by Jaine Fenn
‘What?’
‘Just keep working.’ She backed away from him. She needed to get the position just right. She would only get one chance.
‘Yes, of course, I’ll pretend I’ve been alone all morning when the Angel arrives. I’ll say that I have no idea why she’s here and obviously I won’t mention you. If she asks I can claim I haven’t seen you since yesterday. Or perhaps you would prefer I said I’ve never met you—’
She cut across his nervous babble. ‘That won’t work with her.’ She looked round the room then adjusted her position, taking another step backwards and turning towards the door. ‘What I need is for you to pretend I’m not here.’
‘What?’ Meraint’s gaze flicked over her, to the door, then back. ‘Wait! Medame Reen - Elarn - this is insane! You can’t be thinking of ambushing an Angel! She’s a trained killer—’
‘I know exactly what she is.’
The buzzer sounded again and Meraint involuntarily looked at the screen.
‘Don’t look at her!’ Elarn Reen found she was shouting. She forced herself to calm down. ‘Let her in, but don’t look at her, don’t think of her. Think about . . . think about your holidays, your family, your work. You have to try to forget I’m here. You have to believe you’re alone.’
‘But—’
‘Do it! Please, just focus on something other than me, then let her in!’ She raised the gun, sighting on the door. ‘I am not leaving, and she will come in. The longer we try and stall her, the more difficult this will be.’
Meraint wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, composed his expression and bent over his screen.
Elarn stretched the gun out in front of her, arms locked. She found herself muttering under her breath, ‘Divine father, who watches us all—’
Empty your mind, the priests always said, empty your mind when you pray.
‘Blessings on thy name . . .’
As a child she had questioned their instruction; how could an empty mind comprehend anything?
‘Thy wishes true, thy servants willing . . .’
But an empty mind cannot easily be sensed.
‘In our lives and in our deaths . . .’
The litany was silent now, the effortless, familiar cadences filling her head.
Protect those who serve you . . .
The door opened towards her, so for a moment she could see nothing. Then Lia stepped into the room.
And forgive those who wrong you . . .
She was taller than Elarn remembered, her dark hair worn in a plait coiled round her head. She wore panels of scarlet over skin-tight black: sexy, deadly, outrageous. Elarn saw her in profile; she was looking at Meraint sitting behind his desk with his head bowed. She had no idea Elarn was there.
Shoot now! This is what the Sidhe want. Kill her, and you will be free.
But she had never killed. She could not kill. Not even Lia, the abomination she had once loved, the destroyer of her comfortable life. She might wish she had never met Lia, but that was a long way from killing her.
Her finger froze on the trigger. She couldn’t do it.
Meraint looked up and a fraction of a second later Lia’s head whipped round. Without registering where the impulse came from, Elarn flung the gun away with so much force that it bounced off the infobroker’s desk.
Running was the only option now: she had to get away—But Lia was between her and the door. There was no way out. She backed away until she came up against the wall. Her knees buckled and she reached out to a cabinet for support.
Lia released Elarn from her gaze and started to close the distance slowly, almost reluctantly. Elarn watched her booted feet approach across the infobroker’s plush carpet. She didn’t dare to raise her head for fear of falling into the Sidhe’s eyes.
Lia stopped a couple of paces off and spoke, her voice cold. ‘You should have shot me. You won’t get another chance.’
Elarn, calmer now her fate was sealed, said quietly, ‘You would never have let me.’
‘Of course not, had I known you were there. I assumed, incorrectly - and foolishly - that I had arrived here before you. I only realised you were waiting in ambush when the gentleman whose office we find ourselves in wondered why you had failed to shoot me. Which is something I find myself wondering too.’
‘Because I’m a fool,’ whispered Elarn.
‘No.’ Lia’s voice was as musical as Elarn remembered, though deeper, calmer, more melancholy. ‘You did not shoot because you do not really want to kill me. You always were much better at fear than hate.’
‘For all the good it’s done me.’ Her fate had been sealed from the moment her brother had returned with this fascinating refugee from a lost age.
‘Why did you come here, Elarn?’
Elarn didn’t consider lying. There was no point. ‘They traced you to Vellern. They came to me and told me I had to come here to find you. What could I do?’
‘Ah. So you had no choice.’
She straightened slightly, though she still kept her head down, avoiding Lia’s eyes. ‘I am not their creature, Lia. I am their victim. ’
Lia murmured, ‘You forget, they’re my enemies too. And my name is Nual now.’
Elarn looked over at the gun lying next to the desk. This would be so much easier if she could feel hatred, or even anger, but all she felt was a distant sorrow at the unfairness of it all. ‘Lia, Nual, whatever you choose to call yourself, whatever you pretend to be, they’re still your sisters.’
Lia said quietly, as though to herself, ‘If you understood what I have done, and what I have given up, you would know that is no longer true. I can never go back.’
