"Meet me at the Rest," the minne said when the speaker had finished, leaning forward again to make sure the crude pickup transmitted his words clearly. "Tell the others, too. Meet at the Rest. Please repeat and acknowledge." He listened closely to the answer, then cut the connection.
"What's happened?" Rehur demanded.
Ume-Kai glared into space. "Halfrid Brandr's threatening to blow up the power plant, that's what."
"He can't do that," Rehur exclaimed. Ume-Kai managed an indulgent, distracted smile, and the younger actor hurried on. "He'll blow up the Gilbertine precinct with it, and probably burn down half the city—and we're holding Madelgar. He's crazy."
Ume-Kai shook his head, shrugging himself out of his fine wool wrap. "Apparently there was a fire in Madelgar, a lot of damage." He reached for his blast rifle, adding dryly, "It seems to have upset Halfrid."
Rehur made a face. He had learned to trust the minne over the past calendar-weeks, but he still found Ume-Kai's constant irony hard to take. The minne continued, sobering, "I've asked Lulan to get the others to meet us at the Rest. We can't just sit here and let it happen."
"What do you suggest?" Rehur asked, but loosened the cord that fastened the quilted coat.
"We have to stop them," Ume-Kai answered.
"How?" Rehur stopped, coat sliding down his back, arms still tangled in its wide sleeves.
"By force, if necessary," Ume-Kai answered, and, unbelievably, smiled. "Which it may not be. But I will need you, Rehur—especially your pretty Halex face."
Rehur froze, then slowly looked away, freeing himself from the coat. "I'll wake Belit."
"Wait." Ume-Kai caught the younger man's wrist in an unexpectedly strong grip. Rehur winced and tried to jerk free; failing, he stood his ground, watching the minne.
"You don't get out of this one so easily," Ume-Kai said, all mockery gone from his voice. "Lulan served your kin well. They'll listen to my idea a lot quicker if a Halex backs it than if it was just me. And you've got that face—hell, your twin was the Demi-heir, and for all I know you were Demi-heir before him—"
"No!"
"—so they'll listen to you," Ume-Kai finished, as though the other hadn't spoken. He shook the younger man lightly. "I need you."
'I—" Rehur faltered before the sudden contempt in the other's eyes. "What is this plan?"
"We're ghosts, aren't we? Or most of us are, anyway. They can't acknowledge us," Ume-Kai said. "We can use that."
"It won't work," Rehur began, then hesitated, considering. Ume-Kai smiled.
"It will work," the minne said, "but no one'll believe it at first glance. That's why I need your support."
Rehur nodded, but said, "I'll screw it up, Ume."
"Think of it as another part," Ume-Kai answered. He smiled again, this time with malice. "Second-lead, not lead-villain. Don't worry, I'll prompt as necessary."
That's the second time someone's offered me second-lead, Rehur thought, remotely. Aloud, he said, "All right, I'll do it."
"Good." Ume-Kai released the younger actor's wrist, gave him a push toward the stairs. "Wake Belit, will you? Tell her what's up."
Rehur muttered a curse, angry and ashamed and afraid all in the same moment, and climbed the stairs to the main level, feeling his way in the half-light that filtered in through the distant skylight. At least we don't have to worry about finding batteries for the hand-lights for another day or two, he thought irrelevantly, trying to blot out the memory of Ume-Kai's face. At least not until the Dark—if we live so long.
Belit was asleep in what had been the company manager's office, curled on her side on the battered couch. The thick glass of the window was covered with an extra layer of batting, reducing the sunlight to a distant, milky glow, but the battery-powered heater in the corner of the room was barely able to keep the temperature at an acceptable level. Shivering, Rehur tapped gently on the doorframe. "Belit?"
The musician shot upright, reaching for the crossbow that lay on the floor beside the couch. Her hand was on the butt before she realized who had spoken, and relaxed. "Is anything wrong?" she asked.
Rehur nodded. "I'm afraid so. The Brandr's decided to counter by blowing up the main power plant—or at least that's what Halfrid's threatening," he amended quickly. There was no point in exaggeration. "Ume-Kai wants everyone to meet at the Rest."
