“Going along quietly has never been my way,” she said, which made no sense to Eve. She held out her hand. “Eve? Come here, dear.”
“No,” said Eve, and then, “Who are you?”
“You don’t know me, my dear, but that doesn’t matter. I’m here to help. I won’t drug you or hurt you or make you go anywhere you don’t want to.” She waggled her fingers encouragingly.
“She can’t be left behind now,” said Business-Suit Woman angrily. “The boat is here and we’re wasting time.”
“I have to go,” said Brown-Coat. “I have to get out of the area—I can’t be part of this.”
“Then go. We’ll be in touch.” Business-Suit Woman held out her hand and he passed the spray-thing to her and scuttled backward, still staring at Blond Lady, aiming for the narrow passage they’d come down. Business-Suit Woman, holding the sprayer thing purposefully, went to go around Business-Suit Man and get to Eve, but she yelped and jumped toward Blond Lady, grabbing the waiting hand with her own undamaged one. The long fingers squeezed hers reassuringly as Blond Lady moved to put herself between Business-Suit Woman and Eve.
“Madam, I assure you no harm will come to her,” said Business-Suit Man. “But we have to hurry, and we can’t afford to attract attention.”
Business-Suit Woman had halted her advance and was regarding Blond Lady with a strange blend of admiration and suspicion. She said, “What’s the status of your tracker?”
Eve wondered what a tracker was, but then Blond Lady reached up with her free hand and parted the folds of her beautiful scarf. Beneath it she was wearing an ugly polymer-and-metal necklace, not nearly as elegant as her other things. There was an even uglier dull red band clamped around it, just where it rested against her collar bone.
“I didn’t have the tools or the time to remove it,” she said. “But as I am here and unaccompanied, you can safely assume that the blocking device is working.”
“Well,” said Business-Suit Woman, sounding uncertain. “Well . . . all right. We have to go. We don’t have much time before—” She stopped and glanced at the boat, now standing just off the jetty, then up the river toward Sinkat, then back at Blond Lady. “I suppose we don’t have much choice now: we can’t afford to leave you behind at this point either. If she’ll come along with you quietly, then fine.” She jerked the sprayer in Eve’s direction and turned away toward the jetty. “If she makes a fuss, I’m sorry, but she’ll have to be dosed—it won’t do any permanent damage. Let’s go.”
Eve tensed to pull away, thinking that, despite the pain in her hand and her head and the nausea once more making everything dip and sway around her, she would have to try to run.
The cool fingers holding hers squeezed again, in a comforting sort of way. “No,” said Blond Lady, “I don’t believe Eve or I will be going anywhere with you.”
28
Gabriel ran as he had never run before, slowing only when he passed close enough to read someone, scanning frantically for any thought, any memory, any recent encounter with a small blond girl, especially one who was protesting or being carried. Few people would remember a stranger glimpsed in passing; unless something had happened to make them actively think about Eve, there would be nothing for him to perceive. But an unwilling child being dragged along was memorable, so he slowed down to check their minds and then sped up again, with Agwé loping alongside, easily keeping pace.
All she’d said in response to his frantic explanation as he’d dashed out of the meeting room, barreled down the stairs, and raced away from Thames Tidal was, “Let’s go.” He knew she felt sick to her stomach at the thought that she might have played some part in this disaster, however inadvertently; but she also understood that saying so now would be of no use. They had neither time nor breath to spare. Instead, they ran by the fastest route: past the UrbanNews vidcam crew outside on the quay, over the bridges across Sinkat Basin and down into the back streets, zigzagging through them until they could get onto the riverwalk and run flat-out. Then they would turn up one of the side streets, weaving through the Squats until they got to the school. He had no better plan. His mother didn’t know which way Eve had gone—which way she had been taken—and so the only thing he could do was to get to his parents as fast as possible, looking and scanning for his sister along the way.
He and Agwé were at the mouth of a little lane that dropped down from the heart of the village to the riverwalk via a short pedestrianized promenade of cafés and shops. He was swinging around to run along it when Agwé grabbed him and brought them both to such a skidding halt they almost fell over.
