by Jaine Fenn
When the door buzzer went this time he felt only irritation. Did everyone in the City feel they had a right to visit him today?
Irritation turned to fear when he saw that he was finally getting the one visitor he had been most dreading . . . and to think he’d almost forgotten the Screamer.
He couldn’t let him in, not now, not with Elarn and the Angel standing entranced in the middle of his office.
Perhaps he should run, try to draw the Screamer away. He could use his back door, hide himself in the sidestreets. But what if the Screamer caught him? And the bastard knew where he lived. If he couldn’t find Meraint here, he might go to the house where, even now, Bera and their daughters would be having lunch together. And he couldn’t just abandon Elarn and the Angel. In their current state they would be defenceless. Scarrion had broken into his office once before, he could do it again.
Meraint checked his screen inset. The Screamer was holding his finger on the buzzer and staring up at the camera. He did not look happy. Meraint keyed the com. ‘Hello. I have your file, I’ll be down with it in a minute. Wait there, please.’
Scarrion narrowed his eyes and spoke into the open com. ‘Every other time we’ve met I have been unable to persuade you to leave your desk. Now why would you suddenly want to come and meet me down on the Street, Sirrah Meraint? I think I’ll come up, if it’s all the same to you.’
Mouth dry and armpits damp, Meraint cut the com. Now that narrowed his options. As he stood up, the inset showing the camera feed went blank. The screen was full of static.
Elarn ignores Nual and steps forward to take the boy’s hand.
He reaches out blindly to her, motions clumsy and slow, his face still shifting between a dozen different people. Nual recognises the head of one of the City’s major maintenance corporations and, on the second pass, the High Speaker of the Assembly.
‘You must come too,’ says Elarn, and holds out her other hand to Nual. Without volition, Nual sees her hand reach for Elarn’s.
They are doomed, and there is nothing they can do about it.
Singing, Elarn leads the pair of them towards the glistening wall of destruction hovering at the horizon. With every step the siren song beneath the water’s rush grows louder, and Nual finds it increasingly hard to maintain concentration in the face of the beautiful scream of destruction.
Meraint felt horribly exposed when he stepped out from the protection of his desk, but his defences wouldn’t be much help against the Screamer. All the assassin had to do was stand in the doorway and use his implant and he could take down all of them without even entering into the room. He bent down to pick up Elarn Reen’s dart-gun; nothing more than a handbag weapon, but dangerous enough at close quarters. He slipped it into his pocket.
His best chance, perhaps his only chance, would be to enlist Nual’s help. She was an Angel, used to dealing with such situations, so she should decide whether they ran, or stayed and faced Scarrion. It must be her call.
He looked over at the two women. Something had changed. Elarn Reen’s expression was no longer serene; it looked slack, more like death than trance, and the Angel’s face was twisted as though she were caught in a waking nightmare.
‘Medame Reen? Lady Nual?’ he called, ‘can you hear me?’
There was no response. He stepped up to them and laid a hand gently on Elarn Reen’s shoulder. The pulse that beat in her neck was rapid and uneven, and her posture was rigid and unnatural. ‘Medame Reen,’ he tried again, ‘we have to leave now. Please, wake up.’
Overhead, the lights flickered.
At first Meraint thought he’d imagined it, but then it happened again. He felt a ripple of motion in the floor below him, as if the building were being shaken by the wind . . . But there is no wind in the City. It was designed to be perfectly balanced, always controlled.
Without thinking, he pulled Elarn towards him, breaking the contact.
In eerie unison, both women gave a high, incoherent cry, like no sound Meraint had ever heard from human lips.
Then Nual flew backwards, as if she had been electrocuted, and collapsed on the floor by the desk.
Elarn fell against him and he managed to catch her before she crashed to the floor. She started howling like an injured animal, thrashing feebly against his restraining arm.
On the other side of the room, Nual lay still as death.
Meraint was so intent on calming the hysterical woman that it took him a couple of seconds to register what else was wrong. The room was shaking harder now. The walls swayed and the floor shifted and bucked beneath his feet. The door of the cabinet Elarn Reen had clung to earlier flew open, dumping a box of hardcopies onto the floor. The holo-pic of Meraint’s girls toppled off the edge of the desk and smashed into glassy fragments.
Taro stared, confused. He’d never seen anyone do that. It was as though the Minister had turned into a statue.
Confusion started to give way to fear. Was the Minister dead? He couldn’t be dead.
A weird silence fell over the Street and the air suddenly felt cold. Something well smoky was going on here.
The first shudder hit and Taro grabbed the edge of the seat. Panicked shouts erupted all around him and people started running in all directions, while others stood frozen in the middle of the Street, clutching each other. Those not screaming were staring upwards in horror.
Above him, the forcedome started to hiss, the sound building in intensity second by second into an uneven roar. The sky was rippling, colours shifting between sickly yellow and the red of dried blood.
