.’
‘Good. Now go and tell him to arrange it, fast. And tell him I’ll meet him on the corner of Enuie Alley and Conought Square in fifteen minutes.’
‘Okay. What are you going to do?’
He gestured down at his filthy uniform. ‘Get spruced up.’
*
In the end, it was so much easier than Slvasta had expected. The mildly fuzzed cab, driven by Coulan, pulled up outside the Ganuzi Street Sheriff Station – a strictly functional four-storey building with three underground levels containing cells. Set back from the road, it was built from a dark brick, with narrow barred windows. The sheriffs inside maintained a constant fuzz, adding to the forbidding atmosphere.
There were five sheriffs standing guard outside, watching keenly when Slvasta’s cab drew up. He didn’t get out, simply stuck his arm out of the door window and beckoned.
One of the sheriffs went over. ‘What in Uracus do you want?’
Slvasta leaned forward so the pale light from the streetlamps revealed he was wearing the uniform of a major from the Meor regiment. Arnice wasn’t quite the same size, but the fit was good enough for tonight, with little illumination and some strategic fuzzing. The sheriff couldn’t even tell he only had one arm – that would have been a complete give-away.
‘Tell your station commander I want to see him.’
‘Uh . . . sir?’
‘You heard. Get him out here now.’
‘But—’
‘Now!’
The sheriff wasn’t going to argue. Not today. He hurried into the station.
A few minutes later the station commander came out.
‘He looks happy,’ Coulan ’pathed privately to Slvasta.
‘What is this?’ the commander demanded. It had been a long bad day, and it was far from over. He clearly didn’t need any further complications.
Slvasta still didn’t come out of the cab. He simply held up the copy of the suspension order. ‘You are familiar with this order and the authority it gives me?’
The commander barely read the first few lines. ‘Aye.’
‘Good. You have a Javier in your custody. Big man, arrested on Walton Boulevard around five o’clock. I’ll take charge of him now.’
‘You’ve got to be joking. The judge has already sentenced him. We’re about to ship a whole bunch of these rebel bastards out to Pidrui.’
Slvasta hardened his voice, exactly the way so many officers in the Joint Council did, lifting himself up an entire social class. ‘This is not a joke, commander. My uncle believes him to be one of the ring leaders. He will be questioned quite firmly on that matter.’
‘Your uncle?’ a tone of uncertainty had crept into the commander’s voice.
‘Trevene. I trust you’re familiar with the name?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good man.’ Slvasta waited until the station commander had turned round. ‘Oh, and, commander?’
‘Sir?’
‘This never happened. Understand?’
‘Completely.’
Two minutes later, a pair of sheriffs dragged a limp Javier out of the station. Coulan hopped down and opened the cab’s door. All three of them bundled the big man onto the floor at Slvasta’s feet.
Only when the station was out of any reasonable ex-sight range did Slvasta let out a cry of disbelief. ‘Oh my crudding Giu, we did it! We crudding did it.’
‘You were brilliant,’ Coulan replied. ‘You’ve got to have balls the size of melons.’
‘Interesting compliment. Thanks.’
‘How is he?’
Slvasta’s ex-scan swept along Javier. There was plenty of bruising, both eyes were almost swollen shut. A multitude of cuts and grazes had clotted and scabbed, leaving a lot of dried blood on his skin and clothing. Several ribs were cracked, and one knee was badly wrenched with fluid building round the joint. ‘Alive.’
7
The sub-basement was a long way underground, and old, a maze of corridors and small cells whose original stone walls were frequently patched with crude bricks and crumbling mortar. Slicks of blue-green algae ran down from oozing cracks, while spiky clumps of small pale stalactites protruded from arching ceilings like petrified fungal blooms. The air was cold, rancid and stale from being unable to escape; just to breathe it in was immediately dispiriting to anyone who was brought down here, sapping all hope.
Aothori accompanied Trevene down the interminable spiral stairs, making sure the hem of his natty embroidered evening cloak didn’t drag along the worn steps. He rather enjoyed the smell of bussalore shit and human sweat; it always accompanied a sense of fear. The central chamber into which they emerged had three small oil lamps on iron brackets high on the wall. Their meagre light left the apex of the chamber in shadow, but did manage to illuminate the figures shackled to the wall with iron manacles, their mouths filled with wooden gag balls held in place by leather straps. H
e counted seventeen, of which seven were female. As soon as they recognized him, their already apprehensive thoughts became panicky.
