“Bad idea,” I said tersely.
“Why?”
“Because Barrayar’s called in an airstrike,” I said. “In three minutes an RAF jet is going to hit this carriage with a laser-guided bomb.”
Cinder paused. His shield could hold off light machine gun fire, but military explosives were another story. And that was without the train crash that would follow.
A train crash that would also kill every single passenger in the carriages below. I’d known Barrayar wanted to stop me from stealing November. I hadn’t known how badly.
“So?” Cinder asked.
I looked around, searching for ideas. My eyes fell upon the helicopter. It had pulled back out of firing range but was still pacing the train. I could just barely see one of the men inside aiming some piece of equipment at us, probably a laser designator.
And the pilot was holding course and speed so they could draw a bead . . .
I pointed at the helicopter. “How far can you jump with those fire wings?”
Cinder looked at the helicopter, then back at me. “You’re fucking crazy.”
I grinned at him. “Chicken?”
“Never going to hit.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
Cinder hesitated.
“Two minutes,” I told him.
I felt the futures settle as Cinder made his decision. He stepped next to me and put a thick arm around me, grabbing me under one arm. I turned towards the helicopter, already thinning out the futures with the fateweaver, looking for the one where ours intersected at just the right angle.
“We miss this,” Cinder growled into my ear, “last thing I do before we hit the ground is blow your head off.”
“Oh, relax,” I told him, focusing on the helicopter. All of a sudden it looked very far away, a black-and-yellow wasp flitting above the trees. “Remember, falling doesn’t kill you, it’s the sudden stop when you—”
Cinder jumped.
Fire flared around us, and my stomach lurched as we kicked off the train and went speeding through the air. The wind roared in my ears, the helicopter growing bigger and bigger. Time seemed to slow down, and I had what felt like forever to see the eyes of the two men standing in the helicopter’s fuselage go wide behind their goggles. The gunner fired a burst but the bullets fell low and left. The helicopter grew bigger still, filling my sight, and the future of the next three-quarters of a second was a solid line as the open side of the helicopter grew closer and closer. I felt us go through the countermagic shield, which did nothing as we were just a pair of ballistic objects at this point, the blast of the wind mixing with the clatter of the rotors as we flew under them and into the men in the doorway—
—and time snapped back to full speed and suddenly everything was happening at once. I hit the man with the laser designator and we both went sprawling, slamming into the helicopter’s floor, my leg kicking out into empty space. The helicopter lurched, engine screaming. Someone was shouting and I fought with the man I’d landed on, elbows and weapons and teeth. Fire and heat bloomed and there was a horrible scream—
—and suddenly it was over. I hauled myself up on a handhold and saw that Cinder and I were the only ones standing. The machine gun was still there, mounted in the door. Through the gap between the seats I could see the pilot at the front of the helicopter; he seemed to be shouting. Cinder jerked a thumb towards him—it was too loud to speak—and I nodded and moved forward, grabbing a pistol from one of the bodies.
The pilot was talking fast into his microphone. He stopped short as I leant in next to him. His eyes rolled towards me fearfully.
I showed the pilot the pistol. “You have five seconds to use that parachute.”
The pilot didn’t need to be told twice. His harness flew open, he kicked open the side door, and he jumped into space.
The helicopter rocked, threatening to tip over. “Know how to fly this thing?” Cinder shouted from behind me.
I half fell into the pilot’s seat, reached over for the open door, and slammed it, cutting down the noise. “Not yet.”
Looking out, I saw that we’d gained height—the pilot must have climbed when we boarded—but the helicopter was lurching and swaying. The panels in the cockpit were an incomprehensible jumble of screens and dials, but the stick and pedals looked simple enough. I concentrated on the futures and a dozen Alexes tried a dozen combinations of movements: the futures that survived forked, forked again. I pulled the stick to one side, then flicked a switch and gently tilted it forward. The helicopter stabilised, its beating rotor holding it stationary, then angled forward, heading north.
November. Status.
The tactical net Barrayar has been using to direct your pursuit is . . . somewhat confused, November said. They seem to be under the impression that you boarded their helicopter in midair.
That’s because we did. How long until they get organised?
You . . . Yes, well. The fighter-bomber that had been tasked with the strike has aborted its attack run. Barrayar wants confirmation of the helicopter’s status and is attempting to order use of air-to-air missiles.
“Hey, Cinder,” I called over my shoulder. “You know how to make a gate from inside a helicopter?”
Without even looking back, I knew that Cinder was rolling his eyes. “Now?”
“Well, Deleo can make one from a train,” I said, looking through the futures to figure out how to work the autopilot. “But hey, maybe she’s better than you. I’m not an expert on this stuff.”
“How long we got?” Cinder growled.
“Ages. At least five minutes.”
