by Jaine Fenn
‘And why were you here last night? You’re a long way from home and you bluffed your way in here with colours you no longer have the right to wear: a risky move, particularly here.’
He wasn’t going to lie to her. ‘It was ’cause of the Minister. I’m workin’ for the Minister.’
She leaned forward and asked mildly, ‘Doing what?’
‘He . . .’ He hesitated, then decided lying at this stage would just get him killed. ‘He asked me to find out what you was up to.’ There. He’d screwed up again. The Minister had said to watch her, not have breakfast with her.
Her voice became chill as steel. ‘Ah. So you’re his latest spy.’
Taro said quietly, ‘Aye, lady.’
She sighed, then continued more casually, ‘He gets concerned for my well-being now and again. Or perhaps he thinks I’m about to go rogue. What do you think, Taro? Should he call feud on me?
‘I don’t know, lady.’
She dropped her voice. ‘Ordering my fellow Angels to kill me would make his life simpler. Assuming I let them.’
Taro said nothing. Malia had never killed another Angel. She believed having to turn on her own was one of the nastiest aspects of her calling.
She continued, her tone casual-like, but still with a cold edge just beneath the surface, ‘After all, he’s got an excuse now. I’ve failed. After eighteen perfect removals, I finally miss my target - so I must be losing it. Why else would I suddenly fail?’
The food turned acid in Taro’s stomach. She knew it had been him in Confederacy Square. ‘’Cause of me,’ he whispered, ‘’cause I fucked up yer shot.’
‘Aye. You did. I saw you, through the sights of my gun; I knew you must be the Minister’s agent. That made sense. But why did you disrupt my removal of Consul Vidoran?’
That was why she hadn’t killed him yet. She knew he’d smoked her rep and she wanted to know why. Then she’d kill him. Or maybe not. He doubted she often bought meals for her victims.
‘I din’t mean to get in the way,’ he said quickly, ‘I was tryin’ to get to ’is bodyguard.’
She frowned. ‘The militia-woman I killed by accident?’
Taro looked down at the empty plate in front of him. ‘No. The Screamer.’
‘And what did you have against the Screamer? Something more than loyalty to your City, presumably.’
Taro forced himself to meet the Angel’s eyes. ‘He killed me line-mother.’
She nodded slowly. ‘I see. And so you want to kill him.’
‘Aye. I swore it.’ Taro felt the prickle of imminent tears and dug the heel of his hand into his eyes to stop them, instead sending spikes of pain lancing through his head. Crying now, of all times. Get a grip!
‘What happened?’ Nual’s voice was soft, almost tender.
Taro swallowed sharply. ‘The Screamer, Scarrion, he tricked me, followed me into the Undertow, back to me homespace. He shot Malia. I can’t let him get away with that. I gotta kill him.’
She nodded, then asked, ‘Have you ever killed anyone, Taro?
‘I . . . No. I never ’ad to.’
‘Trust me, murder is overrated. It usually causes more problems than it solves. Avoid it where possible. Did you tell the Minister how your line-mother died?’
‘Aye. He said it weren’t up to me to decide who he called feud on.’ His dismay flashed into anger. ‘He said I should forget Scarrion and get on with the job he gave me. Like I can just forget what that fucker did!’ Taro clamped his mouth shut. This was no time to lose his temper, especially when Nual appeared so calm - a little crazy, maybe, but calm.
‘Work for me,’ she said, ignoring his outburst.
‘What?’ This was the last thing he’d expected.
‘You have fire and honesty - despite your lies - and a desire to see right done. The arrogant old goat has got you chasing me anyway. Allow me to give you messages for him and report back to me on what he is up to. What do you say, Taro sanMalia?’
You don’t say no to an Angel, even one who calls the Minister an arrogant old goat. And when he looked into her eyes he couldn’t imagine himself ever refusing her anything.
‘I’d be honoured, lady,’ he found himself saying.
‘Thank you, Taro. Can I find you at Limnel’s if I need you?’
‘Aye. Or on Soft Street.’
‘I have no intention of spending more time topside than is necessary right now,’ she said firmly. ‘That is why I have recruited you.’
‘As you wish, lady. Limnel can send someone to fetch me.’ The boss would hate that - but he wouldn’t be able to refuse. ‘How do I find you again?’
‘When you need to contact me you can come here and leave a message with Solo. If it’s urgent she will come to get me.’
Taro looked from the Angel to the gangly alien busy wiping down tables on the lower level. ‘It’s a she? I didn’t know—’
Nual laughed. She had a beautiful laugh. ‘Aye, Solo is female, at the moment. And she likes you. You bring out her maternal instinct, which is particularly strong right now.’ She raised her voice. ‘Isn’t it, my friend?’
Solo looked up. ‘I listen to my body as ever, Nual.’ She turned her flat golden gaze on Taro. ‘Even though you lie, I think you are a good person, Taro, and a survivor. We orphans must stick together, no?’
