by Jim Grimsley
“About the killings?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Dekkar was listening as well, leaning against the stone fireplace at the center of the pavilion, empty this season, covered with a filigree grate.
“They’re hedging,” she said. “They’re shocked. They don’t know what to make of these questions about the viciousness of the attack and they’re hedging.”
“So you think these images are real?” Figg asked. “You think the rebels are attacking towns and villages for no reason?”
“You heard what Chong said. The rebels didn’t target those towns.”
“Then who did?”
“The Dirijhi,” Kitra said. “And this new ally of theirs.”
“My God, what a disaster,” Dekkar said.
No one responded. Figg felt the wine settle into him, found the sensation unpleasant. “I’ve had enough of the news, I think. I’d like to rest a bit after the trip.”
“I’d like to do the same,” Kitra said, having withdrawn to the balcony, where she stood looking out at the flowing pool of water lined with mossy rocks, a peaceful image, her frame silhouetted against the beautiful garden. “Assuming we’re staying.”
He found himself amused by her need to have her status confirmed and stepped toward her. “I’ve told Dekkar that you both are invited to be my guests as long as you like.”
“We’re heading north,” Dekkar said, “I expect we’ll set out tomorrow.” He gave Kitra a questioning look, and she assented.
“I’ll feel better the sooner we’re under way,” she said. “But we don’t have a guide.”
“I thought you were the guide,” Dekkar said.
She shook her head. “I need someone who knows the river system better than I do. Someone with a riverboat license.”
He looked her up and down. Without a word he turned away from her. “How do you propose to find someone like that?”
“I’ll take the flitter and go to Jarutan. I’ll super-sleep for a couple of hours. There are people I know down there who can tell me more about what’s going on. Maybe tell me the best route into Greenwood, one that will avoid the war traffic on the rivers.”
“You think you’ll be back tomorrow?”
“With any luck. There are a lot of Erejhen guides in Jarutan. They don’t like to live too close to the trees.”
“Erejhen?”
“Yes. That’s all right with you, I suppose.”
Dekkar considered for a moment, then assented. “Yes. That’s fine.”
“You have problems with Erejhen?”
Dekkar answered with too smooth an air of unconcern; Figg was suspicious, even though this was not his conversation. “They’re such snobs about my people. But I’ll be fine. Get back here as soon as you can.”
By then, Figg had sent Nerva to take Keely to the pavilion they shared, east of the main pavilion along a gallery of carved wooden beams, a roof of tile. Kitra was housed in a smaller structure down the western gallery, the Green Spring Pavilion; the Hilda escorted her. Figg rose long enough to see her off; he found her likable for all that she held such naïve economic notions.
He found himself much more comfortable talking to Dekkar with the pavilion empty. “So you’re really going into Greenwood,” Figg said, when he and Dekkar were seated near the teapot.
“Yes.”
“That’s a bit dangerous, in the middle of all this confusion.”
“Maybe.” Dekkar shrugged. “Maybe more dangerous not to go.”
“Why?”
Dekkar looked at him. Figg felt the intensity of the eyes, as he had at times in the past, visiting Dekkar in Béyoton. Figg was too old to be unaware that his friend had secrets. “There’s something in Greenwood other than the Dirijhi. I need to know what’s there.”
“Trees, my dear. Lots and lots of trees that have their own human servants and make nasty, poisonous gardens. Everybody who uses the Surround knows that.”
Dekkar smiled. For a moment a silence fell between them, and Figg was conscious of how comfortable he felt in the other man’s presence. Every time they talked, Figg felt the same sense of ease, of having spoken to Dekkar only yesterday. Figg said, wryly, “You know I’m over three hundred now.”
“Yes.”
“I feel old enough to say anything I want.”
“Is there something you want to say?”
“Something I want to ask. How old are you?”
Dekkar looked away, amused, toward the balcony that faced east, where a small green lawn stretched toward a field of clean, raked pebbles. “A bit older than you.”
“How much?”
“A few years.” Because he kept his face turned from Figg, though, Figg never believed a word of it.
“Why do you need to go to Greenwood yourself? I didn’t think you worked with the, the whatever, anymore.”
“The Drune. They’re part of the Prin, a separate order. No, I don’t work with them.”
“You’re not here to satisfy your own curiosity.”
“No.”
“At least that’s not a lie.”
“You think I’m lying to you, Figg?”
“Yes. When you need to. I expect no less. You can rely on the fact that I would do the same to you.”
Dekkar smiled, reaching for a slice of apple from a plate.
“You forget the kind of power I had,” Figg said. “Having that kind of power makes you realize when someone else has it, too.”
Dekkar shook his head quietly. “Don’t say any more, please.”
“Why not?”
“It does pain me to lie to you, Figg. Believe it or not.”
They watched each other. Breezes full of the sunny smell of the garden flooded the room.
“One more question.” Dekkar spoke easily, but the seriousness of his tone was plain. “Where did you find Keely’s nanny?”
“Nerva? It’s an odd story, really. I hired her from Sade’s household after I killed him.”
“The man you killed at your birthday party.” Dekkar raised a brow. “Why?”