“What?” he gasped, panting. “This is quicker—”
“Shut up,” said Agwé. “I thought I heard something.” She turned her head, listening hard, and he bent over, hands on his knees, listening too, and hearing nothing except the rasping of his own breath and the screaming of seagulls, but thinking Gillung hearing, gillung hearing is so much better than ours . . .
She clapped him on the arm and was off, heading down the riverwalk. “Shouting,” she called over her shoulder as he took off after her, “I heard a child shouting, it sounded like—”
And then he had it from her mind, and they were both running around the corner of a hulking building that pushed out toward the river, charging up half a dozen steps, and then he could see the long curve of the quay and the Riveredge Village jetty with a motorboat nosing up to it, a man in a brown coat stumbling away, disappearing up that grubby little alley behind the old hostel, leaving behind three people having some kind of confrontation: two dark-haired figures in sober business black facing a tall blond woman in a long blond coat. The woman shifted as though to keep herself square-on to them, and as she turned, he could see, behind her, holding her hand, a small shape in a bright blue sweater and dark red pants and he knew who the woman was, and who the child was, and he screamed her name.
Eve could barely keep track of what was happening. Her wrist was hurting badly, and she was feeling horribly sick. The three grownups were all talking angrily at once, all trying to persuade each other to do things, but nothing they said was making any sense to her. She wanted Mama, because if she was here then everything would be all right and she wouldn’t have to try and understand any of it; or Papa, because he was so big and strong there would be no arguing about anything, he would just pick her up and take her home and that would be that; or even Gabe, because he was good at explaining things and cheering her up when she was down, and although this was a lot worse than just feeling grumpy, he would still know how to fix it. Or all of them, she wanted all of them, and she wanted to be home. She was trying hard not to cry because she knew that would only make her more sick and muddled, but the tears were rising in her throat and she did not know how much longer she could swallow them back. She closed her eyes, squeezing tight, and above the clamor of the adults and the confusion of her name flying back and forth between them, she thought she heard one of the voices she longed for.
It sounded like Gabriel, but not normal Gabriel: this was a frantic Gabriel, a frightened Gabriel—a Gabriel who was desperately calling her name, and she had to hear it a third time before her eyes snapped open and she looked. A flood of relief, greater than anything she had ever known, washed through her, because it really was her brother, and he was running toward them along the riverwalk, him and Agwé, and he was shouting at the other people now, shouting at them to get away from her, to leave her alone.
Business-Suit Man and Business-Suit Woman backed off as they raced up, the woman glancing worriedly over at the jetty with the boat and the waiting men.
The blond lady holding Eve’s hand did not move except to turn her head and pass her gaze over them as if they were not that interesting. Gabriel was breathing hard, and he glared at Blond Lady, a brief, bitter look, as if he knew exactly who she was and didn’t like what he knew. Eve moved to go to him, but Blond Lady’s fingers tightened and held her back—not harshly, as Brown-Coat had, but with caution, as though this t
oo might be someone from whom Eve needed protecting. Eve stopped, and Gabriel’s eyes widened.
“Eve,” he gasped, “Evie, what are you doing? Come over here.”
“She’s quite all right,” said Blond Lady in that dismissive, irritated voice, and only looked surprised when Eve tugged at her hand.
“Please,” Eve whispered, the sobs very close to the surface now, “I want to go to my brother.”
The woman looked down at her in amazement. “Your brother,” she said in a wondering voice. “Your brother? Who is your brother?”
Eve pointed at Gabriel, standing next to Agwé with a look on his face she didn’t think she had ever seen before. It was the look of someone who is terribly, terribly afraid and trying hard not to show it.
“Him—that’s my brother,” she told Blond Lady. “His name is Gabe. Gabriel.”
The woman’s eyes, dark gray like her own, widened when she heard the name and she stared at Gabriel, then at Agwé, as though something she had not yet understood was becoming clear to her.