‘Aye, I s’pose.’ He needed all the friends he could get, even ones who looked like they were made up of bits that weren’t meant to fit together. And it wasn’t Solo’s fault she looked so freaky. Humans probably looked pretty freaky to her. ‘Sorry I lied to you,’ he said, feeling contrite.
‘You are forgiven.’ The barkeep started to turn, then stopped and put her head on one side. ‘Perhaps when you come back, you can pass the time waiting for Nual by cleaning my fryer. It is not a job for a person with fur.’
Between the alien’s lack of body-language and the flat tone of the voice-box, Taro had no idea whether she meant that as a threat or a joke. He smiled back anyway. It couldn’t be worse than scraping out a water-trap. ‘Right, I c’n do that, when I come back.’
Solo nodded - it looked like another learnt gesture, like when she had beckoned to him last night - and turned back to her work.
Nual asked, ‘How do you make your reports to the Minister, Taro?’
‘I com him every mornin’ from a public booth.’ Though Nual probably had a personal com it wouldn’t work down here. Besides, even assuming Nual let him use it, he wasn’t sure how impressed the Minister would be if he called from the com of the person he was meant to be spying on. ‘I should get topside an’ do that soon. He’ll be wonderin’ what’s ’appened to me.’
‘Do you know the ways topside to the Merchant Quarter?’
‘No. No, I don’t.’ Shit and blood, the drugs had addled his brain. For a moment he’d forgotten where he was. He would have to cross the Undertow before he came to any topside exits that he knew.
She stood, pushing back her chair. ‘In that case, I had better take you.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The demons are coming.
She can hear them, in the next room. She huddles in the corner of the wardrobe, muttering a child’s rhyme to cloud her mind. It won’t be enough. They will still find her. They have travelled light-years to find her and they will never give up.
They do not look like demons. They wear human faces, but their hearts are black as space and cold as ice. When they pull her from her hiding place, she will have to answer every question they ask with perfect and honest truth. There is no point in lying when your questioner can see into your soul.
Something shrieks. An alarm.
Elarn woke with a start, almost falling from the chair.
The com, screen tuned to dark blue on power-save, was chirping. She thumbed the control on the arm of the chair, hitting accept on her second attempt. Ando Meraint’s face appeared, bright as day and large as life. He focused on her, and looked dismayed. ‘I’m sorry, Medame Reen, I’ve obviously ch
osen a bad time. Shall I—?’
‘Yes, sorry,’ she managed, still caught up in her dream, ‘I—Can I call you back?’
‘Of course, medame. I’ll look forward to it.’ The com went back to comforting blue.
Elarn, heart pounding, pulled herself upright in the seat. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep - perhaps, she thought bitterly, it was her subconscious, insisting she got her daily reminder of why she was here. What had she been doing? Looking up distractions . . . except that was over an hour ago. There was hardly any point in going anywhere now. She might as well call the infobroker back - hopefully he would be about to tell her that he couldn’t find Lia - and wait for Salik’s call.
There was something about Salik . . . she remembered it now, the thing that had been bothering her just before she dropped off to sleep. Meraint might be able to help her there too. She called him back.
‘Medame Reen,’ he greeted her. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you earlier. I’ve got some good news.’ Elarn wouldn’t have thought so from the look on his face.
‘You’ve found Lia?’ She tried not to let her expression change.
‘Not by name. But I’ve found what my software states is a ninety-eight point nine per cent match to the image you provided. It was in a private gallery, one of the last I looked at. There are several sad individuals out there who devote their time to collecting images of the—well, it’s not exactly illegal to record these people, of course, but it is discouraged.’ He was actually squirming.
‘What people?’ she asked, curious despite herself. ‘What are you on about?’
‘It might be simpler if I send you the file and you can decide for yourself whether it’s her. Do you authorise payment of the amount on the bottom of the screen and a data transfer to your com?’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She thumbed the control pad to confirm her ID. His discomfort might be a good sign: it probably wasn’t Lia at all. And while she had him on the line, she should utilise his service for her other concern. ‘Sirrah Meraint, there’s something else you might be able to help me with.’
‘Of course, medame.’ He did not look particularly happy at the prospect of more paid work.
‘How complete are the public records on politicians’ financial and business activities?’
He looked surprised. ‘Very, medame. The Concord relies on it.’
‘I would like you to check something for me, concerning Consul Salik Vidoran.’
An odd look passed over his face. ‘Consul Vidoran? I should think there’s more than enough on him on the public com.’
‘There is,’ Elarn agreed, ‘but I believe he was out of the City when things came to a head regarding his recent political mistake. I would like to know where he was.’
‘Where he was?’ The infobroker echoed.
