“Ah, but do you indeed own Verano? This Redhook Combine seems to have blocked you from the planet’s wealth. No, I don’t care to gamble away a certainty, even for potentially ten times the reward. But I appreciate your hypothetical generosity with other people’s money.”
Celestro closed and locked the door. His next words, addressed elsewhere, filtered through.
“Honko Drowne, enter this cabin, recline at your leisure and remain quiet.”
The sounds of a second door closing and locking followed.
Johrun sagged to the bed. “I should have been more suspicious. I should have set up safeguards of some sort.”
Lutramella placed a consolatory paw on Johrun’s head. “None of us suspected anything. We simply invested unrequited faith in the goodness of our fellows. But I can never think of this stance as a weakness. Would you want to live as a blackhearted cynic? Death is preferable. Let us instead consider the miracles we have achieved. Returning with Honko Drowne was an accomplishment without peer, won with ingenuity and boldness. Perhaps the future yet holds more such victories for us.”
“Your spirit puts me to shame, Lu. I’ll try to match it.”
Without the vambrace, the captives could not keep accurate track of the time. But growing hunger, hardly consoled by plentiful drinking water from the lavatory’s faucets, indicated that surely half a day must have passed. Hearing a fumbling at the door, Johrun and Lu retreated to the far end of the cabin, not wishing to seem a threat and so suffer deliquescing.
Indeed Celestro stood with gun at the ready. But Taryn was also there, carrying a tray of food. She entered and set it down, before raising her wretched gaze to meet Johrun’s.
“I’m so sorry, Johrun, believe me—”
“Touching sentiments that do you honor, dear, but a wink is as good as a nod, so you may cease prattling and come back out.”
As Taryn left, Johrun said, “We don’t blame you, Taryn. We know you only do what your conscience demands.”
The meal was more than adequate. Celestro seemed determined not to be a harsh jailer.
Casting about, Johrun unearthed the simple slate he had used for his reading on the trip out. There was of course no Indranet access between the stars, but its large offline library was still accessible. He brought up The Consolations of Beadle Egmont and began to read the melancholy philosophical text. The extravagant sufferings of the Beadle put Johrun’s own troubles in perspective. Lutramella meanwhile plunged into a deep sleep. It hardly seemed credible, but their long and exhausting two-day dash across the icy wastes of Itaska had ended only a dozen hours ago. After several chapters of aphorisms, Johrun joined her in bed.
And so passed the next several days, a monotonous desert of meals, black funks, the formulation of plans without substance, reminiscences, and speculation—all seasoned with the maxims of Beadle Egmont, who never missed a chance to counsel acceptance and self-abnegation.
This stretch of time, Johrun soon realized, was the longest he had ever spent exclusively in Lutramella’s company as an adult. Certainly their conversations were deeper and more wide-ranging than ever before. Her distinctive cachinnations always roused a matching laughter and cheer in his breast. He was impressed more than ever with the chimera’s good sense that verged on genuine wisdom. Her indomitable hearty attitude towards life, despite what almost every human interlocutor would have deemed the scant opportunity and privilege given to splices, humbled Johrun. He, who had literally had a world at his feet, could hardly match her zest and joy. He resolved to embody her wordless lessons in living from this moment forth.
If Celestro truly intended to allow them to live.
The one moment of excitement came in the second day of their captivity, when the drugs given to Honko finally wore off. The Red Lion began to bellow and bang on the walls of his cabin.
“Let me out of here, you worm fucker, or I’ll have your balls on a necklace! This is the Red Lion of the Spires you’re messing with, not some pissant sneak thief!”
Celestro’s contemptuous voice urged restraint. “Quiet, you hairy buffoonish jackanapes! I have to deliver you to your doom in sentient, undoped condition, to satisfy the esoteric criteria of the Eternalists. Them and their damnable borxha! But that does not preclude me from slapping a Barberini jelly muzzle across your face!”
Drowne ceased his caterwauling. The prospect of wearing a wet living adhesive ball gag for the rest of the trip did not appeal. He made no further outbursts, although from time to time, at all hours, Johrun could hear muffled curses and incessant pacing from the far side of their common wall. He did not envy Drowne’s mental condition.