Taro curled his fingers tighter around the seat and held on, his mind blank with terror, as the sky flickered and crackled over a world gone mad.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Meraint and Elarn Reen held onto each other while the room shook and the lights flickered. Cracks snaked across the walls and plaster rained down from the ceiling but, despite Meraint’s constant terrified expectation, the building did not collapse.
The lights went out and though the quake continued, in the dark Meraint felt calmer, as though what he could not see could not harm him. He just wished Elarn Reen would loosen her grip a little, and maybe stop screeching quite so loudly in his ear.
After an indeterminate period of darkness, the emergency lights over the doors came on. The tremors started to subside at the same time.
Elarn Reen’s howls faded to a faint whimper as the shaking died away, but still she clung to him, her fingers digging painfully into his arms.
‘Medame Reen? Elarn? Can you hear me?’ he tried again, desperate to rouse her.
‘Is this the end of the world?’ she muttered, her head hunched into his shoulder. ‘I always thought it would end in fire. That’s what the Salvatine texts say, you know . . .’
‘I have no idea, but we have to leave, now.’
She tilted her head to focus on him. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Yes, you do, and I’m trying to help you. You’ve had some sort of shock and I think there’s something wrong with the City, but those crises are both going to have to wait. Right now we have to get out of this building. Do you understand?’
‘Why does everything hurt so much? My head . . . Can I lie down please? I think I need to lie down.’
Meraint heard a faint click, then a scrape and a bang. The door. Someone was trying to open the door. The lock must have gone offline in the quake but it sounded like the door itself was jammed, probably warped in the frame. Another grinding scrape, this time loud enough to attract Elarn’s attention. The Screamer was certainly persistent.
Meraint swung Elarn Reen round to face him, grasped her shoulders and whispered, ‘Listen! That is the sound of a man who is going to kill us both just as soon as he finishes breaking down the door.’
‘What man? Why does he want to kill us?’ She sounded like a hurt child asking why a treat was forbidden.
‘It’s complicated, so you’ll just have to trust me. But right now we have to go.’
She n
odded vaguely, her eyes wild, her cheeks soaked with tears. ‘Yes. Go. We should go . . .’
He started to steer her towards the alcove but then she spotted the Angel sprawled on the floor in front of the desk. ‘Lia! Oh God!’ she wailed, trying to break free from Meraint’s grasp.
‘There’s nothing you can do for her.’ Meraint had no idea if that was true, but he wasn’t going to be distracted. ‘We have to get out of here. Quickly, quietly. Come now.’
She let him lead her through the office, though she kept looking back at the Angel. He could hear her muttering under her breath, over and over, ‘What have I done? What have I done?’ From back inside the office the scraping at the door had given way to a strident banging as the Screamer battered his way in.
He pulled her into the alcove after him. She was at least compliant, if not entirely sane. He kept hold of her wrist in his left hand and used his right hand to open the cupboard door at the back of the alcove. Inside, cleaning equipment was stacked against what looked like a blank wall. He pulled the equipment out and gave the wall a sharp kick. The back of the cupboard swung away to reveal a narrow staircase disappearing into darkness. He turned back to his charge. She had stopped muttering, but there was a look of distracted fear on her face.
‘It’s all my fault,’ she whispered, and looked away.
He leaned in to switch on the stairwell light. ‘Possibly, but we can do blame later. Right now we’re going to run down those steps and out into the sidestreets. After that I suggest hiding might be a good idea.’
‘But Lia—’
‘No time. We have to go,’ he said firmly.
‘No,’ she sobbed, ‘I can’t leave her, not like this!’ She tried to pull away from him but he held firmly onto her wrist.
It didn’t sound as if Scarrion’s efforts were having much effect on the office door, so perhaps he had a little time. ‘City’s sake!’ he swore. ‘Look, you go ahead and I’ll check out the Angel. I promise I’ll try to get her out, assuming she’s not—as long as she can walk. But you have to go!’ He pulled her past him.
She nodded and stumbled into the stairwell. At the top of the stairs she turned, looked back at Meraint over her shoulder and said distinctly, ‘The scream almost broke free of me. I must not let it break free. I have to destroy the vessel.’
Meraint met her eyes and for a moment glimpsed something irrevocably broken. Then she was gone, half-running, half-falling down the stairs.
He retraced his steps and peered out of the alcove. He could see only the middle third of the room, but through the still-settling plaster he could make out a figure in red and black crawling towards him, head down, hands snaking along the floor, pulling herself forward slowly, painfully.
‘Lady! Nual?’ he called, as quietly as he could, ‘in here, quickly.’
At first he thought she hadn’t heard him but then, head still down, she hissed, ‘Leave. Now. Help Elarn. Don’t look at me!’ Despite himself he had started to walk towards her, was already reaching out to help—
From his left came a loud bang, followed by a splintering noise. He jumped back into the cover of the alcove.
A man’s voice, unpleasantly familiar, said, ‘Now what have we here?’
Meraint saw Nual start to raise her head.
A figure dressed in green and gold streaked into Meraint’s field of view and barrelled into the Angel.