He smiled in acknowledgement of just how weighty his reputation was these days, and began a circuit. His shell was tight, not that he was in any real danger from a teekay strike. They had all been fitted with a collar of etor vine. The vine, which was as strong as leather, had a peculiar property: when soaked in water a cut length expanded to nearly twice its original size. In that state a braided collar could easily be slipped over a human head. After that it began to dry out, and shrink. If you were wearing one, it took a vast amount of teekay to hold the savagely constricting braids off your throat. Any lapse in concentration, any teekay diverted somewhere else meant the collar would tighten fast and choke the wearer. It left the prisoner without any ability to spin out a shell, their body was devoid of protection, their thoughts unscreened.
‘Students,’ Aothori concluded, allowing his contempt to show. The clothes, the age, the outrage that mirrored their fright, the broken arrogance. He knew the type well enough – all from the university.
‘Indeed, sir,’ Trevene said.
‘Radicals?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Are these the same ones who wanted to kick up a fuss over the Jasmine Avenue anniversary?’
‘We know two of them have been outspoken about the Jasmine rebellion on occasion.’
‘Disgraceful. We provide a wealth of opportunity for them, and this is how they thank us. Were they all plotting today’s pitiful demonstrations? Are they the ringleaders?’
‘This group was acting together, certainly. The sheriffs arrested them all in Bromwell Park after my people pointed them out.’
‘So this was planned? I’m curious. How? Nobody knew about Wurzen until a couple of days ago.’
‘“Plan” might be too strong a concept here. I prefer to think they were primed ready to react to a scandal. Wurzen simply came along; if not this, it would have been something else.’
‘Really? So they were being prepared for general rebellion? That speaks of serious organization.’ Aothori walked over to one of the girls. Her green dress was torn and filthy, her ebony skin grazed along one arm and leg – presumably where she’d been dragged. She began to shake as he stared at her; tears welled up in her eyes.
‘Your name?’ Aothori asked.
‘Oeleen,’ she ’pathed. ‘Please, the collar’s so tight.’
‘I know.’ He studied the thoughts spewing out of her frantic mind, the images, her deep terrors. ‘My, my, what an imaginative little thing you are. So are you the ringleader of this wretched band?’
‘No, no, there is no ringleader. It’s not like that. We were just protesting about Wurzen, that’s all. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’
‘Ah, so many people are always sorry after the event. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help anyone. So who is “we”? All your friends here?’
‘Yes. Yes.’
He grinned at Trevene. ‘Well, how’s that for camaraderie? Everyone here! I can’t say I’m terribly worried about the Captaincy being overthrown if this is the best radicals can do.’
‘We’ll get lists of everyone they’ve ’pathed and received political ’paths from, and when,’ Trevene said. ‘It will take time, but my clerks will draw up a register, then we can cross-reference and analyse it, see if we can find a pattern, some kind of hierarchy.’
‘Sounds terribly dreary.’
‘Please,’ Oeleen ’pathed. ‘The collar. Please. It’s been on for hours. I can’t . . . I can’t hold it back much longer.’
Aothori studied her face, savouring the way her pretty youthful features were distorted by strain and panic. ‘Then we’d better not waste any time, had we?’ He turned back to Trevene, whose lenses were reflecting the flickering orange oil lamps, occluding his eyes. ‘I’ll take her, and this one, and this one,’ he indicated two other girls.
‘As you wish.’
‘You’re not going to go running to father? That’s refreshing.’
‘They aren’t ringleaders, and frankly there are too many for us to process properly. However, there can be no public knowledge of the outcome. Everyone is focused on Haranne right now. I don’t want that attention diverted.’
‘A good point.’ He stroked Oeleen’s cheek tenderly. ‘Not that I would ever send anyone as special as this to the Pidrui mines. I’ll ’path the professor when I’ve finished with them.’
*
Slvasta took a cab to the Hewlitt Hospital at midday the next day to visit Arnice. He knew something was wrong as soon as the driver turned on to Lichester Street. Several people were standing together outside the entrance, their minds flashing with shock and distress. In growing alarm, he realized two of them were Jaix and Lanicia. Jaix was sobbing uncontrollably, her shell gone, her thoughts incoherent with grief. He climbed out of the cab.
‘What’s happened?’
The look Lanicia gave him was brutal; without any ’path it told him what a useless, worthless piece of human-shaped shit he was. And not just because he’d turned her down. ‘It’s Arnice,’ she said.
Slvasta just stared at the wailing Jaix. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to be told the horrible truth. ‘What?’
‘I’m afraid Major Arnice has passed away,’ the man in the doctor’s coat said gently.
