The Icefire Trilogy

by Patty Jansen

  Loriane felt like shouting, You selfish liar! but she liked Myra and didn’t want to embarrass her in front of the crowd, or lose sight of her. In a way, they had become family. Besides, little Beido needed fluids and Myra’s milk was drying up.

  “Come on, women, let’s go.” Ruko and Tandor were already walking down the cleared path.

  Myra’s eyes met Loriane’s, apologetic. Loriane shrugged. Not that Myra could help having such a selfish man for a father.

  Dara held out a hand to assist Loriane up. There was thunder on her face.

  “No matter what you’re thinking about us now, in your city-ways, mistress, I did not choose to marry him.”

  “It’s all right, Dara, really.” Loriane cringed with embarrassment.

  Dara grumbled, “No, it is not.”

  Ontane whirled. “I heard that, woman. Can you for once do what they say and stop making me feel stupid?”

  “Yeah?” Dara turned to her husband. Her cheeks were red and her eye the most alive Loriane had seen. “You are stupid. You are an embarrassment to me. You are a coward, a selfish prick and a petty whinger. If this be time for a change, let’s have a change: I will no longer be bullied by you, and I will no longer call you my husband.”

  Ontane looked like someone had slapped him in the face. “Dara, please stop being ridi—”

  “I mean it.”

  “Stop it, you two!” Myra yelled. All around them, people were staring.

  “No.” Dara folder her arms across her chest. “I’ve had enough.”

  “Shut up. You’re making me feel ridiculous.” Myra’s voice cracked.

  Ontane said in a low voice, “Your mother be just angry. She’ll forget this when she calms down.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Dara, dear, please stop—”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Can we just keep walking?” Myra said. “We’re holding everyone up.”

  Ontane gave a glowering look and stomped off. A few women gave Dara victory signs.

  Dara balled her fist. And Loriane felt a pang of jealousy for this woman, who had the courage to do what she herself should have done long ago: tell her lover to fuck off. In a way, she felt the explosion was her fault, because she had provided Tandor with a safe place to stay in the City of Glass.

  They made their way to the front of the crowd, where a broad set of steps led out of the station. A flimsy barrier had been erected, and on the other side Chevakian guards paraded in neat brown uniforms.

  The square outside the building was completely empty. Loriane gaped at the amazing buildings made of stone. There were carved columns and sloping roofs, wide stairs, ornate railings and paved courtyards. Trees grew in little square bits of ground that had been left uncovered, in neat rows.

  They waited.

  Then, from the other side of the platform came a vehicle Chevakians called a truck. It was a big thing, much bigger than any of the farm vehicles they had seen so far, but smaller than the train. The cabin, with window, sat in front of a large barrel, from which rose a chimney belching smoke, and behind the barrel was a covered trailer. Both its metal surface and the cloth cover were dark as the night.

  The vehicle came up to where the refugees were waiting, and stopped. A suited soldier got out and spoke to the soldiers who had been waiting with the refugees. One went and opened the back of the canopy. He beckoned.

  The line of soldiers opened up and the first injured refugees shuffled towards the truck.

  There were two more suited figures in the truck who were helping the refugees climb onto the loading tray.

  When it was the family’s turn, Ontane went up first, and helped Myra, tried to help Dara, but she refused his hand and climbed up herself, and then held out a hand for Loriane.

  As Loriane stepped onto the narrow ladder, a stab went through her belly worse than she had yet felt. She cried out and stumbled back.

  Gloved hands stopped her falling.

  She stood there, clutching her belly, swaying and panting. Oh, by the skylights.

  “What is it? The babe coming?” Myra asked, looking down from the truck.

  Loriane couldn’t reply for the pain. She clamped her teeth to stop yelling out. Was it possible to forget how much this hurt? Two Chevakians in suits picked her up and wrestled her up the ladder. By the time she was in the truck, the pain had abated.

  There were mattresses inside the trailer for the worst injured. Ruko had put Tandor on one of them, and he sat at the edge, again stroking Tandor’s forehead.

  Someone in a suit, a woman by the sound of her voice, guided Loriane to a bench that surrounded the perimeter of the trailer and indicated for her to sit down. Two men shuffled aside, looking at Loriane as if she had the plague.

  There was no room for Ontane, Dara or Myra to sit.

  Soon all the mattresses were taken by wounded.

  A Chevakian pushed up a panel that closed the bottom half of the opening at the back of the trailer.

  The vehicle growled and jumped into motion, which set off another stab to her belly. Loriane grabbed onto the edge of the bench waiting for it to pass. Sweat rolled down her face into her neck.

  By the skylights, she wished that this truck would hurry up.

  Chapter 29

  * * *

  WHEN SADY CAME back to his office, a long line of people was already waiting there. Not just citizens, but senators and city administrators, and—mercy—the doga’s treasurer.

  Sady gestured at the man, and he stepped out of the line to follow Sady into the office.

  As soon as Sady shut the door behind him, the man started, “Proctor, I implore you, before you make any plans, you really need to consult with me about the mo—”

  “No. You need to bring me the missing books. Now.”

