Indigo Rain

by Watts Martin

  When Roulette woke up the room was washed with sunlight. She blinked awake quickly, looking back at the ceiling. Other than being brighter, it looked just as it had around midnight.

  The series of sharp aches and pains she’d had in the evening had dulled into a single mild ache across her whole body. Leaning forward, she unwrapped her foot carefully and prodded gently at the toe. Some dried blood around the claw, but it didn’t hurt. Much.

  Getting dressed, she unhooked her door and walked out, making her way toward the cafeteria. Other than a staff worker cleaning up in the kitchen it was empty; she’d missed breakfast. She headed to the reading room she’d met Gregir in, but that was empty, too. No doughnuts.

  She finally found people gathered in the meeting room by the reception area. Tiran and Gregir were both there, along with Tylee and several others she hadn’t seen before.

  “—have to finish speaking by one so the bands can start on schedule,” Tiran was saying. “People only have so much tolerance for speeches even when they’re cheering them.”

  “Roulette!” Gregir said, ears perking. Everyone turned to look at her as the wolf strode over and gave her a gentle hug. “You are feeling better? How did you sleep?”

  “Well, all things considered.” She hugged back. “I’m sore, but better. I only slept through breakfast, not the rally, then?”

  Tiran chuckled, somewhat perfunctorily. “We’re just about to head out. I imagine crowds are already gathering. And there will be food vendors there, so even though you’ve missed our breakfast you won’t go hungry.”

  “Maybe you should speak,” Gregir said to the raccoon. “Put a face to hatred.”

  “I don’t know if I’m even—”

  “We’re trying to focus on the solutions, not dwell on the problems,” Tiran said. “And we don’t have room to change the schedule this late.” He raised his hands and addressed the small crowd in the room again. “All right, it’s time to be on our way.”

  As the group dispersed, she slipped up to the cat. “Tiran, tell me about the pipes in the roof.”

  “What?” he said, brow furrowing.

  She pointed up. “Gregir said those are for putting water onto fires.”

  He nodded. “Ah. Yes. The fire suppression lines. What about them?”

  “That could be what the Brothers are trying to sabotage!”

  Tiran lifted his brows as he followed the crowd, lowering his voice. “Don’t alarm people, my dear. I see how that fits in with what you heard, but you’d need so much herani—”

  “How much? They have it in concentrated form, don’t they?”

  Tiran started to look more uncomfortable. “If it was pure and high-potency, then yes, you could dilute it down millions of parts to one and it would still be deadly in the volume you’re proposing. But what purpose would that possibly serve? The victims would just become martyrs.”

  She set her ears back. “They were talking about water connections and those drawings they had were building plans.”

  “That doesn’t mean they were plans for this building. And it hardly means Massey plans to rain acid down on a crowd.” He patted her shoulder. “This really should be a matter for the Guard, not for us, and I hope we’ll be able to convince Lisha of that after the rally. Excuse me.” He hurried after the crowd as they made their way out onto the street.

  “That is an exquisitely dreadful idea of yours,” Gregir rumbled from behind her.

  “Whatever it is they’re planning, it’s dreadful.” She sighed. “Tiran just doesn’t want to believe they could do it. Does he only see the good in everyone?”

  “Again, you are not cynical enough by half.” Gregir spread his hands. “In seven years, he has increased the Aid Society’s little budget by more than ten times, moved it to the warehouse, made it fashionable to donate to. He has done it all by being everyone’s non-threatening fuzzy friend. It is not that he sees good in everyone—it is that he is a very good politician. He and Massey do not like one another at all, but they know how to use one another.”

  “So how’d he get involved in planning a protest rally?”

  “It was a protest rally until he got involved. Now it is a ‘celebration of diversity.’” He made the quote marks with his fingers. She laughed.

  The wolf started toward the door, then paused. “Are you coming along or being sensible and staying here to rest?”

  Roulette took a deep breath. “I’m coming.”

  He lifted his brows, and held the door for her.