Finally, on what Johrun judged to be the sixth day of their journey, the Mummer’s Grin made the transition back into basalspace. The subliminal sensations associated with this reentry to the home dimension were unmistakable. Several more hours crept by as they presumably traveled within the Aevum system. And now—was this the subtle, fifth-force-cushioned landing upon Aevum Seven itself? Hard to be sure.
The door to Johrun’s cabin came open. No one was framed directly in the portal. He and Lutramella cautiously stepped out.
Across the salon, near the ship’s still-sealed exterior door, stood the trio of Taryn, Celestro, and Honko Drowne. The latter had been permitted a new nondescript suit of clothes to replace his nightwear. He looked beaten, shrunken, lost. Johrun almost experienced a moment of pity for the fellow, who had toppled from absolute monarch to helpless slave. But then he reconsidered the man’s long record of infamy—admittedly a response to base treachery, but a chosen path nonetheless—and reserved his feelings for the Red Lion’s innumerable victims.
Drowne’s slave-like status was further reinforced by the obedience collar he wore. Johrun had last seen the device used on the herple poachers when they were collected from Verano. The remotely responsive ring around the neck did not administer any kind of stab or jolt, but merely constricted by degrees upon command, ultimately capable of extinguishing the life of the wearer.
Not trusting the collar alone, Celestro held his Isher Brothers pistol at the ready. Taryn stood helplessly by. Red-eyed, she appeared to have been weeping.
“Come, you two,” said Celestro. “I desire witnesses to my triumph.”
Johrun and Lutramella walked toward the exit door as Celestro moved to one side to keep them covered. Johrun braced for a flood of invective from Drowne, but the man seemed to be reserving his hatred for Celestro, glaring at him like a basilisk.
“Open the door, Taryn.”
The hull was broached.
“Down the ramp now.”
Drowne suddenly stiffened and lunged toward Celestro. But a quick jab by Celestro at his vambrace and the Red Lion was down on the floor, hands at his cinched neck, his face purpling.
Another poke at the controls unclamped Drowne’s windpipe. He got slowly to his feet, all the fight drained from him, and shuffled out the door. Johrun, Lutramella, and Taryn followed, Celestro bringing up the armed and monitory rear.
The ship had landed upon a large field of mustard-yellow grass. But little of the turf itself could be seen, for it hosted thousands of people. The rear ranks of the assemblage, stretching as far as Johrun’s eye could encompass, seemed composed of ordinary citizens. But closest to the ship eagerly waited all the officials and dignitaries, the Eternalist priests, nuns, acolytes, deacons, monks, dob-dobs, rinpoches, herbads, pandits, tlatoques, and sadhus, each dressed more fantastically than their rainbow’d neighbors. They carried flags, prayer wheels, croziers, swords, spears, maces, wands, and giant leather-bound, gilt-spined tomes. A chorus of men droned basso mantras, while a chorus of women intoned a wordless melody that soared and dipped like the song of a drunken nightingale. Away in the distance reared the buttresses and lacy arches of a rose-colored cathedral.
The incredible variety of people, the noise, the radiance of the alien sun, the spice-scented breeze, the sudden freedom from the four walls of their cabin, the recognition that h
e had reached the end of his long trail—all these factors conspired to render Johrun somewhat dizzy. He strove to focus his wits.
A member of the reception committee stepped forward. He was a tall skinny fellow whose dark skin was blotched with pale patches. He wore a lofty feathered headdress, a robe woven of wide strips of tan barkcloth like a fruit basket, and calf-high boots of mauve lizard skin. He singled out Celestro and said, “I am Presbyter Khalfani. We have talked before. I see you have succeeded in bringing us the Repugnant One. It was brave of you to mingle your borxha with his. The contamination of your afflatus cannot be symbolically expunged until the Repugnant One’s own excruciations are complete. For the safety of your inner genius, I recommend that you remain here in a state of privation and devotion until such a conclusion is reached. That should be only six months or so, depending on the Repugnant One’s stamina.”