Belit stood up, pulling on her gaudy tunic. She had not been back to her own flat since the day after the first riots; she had borrowed tunic and trousers from the costume racks in the basement instead. The tunic was ordinary enough, though brightly colored, but the only trousers heavy enough to be practical were a pair of the exaggerated breeches worn in the most stylized plays. They hung in heavy folds around her legs, caught at mid-calf with a sort of tab, just barely practical. Too many people were borrowing from the costume stocks these days, Rehur thought, and realized he was quoting Rowan. The company manager was right, though, he thought. A lot of theater groups would be ruined before this was over, and not just by borrowed costumes.
Belit wound a scarf around her red hair, and reached for her crossbow. She had refused the offer of a more modern weapon, saying she knew how to use her bow, and would leave less demanding weapons to those who needed them. "What does Ume-Kai think we can do about it?" she asked.
Rehur shrugged.
"I'll tell you when we get to the Rest," Ume-Kai said, from the stairs. "We're late. Are you ready?"
"I'm ready," Belit said quietly, slinging her bolt case over her shoulder, bow balanced easily in her left hand.
Rehur sighed, pushing back his anger. "Coming."
They made their way toward Rita's Rest by the maze of back streets, avoiding larger streets and squares for fear of meeting a Brandr patrol that had slipped past the watchers at the greengates. It had happened before, and now, of all times, they couldn't afford the delay. The back door of Rita's Rest opened into an alley that ran parallel to Broad Street at that point. The door stood open a hand's-breadth, then swung open farther at their approach.
"Hello, Ume-Kai." That was the Rest's regular doorkeeper, now managing the popular restaurant as a sort of central meeting place for the ghosts and para'anin still in the Necropolis. "Most everyone's here before you."
Ume-Kai gave her a quick grin as he ducked through the door. "I know."
And I bet he planned it that way, too, Rehur thought. He exchanged quick glances with Belit, who rolled her eyes. Anything for an entrance.
The minne led them quickly through the Rest's empty, echoing kitchen, then through the backstage passage to the door leading onto the main floor. It was the only way into the main dining hall, where all the meetings were held, but Rehur had to bite his lip to suppress a grimace. They would make a grand entrance indeed, if he knew Ume-Kai.
Sure enough, the minne paused for a fraction of a second at the curtain separating the passage from the dining room, then, with a grand gesture, drew it up and back so that he could step through without ducking. The curtain rings rattled sharply, drawing all eyes. There was no need for the pointing spot he would have had at the Cockaigne, Rehur thought almost enviously. The minne paused just inside the door, forcing Rehur to step up beside him in order to come fully into the room, then swept forward to claim a table set conspicuously near the front of the room. Rehur followed demurely, knowing he would only look petty if he tried to spoil the scene, but seated himself on the edge of the low stage at Ume-Kai's shoulder. The minne gave the younger man a single swift, annoyed look, but said nothing. Belit joined Ume-Kai at the table.
The dining room was crowded, barred sunlight falling through the narrow front windows to light a sea of faces. Nearly everyone who'd stayed was there, Rehur thought, scanning the room. The main officers of the Streetwalkers' Tong were present, of course, and Lulan, with Shoba's daughter crouched beside her—the girl had been acting as a runner, Rehur remembered, passing on the information Lulan collected from her friends on the other side of the wall. It was rumored that Lulan had someh
ow managed to keep her comnet link, but the conciliatrix had resolutely refused to confirm or deny the rumor. Ash and Rowan should be here, too, Rehur thought, but scanned the crowd again without finding their familiar faces.
After Ume-Kai's spectacular entrance, there was a moment of silence, broken a few heartbeats later by a rising babble of questions. The minne lifted his hand in gentle rebuke, enjoying the sensation he'd created, and obviously prepared to wait it out. The president of the Streetwalkers' Tong made a face, put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled shrilly. There was instant silence.
"All right," she said, raising her voice to project to the corners of the room. "Ume-Kai, what's all this about?"
"Did you get my message, Amial?" the minne asked. Unlike the woman's, his voice carried effortlessly.
Amial nodded. "I gathered you had something further in mind." Her tone was challenging. Rehur saw the minne stiffen slightly, and relax again with an effort.