“Gabriel,” she whispered. “Gabriel is your brother. Of course.” The fingers on Eve’s slipped, loosening, but there was something about the shock in the woman’s voice, something sounding close to tears in it, that made Eve not pull away, made her wait to be released. The woman’s long, strong fingers slid over her small, cold ones like a caress, gentle and sad, and finally slipped free. “Go to your brother then, Eve.”
Eve ran, and Gabriel met her in one stride and swept her up, holding her tight, backing away fast from the Blond Lady and the others, saying, “Eve—oh, Eve. Oh Evie, thank goodness, thank goodness, we were so scared, we were so scared,” and she could feel that he was shaking and he was hot from running and his heart was hammering as hard as hers was, and she finally felt safe enough to cry a little.
The blond woman stayed where she was, watching them, and Eve caught a teary glimpse of her face over Gabriel’s shoulder as her brother turned toward where Agwé had been. She could never afterward shake the feeling that, although the woman was standing still as a statue, strong and regal and with a countenance as impenetrable as stone, in that moment an avalanche or a tidal wave or some other cataclysm beyond imagining was crashing down on her.
Business-Suit Woman broke and ran first, skittering across the riverwalk cobbles toward the waiting boat, shouting at Business-Suit Man as she looked back—but she was staring up, above their heads, and now Eve heard other feet too, running hard, coming closer, moving incredibly fast.
“Madam,” Business-Suit Man called to Blond Lady, beckoning as he ran after the woman, “madam, come quickly! Quickly!”
The expression on the blond lady’s face when she turned to him was one that Eve did not properly have a name for then, although in later years when she remembered the moment she would recognize it as complete, venomous contempt.
“I have no business with you,” said Blond Lady, and looked up.
There was a huge whoosh of displaced air, a waft of chill breeze on her face, and Aunty Aryel dropped lightly onto the riverwalk between Eve and Gabriel and the Blond Lady.
“About time,” said Blond Lady.
Whoever was running blew past them and caught Business-Suit Man just short of the jetty, knocking him off his feet as though he were a toy and sending him crashing to the ground so fast that he spun away across the stone pavement, arms and legs and coat whirling around in the air. The running figure barely paused but swerved to leap onto the jetty where Business-Suit Woman was scrambling desperately toward the boat. But something had gone wrong there, Eve realized, because the men in the boat were shouting curses and trying to do something with the motor and the boat was skewing sideways across the river’s surface and then it came slamming into the jetty and knocked Business-Suit Woman over too.
The motor died. The pursuing figure stopped, keeping his own balance easily, and now Eve recognized the dark brown of his skin and the ruby shimmer of his hair.
On the opposite side of the jetty from the crippled boat there was a glimmer of deep green, just as radiant, as Agwé pulled herself up a ladder and out of the water.
Aunt Aryel raised a reproving eyebrow at Blond Lady and called, “Rhys? They’re not going anywhere.” Then she turned anxiously to where Gabriel was crouching on the riverwalk with Eve in his arms.
“Eve, darling, are you all right?” She knelt quickly and hugged them both before sitting back on her heels to peer at Eve, stroking her tear-stained face while her wings fanned out behind like some great, rich cape. When Eve looked up, she could see Blond Lady watching silently.
“No,” she wailed, “my hand hurts and I have a headache and I want to go home!” She sniffed hard and batted at her eyes, but the tears kept leaking out.
“Mama and Papa are almost here, sweetheart, and Uncle Eli and Aunty Sharon and everybody else, they’re all right behind us, it’s just that Uncle Rhys and I were a little quicker. I think we need Dr. Rhys now,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder, and then she stood up and stepped aside. Eve didn’t understand the look Uncle Rhys threw at Blond Lady as he passed her, or at Aryel, but then it was him crouching down in front of her and Gabe, looking at each of her eyes and asking how she felt in his doctor voice, gently examining her bruised wrist, then tapping at his earset and requesting medical transport.
And finally, coming up behind them, over the sound of more running feet and the squeal of approaching sirens and Uncle Rhys’s doctor questions, finally, finally, she could hear her mother’s voice.