Celestro chuckled. “A lovely offer. But I disdain living on salt crackers and barley water while clad in only a hairshirt. So please transfer my fee, and I’ll be gone.”
“But your soiled borxha—”
“My ten million chains, if you please.”
Shaking his head ruefully, the Presbyter pushed up the sleeve of his gown and worked his own vambrace.
“It is done.”
“Splendid! Now, I make you a further present. These two individuals with me have expressed a keen desire to labor for a few years in your incense mines, for the glory of the Eternalist church. Their lungs are strong, which I understand is a prerequisite. Please accept them into your service with all my good wishes.”
Johrun stepped forward to protest. Celestro angled the gun warningly at him.
Lutramella leaped, as if out of a pool! Yet she aimed herself not for the weapon, but for Celestro’s vambrace. She had her paws upon it, dragging Celestro off-balance. He awkwardly fired a capsule full of nanozymes that impacted her leg below the knee. Her flesh began to melt, a line of instant cellular disintegration advancing both up and down from the impact site.
An adjacent noise like a wet slab of liver hitting a floor composed of tiles and bubblewrap wrenched Johrun’s attention briefly away.
Drowne’s fuzzy and bearded head flew through the air, the obedience collar having instantly constricted his neck to the diameter of his wrist and launched his head high.
A gaggle of priests surged forward to restrain Celestro from further wild assaults.
Johrun flew to the nearest holy man bearing an edged weapon. He snatched the heavy blade away from the gawping cleric.
Lutramella lay on the grass, writhing. She saw Johrun approaching and forced herself into a taut quivering immobility. The line of death was inching ever upward, having eaten past her knee.
“Forgive me, Lu!”
Johrun brought down the blade with all his might.
The amputation was complete. The remnant chunk of Lutramella’s flesh burbled away to slime. Johrun cast aside the blade and ripped off his shirt. He dropped to his knees and tourniquet’d her upper thigh. Lutramella was insensible.
Members of the clergy stepped forward now, picked Lutramella up and hastened her away. Johrun took a step to follow, then realized there was nothing he could do to help. His bare chest bloodied, he gave his attention now to Celestro.
The mountebank’s arms were pinioned by several holy men. He looked stunned at this sudden undesirable outcome of his schemes. Then he visibly drew strength and determination from some vigorous inner well.
“Release me, you insufferable dunderheads! You can’t restrain me for merely harming a splice. Our dealings are at an end, and I must go!”
Presbyter Khalfani regarded Celestro gravely, and with some pity. “Our dealings are just beginning, I fear. I warned you that your borxha was commingled with that of the Repugnant One. He is now beyond our attentions, due to your mishandling of the delivery, for which you were paid. Therefore you must take his place. Only thus can celestial accounts be set right.”
Celestro vented one long wordless ululation before he was frogmarched away to a jaunty hymn played upon sackbut, lyre and theorbo.
CHAPTER 16
Anilda was not Verano.
The climate of Taryn Endelwode’s natal world—at least the littoral climate of her home continent—was considerably warmer than the equable, temperate, Harvester-mandated conditions of Johrun’s home. The tropical heat and humidity and frequent drenching downpours followed by extravagant rainbows were certainly preferable to the polar winds of Itaska, but nonetheless came in second to Verano’s perfection. This adopted world demanded adjustments from Johrun. As the first few weeks of his tenancy passed, he found himself shedding both clothes and worries. Next went initiative. And now, months into his stay, he found himself clad only in brightly patterned swim trunks, sitting on the veranda of Taryn’s new home at Vevaliah with a tall frosty glass of Citrine Drizzle, doing nothing but contemplating the motion of the palm leaves in the breeze. From all about came the sounds of well-fed, busy, happy villagers, children and adults alike.
These pleasant circumstances suddenly struck Johrun as highly improbable, given his uncomfortable status of just a short while back, and he let his mind roam over that recent past.
Once Celestro had been hustled out of sight, bound for his involuntary surrogate expiation, Johrun’s only thoughts were for Lutramella. He discovered Taryn to be likewise preoccupied concerning the splice they both loved.
