by Jaine Fenn
She headed for the end of the gap furthest from the creaking water-trap rope. Taro stayed still and quiet while she got into position.
As they rose up into Limnel’s homespace Taro’s heart jumped. Someone stood with their back to them, leaning over something on the floor. Taro heard the splash of water being poured at the same time as he realised who this was. He felt Nual tense.
‘Osin,’ said Taro, as much to stop Nual doing anything scary as to get the water-trap man’s attention. Osin started, put down the tray he’d been emptying and turned around. Taro might once have found his look of wide-eyed amazement amusing, but right now he needed to keep things bolted down. ‘You din’t see nothin’, right?’ he whispered.
Osin, eyes fixed on the Angel who’d just appeared in his workspace, shook his head. As Nual floated to the floor and released Taro, the old man crossed his arms and bent his head. ‘Lady,’ he croaked, ‘you was never ’ere. I understand.’ He kept his head bowed while they walked past him.
Outside, the corridor was deserted. Taro heard distant voices, the usual hum of a busy homespace, but there was no alarm, no sign they’d been spotted coming in. Before they carried on he whispered to Nual, ‘He’s a good man. He was friendly to me.’
‘I know,’ she said.
Rather than think too much about how she knew, he moved in front to lead the way. As they approached the corridor leading to the whores’ sleeping room the chatter of voices grew louder.
Suddenly Nual froze and pulled him after her into a side corridor. They pressed themselves against the vane.
A moment later a gaggle of painted tarts wandered out from the whores’ room: the early shift, off topside for another day hustling the rollers. None of them even glanced their way. It felt weird to Taro that life was still going on as normal here when his world had been turned upside down.
He took half a step forward, but Nual’s voice in his mind stilled him:
A moment later a couple of young lags passed the end of the corridor, one laughing at something the other one had just said.
Taro opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and thought clearly,
For a fraction of a second he thought she hadn’t picked up the thought, then she responded,
Taro formed the thought
Taro crouched, ready to defend them even though he didn’t have a weapon, but Nual slipped a wordless reassurance into his mind. Manak stopped in front of Nual. She reached out to touch the lag’s cheek with one finger. His face went slack, his eyes rolled back and he swayed on his feet. Nual traced her fingertip slowly down his cheek and neck, then drew a long slow breath.
‘The copies of the dataspike are in the secure store, as you thought. He took several copies to give them a better chance of breaking the encryption.’ Taro, faced with another demonstration of Nual’s powers, was guiltily glad she’d chosen to speak out loud . . . which was probably why she did it.
Taro tensed as Manak moved, but a feather-light touch in his mind told him not to worry. The lag reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a metal key, which he silently handed over to Nual. He bent down and started to drag his unconscious companion back down the corridor.
‘What’s he doin’ now?’ asked Taro.
Nual, her attention still fixed on the departing boy, said, ‘Taking him to the nearest empty room and then having a little sleep himself, hopefully without remembering any of this. Most of the gang, including Limnel, are currently topside, which is good. But we should still hurry.’ Her voice was tense and she didn’t move until Manak had disappeared through a curtain into a side room.
Taro had started to move ahead to lead the way when it occurred to him that she must’ve read the directions from Manak’s mind. Instead, he followed Nual. In the meeting room, one of the cooks was scrubbing down the table. He looked up as Nual and Taro passed, frowned and went back to his work. Taro was puzzled for a moment, until Nual silently assured him,
There was no one in Limnel’s private room but Taro still found himself going cold as they passed it, trying not to remember what had happened here just the previous night.
The key Manak had given Nual unlocked the padlocked door to the safe-room. The small room was lined with shelves crammed with prime loot, in bundles and boxes and bags. At the end stood a huge plastic water-box which had to contain over a hundred litres.
‘I’ll take the left wall, you take the right.’ Nual sounded tense. Taro wondered if she knew how freaky it had looked when she’d controlled the gang members. ’Course she did. He began to see her point: she was a monster - or she could be, if she let herself be. It didn’t change his feelings for her, not one bit.
On the top shelf Taro found a bolt of cloth that shimmered like oil in lamplight. Behind it was a wallet containing dozens of plastic packets of golden powder. He knew what that was. He tensed, waiting for his body’s inevitable reaction. Nothing happened.
On the shelf below he spotted a familiar cloth-wrapped bundle: his flecks. He shoved them into his belt and checked the rest of the shelf, but it was mostly preserved food, including topsider delicacies, like dried fruit and chocolate. The next shelf held a pair of full-size holo-com units. The one below that had a boltgun, a couple of cutters and several boxes of bolts.
On the bottom shelf he found a bag of dataspikes, the common grey ones. He grabbed the whole bag, no time to check which ones had stuff on. ‘Nual, I’ve got ’em!’ he called.