Elarn didn’t want to sympathise with her. She must not forget what this woman was. ‘But they don’t want you back. They want you dead.’
‘Aye, no doubt they do.’ Lia’s voice was cold again, cold and tired. ‘They want me dead and they dare not come to Vellern in person so they sent you to do their will.’
‘But I didn’t come here by choice! And I didn’t kill you - I could have, you said so yourself. But I didn’t.’ Elarn raised her eyes to see Meraint watching the encounter with rapt attention.
Lia continued, ‘And I will always remember that. But what now? You had your chance, but you didn’t take it, so you have failed. What will you do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Elarn said, trying not to let despair colour her voice. ‘Leave, if you will let me. They will be watching for me, but maybe I’ll get lucky.’
‘And when they find you again? Aren’t you scared of what they’ll do to you?’
‘Of course I’m scared,’ she whispered, ‘I’m terrified. But I can’t kill you, and I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding out on this crazy world of assassins and muggers.’
‘You’re right enough there. Hiding only postpones the inevitable. ’
‘But would you let me go, just like that? You know I’m—what’s the term they use here? Marked? I’m marked for removal. And you’re an Angel now. I thought you had come here to kill me.’
‘Those are my orders, but I had no intention of killing you . . . not unless you were their creature.’
‘Which I am not!’
‘So you believe.’ She stepped back, giving Elarn a clear path to the door. ‘Go. Walk out of here and leave Vellern.’
‘You’re really going to let me leave, just like that?’
‘I will not stop you. Go now.’
She should go . . . but she did not move; she could not move. Her body refused to obey her. ‘No!’ she screamed, as though force of will or hysteria could force movement from her rebellious muscles, ‘stop it!’
‘I’m not doing anything,’ Lia said. ‘Save for disarming you when I saw the gun I have not influenced you.’
‘But I can’t move,’ Elarn said plaintively. Her limbs were frozen, locked. Her body thrummed painfully with the effort of trying to break free from the compulsion. Move, damn you!
Lia sighed. ‘Forgive me for say
ing this, Elarn, but you are not the ideal choice for an assassin. They knew this. Did you really think they wouldn’t build in safety measures? I assume they went to considerable effort to track you down and persuade you to come here, and even though you were strong enough not to pull the trigger when it came to it, I will bet they put in safeguards to make sure that you would not shirk your duty. Most will be subtle, choices you make that you could later rationalise as your own. But anything as blatant as an attempt to leave without completing your mission would simply remove your ability to act.’
‘Oh God.’ Elarn closed her eyes. Now that she was no longer trying to move she found herself relaxing and control returned to her quivering limbs. But her mind was in turmoil. ‘So I can’t know how far it goes, if anything I’ve done is real.’
‘I would like to think,’ said Lia quietly, ‘that the woman who chose not to shoot me was the real Elarn Reen.’
She blinked her eyes open again; tears escaped down her cheeks. ‘How ironic. I finally found the strength to disobey them in the one thing they wanted most - the one thing I think they wanted - but how can I know? I can’t know anything: every action I’ve performed, every choice I’ve made . . . I can’t know if any of it was me, or their implanted compulsions.’ She began to laugh hysterically.
‘Elarn, stop. I can know. I can try to find out the truth - if you let me.’
Elarn choked out, ‘No!’ What choice did she have? After a few moments, she whispered, ‘Is there no other way?’
‘This has to be your choice, Elarn. I am not going to coerce you.’
‘Swear it,’ Elarn cried, ‘swear you’re not forcing me, you won’t force me, and all you’ll do is look. Swear on the memory of what we once were to each other.’
Lia flinched, but said clearly, ‘I swear on the love I had for you, and for Jarek, that I will not coerce you, I will only look, and that I will try to help you, if you let me.’
Elarn sighed. ‘What do I have to do, to make this work?’
‘Nothing, other than give your permission.’
She took a step forward. ‘Well if it’s that simple … You have my permission.’
Lia turned to look at the bemused infobroker, who had been following their exchange with mounting incomprehension. ‘Be so kind as to watch over us,’ she said to him.
He nodded agreement, and Elarn decided not to let herself wonder how much coercion or beguilement Lia might be employing with poor Ando Meraint.
Lia stepped up to her and Elarn finally met her eyes. Christos, she had forgotten how beautiful the girl was. Lia blinked, deliberately breaking contact, and offered her hands. Elarn hesitated for a moment, then placed her hands in Lia’s. Her palms felt cold and hard, alien - as she was.
‘What now?’ Elarn whispered.
‘Look at me.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Taro kept staring at the sky long after Nual had disappeared over the rooftops. He had a terrible, growing conviction that he’d never see her again.
When he finally looked back, the Minister was watching him. It reminded him of the way Malia had looked at him when he did something well-meaning but dumb.
‘So,’ said the Minister finally, ‘do you think I should recode Nual’s gun for you?’
