by Emma Holly
LUCKILY ENOUGH, THE sultan found winter jackets for all of them.
“They must have been issued by the plant. I charmed off the logos so people won’t guess we’re squatting here. My apologies for black being the only choice.”
Georgie suppressed a laugh. She’d noticed Iksander liked vibrant hues. “Black is my favorite color.”
“Really?”
“Really,” she assured him.
“These are comfortable,” Connor praised, having slid his arms into one. He smoothed the quilted cloth happily. “I don’t see a zipper. How do you close them?”
Iksander demonstrated by drawing a line of magic up Connor’s front. Not only did the garment seal itself, but it also contracted around his body—an instant custom fit.
“Nice!” Connor and Georgie exclaimed at the same time.
Iksander seemed equally disconcerted and pleased by this. “The hoods function similarly. I think we’ll be warm enough. There are hidden pockets if you want to store valuables. I removed some of the jewels from the clothes I wore to reach your dimension. If the district maps I discovered are valid, the street of moneychangers is on this side of the city. We’ll be able to obtain local currency.”
“I didn’t think of that,” Georgie said. “Good thing you’re on the ball.”
She also wasn’t on the ball for what they encountered when they left the building. More than the buffeting icy wind shocked her. “It’s dark! And the stars are out. I thought it was morning.”
“This is the City of Endless Night.” Iksander tugged his arctic hood closer to his face. “Actually, it’s not literally endless. The sun will rise again in a couple months, though just for a few minutes. In summer, there’s a period where the sky doesn’t go dark at all—or so I’ve read.”
“Like Iceland,” Georgie said. “They call it the midnight sun.”
The fur around Iksander’s hood fluttered as he inclined his head. “I bow to your greater wisdom concerning the human world.”
She smiled. He’d tried—and mostly failed—to suppress his courtly manners while he was in Black Bear. Now he wasn’t fighting that side of him. She decided she liked seeing him in his element.
“I have a surprise,” Connor announced. “One that should make getting down this snowy hill easier.” Grinning like a kid, he pulled a trio of large steel trays from behind his back. “Ta-da! I found them in the kitchen. They must have been for baking, but we can use them as sleds.”
“You’re a genius!” Georgie exclaimed.
“Sleds?” the sultan asked unsurely.
“They’re fun,” Connor promised. “And easy to use. Even for people who come from cities with palm trees.”
The sultan’s expression was so dubious Georgie laughed outright. He took a bit more convincing, but once Connor demonstrated, Iksander gave it a try. Pride might have made him attempt to go as fast as the other man. Halfway down the long hill, he hit a bump and went tumbling.
“Shit,” Georgie whispered, biting one gloved knuckle.
He took a moment to get up and smack snow off him. “I am all right,” he called up the slope to her.
Georgie shot him two thumbs up she wasn’t sure he could see. She supposed he was a good sport, because he found the half-buried tray, placed it firmly back on the snow, and finished his downward trip more slowly but without more accidents.
It was her turn then. She contemplated holding back to spare the sultan’s ego, then decided to hell with it. Georgie wasn’t exactly sporty, but there were few things she liked better than sledding hell-for-leather down a hill.
She filled her lungs, took a running start, and dove into luge position.
Her speed was exhilarating, the freezing wind whipping back at her. She caught air on the same bump Iksander hit but held onto her control. She braked toward the bottom by pushing her weight harder to one side of the tray. The turn she made kicked up a beautiful wave of snow. To her delight, it sprayed Connor and Iksander.
“Picture perfect!” Connor crowed as she hopped up and laughed.
“Most impressive,” agreed Iksander. “You traveled more swiftly than Connor.”
Connor clapped the sultan’s shoulder, which startled him slightly. Probably rulers of great cities didn’t get treated that familiarly. She guessed he didn’t mind. He seemed more un-bent than he’d been recently. Gathering up their sleds, he stowed them beneath a an overgrown, slow-clad bush.