Gabriel could feel their arrival in the waves of relief that washed over him as Gaela threw her arms around him and Eve, who he was still holding close. Bal followed, bodily picking them both up, and Gabriel scrambled as he was lifted. He found his feet and turned into their embrace, releasing Eve to them and saying, “Careful, her wrist is hurt—sprained, maybe. Rhys says she needs to go to the hospital.”
Eve was sobbing without restraint now, and his mother was fighting back her own tears so as not to make it worse, and Papa, wrapping his arms around them both, was weak with gratitude that his children were safe. Gabriel had a moment of déjà vu that resolved into a memory: himself, littler then than Eve was now, brought safely to earth in the arms of his winged aunt and being handed back to his frantic mother. Aryel had saved them both that day, but although she had once more swept in with the cavalry, he knew that this time it wasn’t she who’d rescued Eve.
Aryel knew it too. Zavcka Klist had finally moved, retreating to stand with her back to the blank wall of the old hostel and after a few swift words to the others, Aryel walked over to her. He had caught enough from Zavcka’s mind, coupled with the look Aryel had thrown her way, to suspect they were best left to it—and anyway, he was surrounded by clamor. Sharon and Mikal had arrived with his parents, all racing over from the lane where they’d had to leave the car because of the bollards. Seconds later Callan and Eli came up, puffing and blowing after the run from Maryam House, and all the while more and more police officers were arriving, trotting toward them from both directions along the riverwalk. Out on the water, a patrol boat was cruising toward the jetty where Agwé was still standing, hands on hips, contemplating the boat she had somehow managed to sabotage and its cursing occupants.
Rhys had gone over to check on the man he’d sent flying, who was now sitting up painfully. Aunt Sharon was already there, several loops of toughened biopolymer restraints dangling from one fist. She looked around until she spotted Uncle Mik, who pointed at the injured man and called, “That’s him! That’s the one I saw with her!” and nodded grimly.
Gabriel realized that Uncle Mik was talking about the dark-haired woman, the one who’d run out onto the jetty. She must have clambered back to the riverwalk and thus been the first to encounter a severely ticked-off Detective Superintendent Varsi, for she was slumped awkwardly on the stone pavement now, her coat rucked up uncomfortably, back pressed against the rail with her hands behind her in a pose he recognized from a thousand cr
ime dramas. He scanned the scene again, feeling weirdly disconnected, as though he had somehow fallen into one of the more melodramatic productions. Far too much was happening far too quickly; it felt implausible that only a handful of minutes could have passed since he had found his sister.
He felt Eli’s mind swim up against his a moment before a comforting hand landed on his shoulder. “Gabriel. Are you okay?”
“I think so.” He looked over at Zavcka, who stood, arms folded, responding to Aryel in a clipped, peremptory manner, all the while surveying the scenario in which she found herself much as he himself had done a moment before. Her smoke-dark gaze fell on him and he shivered. “I’m just trying to understand . . . She called?”
“She did: she said that Eve had been kidnapped and that she believed the kidnappers were planning to use the river to get away. She was on her way there and was going to try to get the precise location—but Aryel was in a meeting at Bel’Natur, so Zavcka had to leave a message, which Aryel didn’t get right away. She took off for here the moment she heard it, but she couldn’t get hold of Sharon because she was calling in the bulletin on Eve. So Aryel forwarded Zavcka’s message to her and tried Gaela—who was on with you, I think—and finally she got through to Bal and connected me and Callan and Rhys, and we all got here as fast as we could. Thank goodness Rhys was home today.”
Eli glanced over at the two women. Aryel was talking in even, firm tones; Zavcka, her jaw set and stubborn, was not looking at her. “I imagine Aryel is pointing out that she could just have called police emergency and stayed home.”
Gabriel snorted. “She’d never do that—what if they hadn’t believed her, or hadn’t prioritized it quickly enough?” He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating over the distance, then said, “The way she sees it, once she moved, people would be forced to pay attention.”
Regeneration Page 30