* * *
—
Six minutes and forty-five seconds later, the police helicopter was struck by an infrared-homing ASRAAM missile fired from astern. The missile hit the aircraft high on its right side, the warhead’s fragments reaching the fuel tanks and causing a secondary explosion. The flaming wreckage crashed into a field somewhere west of Chelmsford, and the pieces were still burning when the emergency services pulled up. By the time that they—and Barrayar—determined that no one had been alive and on board at the time of impact, Cinder and I were long gone.
chapter 8
Cinder and I separated and I lay low for the rest of the day. The next morning found me back in the Hollow.
We’ve got trouble, Variam told me telepathically.
Slow down, I said. What trouble and how?
And when you say we, do you mean trouble for us, or trouble for the Keepers? Luna added. Because one of those bothers me a lot more than the other.
Things had reached the point where I couldn’t risk meeting Variam face-to-face, and phone or internet communications were almost as bad. The only safe method left was the dreamstone, which was why I was sitting in my cottage in the dark, eyes closed as I concentrated. Maintaining a three-way link (so that Luna could take part in the conversation as well) was much harder than a two-way one, but at least I was getting plenty of dreamstone practice.
Okay, Variam said. So that attack yesterday that we got scrambled for? The one where we thought we’d driven them off? Turns out we didn’t drive them off, they withdrew. And they withdrew because they got what they wanted.
It was definitely Richard’s cabal? I asked.
They were using shroud spells, but yeah, we’re ninety-nine percent sure. They were using their big guns too. Vihaela was there, and from the sound of it so was Richard.
So last year Onyx steals something from the Southampton facility, and now Richard does? Luna said. Why do they even keep using that place?
It wasn’t supposed to be there at all, Variam said. It was being constructed in a shadow realm, and they were supposed to be transferring it directly to the Vault. There was some issue and they moved it to Southampton temporarily. Somehow Richard found out and hit the place first.
Okay, I sa
id. You said at the beginning that this was something to do with Anne. What’s the link?
So, we haven’t been told any of this officially, Variam said. But when they found out about Anne and that jinn, it seems some of the high-ups green-lit a crash program to create some sort of anti-jinn weapon. They’ve been rushing construction on the prototype and they were moving it to the Vault for testing.
They want to use it on Anne? Luna asked.
What kind of weapon? I asked.
No one’s talking, Variam said. But they are seriously stirred up right now. The Council’s been in emergency session since last night and everyone’s on standby.
Right, I said. About that. The attack on Southampton might not be the only reason the Council’s in emergency session.
What do you mean?
Let’s just say you might be getting some orders soon about making me a priority target.
Alex? There was a warning note to Variam’s thoughts. What did you do?
You’re probably better off not knowing.
Oh, bloody hell. I could feel Variam sigh. Look, I’ve got to go, Landis is calling. I’ll check in when I hear anything.
Don’t, I said. It’s too risky for you to contact me. I’ll get in touch with you instead.
He’s right, Vari, Luna said.
Fine, but you’d better tell me what the hell you’ve been up to. Vari out.
I let the link to Variam and Luna dissolve and stood, wincing a little at the stiffness in my legs. Pulling back the curtains from the window, I blinked as the midmorning sun streamed into the cottage. Once I’d adjusted to the light, I slipped the dreamstone into my pocket and walked out into the warm air of the Hollow.
Hey, November, I said, closing the door behind me.
It is somewhat disturbing when you do that unannounced, November replied.
I started out along one of the grassy paths. Would have thought you’d be used to it.
You don’t use any kind of handshake protocol! How am I supposed to authenticate that it’s you? All I have to go on is . . .
. . . Tone of voice?
If you were using a voice, I could employ vocal recognition software.
Well, you’ll just have to recognise me the old-fashioned way.
But it’s so untidy!
I came out into Karyos’s clearing. The hamadryad was sitting cross-legged under her tree, chin resting in her hands. November was propped up in the grass, a webcam balanced on top of his case. “. . . which was why Levistus made the choice to install me there,” he was saying. His voice sounded slightly tinny through the speakers. “It was to do with trade-offs in location.”
“I don’t understand this ‘Heron Tower,’” Karyos said. “Why would he build it?”
“Um, he didn’t,” November said. “Its construction was financed by a property development company.”
“But why would they build something so tall?”
“Because . . . er . . . well, skyscraper development is correlated with land value, and the property values in the financial districts of central London are more than high enough. It’s really local ordinances that are the limiting factors.”
“But if they built something smaller, they’d be closer to the ground.”
“Er . . . well, yes, that’s true, but . . .”
“Hey, guys,” I said, walking out into the clearing. “How are you getting on?”
“The things your elemental tells me are so strange.” Karyos gazed thoughtfully at November. “I have so much to learn about your world.”
“I told you, I’m not an elemental,” November said, sounding slightly annoyed. “And as for your question, Mr. Verus—”
“You know, you can just call me Alex.”
“Yes, well, I’d find it much easier to adjust if I didn’t have to rely on this substandard equipment.”
“You wanted speakers, I got you speakers.”
“They’re Apple speakers!”
“Is that a problem?”
“Yes!”
“Do they not work?”