“Shall we?” he suggested, gesturing toward the avenue that curved around the base of the power plant’s hill.
The broad thoroughfare was empty, the snow packed flat by previous traffic. Following the pedestrian path took them across a bridge that arched over a waterway. The bridge’s design was lovely, with gilded railings and tall crystal-studded lamps. As if the river wanted to help decorate, mist swirled up in sparkly fern-like scrolls from the white ice on its surface.
“This is the Neva River,” Iksander said. “On another stretch, a broader one, I hear there’s a castle entirely carved of ice. Citizens can skate through it and drink a powerful local liquor called vodka.”
“Next you’ll be telling me they eat fish eggs.”
“Ah. You have these things in your world too.”
“We do, though I have a feeling the djinn version is its own thing.”
“Well, that’s its own thing,” Connor commented.
He’d turned to look behind them, so Georgie did as well. A large vehicle was gliding toward them at a good clip, not on the road but at least seven feet above. Shaped like an old-fashioned sleigh, it too appeared to be carved of ice. Long black ribbons festooned its sides, the snap of which had probably alerted Connor to its approach. Inside the sleigh, sleepy-looking passengers packed its dozen or so benches. Posted at the front were two uniformed individuals in furry Cossack hats. Each held a silver rod crowned by a glowing light. Georgie inferred the drivers used the poles to direct the vehicle.
“That must be the winter bus,” Iksander said. “Bringing commuters downtown to work. Careful you don’t lean into the road too far. There’s bound to be a backwash.”
She was leaning. And goggling. The arm the sultan stretched before her was helpful.
“Whew,” she said as her hood blew back. The backwash sparkled, the tingle of magic palpable.
When she exchanged a grin with Connor, his blue eyes danced with enjoyment.
Crossing the bridge brought them deeper into the waking city. Luna’s capital was broader than it was tall, with lamppost-lined avenues and illuminated baroque arches. The architecture was a mix of St. Petersburg and Paris—the grand old parts of them, anyway. The profusion of ornament would have been at home in Versailles. Or the Winter Palace, she thought, remembering the Romanovs. Robin’s egg blue and cream appeared to be the default color scheme for buildings.
Vehicles were gathering more thickly now. They were mostly black-beribboned with gold details.
She tried not to be obvious, but the conveyances were worth a double take. Actual flying carpets zipped between the ice bus sleighs. Floating palanquins draped in velvet served as a sort of taxi, while pedal-powered twinkly rickshaws seemed the option for white collar workers on a budget. A few pedestrians sported shoe heels with golden wings. These enchanted attachments allowed them to spring gazelle-like past fellow citizens.
Just do it, Georgie quipped to herself in wonderment.
“Watch yourselves,” Iksander warned as she and Connor gaped. “Try not to draw attention by gawking like tourists.”
He’d stopped in front of a comparatively sober granite-fronted edifice. Broad stone steps led up between a pair of columns to a revolving door. Beside the door hung a poster encased in glass. SUPPORT YOUR CITY, it said in gold letters on a black ground. DONATE NOW.
“Is this a bank?” Connor asked.
“It’s the currency exchange. Wait outside until I return. And don’t speak to anyone. I don’t want you being sniffed out as non-djinn.”
Was there a danger of t
hat? Sensing her sudden tension, Connor took Georgie’s hand. “We’ll stand right here with our mouths shut.”
The sultan’s gaze flicked to their linked fingers.
“We’ll behave,” Georgie promised.
She supposed he believed them. Though his lips tightened, he continued upward through the exchange’s door. Given the opportunities for people watching, the half hour he kept them waiting passed in no time at all.
The sultan returned with a spring in his step.
“Your bargaining went well,” Connor guessed.
“It was a satisfactory negotiation. We shall not lack for necessities during our sojourn.”
“What’s next?” Georgie asked.
The sultan rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “We need information. I don’t know the lay of the land here as well as I might. Obtaining the power required for your trip back home may call for subterfuge. Sadly, the stones I carried with me won’t cover that expense. As you see, gems are somewhat common here.”