“Presbyter Khalfani, please take us to our friend.”
Unflustered by the recent violence and maintaining a serene manner that did credit to whatever precepts the Eternalists professed, the tall priest said, “You need not worry about her, I am sure. Your quick action saved her life, and our medical facilities are very much sufficient to repair her wound. But I understand your urgency. I will be with you just as soon as I install our substitute for the Repugnant One in his new, albeit temporary education-container.”
Johrun and Taryn waited as patiently as they could, while Presbyter Khalfani absented himself. Workers came to clean up the bipartite corpse of Honko Drowne, as well as to splash deactivating agents on the pool of nanozymes that had eaten Lutramella’s leg. The huge crowd gradually dispersed, until only a few stragglers were left. The three musicians who had provided the capital punishment ditty were the last to depart, having stayed to enjoy a hearty drink in repayment for their efforts.
Taryn rubbed a hand across her weary face. “I’m all at sea. Should I go to be by Celestro’s side? I am still his restavek.”
“Please don’t go. You can’t possibly help him, nor should you wish to see him under the awful ministrations of the church. You don’t want to have that image be your enduring memory of the man. He was a scoundrel, and would have gladly sent us all to an early grave. But he did have flair and panache and bravery. Better to recall those good qualities than his bad. And besides, Lutramella and I require your company more than he does.”
Taryn touched Johrun’s bare chest. “Do you really, Johrun?”
Her freckled blue-eyed face, its attractive lines overlaid by what would, ideally, be transient marks of recent grief, showed a yearning to be needed and consoled that plucked at Johrun’s heart. He realized that her presence over the last few demanding weeks had always conferred a subliminal lightness to even the most fraught moments.
Taking her hand in his, Johrun said, “Yes, Taryn, Lu and I need you close by.”
The Presbyter returned at that moment. “Accompany me to our hospital now.”
The basement of the huge brooding immemorial cathedral hosted a surprisingly modern suite of offices and the medical facilities for the staff. In a private room Johrun and Taryn encountered Lutramella, asleep. To her traumatized leg was affixed a standard morphogenesis apparatus of joint Smalls-Polly manufacture that would build new structural components, tissues, bones, nerves, and blood vessels, from the face of the wound down, using the patient’s own genomic template.
The attending doctor was a short, round woman
clad in buff-colored utilitarian pants and tunic, but wearing the full-face mask of a Gleeful Hierophant.
“We have the patient in a medically induced coma while the rebuild is underway. We’ve found that the results are better if the patient is totally immobile during the process. They tend to fuss at the itching involved.”
“And how long will the rebuild take?”
“Since this is not a time-critical rebuild, we have set a moderate cellular assembly rate. Three days should see it to the end.”
Johrun looked down at his unconscious lifelong companion. She seemed peaceful, and he felt a weight leave his soul.
“Would it do any good for us to stand by here?”
“None whatsoever. There will be no crisis. You could not help if there were one. And she can’t appreciate your company. You might as well stay in your ship.”
Johrun made effusive thanks, and then left with Taryn for the Mummer’s Grin.
When they entered the ship, the artilect—a mid-range Proconsul model—instantly spoke up.
“Captain Endelwode, welcome back. What are your orders?”
Taryn looked with puzzlement at Johrun. “What does it mean?”
“Mummer’s Grin, please explain your choice of honorific for Taryn Endelwode.”
“The latest Indranet update drone has just arrived in the Aevum system. It disseminated a change in my ownership. My registered owner is now Taryn Endelwode. Therefore I address her properly as ‘Captain.’“
Taryn plopped down in a chair. “How can this be?”A few further inquiries laid bare the rudiments of the matter.
By Quinary insistence, the bonds between restavek and owner were not unidirectional. Should the owner predecease the restavek, the indentured person was entitled to a fair independence-launching settlement determined by length of service. However, in the case of an owner dying without any other heirs, the entirety of the estate devolved upon the restavek.
The Summer Thieves Page 21