‘Oh, no. Jaix, I’m so sorry,’ Slvasta said. He stepped over to hug her, to offer his meagre comfort.
‘You were good to him,’ Jaix said through her tears. ‘He really liked you. He said you were real, not like the rest of them.’
‘He was a wonderful man. Truly.’
‘We were engaged,’ Jaix said. ‘He proposed to me two days ago. I said yes.’
Slvasta closed his eyes in grief. ‘The news. He said he had news for me. He was going to tell me today.’
‘Arnice wanted you to be his best man.’
Slvasta turned to the doctor. ‘What happened?’
It was the wrong thing to say, he knew it at once. Jaix immediately stiffened inside his embrace.
The highly agitated doctor said: ‘I’m afraid the major committed suicide.’
‘What? No!’
‘He didn’t,’ Jaix snarled, she turned and pointed at the other man standing with them. ‘You murdered him!’
‘Jaix—’ Lanicia began.
‘No! I will not calm down, and I will not recant the truth. Slvasta, this man murdered Arnice.’
‘Who are you?’ Slvasta asked.
‘Davalta. I’m an assistant attorney for the city prosecutor’s office. And I do understand, and sympathize with, Ms Jaix’s grief. However, I must insist that this calumny is not to be perpetuated.’
‘I’ll perpetuate as much as I like, you boywhore scum,’ Jaix spat. ‘You think working for the prosecutor is going to save you? When my family’s lawyers are through with you, you’ll wish you’d plea bargained for the Pidrui mines and a nightly gang rape! It’ll be a trip to Giu compared to what I’ll have done to you.’
‘Ms Jaix—’
‘All right,’ Slvasta held his hand up. He gave the assistant attorney in his smart expensive suit a suspicious gaze. ‘What are you doing here? Why is Jaix blaming you for my friend’s death?’
Davalta took a breath. ‘I was serving papers on Major Arnice. Soon afterwards, he jumped from the fourth-floor window.’
‘Papers? What sort of papers?’
‘The prosecutor decided he should be charged with Haranne’s shooting.’
‘You’ve got to be out of your Uracus fucking mind!’ Even as he said it, Slvasta could put together the tricky political reasoning behind it. Someone had to be the scapegoat for the girl’s ordeal, someone in authority. You couldn’t blame the mob in this case, that would only aggravate the resentment – and enough people were being carted off to serve in the Pidrui mines to keep that cranked up high right now. The other side had to take a hit, too; there was always a penance to be served in order to rest
ore equilibrium. From a strategic point of view, Arnice was a perfect candidate. The Meor officer in charge of the troops when the shot was fired – even though he’d been knocked unconscious and was having his face burnt off at the time.
‘I assure you, captain—’ Davalta began.
‘You served papers on a man who’d just had his face firebombed? What did you think that would do to his state of mind?’
‘There was no legal reason to delay the court summons.’
‘Legal . . .’ Slvasta shaped his formidable teekay into a giant fist.
Davalta sensed it and took a frightened step back. ‘I assure you, sir, assaulting an officer of the court is a serious offence and will be pursued vigorously.’
Slvasta gave him an icy smile, then turned to Jaix. ‘Make sure your lawyer collects my statement on Arnice’s mental state, and how he should not have been persecuted by a malicious lawsuit. I’ll also be giving testimony that he was unconscious when Haranne was shot, and that I personally witnessed his last order, which was to aim above the heads of the crowd.’
‘Thank you,’ Jaix whispered.
Slvasta gave Davalta a final contemptuous glance. ‘You are not fulfilled, and your profession will prevent you from ever becoming so. Your soul will spend eternity lost amid the nebulas, diminishing with every passing year.’ With that he climbed back into the cab. As his teekay shut the door, he caught Lanicia’s approving gaze. It didn’t make him feel any better.
*
Slvasta walked down the east side of Tarleton Gardens, a terraced square on the edge of the Nalani borough, with a small iron-fenced park in the middle where ancient malbue trees dangled long skirt branches of their dark grey-red leaves from crowns twenty metres above the cracked pavements. The brick house he stopped at was no different from the others which made up the terrace walls of the square. Five storeys high, with bay windows up the front and a wide wooden door painted a cheerful blue. Like most around the square, each floor had been divided up into separate apartments. The structure had a simple psychic fuzz, no different from any other home in the city, preventing anyone from casual prying with their ex-sight. He felt a faint perception wash across him as he went up the three steps to the door.
The Abyss Beyond Dreams Page 29