She’d noticed that, for sure. Every person she spotted wore some sparkle.
“Newspapers?” she suggested.
“They might help, though they’re likely state controlled. Luna wasn’t known for championing press freedom.”
It was strange to think of the woman who’d fostered her as secretly being an empress—almost as strange as remembering Iksander also ruled a city. Georgie’s life surely had taken some odd turns.
“Maybe we should try a different district,” Connor said. “This area is the local Wall Street. People here might be in the state’s pocket too.”
Georgie blinked at him. Connor wasn’t usually cynical.
“I’m not judging them,” he said when he noticed her raised eyebrows. “Just saying less privileged djinn might make more reliable informants.”
“You aren’t wrong,” Iksander said thoughtfully. “Very well. We shall seek out some common people and eavesdrop on their gossip.”
THE BEHAVIOR OF COMMON people in their home environs wasn’t something Iksander was expert on. He did recall the name of a neighborhood he believed was lower class. Summoning more confidence than he felt, he asked a passerby which ice bus would convey them there.
Working out how to pay the fare demanded a similar effort to plucking passwords from the ethers.
Naturally, the trip entertained Georgie and the angel. Though they squirmed conspicuously around to see this and that, he soon gave up on scolding them. Perhaps because both practiced magic, they weren’t identified as Other. Plus, if he were honest, he enjoyed their astonishment. This might not be his city, but the djinn were his race. Their world was amazing, their creativity and their spirit. Through Georgie and Connor’s marveling eyes he appreciated that more strongly than ever.
“Let’s get out at this stop,” Connor urged as the bus approached a colorful market square.
“Yes,” Georgie agreed, actually tugging Iksander’s sleeve. “This is perfect.”
Having watched how other riders did it, Iksander signaled the drivers to let them out. Though perhaps he should have, he didn’t fight his pleasure at reaching the ground first. He liked being able to hand Georgie down the steps.
Connor hopped down to the cobbled street with one of his brilliant grins.
“My butt is frozen,” Georgie complained laughingly. “You djinn must know a trick for avoiding that on those ice benches.” She looked around while rubbing the seat of her leather trousers. “Okay, what’s with the black ribbons? There are even more here than in the financial district.”
Iksander tore his gaze from her apparently cold rear end. The black satin streamers were everywhere in the small bazaar: above shop doors, on food carts, even wound around lampposts.
His heart jolted when he realized what the display signified.
What a fool he was! Sledding down hills and playing tour guide were no excuse for letting his focus drift. He should have been observing everything . . . and questioning what it meant. Instead, he hadn’t registered the ribbons as anything but a decorative flourish. Why wouldn’t a City of Endless Night favor dark frippery?
“What?” Georgie asked, noticing his dismay.
“The people here are in mourning for their empress. They don’t know Luna’s consciousness escaped the curse she laid on my city by traveling to your world. They’ll think she turned herself to stone in pursuit of more land to rule.”
“But . . . everything seemed normal outside the bank. People were just going about their day.”
“It will have been—” he calculated in his head “—nearly a week since Luna’s last possible communication. I assume she employs skilled seers. They may have witnessed what appeared to be her final moments, as she and her army were ossified. I suppose her cabinet took over in her absence.”
A week didn’t seem long to return to business as usual. Luna had ruled this place half a century. Then again, would Iksander’s people mourn him longer?
That was an uncomfortable thought. As was his recollection that, in their current stone-bound state, his people couldn’t grieve at all.
He was so lost in his reflections he barely twitched when the angel’s hand settled on his shoulder. Connor certainly was a touchy-feely soul.
“Why don’t we purchase coffee?” the angel suggested in his kind voice. With his other hand, he pointed out a glowing two-wheeled brass cart. “We’ll think better with some caffeine in us.”
Since this was true, Iksander nodded and crossed to it.