After several shit-scary minutes the shaking stopped and the terrible sound from above died away to a faint fizzing. Taro’s vision was blurred, his fingers hurt and no matter how hard he breathed he felt a nasty tightness in his chest. But he was alive.
As soon as he was sure the world had really stopped moving he looked around. People were shouting for help or helping others; some sat, dazed, against buildings, and a few were lying suspiciously still on the Street. The stall where he and Nual had bought their noodles earlier had collapsed, but the actual buildings had stayed up, though most now had cracks running down their fronts. The sky buzzed like a broken light fitting, but at least it was orange again. Whatever had happened, the worst appeared to be over.
Taro looked across at the Minister. The shaking must’ve jolted him out of his trance; the head of the Kheshi League of Concord had fallen off the seat and was now lying on his side, still in a sitting position, hand still half-raised, eyes still open, staring blankly ahead. His hat lay in a puddle of noodle soup next to the seat.
Taro slid off the seat and crouched down next to the Minister, ignoring Nual’s gun, which clattered to the ground as it fell from his lap. He’d seen death before, but nothing like this. He reached out to touch the Minister’s neck. Cold as a vane at dawn. Shit! He really was dead. What the fuck would happen now?
The Minister blinked once, slowly.
Taro jumped, then caught himself and leaned over. ‘Sirrah?’ he croaked, ‘you’re alive?’
The Minister’s hands twitched. He blinked again and started to push himself upright, moving like a meatbaby who’d been at the burnt mash, slow and clumsy, like he didn’t fit his body. Taro reached out to help, pulling him round and leaning him up against the seat, easing his legs out so they stretched in front of him.
Taro waved a hand in front of his master’s face. ‘Sirrah?’
The Minister didn’t seem to be able to see Taro; he stared into space like a blind man. When he finally spoke, his words were slow and slurred. ‘Ah. Taro. The answer to your question is no.’
‘My question, sirrah?’
‘You asked if I am alive. The answer is no.’ His speech was getting clearer but his face still had a gappy, vacant look. ‘At least not in the way you think of as being alive.’
‘Sirrah? I don’t understand—’
‘No, I wouldn’t expect you to. I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Taro. In fact, for the last thousand years I haven’t been entirely honest with anyone except Nual.’
Taro’s grasp of numbers might not go much beyond counting credits from punters, but even he knew that a thousand years was longer than anyone lived, even someone as important as the Minister.
‘Taro? Are you still there?’
‘Aye, sirrah, I’m here.’ He reached out to cover the Minister’s hand, which lay limp on his lap. The skin was cold and smooth and hard, like Nual’s palm.
‘Good. I’m blind now. Paralysed, too. And not just . . . this body. My other avatars have shut down completely. I’ve lost surveillance across the City. Environmental control too. Fail-safes have cut in but it’s taking all my current processing power just to maintain them.’
Taro had no idea what the Minister was talking about, but it sounded serious. ‘Is there anythin’ I can do?’ he asked. He couldn’t think of anything offhand.
‘Oh yes, Taro. Now that I know what we’re up against, there is something extremely important that you must do. But first there are a few things you need to know, about how the world works.’
‘You mean,’ Taro found himself saying a little wildly, ‘the way you rig the Concord to kill who you want. Oh, that’s prime with me. You know best.’
‘Yes, we do. The three of us. My brothers and I. Better than you humans, but, unlike our bitch sisters, we don’t presume to control you, just to watch. If you damn yourselves, so be it.’
‘You’ve lost me, sirrah.’
‘Yes. We need to focus, relate this to the current avatar. Become the I before you. Aye. Taro, the Minister - I - run rather more than the Kheshi League of Concord. I run the City. In fact, I am the City.’
Taro looked at the soup-stained cove sprawled on the ground in front of him. ‘If you say so, sirrah,’ he said in a calming tone of voice, patting the cold hand again. Obviously whatever had struck the Minister had left him well gappy.
‘No, Taro,’ the Minister said, ‘it’s not just what I say. It’s the truth. I’ll try to make it clear for you. Do you know what a puppet is?’
‘We have shadow-shows in the Undertow, fer children. That what you mean?’
&n
bsp; ‘Precisely so. Well, this body is a puppet, a puppet of the City, not just serving it, but acting out its wishes. My thoughts are the City’s thoughts. The City’s thoughts are mine. Do you understand? ’
‘Fuck me.’ So Federin had been right all along. The City was alive.
‘I will take that as a yes. The consciousness that inhabits this form also inhabits several other bodies, and controls the City’s basic functions, but it has been damaged.’
‘Damaged? How? Was that what caused the shakes?’
‘Yes, it was - perhaps stunned might be a better word than damaged, for it is repairable. As for how it happened, that I do not yet know. All we can be certain of is that the weapon that caused the damage originates from the Sidhe. Humans would have no idea how to create such a device. This time, the attack was broken off. I have no idea why, for this weapon is capable of doing far worse, perhaps even killing us. It could certainly knock out our consciousness for long enough that control would be lost.’