‘Yes. When he left Vellern.’ Salik had mentioned over lunch that he had been attending to business matters on one of the Kheshi habitats, but according to the records she had checked that morning, he had no business interests outside Vellern. ‘I need to know where he went and what he did. Is that something you could find out for me?’
He paused, then said, ‘I should think so. I may have to access files outside the Three Cities; can I get back to you on the cost?’
‘Of course.’
He looked unenthusiastic at taking this job, but, thought Elarn a little bitterly, he could always charge her extra if it inconvenienced him. It could simply be an omission, or perhaps she had misheard what Salik had said; whatever, she wanted to be certain she could trust him before she let herself fall any further. After all, he was a politician.
She started to get up, then sat again. A file received message flashed at the bottom of the com: the file that might prove Lia was here. She found herself tempted, for a moment, to pray, but made do with hoping fervently the image was not her missing ward.
She hit play.
The file was untitled, save for a date, just under ten weeks ago. So if it was Lia, she was probably still here. The clip was a flatscreen recording no more than ten seconds long. From the quality and angle, it looked to have been shot from a cheap stealth-recorder, probably eye-ware. There was no soundtrack but a line of text scrolled across the bottom of the image as it played out.
It showed an outdoor café in early evening, the white plastic chairs and tables filled with tired, happy shoppers with bags piled round their feet. The image lost focus slightly as it zoomed in on a figure sitting by herself. At first her face was visible only as a pale crescent. She wore a black coat or cloak and her dark hair was worn in a long plait. The woman shifted slightly in her chair, then reached out and lifted something to her lips - a glass in a silver holder. She turned, perhaps looking for a waiter, so that she was in three-quarters profile. Elarn’s throat closed as she recognised those fine, delicate features, those luminous eyes. Then the woman shifted all the way round, her brows drawing together in a frown. She stared directly at the camera and started to open her mouth.
The recording ended.
Elarn ordered the com to play the sequence again. This time she watched the text. Statistics, names, lots of question marks. But one name hooked her and, as she watched the turn of the pale cheek and saw the depth of the dark eyes, Elarn’s alarm blossomed into fear. For the first time since she had come to this awful City she realised how hopeless her mission was.
That was Lia. And Lia was an Angel.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Taro closed his eyes, let his head loll back and listened to the wind. He dreamed he was a child again, cradled in his line-mother’s arms as she flew across the Undertow for medicine to cure his fever.
Except this wasn’t Malia. Malia was dead.
He opened his eyes. They were nearing the edge of the City.
Nual murmured, ‘Hold tight. Topside gravity will kick in as soon as we fly over the disc.’ He adjusted his grip and pressed himself closer to her. He didn’t want this flight to end, but she was already spiralling upwards in a long lazy arc. When the maze of sidestreets swung into view below, she dropped sharply. The wind whipped Taro’s braids back from his face. Gravity clutched at him, trying to pull him from her arms. As they became heavier she had to work harder to keep their flight steady. He felt her breathing speed up. Then she swung to one side and they were over Chance Street, the ground coming up way too fast. At the last moment she slowed their descent and they touched down gently, though the impact still curdled Taro’s belly and bruised his knees.
When he kept his arms round her neck she whispered, firmly but not unkindly, ‘You need to let me go now.’
He unclasped his hands and stumbled back.
‘I only came topside to make sure you got here safely. I have to return below,’ she said, and kicked off, flying back up into the glaring orange sky. Taro forced himself not to stare after her.
Chance Street was still quiet, though holos of dice, gaming wheels and statistics played over some of the bars and casinos. At the sight of a downsider being dropped from the sky by an Angel, the few rollers who were on the Street had scurried into the safety of the nearest buildings.
Fine. They wouldn’t be bothering him then. He staggered forward.
The bright light of the open Street hurt his already delicate head and his muscles felt weak as water. Looked like he would get the chance to kick his new habit soon enough: Limnel was likely to be well pissed that he hadn’t turned up for work this morning, so not much chance of a treat for him tonight. No point stressing about that now. He’d deal with it when it happened.
He shuffled to the com booths at the side of the Street, hugging himself and avoiding eye contact with the few people who risked looking in his direction.
In the booth he went through the usual routine, but he was barely connected when the Minister’s voice cut in and ordered, ‘Stay right where you are.’
Taro was happy to. He leaned against the cool plastic of the booth and waited. He’d just rest here for a while, then go out and find somew
here to wait for the Minister—
A loud rap sounded near his head. Taro jumped and looked down. The Minister lowered his hand. Taro ducked out and followed the Minister to a nearby bench. The leader of the Kheshi League produced a handkerchief and brushed the seat clean before sitting down. Taro stayed standing, crossing his arms and focusing on the Minister’s highly polished shoes, while trying not to sway too badly.
‘Oh, just sit down before you fall down,’ said the Minster.
Taro sat, though it felt freaky to be sitting side-by-side with his master.
‘Well?’ asked the Minister after a moment.