“She was taking care of Keely for Sade. She’s the one who found Keely’s sister to begin with. I believe she may have had something to do with getting Sherry licensed for a public suicide. I’ve in mind to ask her one of these days, when it won’t feel so awkward.”
Dekkar hardly reacted but considered the information with a blank expression, touching his fingertips to a carved napkin ring sitting beside the plate of fruit.
“Why the curiosity?” Figg asked.
“I’m always curious when I see an Erejhen in a subordinate position, like hers to you. It doesn’t suit their character well.”
“She’s quite pliable and very good with the boy. She’s handling this whole regression for him, with guidance of course, but she’s watching him through the whole thing. Very competent.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He appeared to leave that thought, staring into the sky, full of broken clouds.
Figg took the opportunity to catch up on what he could of his news queue.
1 A newsburst about the Twelfth Fleet, in the midst of maneuvers in orbit near Arsus, another planet in the Aramenian system: the fleet acknowledged orders to break off the drill and boost for Aramen to take up orbit for bombardment of the northern continent. No word from the fleet since, reported by several news sources, many of whom had journalists or proxies on the fleet’s flagship, Jurel Durassa. Speculation continued that the closing of the Anilyn Gate had in some fashion caused the fleet to lose its bearings or that some kind of pulse wave or other energy blast had disabled both the gate and the fleet. Scientists had no explanation for the closing of the gate since they had no idea how the gate operated to begin with. As had been true in the many years now since the Mage came to power, nobody was listening to scientists with the same devotion as of yore.
2 Large portions of Feidreh-Avatrayn were without power due to the growth of a fungus in the power transmitter system; in some por
tions the fungus had spread to power receiver-receptacles and had begun attack anything with even a low-grade electrical system, including human bodies.
3 Chill-trees were growing in various parts of Jharvan, including three in Feidreh-Avatrayn, phenomenal fast-growers that appeared to break down a variety of building materials and organic substances to sustain their growth rate. Their outer bark was cool to the touch. Initial studies indicated the tree’s increased rate of growth was partly due to associated nanobots that helped to assemble the tree’s central bole using supersize components supplied by the organic molecules. The chill-trees were part machine, in other words, and every bit as much an engine of war as the mantises and construct soldiers. Much of the report predated the attack on the twin cities; it had been recently updated and re-released.
4 No word on why the Anilyn Gate reamined closed or whether help could expected from that direction. No one in the government cared to speculate as to why the gate had closed, whether this was the act of the Mage or whether the gate shut down against her will. The office of the public voice of the Fukate Ten Thousand issued a statement that no advance notice had come to the cantor, Vekant Anevarim ap Kiram, of the gate’s closing. He declined to speculate on any reasons the Mage might have for closing the gate without warning, or even to speculate that it was the Mage who did so. Similar appeals to local particles of Hanson received the same polite statements; no warning had come from the core of Hanson concerning a shutdown of gate functions. Local particles of Hanson denied that they were of insufficient critical mass to maintain Hansonian supervision in regard to the Surround.
5 Rebel groups including the People for a Free Aramen were declaring a provisional government in Jarutan, headquartered at the New Marmigon. No provisional president had been named but a Council of Twenty appointed, names that meant nothing to Figg even as he took in the newsburst. The rebels continued to declare their limited aim of securing independence from the Hormling imperial government based in Avatrayn, of further securing the complete independence of the Dirijhi from Hormling imperial rule, and claiming that all control of this side of the Anilyn Gate must be ceded to the provisional government of the People of Aramen and the Dirijhi.
6 A lone flitter outran rebel pursuit near Fentonmarch, a village east of the twin cities; this was a local report from a Jharvan news source, not widely circulated but drawn down from the Pivotnet database. The flitter had been rented from a paramilitary outfitter in the name of Fineas Figg, wealthy eldest clan member of the formerly powerful Orminy clan Bemona-Kakenet, most recently notorious for the murder of his best friend Sade during the broadcast of Figg’s three-hundredth birthday party. Figg and his family had continued their practice of exercising their legal, hereditary right to murder; the ensuing scandal had led to the final downfall of Orminy privilege when the Mage imposed the Common Fund Reforms on Senal. Figg was known to have emigrated recently to the Ajhevan continent. There was no human reporter attached to this newsburst; an autobot had assembled the narrative from raw data, and Figg’s own powerful search-protocols had brought it to his attention. The flitter had to be Zhengzhou following north with Figg’s luggage and household goods.
7 The Grand Ballet of the Temple of the Good Woman was forced to cancel its presentation of Pins and Palaver in Feidreh’s Kraken Imperial Arts Coliseum due to severe allergic reactions that had a number of the company in states of near collapse before they received medical attention. This was another minor item routed to Figg most likely because, when his plan had been to remain in Feidreh for a few days, he’d bought tickets to the ballet for this evening.
8 Reports of armies of constructs and massive artillery attacks continued to reach satellite news recorders from all parts of the heavily populated southern continent. Enemy troop estimates ranged absurdly into the tens of millions; some of the speculation was hard to credit. Enemy cantors and true-language operators were working unopposed in many parts of Jharvan, and the destruction they caused was worse than that of any of the creatures or constructs.