  As the walk to the square progressed, more people joined, and dozens were already in the square when they arrived—some working on a stage, some vendors preparing their stands to sell food or souvenirs, and some just setting up chairs. Not a single one was human.

  Gregir motioned Roulette to follow him to one of the food stalls, and bought them both chicken and egg pies. “We should find a good place to sit and watch the show, yes?”

  “I suppose so.” She searched the crowd again, but Lisha was nowhere to be seen; Roulette kept following the wolf. It was early enough that they were able to grab one of the relatively few picnic tables.

  As they ate, Gregir asked, “Where is it you danced in this park?”

  “On the corner, there.” She pointed.

  “You had musicians?”

  “No, just bells. You can learn to make them sound out a rhythm as you dance.”

  “Only if you are very good, I think.” He finished his pie, and licked off his fingers. “You should dance with musicians. You should be on stage, yes?”

  “Maybe next rally. Or celebration.”

  “You should also tell your story. Tiran is sometimes too afraid to ruffle fur.”

  The square began to fill up over the next hour, going from dozens to hundreds. She’d always thought of this little green as—well, little, but the people kept coming. By now there were human faces in the crowd, too, but furred faces still vastly outnumbered them.

  “This looks more like a crowd in Orinthe,” Roulette said, leaning her elbows on the table.

  “It is a crowd of what old Achoren is afraid new Achoren will look like,” Gregir said with a smirk. “The humans out with the crowd are all very young. We must hope at least a few will vote with us and are not just here for the party.”

  By noon, she guessed they’d reached well over a thousand. Maybe even two. The crowd overflowed the park. As a young tiger woman with waist-length, wildly unkempt hair walked up onto the stage, the crowd erupted in applause and cheers—even the usually stoic Gregir.

  “Wow, it’s great to see you all. There’s even more of you than we’d hoped for,” the woman called. Her voice was amplified, coming through metal horns set up on either side of the stage, carried from a smaller horn on a stand in front of her. Roulette stood up, ears perked, studying the device as well as she could.

  “It is pneumatic,” Gregir said in Roulette’s ear. “That is why you hear a little hiss of air under her words.”

  “What’s more,” the woman continued, “I see all kinds of faces out there. Cats. Foxes. Wolves. Mice.” More cheers, from different groups at each species name. Roulette was surprised the tigress didn’t use the formal names, but maybe she thought it didn’t fit the occasion. “And humans.”

  “And raccoons,” Roulette muttered, folding her arms. Then she became aware of chanting coming from—somewhere.

  She turned quickly, looking around. There, in front of the church, a group of humans, only a dozen or so, all together. What were they saying? “Achoren for Achorens?” Over and over. Some of the closer rally-goers were turning to make derisive noises at them.

  “Hey!” the woman called, clapping her hands. Through the pneumatic amplifier the sound cracked enough to hurt. “We know some people don’t want to see all these faces. But that’s because they don’t understand. All of us—all of us here—we are Achorens. This is what Achoren looks like now, and you know what?” She raised both her hands high into the air. “It’s never looke
d better!”

  The cheers drowned out the protesters, but the humans were filing into the church, late for their own noon service.

  As the tigress continued, talking about who’d be speaking and performing, Roulette caught sight of a familiar set of ears moving through the crowd. “There she is,” Roulette said aloud.

  Gregir turned to follow her gaze. “Ah. We could not have a celebration without her cheerful spirit.”

  “Be nice,” Roulette admonished.

  “I am nice. I bought you a pie.”

  She laughed and leaned up to give the wolf a kiss on his cheek—making his ears color a little—then made her way toward Lisha.

  The vixen seemed to be searching the crowd, her expression purposeful and typically severe. It softened into a smile as she saw the raccoon, though. “You really came.”

  “Of course. I’d started to wonder if you really had.”

  “I came out early to scout the field before anyone started setting up. I didn’t see anything suspicious, though.” Lisha shook her head. “I was trying to track down any of the Brothers’ operatives, but no luck there, either. Did you see the protest over there at the church across the way?” She pointed.