“It’s the principle of the thing. In Heron Tower I had a customised full-surround—”
“I know, you’ve told me,” I said, holding back a sigh. “Look, you’re just going to have to accept that living in freedom out on the wild frontier comes with some sacrifices. Which apparently include Apple speakers.”
“Those speaking machines are not made of apples,” Karyos pointed out. “I don’t understand why the elemental is concerned.”
“For the last time, I am not an elemental!”
“November?” I said. “I just heard something a little worrying from one of my contacts with the Council.” I relayed Variam’s story. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Hmm,” November said thoughtfully. “Unfortunately not. I had picked up some pieces of information suggesting the existence of a new weapons project. But as regards such matters, the flow was always one-way. I passed on my findings to Levistus and Barrayar, but they didn’t keep me informed in return.”
“Did Levistus give you any special orders as far as Anne and her jinn were concerned?” I asked. “Push them up the priority list for tracking, that sort of thing?”
“Not at all,” November said. “He never gave me any indication that he was especially concerned with her. Actually, he was far more concerned with you, and the rest of his political opponents on the Council.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I should have guessed.” Anne wasn’t a direct threat to Levistus’s political career, and at the end of the day, that was what he cared about. “Okay. Let’s carry on where you left off.”
“Of course,” November said. “We’d just reached the aftermath of the collapse of White Rose and Morden’s ascension to the Junior Council. As you know, it was in this period that Levistus was raised to the Senior Council. He had been allowing everyone to believe that his strategy for doing so relied upon arranging for Nirvathis to be raised to the Junior Council first. In reality, Nirvathis had never been more than a smokescreen, which is why he was discarded so quickly after Morden’s appointment. Levistus’s actual plan had always been to leverage his influence over Undaaris and Sal Sarque, while keeping both of them ignorant of his dealings with the other. This was also the period in which the remaining members of the Council became fully aware of Richard Drakh’s return. While most of them did not favour taking any sort of direct action, Levistus was able to take advantage of this increase in tension by . . .”
Listening to November’s history lesson was fascinating. I’d thought that by now, when it came to the Council, I was well-informed. I’d been very wrong. November’s position had given him a bird’s-eye view of all of Levistus’s dealings, and it was eye-opening to learn how much had been going on.
For example, Levistus had had plans in place for years to have me assassinated, and the only reason he hadn’t pulled the trigger was because of all the attacks and assassination attempts I’d drawn from everyone else. Basically, he’d decided it wasn’t worth spending the resources to have me killed because there was such a good chance that if he waited long enough, someone else would do it for him. He’d been happy to point other people in my direction though: he’d been the one to supply the Nightstalkers with my name and address, and he’d had a hand in getting the Council intelligence services to order my death during the operation in Syria. Once I’d been raised to the Council, he’d been planning to step that up further, but he’d been distracted by a behind-the-scenes power struggle between him and Bahamus.
On that subject, November’s files had also contained Levistus’s notes on the other members of the Senior Council. Right at the top of the list was Undaaris, a water mage who’d been largely responsible for my first death sentence. I’d noticed for a while that Levistus seemed to have a lot of influence on Undaaris, and the files made it clear why. Und
aaris had been a heavy user of White Rose before its destruction, and the report had gone into detail as to the kinds of activities he’d pursued there. With attached audio and video files. I’d unwisely had November show them to me and was forced to take a break while my digestive system tried to crawl up my throat and spit acid on my brain.
Sal Sarque had also been under Levistus’s influence, though for a different reason. Apparently back when Sal Sarque was a captain in the Order of the Star, he was given command of a sensitive operation where he screwed the pooch in a major way. It had been covered up, but not well enough. Levistus had dirt on Bahamus as well, though in his case it had taken the form of family secrets. Bahamus’s father had also been a mage, and active in Council politics. He hadn’t been as successful as his son, and his family had accumulated some of the sorts of favours that it’s a bad idea to owe. Bringing that all to light wouldn’t have brought Bahamus down, but it would have seriously damaged him. Bahamus, in turn, had evidence of Levistus’s own breaches of the Concord during the first struggle over the fateweaver, and as a result Levistus and Bahamus had settled into an uneasy truce.
That left Druss, Alma, and Spire. In Druss’s case, Levistus had turned up some irregularities concerning Druss’s past romantic relationships (of which it turned out there had been a lot). However, when Levistus had approached Druss on the subject and offered his silence in exchange for Druss’s support, Druss told Levistus to go screw himself, and Levistus backed down. Finally, with Alma and Spire, Levistus had been unable to find any significant blackmail material at all. The lack of dirt on Alma was irritating, since she’d consistently been my third-worst enemy on the Council, but that’s how life goes. Just because someone’s your enemy doesn’t mean they’re evil. Or at least no more evil than any other politician.
It was a weird thought, but in helping get rid of Sal Sarque, I might have done the Council a favour. With him and Undaaris under Levistus’s thumb, Levistus had only ever been one vote away from a straight majority. In another five years, he probably would have been running the country. I wasn’t sure how happy I was about cleaning up the Council’s messes for them, but it wasn’t as though I had much of a choice.
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