2. Keely
As far as Keely was concerned, the farm so far looked pretty much like a park. The pavilions of the house were surrounded by gardens and a forest; from most of the balconies, he could only see fields in the distance, over the tops of trees. He had seen no animals, not a single tractor, not even the hint of a barn. There was Uncle Figg’s house, which was pretty but spread out all over the hillside, so that Keely could run along the galleries from one building to the next. He liked the walls because they were thin and made a bump-whoosh sound when he slapped his hand against them, which he did, over and over, till Nerva made him stop.
If she was his aunt, why didn’t he call her Aunt Nerva? He thought about that for a few seconds, then wanted to slap the wall again, which would never break, as he knew, because he had asked and Uncle Figg had said so.
If he couldn’t draw on the walls, which made no sense because the crayon washed right off, then why couldn’t he slap the walls and make noise, since he couldn’t do any harm? But it was never wise to disobey Nerva.
Because there was daylight outside it was all right to think that thought, but he had a dread of Nerva at the same time and wanted to slap the wall again.
“Come and study your numbers for a while,” said Nerva, patting the chair beside her and pulling out the math machine.
Dull and gray, it had a flat surface, not the least bit shiny, and the headset made Keely’s head ache when he looked at it. He felt a moment of fear. “I don’t want to.”
“Come and do it anyway. You almost made the shape come together last time.”
“I know. It’s boring.” But his heart was beating harder.
“Not to me.”
“Come and play in my Disturber fort with me.”
“No. Keely. Do as I tell you, come and use the math box.”
If he didn’t obey, she would make him. She had a way of speaking that made him do whatever she said. Nobody else had a voice like that, and sometimes, when she used it, the jaggedy edges of the sound in Keely’s head were frightening.
In the past he had tried to remember to tell Uncle Figg that Nerva scared him with the math box, but he always forgot. The fact that he could now remember having tried was a clear sign that something was happening, that Nerva was about to make those sounds again, that she might start to hurt him again. He tried to keep control of his breath and become very small.
She stepped toward him offering the box and the headset. He fixed his gaze on the box and avoided her eyes; he could tell by instinct, though, that her expression was stony but not dangerous. She wanted him to use the box so she could do something else. She wanted Keely out of the way for a while.
He could only think like this at times when his head was full of the bad memories as well as the good ones. At times when he could remember all the bad things that had happened to him, like his sister Sherry dying or like living in the Reeks or like the way Nerva treated him when they were alone, he felt older and stronger. At other times, he was only aware of the good memories, but that was like being half asleep. That was like being a helpless kid again.
He put on the box and she set the frame in front of him and the colors started to swirl. He was hearing numbers in his head and seeing numbers in the frame, very fast. The box had taught him how to speak the math in a way that was different from thinking about it, and he could now say functions of curves out loud and watch them appear in the frame. The hard part was to bring all the functions together into a shape in the middle of the frame—he had to speak that part really fast, and if he messed it up all the curves dissolved into a blob and Nerva made him start over. It was hard work and made him sweat now in the warm, fresh air of his room.
When he wanted to stop she used the voice on him and made him continue. She was more agitated than usual and checked the one open wall-screen over and over, stopping now and then to use the voice for something else. Keely had lately been able to hear the voice whenever she used it around
him, though only if she were in sight. He never knew what the voice was doing unless she was using it on him, and then he could feel it. When she told him something to do in the voice, his head hurt but the rest of him did as he was told, without thinking. He wanted to tell Uncle Figg about this, too, but he kept forgetting, until he was alone with Nerva and she used the voice again.
When she finally let him rest he was hot and sweaty and lay on the balcony in the breeze on a pad of fabric.
The priest was on the walkway and stopped over Keely, looking down at him. The priest had taken off some of his robes and was wearing more ordinary clothes, trousers and a vest. He knelt and touched his hand to Keely’s forehead.
“What on earth are you doing touching that child?” asked Nerva, stepping out of the pavilion from behind a screen.
The priest straightened slowly.
Nerva used the voice without making any sound this time, but Keely could hear it in his head.
“He looked ill. I was passing by on my way to my own pavilion.”
Nerva used the voice again, silently, but Keely could still hear it. Even though it was not aimed at him it hurt his head; his head was always tender after she made him use the math box.
The priest knelt and looked into Keely’s eyes. “Are you all right, child?”
He nodded his head slowly, his heart pounding.
He should be losing his memories of bad things, he should be feeling like a little kid again, but none of this was happening. The priest kept his hand on Keely’s forehead, warm.
“His stomach was unsettled from the trip.” Nerva was speaking aloud, in her regular voice. She looked pleased with herself. She was trying to be the good Nerva, the one Keely could think of as his kindly aunt.
“How is your stomach now?” the man asked. His name was Dekkar. Keely brought the name to the front of his mind.
“Fine.” He spoke the word and sat up and went into the pavilion again, feeling Nerva watch every move. “Better.”
“You look as if you’ve been in some pain.”
“He’s quite all right, good gentleman, now do leave us in peace.”