"That's right." His answer set off a renewed murmuring, and Ume-Kai raised his hands for silence. "I assume you've all heard that the Brandr are threatening to blow up the main power plant if the Halex don't give up Madelgar—and I thank you, Lulan, for passing on the information."
The conciliatrix bowed gracefully, still seated. With the corner of his mind that observed such things, Rehur noted the gesture for later use.
"Obviously, I think this is a bad thing," Ume-Kai continued, allowing a trace of humor to enter his voice. Then, abruptly, he became completely serious. "I propose we stop him."
There was another outburst, louder this time, and someone shouted, "How?"
The minne made a production of looking for the speaker, and a woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd, scowling. "How the hell do you propose we do it, minne?" she demanded.
She looked oddly familiar, Rehur thought, and frowned, trying to place the lined face. After a moment, he remembered. She was Gazel Ingvarr, manager of the Halex home farm—but Gazel was neither ghost nor para'an. Or rather, he amended, she had not been either before. Now, having gone beyond mere acknowledgement actually to speak to a ghost, she had put herself among the ranks of the dead. And there were a lot more like her, Rehur realized suddenly, even if they didn't all wear the ghostmark yet. There hadn't been time for most of the Family members to go through the parachor before joining the groups in the Necropolis, and there was, for once, a serious shortage of mediums, making keeping the code almost impossible.
"Just this, woman," Ume-Kai answered, and Rehur dragged his attention back to the scene in front of him. "We're all ghosts here, or nearly all—yourself included, ama. And Halfrid Brandr says he keeps the code. If we can reach the power plant. . . ." The minne let his voice trail off suggestively, then finished, "If we can reach the power plant, he can't touch us and keep code—he can't even see us, people. We can kill him."
"That's if he keeps code," another woman's voice, an actor's voice, said from the side. "What if he breaks it?"
"We'll still have helped the Patriarch," Gazel cried fiercely.
"We could all get killed in the process," someone else called, "killed true-dead."
"He'll keep the code." The husky voice came from the front of the crowd, and Rehur craned his neck to see the speaker. It was a blond woman sitting at one of the second-rank tables, he realized after a moment.
"Oh, he'll keep code," she said again, a thin smile on her lips.
"She knows what she's talking about," a man said, from somewhere behind her. "She's mainline kin."
"Good God," Rehur said, and heard his words echoed across the room. Still, the note of doubt was very strong in those voices; he could sense the crowd's uncertainty, could feel them wavering between action and inaction. Ume-Kai's head moved slightly, almost a nod, and Rehur shivered, despising himself for having to be prompted. He pushed himself reluctantly to his feet, knowing that even the stage's subdued day lighting would be enough to show off his Halex face. "Ume-Kai's right," he said loudly. "Halfrid won't have any choice."
"How the hell do you know?" someone shouted, and half a dozen voices answered from across the room.
"He's Rehur—Halex of Halex."
"Mainline kin."
"He was the Demi-heir."
Rehur looked away, not meeting Ume-Kai's quick, encouraging smile. The minne turned back to face the room, spreading his hands. "You see?" he said. "It'll work. Who's with us?"
There was a rumble of agreement, and the woman from the Tong said strongly, "All right, Ume-Kai, we'll do it your way."
Even then, it took time and debate to sort out exactly who would take part in the attack—the Necropolis's existing organizations were informal in the extreme, and few ghosts or para'anin took authority well. It was agreed at last, after Ume-Kai insisted and Rehur backed him up, that only ghosts would go to the power plant, leaving the para'anin in to open and hold one greengate for the attack party. Rehur took a quick look at the ghosts' faces, and made his way backstage to the Rest's tiny dressing room, rummaging in the drawers until he found half a dozen tubes of white makeup. Then he returned to the stage, and began daubing ghostmarks on the foreheads of those who didn't show them. After a few minutes, a line began to form.
He went on working, mechanically answering questions he barely heard, trying to suppress his sudden fear. Suppose Halfrid doesn't keep the code? he thought. We could all be killed, and we won't have helped poor Alkres one little bit. Or even if he does keep code, suppose there's some loophole we haven't thought of? You get the same result. But there aren't any loopholes, he told himself, trying to be firm. I know there aren't—and I know Halfrid will follow the code to the last letter. And even if I do get killed, it'll be worth it, to have had the chance to do him in.