Taro stuck his head out just far enough to see down the corridor. Four lags were coming their way. One was Resh, carrying a topsider popgun, another the woman he’d seen here on his first day. She had a boltgun. The other two were armed with flecks.
Nual unslung her own gun and slipped a finger under the trigger-guard in one smooth motion, then stepped out into the corridor. Taro stepped out behind her, and was pleased to note Resh’s expression.
‘We were just leaving,’ Nual said tersely.
The lags exchanged glances, but no one moved. Nual sighed and twitched the end of her gun. A deep smoking gash appeared in the floor half a metre in front of Resh. The troupe members scattered.
As they disappeared round the corner he wondered why she hadn’t just put them all to sleep.
She must have still been reading him as she said quietly, ‘I manage well enough the human way, most of the time. And I have my limits. Time to leave.’
When he looked at her he saw she was pale as a pureblood downsider, her lips pressed into a thin line. Before he could say anything she grabbed his hand and broke into a run. No effort to be stealthy now; they just legged it for the water-trap room. Nual still had her gun out and she waved it threateningly at anyone who stepped out in front of them. No one argued. When they reached the ’trap-room Taro found that Osin had wisely made himself scarce. Without stopping, Nual slung the gun over her shoulder, grabbed Taro and stepped into the gap.
Close to her again, Taro felt how drained she was. He reached out, willing to help, to give her any support he could. For a moment he felt her begin to draw on his strength, then, abruptly, she shut him out and, as though nothing had happened, said out loud, ‘We need to land somewhere safe and check these dataspikes.’
Taro looked around. ‘Fenya’s,’ he said. He felt Nual nod and they flew off hubwards, towards the water-trader’s homespace. ‘Won’t it be encrypted?’
‘It’s meant for me. My com and password will decode it, even a copy.’ She slowed as they approached Fenya’s.
Taro shook the water-trader’s alarm and a few seconds later Federin’s wrinkled face peered out. His surprise at seeing Taro gave
way to awe when he saw who was with him. He almost tripped over his robes getting the door open. ‘Lady, it’s an honour to see you again so soon,’ he said.
Nual led Taro inside. ‘Thank you. Would you bar the door again, please?’
Federin had nearly pulled the door off its hinges in his haste to let the Angel in. Taro gave him a hand shutting it. It looked like Fenya was out, which was good; he’d caused her enough grief.
Federin crossed his arms, dipped his head and asked, ‘May I get you anything, lady? Water? Food?’
‘No, thank you. If anything I owe you, and your partner, for all you have done for me, and for Taro.’
Federin gave Taro a look that said that he wasn’t sure that honour was deserved, but he just said, ‘Then I’ll leave you alone,’ and scuttled off into a back room.
Nual sank to the floor and arranged herself comfortably cross-legged. ‘Dataspike, please. Any one will do.’
Taro squatted next to her and handed her a ’spike from the bag. As his fingers brushed hers he felt her tremble.
She flicked the screen of her com up and clicked the first dataspike holder into a slot on the side. While she worked Taro bound his fleck sheaves to his wrists. When he had finished he looked over at Nual.
Without looking up from the screen she said, ‘Nice blackmail material but not what we want. Next, please.’
This one had a single red line on the holder. While Nual slotted it in, Taro searched the bag and spotted two others with the same mark.
He looked up at Nual’s hiss of indrawn breath in time to see her raise her head and close her eyes.
‘No,’ she said distinctly. She shook her head slowly, eyes still closed, then opened them and looked down at her com again. Taro was glad her mental shields were back in place. From the look on her face whatever was happening in her head wasn’t pretty. ‘That is not possible,’ she whispered.
Taro reached out to touch her, to comfort her, but she had already whirled to her feet. ‘Last chance, Taro,’ she murmured with a softness at odds with the twisted look on her face. ‘This is your last chance to cut and run.’
As though he could let Scarrion get away with it! As though he could let Malia die unavenged! As though he could leave Nual . . . ‘No, I’m with you,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Then let’s go.’
‘To perform the hit?’
‘Oh no. This is one mission I would never take. We’re going to see the Minister.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Grace Street was further proof, as though Elarn needed it, that everything was for sale in Khesh City: temples, churches and shrines lined the Street, selling nearly every human religion Elarn had heard of, and several she had not. She almost expected to find an Ascensionist Chantry here, but the Sidhe religion had disappeared from the universe, even if the Sidhe themselves had not.
The Cathedral of Christos and the Almighty was one of the largest buildings on the Street, towering over its immediate neighbours. The frontage had high arches and a small spire.