With Nual gone, Taro’s earlier confidence was fading, but even so, he’d never think of the Minister in quite the same way again. ‘It’s what she asked you to do, sirrah,’ he said politely.
‘Hmm.’ The Minister sat in the seat Nual had occupied. ‘Yes, it was. And you think I should do something that is against the rules of the Concord just because one of my Angels asked me to?’
Taro eased himself down next to his master. ‘Like you said yerself, some rules can be broken, if there’s a good reason. And she ain’t just one of yer Angels, is she, sirrah?’
‘Quite true, quite true. Gun, please.’
Taro handed over Nual’s gun. It looked simpler than Malia’s; the black barrel was undecorated, the stock narrow and skeletal. Taro watched, fascinated, as the Minister ran his hands over the weapon until he said without looking up, ‘This isn’t a procedure generally carried out in public. Eat your food or something.’
Taro watched the crowds thronging the Street. Some people shot curious glances at the shirtless, mirror-cloaked downsider sitting next to the well-dressed topsider. They looked away fast enough when they spotted the gun.
‘Finger!’
‘Sorry, sirrah?’ Taro looked round to see the Minister holding the gun out to him, butt-end first.
‘Put a finger on the trigger-pad, whichever hand you’ll be firing it with. Quickly, now.’
Taro didn’t much like the idea of firing the gun at all, but this was what Nual wanted. He reached over and slipped a finger over the pad on the trigger, careful not to apply any pressure. The pad warmed beneath his fingertip.
‘That should do it.’ The Minister passed the gun back to him. ‘I haven’t erased her ID from the gun, just added yours. I recommend you give it back to her as soon as you see her again, as she’s going to be far more effective with it than you are. But I have done what she asked.’
Taro put the gun on his lap, pulling the folds of the cloak round it. His relationship with the Minister had changed. Nual had practically ordered him to question the head of the League of Concord, and there was one thing Taro wanted to know more than anything. ‘Sirrah?’ he began cautiously.
The Minister inclined his head. ‘Yes?’
‘Why din’t you call feud on Scarrion?’
‘You don’t give up, do you? All right, we may as well have this conversation while we wait for Nual to return. Politics: that was my initial reason. Scarrion was on the verge of going rogue, and by sending an agent on the edge as a “gesture of support” for Consul Vidoran’s recent unwise political decisions, Yazil was saying, “Thanks, but yours is not the kind of help we need”. For me to call feud on him would have been to return the insult. In the morass of intrigue that is the Concord, that was not a move to be made lightly. But I would have called feud, once I had confirmation that he had killed one of ours, if he were not so useful to me as a free agent. Scarrion knew his League had abandoned him, and he transferred his loyalty completely to his new master. He serves Salik Vidoran now, no one else, and he can go places his master cannot go and do things that a politician cannot do. But he’s not exactly subtle. I had hoped that by watching him I would be able to get some idea of what the Consul is up to.’
‘Vidoran? The politician in Confed Square? So this is all about him is it?’
‘So I believe. I put you in Confederacy Square because you had been keeping company with Vidoran’s Screamer. I wanted to know whether you were just a night’s diversion, or if there was something more to your relationship; specifically, whether you were part of whatever Vidoran was up to. It was unlikely, of course, but I had to be sure. When I assigned you as a watcher I had not had confirmation of your line-mother’s death. As it was, your understandable but ill-timed outburst during Vidoran’s botched removal did at least convince me you were not the Screamer’s ally. Unfortunately, it also ruined Nual’s shot, thus invalidating my reasons for assigning her to perform the removal.’
Taro remembered the Angel from the Exquisite Corpse, the one probably still sleeping like a baby on a mazeway somewhere below them. ‘Nual weren’t meant to ’ave the next removal, was she?’
‘Indeed not. I have a system that allows all my Angels a fair and equal share of the action, but I wanted Nual to be the one who pulled the trigger on Vidoran.’ For a moment Taro thought he was going to stop there, but he gave a little sigh and went on, ‘I suppose I had better explain why, or risk Nual’s ire. This is rather complex, so pay attention.’
Taro wondered if the Minister thought everyone was stupid, or whether he just liked being rude, but he said nothing.
‘In the past few weeks there have been two attempts to access Nual’s records; this after years of silence. Both attempts were subtle, a
nd both failed and were traced. The second was made a couple of days ago from the office of the infobroker where Nual has just now gone to meet Elarn Reen. It was made at Medame Reen’s request. When Nual returns I hope she will be able to explain Elarn Reen’s motivations for making that request.
‘The first attempt was made just over a week earlier. I traced it to an unscrupulous sidestreet infobroker who turned up dead in an alley with a broken neck later that same day. Interestingly, that was not a search for “Lia Reen” - which was the name Nual had on her ID when she first came here - but for anyone with the surname of Reen and a Khathryn ID who had arrived in Khesh City in the past seven years.