He lifted the makeup stick again, and realized that it was Belit who stood in front of him. He paused, startled, and the musician said, "Look, Rehur, I want to go. Just mark me, will you?"
"You'll be dead if I do that," Rehur protested.
"I don't care." Belit's mouth set in a hard line, an expression Rehur had never seen on her face before. "I was in at the beginning; I want to be in at the kill." She shrugged then, trying to look nonchalant. "Besides, I may just go off-world when this is over. Rowan's been talking about it, and they'll need a synth-man."
"Have they, now?" Rehur said, then shook himself. "Are you sure, Belit?"
"I'm sure."
"All right," Rehur said dubiously, and drew the mark firmly across the musician's forehead before either of them could change their minds.
Belit smiled fiercely. "Thanks, Rehur," she said, and was gone. "What's the world coming to?" the woman in line behind her said. Rehur, busy tearing the wrapper back from the end of the makeup, looked up sharply. Gazel Ingvarr gave him a twisted smile.
"Never thought you'd see the day, did you, when people'd be begging to be marked as ghosts?"
Rehur shook his head mutely—he'd always been a little afraid of the sharp-tongued farm manager—and started to draw in the mark. Then his curiosity got the better of him. "Are you really para'an, too?"
Gazel snorted. "I'm as good a ghost as you are. Who was there to give parachor, with the medium gone? I doubt I could find three kinsmen for it, anyway."
"Oh," Rehur said. Not knowing what else to say, he added, "Good luck."
There weren't many ghosts to mark after that. Rehur finished with the last one, and tucked the last stick into his pocket automatically, smearing a blob of the stuff across the butt of his blaster as he did so. He swore and rubbed it off, then followed the others out into the light of Broad Street. It was growing late in the clock-evening, Agamemnon almost a quarter full overhead. Someone—probably a member of one of the transportation unions, Rehur thought—had commandeered a couple of the tramline's work cars. With much shouting and waving of arms, the para'anin were loaded aboard, and the two machines set off for the main greengate. The ghosts followed on foot.
By the time they reached the greengate, the fighting was over, and
the surviving Brandr—most of the guard team; the para'anin had taken them completely by surprise—were trussed up in the display window of a nearby souvenir shop. Lulan and a young man from one of the cross-talk companies stood beside the raised barrier, waving cheerfully as the ghosts approached. The rest of the para'anin lined the gate itself, cheering. Rehur only caught a few words as Ume-Kai pulled him to the head of the line, all urging them on to destroy the Brandr. He shivered again, but with a pleasurable excitement, not from cold.
They led the ghosts down the High Street itself, the most direct route to the power plant. Windows opened as they passed, and closed again as the watchers realized what they were. Once, the leader of a Brandr patrol stepped from his station by a tram turntable, lifting his hand to stop them. He saw the white ghostmarks an instant later, and tried to turn the gesture into something else. His patrol hesitated; then, taking their cue from their leader, they turned their backs on the marching ghosts. Rehur gave a yelp of delight, but could not shake the sense that it was theater, not real. Farther down the line, a woman raised her voice in a mocking, cross-talk song.
And then they were at the power plant. There were two Brandr on duty at the compound gate, but they, too, fell back before the approaching ghosts. Ume-Kai struggled with the gate for a moment, and then Rehur and a tall woman threw their weight against it as well. The gate opened, reluctantly, and the ghosts streamed inside. As he turned toward the main building, Rehur could almost feel sorry for the two guards, who stood frozen in an agony of uncertainty. After all, even if they sacrificed themselves, admitted they'd seen the ghosts, and tried to warn Halfrid, it would take time to find a medium—more time than Halfrid had. Rehur shouted with the rest, trying to break through the wall of unreality, and hurried to catch up with Ume-Kai.
Two more Brandr flanked the building's entrance, but they, too, froze at the sight of the marchers. The ghosts jeered at them, emboldened by their successes, while Ume-Kai fiddled briefly with the latch. Rehur stooped to help, and the door swung open. The way inside was clear. The ghosts poured inside, catcalls turning to cheers and laughter.
The Kindly Ones Page 39