  “I’m working on that. We think we know where they are.”

  “Here. In my office. Now.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “Now.” Sady was getting enough of this weaselly man. “Or tell me what has happened to them. If you really know. Which, frankly, I’m beginning to doubt.”

  He man swallowed visibly. “I had hoped you were going to be reasonable about this.”

  “Tell me what is reasonable about this crisis and suddenly having thousands of extra people to feed and no money to do it.”

  “Well,” he said and didn’t meet Sady’s eyes. “It was like this: Destran wanted to check a few things, so we lent him—”

  “You let the financial records leave the building?” That was completely against regulations.

  “Uhm—yeah. It was only for a little while.”

  “Before or after his defeat?”

  “Uhm . . .”

  “Answer the question, or I’ll assume the worst.”

  He said nothing, because it seemed there was nothing he could say to improve the situation: that somehow Destran had managed to get damaging records out of the building after his defeat.

  Sady spoke slowly to control his emotions. “Do you have any idea what corruption and blackmail looks like? Destran wants to cover the mis-management that he’s presided over for the last ten years, so that he cannot be punished for corruption, so that the senators—and I bet they were northern senators—whom he paid in exchange for their support cannot be found out and persecuted. If you care one bit about your country, and care about any of the thousands of sick and injured people out there, bring me back those books, so I can personally find and throttle the people who took money that wasn’t theirs.”

  The man said nothing, just moved his mouth.

  “Don’t sit there like that, go!”

  “Yes, yes,
Proctor.”

  He rose and went to the door.

  “And make sure that with the books, you hand in your letter of resignation.”

  The man nodded, nervously and scuttled from the room. He left the door open, and to Sady’s surprise no one came in.

  Well, what the . . .

  He pushed his chair back from the desk and went to the door, where he was met by circle of stunned faces.

  “Anyone else?”

  Several of the administrators shook their heads. Others were suddenly very busy talking to their neighbours. Fancy that. He had scared complainers away.

  “It’s the han Chevonian blood,” Orsan said, weaving his way through the people in the foyer. Sweat glistened on his face from being inside the helmet. “I think they were in doubt that you had it.”

  That hurt Sady more than he wanted to admit. He didn’t want the job. He was just warming the seat for when Milleus returned.

  “Anything to report?”

  Orsan sighed. “Do you want the bad news or the worse news?”

  “Start with the worst.”

  “The refugees didn’t like the two men who offered to interpret. They were lucky they didn’t get lynched before they made it out of the station. So now we are again interpreter-less and clueless about what made these people come here.”

  “Who were these men?”

  Orsan spread his hands. “I don’t think that anyone checked.”

  “Right, we’re not doing that again. Future applicants will have to identify themselves. Any report on Lady Armaine?”

  “The men went to see her, but were told she wasn’t home.”

  “Oh, that’s rubbish. She likes playing hard-to-get.” He would have to chase the cranky old toad up himself. “What’s the worse news?”

  “The hospital administrator wasn’t keen to send people. He said what if Chevakians need the hospital? I don’t know how many he had to spare. I don’t suspect he has nurses walking around doing nothing in the first place. I guess we have to make do with what he’s willing to share.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “He did eventually agree to send a few people, but it’s nowhere near enough to help them substantially.”

  And that would only add to the anger of the refugees.

  “And—”

  “There is worse news still?”

  “I’m afraid so. Finnisius reports that a large batch of the suits in army storage have deteriorated and no longer offer protection. He wants to know if we have any other stores, or his ability to help will be limited.”

  “Other stores?” It came out as a shout. “He knows what we have, and he already has it.”

  “He knows that. I think he was trying to put it politely.”

  Sady blew out a breath of frustration. “Seriously, Orsan, is this entire country falling to bits?”

  Orsan’s face didn’t betray any emotion. He let a silence lapse, and when it became clear that Sady expected some kind of reply, he said, “That’s up to the politicians to decide, sir. Not my place to comment.”

  “Well, maybe not, but promise me, if you see any sign of anything untoward happening, like people having access to things they shouldn’t have, removing things that aren’t theirs, or being paid for votes, please tell me.”

  “It’s part of the doga guard’s pledge to protect senators current and past. I’m afraid I am not authorised to comment.”

  “But if there is criminal conduct . . .”

  “That is for the doga and the courts to decide. It is my job to make sure no one gets murdered in the process.” He was very closed about this. Sady wondered what prompted this behaviour. Orsan had only come into his service when he became chief meteorologist. Before that, he had worked for the proctor’s office . . . at the time Milleus was deposed, as a young guard maybe? And had, in his enthusiasm, stepped across the line?

  Sady blew out a breath and leaned his head in his hands. A waft of sweat-laced air surrounded him. Mercy, he stank.

  Then, in that defeated and frustrated silence, he heard a sound he’d thought he’d never hear: the clear stroke of a bell. Once, then, after a couple of heartbeats, again, and again. It seemed like all the sounds in the building and in the square below fell quiet but for that eerie clear sound. Ting. Two breaths’ silence. Ting. Two breath’s silence. Ting.