The vendor was an older djinni whose red fez hat and luxuriant beard marked him as a traditionalist. A cluster of locals stood near his cart, sipping their purchases in the warmth that radiated from his trough of coals.
The seams on his face lifted with a smile as Iksander stepped up to him.
“Three cups, if you would. Two with cream and honey.” He glanced at Connor and Georgie who nodded that this met their approval.
“Five minutes,” the vendor promised. “Shall I bless them for you?”
Blessings cost extra, since they required an additional expenditure of magic. “Yes,” he said, suspecting this would grease the wheels of conversation. “You are considerate to remind me.”
“You’re new here,” the vendor observed politely, his hands busy with their dance. “Visitors are a gift, especially well-mannered ones.”
“We’ve come from the provinces where word of the loss only recently arrived.”
Luna’s provinces were formerly independent states. Her husband annexed them previous to marrying her. Because swaths of In-Betweens separated those territories from the capital, some delay in news dispersal was expected.
“It is sad, of course,” said the coffee vendor, “but all beings pass, even beings as great as our brave ruler. We were fortunate to have her, who sacrificed herself for the empire’s security.”
“Indeed,” the sultan said, managing not to choke on praise of his enemy.
“She left us in good hands, of course.”
“Do you think so?”
“Oh yes. The regents are lovely people: cousins to the emperor that was. So there’s no question they have the right lineage.”
He said this with more firmness than the statement seemed to require. Obviously, some question existed. Two of the nearby women coughed into their coffee.
“Pardon,” said a scarf-wrapped djinniya when Iksander glanced in the direction of the sound. She pretended to cough again. “Accidently swallowed the wrong way.”
“May God increase your health,” Iksander murmured solicitously.
“Health is the sister to happiness,” the woman’s companion replied. This was a common saying and unobjectionable. Unexpectedly, it made the first woman snicker-cough again.
When Iksander turned back to collect his order, the vendor was glaring daggers at both women. “Don’t forget to return the cups,” he snapped, as if Iksander had offended along with them.
Sensing this door for gossip was now shut, Iksander steadied his small brass t
ray and bowed to the two females. “Forgive me, good women. My companions and I are not as well informed about recent happenings as we’d like. Could we trouble you for counsel?”
Coming from a stranger, this approach was too direct. The first djinniya’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Try Timur Mikhailov’s,” the second said. “He carries the most papers.”
She pointed to the black-and-gold awning of a grocery a few doors down. Iksander suppressed a sigh. He could have bought a newspaper anywhere. Stymied a second time, he thanked the women and took the coffee to Georgie and Connor.
Georgie blew on hers cautiously. “Did you learn anything?”
“Apart from the location of a news seller, sadly no.”
“We’ve only begun investigating,” Connor said. “And you already spoke to three people. I’m sure that breaks the ice.”
Iksander laughed softly. “You do look on the bright side.”
“Connor is the bright side,” Georgie joked. She sipped from her steaming cup. “Oh my god. This is the best coffee ever.”
The blessing was stingy enough to be nonexistent, but the drink was proper djinn coffee, rich and strong and kicking straight into his bloodstream. Once Iksander tossed it back, he thought—maybe—he could look on the bright side too.
Though the store the women pointed out was small, it offered a sampling of everything. Groceries, simple health remedies, and even cheap children’s toys stacked its narrow shelves. Naturally, Georgie and Connor had to peruse the—to them—exotic inventory. Leaving them to it, Iksander stepped to the proprietor’s counter.
“I’d like three scrolls,” he said once he’d greeted the djinni politely. “If you could, please apportion whatever newspapers you carry between them.”
“Today’s issues?” the young man asked.
“Previous issues, too. Five days prior, if you have them, plus a subscription to the lot for the week ahead.”
Iksander guessed this wasn’t a typical order because the young man’s eyes widened. “That will cost you,” he warned, quoting a price that didn’t sound like much to the sultan.
“We’re catching up,” Iksander said and laid his money on the counter.