  “Yes.”

  “Massey’s supposed to speak there right after their service. I wonder if he’s got the nerve to show up knowing that you and I might be over here.”

  “He doesn’t know about the recording,” Roulette pointed out. “As far as he knows, I’ve never seen him or even heard him.”

  Lisha bared her teeth. “He should be more worried about me seeing him.”

  Roulette touched the vixen’s arm. “Let’s get the Guard to arrest him, not you.”

  She sighed. “The recording implicates Massey in a conspiracy with them, but to do what? There isn’t any water here.”

  “I thought it might be the fire…thing at the Society. It fits what I saw. But Tiran was right—even if that could work, it’d just create…” She trailed off, her ears folding down flat into her hair. “Three Lords.”

  “What? Create what?”

  “Martyrs.” Roulette looked up at Lisha in horror, then took off in a hard run toward the church.

  “What—” Lisha ran after her, expression still confused.

  They pushed through the crowd in the square and kept going full speed, the raccoon the first one charging up the white wooden stairs of the chapel. Her foot had started to hurt again—it was far too soon to be putting that much force on it—but that couldn’t be helped. They both burst into the foyer. Some of the congregation turned to stare before a somber and displeased elderly usher intercepted them. “Don’t you dare bring your protest into this holy house.” He kept his voice low but firm.

  “Unlike your protest,” Lisha snorted.

  “That’s—”

  “Does this church have fire pipes?” Roulette interrupted.

  “What?”

  “Places for water to come out.” She looked past him at the ceiling. “It does. This is it.” She looked back at him directly. “Someone’s sabotaged the system and you’ve all got to get out.”

  He stared at her incredulously. Lisha did, too, but with the shock of realization.

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but we won’t have this service interrupted for silly non-human pranks.”

  “This isn’t a prank!” Roulette’s voice was rising, and more of the congregation was turning to give irritated and hostile stares to the intruders, although the minister was—so far—placidly ignoring it all and continuing the service. “In less than ten minutes those things are going to rain blue acid and people are going to start dying.”

  Murmurs started to run through the crowd.

  The usher had begun to look apoplectic. “Ladies. Don’t make me have you thrown out.” Several burlier congregation members had risen to their feet, frowning threateningly.

  “Look!” Roulette pointed up at an attic door flush with the ceiling. “It’s got to be up there. I overheard them when they kidnapped me—”

  “What in the Merciful Names are you talking about? Who?”

  “The Brothers of Atasos. I know that sounds crazy but you have to believe me.”

  He grimaced in disbelief, and shook his head. “That’s more than enough.”

  She ignored him and screamed directly at the crowd inside. “Get out now!” That made the whole congregation—and, finally, the minister—stare at her.

  The congregants who’d stood up a moment before started striding toward them, and the usher had both his arms out, trying to herd Lisha and Roulette toward the exit. The raccoon darted to the side, and leapt up against the wall, digging in her claws and starting to climb straight up.

  “What are you doing? Get down!” The usher started for her, but Lisha interposed herself, blocking him and holding back his arms. “Let go!” he sputtered indignantly.

  “Fine.” Lisha spun the usher around and shoved him forward into the two approaching men. The resulting confusion left Roulette enough time to unlatch the door, letting it fall open with a bang.

  “Stop her!” One of the men lunged, grabbing at Roulette’s injured foot. She gasped in pain but managed to get an arm inside the attic and hang on, and kicked at his face with her other foot. He recoiled quickly as her claws grazed his cheek.

  The other man started to jump for Roulette, but Lisha slammed her shoulder into him, knocking him back just long enough for the raccoon to scramble the rest of the way inside.

  “Damn it,” the usher said, then covered his own mouth. “Hold her while I get a ladder.” He hurried off while the other two men forced Lisha back against the nearest wall.

  “What the hell is she up to?” one of them said, staring at the open attic door.

  “Trying to save you,” Lisha snarled, struggling against the hold.