  Sady met Orsan’s eyes. The expression on his face was haunted. “Sady, the whole country is looking at you to help us through this.”

  Sady stared at the clouds scudding across the patch of sky he could see through the window. Right then, he could now have felt any more desperate and alone.

  * * *

  Sady hurried through the corridors of the Scriptorium. Across the mosaic-tiled floor of the tower, up the stairs to the mezzanine gallery, where soft carpet muffled his footsteps and handcrafted bookcases lined the curved outer wall. A student scurried past carrying a pile of books. A few others sat reading on leather-covered chairs.

  While the ringing of the bell had put a stop to normal activity in the streets, it seemed life within these solid stone walls went on as if nothing had happened. Coming in from outside, Sady was still in the suit that the proctor’s guard insisted he wear—although he argued it was overkill—his helmet under his arm. It was warm in here and the suit felt restrictive and hot. He felt like a creature from a different world. Hot, smelly and bone tired.

  “Alius!” Sady knocked on the familiar door that brought back memories of his time as student here. Sadly, he never had the time to pay more than a fleeting visit to this venerable institution these days.

  He heard voices inside. People stopped talking. There were footsteps, and a moment later, the door was opened and Alius appeared in the doorway. He looked tired and harassed. “Proctor.” He looked surprised. “How did I earn this honour?” He kept the door close to his body, and Sady couldn’t see who his visitor was.

  “I presume you’ve heard about the trains,” Sady said.

  “I have indeed.”

  “We have thousands of refugees from the City of Glass, who are contaminated. Finnisius tells me that many of the army’s suits have deteriorated to the point where they no longer offer protection, and the army will be hampered in dealing with this emergency as a result. The southerners are desperate and angry. We need people to keep them under control. We need your medicine. Urgently. When can you have it ready?”

  Alius glanced over his shoulder as if looking into the room, except the door was behind him.

  “Look, is it all right if I come to your office a bit later? I can explain to you where we are at and how long it will take. I’m in a meeting right now, and—”

  “No need to spend much time on explaining. The only explanation I’ll need is when the medicine will be ready.”

  “Yes. Yes, sure. I understand. I will come to your office as soon as possible, and I’ll show you the work we’ve done. I know it’s important and would like to prepare a bit and get all the data out. It’s going well, but . . .” He laughed. “We’re extremely busy and we’re not in any state to receive important visitors or make coherent presentations.”

  Sady’s courage sank. “You’re not ready at all, then.”

  “No, no, proctor, don’t misunderstand my words. We’re very close, but very disorganised at the moment.”

  “I understand. I will expect you later today, then.”

  Alius retreated back to the visitor Sady still hadn’t seen and Sady turned to walk back to the stairs. The door of Alius’ office shut with an audible click.

  Very close, huh? Who was that visitor Alius had been so keen for him not to see?

  Orsan, bearing arms and thus not allowed into the Scriptorium’s
tower, waited in the room provided for that purpose. He was chatting to a guard Sady didn’t recognise and probably belonged to a private family, but he couldn’t see which one. A guard would only wear family colours when stationed at the gate to the family’s estate.

  Orsan re-joined Sady and they left the tower through the ornate columned entrance.

  “Whose guard was that?” Sady asked when they were well out of the building.

  “Young fellow used to work at the doga, but he’s gone private. I don’t know who he works for. I didn’t ask.” Because that was again part of the code of honour, but Sady was beginning to feel that it was this code of honour that was stifling Chevakian politics. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Protect the back of the person next to you, because next time the lions might be after you.

  Mercy, that was the way things had operated in Chevakian politics for a long time, but it seemed to have become much worse under Destran’s rule. He was well-aware of unwritten rules to not stab any other family of power in the back, but he wondered since when that had come to mean cover up for each other’s crimes.

  * * *

  Even this late in the afternoon, the foyer of the proctor’s office was in chaos, with more people than ever lining up to speak to Sady. He bypassed all of them, to increased shouting of see me first, and I’ve waited here all day.

  He turned to Orsan, “We must really do something about organising this circus. If this is the only way the common people can make themselves heard, it’s dire indeed.”

  Past Orsan’s uniformed body, he spotted a boy much too young to have any kind of political interest. He carried a lute. A skinny lad he was, and he was the only one not shouting.

  Sady half-stepped into his office and said to Orsan. “Get me that boy over there.”

  He went inside, sat at his desk and the boy came in, wide-eyed.

  “Sit down,” Sady said.

  “Thank you so much for seeing me, proctor.” He bowed awkwardly.

  “What is your name and how old are you?”

  “I’m Perin, sir, and I’m twelve. My father has broken his leg in a building site and cannot work, sir. The builder says it’s my father’s fault and will not pay. I am really good at playing the lute, so I was wondering if any of the senators, or you . . .” His face turned red. “Have any parties. I can play for you—”