She paid the pedicab driver and walked to the entrance porch, which was faced in stone bas-reliefs showing the suffering and sacrifice of the Manifest Son. A board outside announced that the cathedral was temporarily closed, but the guard on the door had already spotted her and was on his way over. Once he’d satisfied himself she was indeed Medame Reen, he let her in.
Inside, the architects had worked wonders. The ceiling had to be a holo, but the vaulting looked perfect, the stained glass shone and the golden icons gazed down at her from their niches. A group of some thirty sombrely dressed men and women were milling about at the end of the chancel.
This was the first time she had been in a Salvatine church since her parents had died, and the strange mix of memory and novelty gave her a sense of dissociation. As she started down the aisle she barely resisted the urge to cross herself.
A man peeled off from the crowd of singers and came towards her. His expression was uncertain and it suddenly occurred to her what she must look like: still wearing last night’s clothes, hair a mess, no make-up . . . and reeking of sex. She stopped.
He halted a few steps away. ‘Medame Reen?’ When she nodded the man frowned and continued, ‘We were getting worried. You’re quite late and we only have an hour before the cathedral is re-opened to the public.’
A huge, skeletally-thin Christos-figure hung over the altar. The statue’s drooping head said that there was little hope, even for believers, and none at all for the damned.
Elarn forced herself to look away from the image. ‘Of course. I’m sorry.’
‘We can do introductions later. Shall we go straight into the Requiem?’
Elarn followed him up the nave to where the singers had arranged themselves in four neat rows in the choir stalls, leaving her alone in the middle. The glorious rose window at the end of the aisle showed scenes of martyrdom and redemption. She looked away.
The organ played the first few bars of the familiar music. The choir came in softly and Elarn closed her eyes, waiting for the music to carry her away. The moment passed. Her voice deserted her.
The singers faltered, then stopped. Elarn opened her eyes to see their conductor frowning at her, hand upraised. ‘Shall we start again?’ he said.
Elarn nodded dumbly.
This time she tensed, ready to jump in on her cue, and she managed to force out a note that was in tune and in time, but it sounded strained and unnatural. Her breath wouldn’t come and, as she raised her voice, as the sound started to build, she felt something else rising within her.
The scream.
In surrendering herself to Vidoran she had removed one more barrier. It wanted to come out.
She stopped, biting down on the note.
The conductor looked at her, consternation on his face. Unable to return his gaze she muttered, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this, not now.’ She fled down the aisle, tears making the candles swim and dip in her vision.
What little comfort had ever been offered by the church was no longer available to her. She was damned. She should never have come here.
Outside she hailed the first pedicab she saw, but when the driver turned to ask her destination she hesitated. Her hotel room was the closest she had to a safe space, but if Salik didn’t get an answer from her com, he might go there to find her. If she saw him in the flesh, she would not be able to resist him. She would believe whatever he told her.
She needed to know the truth. And she needed to go somewhere Salik would not find her, for she didn’t dare see him again until she knew she could trust him.
She told the driver to head for Talisman Street.
Taro stumbled out of Nual’s arms into the noise and bustle of Chow Street. The sounds and scents of the ‘Street of a Thousand Flavours’ wafted up to greet him and he drew in a deep breath, inhaling the smells of frying meats, spices and burnt sugar. The early morning crowds scattered, casting curious, fearful glances at the Angel and the half-naked downsider. Taro swayed for a moment, gravity pulling at his battered body.
Nual raised her wrist. ‘All right, you bastard,’ she said into her com. ‘You’ve got my attention.’
She lowered her arm and gave Taro a tired smile. ‘He’ll be here soon. Meantime, we should eat.’
She took his hand and led him across the Street to a stall with a brightly striped awning. The small queue at the stall moved aside as they approached. Nual ordered two steaming paper cups of noodle soup, then led him to a seat near the fence where they sat down side by side. Though it felt odd to be stuffing noodles into his mouth when the world was falling apart, Taro found he was ravenous.
He was halfway through his soup when she placed her barely touched cup down by the seat and stood.
The Minister was coming down the steps from the circle-car station. Though his face below the shadow of his hat wore its usual expression of faint, fatherly interest, he was actually hurrying, taking the steps two at a time. Taro found his haste freaky; downside le
gend had it that he never hurried for anything.
Taro stood too, but he didn’t cross his arms or drop his gaze. He doubted the Minister would have noticed anyway; all his attention was on Nual, and hers on him. Something about the way they looked at each other told Taro that, as he’d suspected, their relationship went beyond master and minion. For a wild moment he wondered if they’d once been lovers.
They faced each other silently for half a dozen heartbeats. Then the Minister looked away from Nual and addressed Taro. ‘I see you have thrown your lot in with her. I thought that might happen.’
‘Aye, sirrah, I ’ave,’ he said, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.
The Minister looked back at Nual. ‘What surprises me more is that you chose to let him live.’