  The church’s attic wasn’t big enough for Roulette to stand in. She crawled around on hands and knees, frantically searching for—for what? There had to be something here, amidst the dust and boxes.

  She heard the arguing below the entrance she’d come in, the voices of the congregation and priest below and in front of her—and then scraping and bouncing from behind. A ladder. Come on, Roulette. Her foot throbbed with pain; she couldn’t concentrate. Bottles, pipes, tubes, hoses. Where would—

  Wait. The dust. Pay attention to the dust. The opposite corner looked—not clean, but disturbed, visible tracks where boxes had been shoved about.

  Someone popped their head up where she’d entered. “I see her,” he called, and hauled himself up with several grunts. She scrambled toward the corner and started pushing boxes around.

  The human started crawling toward her, looking less than pleased at the cobwebs he had to push aside. “C’mon, girl, don’t make me drag you out. I can barely see up here.”

  “Not my fault you have crappy vision.” What was that over there? Metal?

  He crawled toward her resolutely. “I know your friend the vixen’s with an anti-human group. You too?”

  “If we were anti-human we wouldn’t be trying to save you.” She pushed another box out of the way, then sucked in her breath. What she’d seen wasn’t metal, it was glass. A line of a half-dozen big decorative bottles, each full of dark blue liquid, with their sprayer tops replaced by rubber stoppers and tubes.

  The human had gotten close enough to try to clumsily grab at her. She squirmed forward, trying to trace where the tubes led to. “Don’t stop me, help me, you idiot,” she shrieked at him. “We don’t have time!”

  “Time before you do what?” He lunged at her again, catching her leg this time, but didn’t pull backward. Instead, he stared at the bottles and hoses. “What are those?”

  “It’s the acid. Herani.” She found where the tubes connected, into another box connected to a T-junction pipe. “This must be the timer.”

  He let go of her and pulled himself forward. “You’re serious.”

  She was running her hands over the box, looking for a sw
itch, a valve, a dial, anything. “It’s set to go off at half past noon. What time is it?”

  “I can’t see my watch.” He hurriedly pulled it out of his pocket and held it out.

  Her ears folded back. “Lords, that’s now.”

  “How do you stop it?”

  “I don’t know. Get them out.”

  He began scrambling backward, banging on the ceiling. “Get out! Get out!” he bellowed, nearly falling down the ladder. The noises from the congregation finally started to sound alarmed.

  Roulette stared at the featureless box, then back at the bottles. You’re over-thinking it. She started carefully pulling out each stopper, trying not to think about what would happen if she spilled any or moved too quickly.

  As she worked on the second-to-last stopper, she heard a distinct click from inside the box. She yanked the stopper out the rest of the way too quickly, nearly splashing the herani over the rim and onto her fingers. Whining, she reached for the last bottle.

  A hydraulic hiss sounded from below and a bell began to ring, and she heard the sound of water rushing through pipes. People began screaming. She pulled the last stopper out quickly, the herani already in the tube splattering onto the ceiling under her, smoking when it hit the wood.

  She set the bottle down, hand shaking, and backed away toward the exit.

  “Roulette!” Lisha, soaked, scrambled into the attic. “Oh, Divine Mother. Your foot—”

  “I’m all right,” the raccoon gasped. “Are they—Did I—”

  “Everyone’s wet. But they’re safe.” She wrapped her arms around the raccoon tightly. “You saved them.”

  Roulette closed her eyes, embracing Lisha back and letting out a sob.

  “Come on,” Lisha murmured against her ear. “Can you walk?”

  She looked down at her foot. The torn claw had come off completely; looking at it made all the pain rush back. “I don’t know.”

  Lisha helped Roulette back down the ladder, going down first, then carried the Procya out of the church in her arms.

  The alarms still rang as they left the building with the last of the parishioners. Everyone was as soaked as Lisha; the rain inside the building was only now tapering off. She could smell the herani, but only faintly. Much of the crowd in the park for the protest rally had gathered facing the church, staring in confusion.