by Patty Jansen
“You play on the street sometimes?”
“I do, sir, but not today. I’ve been waiting here.”
“All day? To play the lute?”
The boy nodded, his expression eager. “Thanks so much for seeing me, sir.”
“I’ll give you a job, and it’s an important one.” Sady had to stop speaking to stifle upwelling emotion. This boy, and children like him, looked to the proctor to save the country. Many of the people outside his door expected the same. Much as he felt without a clue of what to do, he could not fail these people. He could not wait for Milleus, who might never come. The people of Tiverius looked to him, Sadorius han Chevonian, to guide them.
He cleared his throat. “Listen. In the guard room of the tower of the Scriptorium is a guard waiting for his master. I want you to wait outside the building, in a place where this guard won’t take any notice of notice you, and tell me who leaves the building with him. You think you can do that?”
The lad’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I can.” He half-rose. His eyes shone. “Does that make me a spy?”
Ouch. The boy was probably too young to be handed this responsibility. “No. And I want you to be extremely careful. Just go and play somewhere like you would normally do. Watch. Don’t talk to anyone.”
“I won’t. Thank you so much. I will do my very, very best.” The boy clutched his lute.
“And, Perin, did you hear the ringing of the bell?”
“Yeah, I did, but nothing’s happened, has it?”
“You can’t see sonorics. If you’re outside, you might want to wear a suit.”
“We have no money for a suit, sir.”
“Being inside a building will give you some protection. Find a covered courtyard or a hall to keep watch.”
The lad’s eyes went wide. “I know just the place, sir. The music sounds great in there, too.”
“Good. Then go, before the man has left.”
The boy grabbed his instrument and scurried out the door.
Sady groaned. Mercy. He couldn’t expect Tiverians to have suits. There was no money to give everyone suits, and besides, producing them for the entire population would take too long.
And meanwhile, the bell rang every hour, and the people of the city had questions, and the southerners had questions but no one could understand them.
He hoped by all that was dear to him that Alius would turn up with the medicine soon.
Chapter 30
* * *
THE TRUCK WAS moving much too slowly, and Loriane’s pains were fast getting worse.
She let Myra pull her up into a sitting position, leaning against the outside of the truck. The bench was hard and too narrow, so that she hung on with the hard edge of the metal biting into backside, because her stomach got into the way of her sitting, and there was not enough room for her to spread her legs and lean forward. Loriane’s neighbours were both men casting her nervous looks. Loriane swore they would feel the sheen of sweat over her skin each time they bumped into her, which was a lot. There was just no room. Myra stood wedged between the mats on the truck bed floor and those well enough to sit on the benches. She hung onto the metal frame over Loriane’s head and tried not to step on Tandor, who lay on the mattress at Loriane’s feet.
Loriane dug into her thighs when the pains came. It hurt so much that she didn’t know what happened down there. She couldn’t move and couldn’t see through the forest of legs and knees. For all she knew, she’d already peed all over the floor.
Three agonising pains later, the truck stopped. In her state, her vision blurred by sweat that was running into her eyes, Loriane couldn’t see much beyond the standing passengers than a barren field. There were some trees and a fence.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, her voice hoarse. She wanted out of this damn truck.
“I don’t know,” Myra said. She was patting little Beido on the backside, but he was squirming and muttering in the sling. “He’s hungry.” And of course she couldn’t feed him like this, standing up in a moving truck. That was if she could feed him at all. More often, Loriane had taken him, but she couldn’t possibly do that now—
The pain returned. She clutched onto the edge of the bench and stared at her knees, trying to control her breathing, and trying not to make any sound. Sweat rolled between her breasts.
When it passed, the truck still hadn’t moved, and two Chevakians in their weird suits stood at the back.
“It seems we’ve arrived wherever we were going,” said someone near the back of the truck.
“Can you see anything?” asked another man.
“There’s tents,” the first man said. “And there’s Chevakians in suits.”
“Hey you,” someone else shouted at the Chevakians. “We want to get out.”
A Chevakian said something that sounded like a muffled order.
The next moment, the engine let out a huge hiss and the truck jolted into motion again. Loriane could see glimpses of white tents before another pain overwhelmed her. The child wormed around inside her, a sharp bump tracking across her stomach. It felt like a knife cut her there. By the skylights, what was this thing?
They stopped again, and now a Chevakian came and let down the back panel of the truck. He spoke and pointed, and the first people climbed down. More suited Chevakians waited there, and they led the passengers away. Soon they ran out of people who could climb unassisted, or who would leave their loved ones. The Chevakians came into the truck and handed people down to a couple of others, who carried them away.
Ruko would not let them touch Tandor, and one icy look from those hollow eyes was enough to make the Chevakians back off. He put Tandor down near the edge of the trailer bed, jumped off and heaved Tandor onto his shoulder. The Chevakians stepped back when he passed.
What if . . . Loriane got a strange idea. What if Ruko didn’t try to protect Tandor, but was keeping him in his dream-like state?
She called out, “Myra!”
But Myra was at that moment being led away by the Chevakians.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Myra, we need to get Ruko away from Tandor. Maybe he’ll wake up then.”
“What?”
Two Chevakians lifted Loriane up. The movement set off another pain. She dug her fingers into the strange texture of their suits, feeling the arms of the people within. Every bump lanced through her belly and back like a knife. She fought not to scream.
They handed her down to two other people.
Outside the truck was a grassy field with tents in neat rows. There was a broad zone without tents and then a fence. Behind the fence, a forest. The field sloped down towards the city where she could see the roof of the buildings poke through the haze.
All the truck’s passengers were being taken into a large tent.
There were benches and mats lined up inside, where other suited people walked around and attended the sick. At the far end was a partition screened off with a curtain.
The Chevakians put Loriane down on one of the benches, in between Myra and Dara. Ontane sat on the other side of Myra, trying to make the point that he was not looking at his wife, but glancing from the corner of his eyes anyway.
A Chevakian was going through the room, examining the wounded one by one. Loriane caught a glimpse through the helmet’s visor, and thought that this person was a woman. She held a slate with a piece of paper, and wrote something on the slate every now and then. When she had finished with someone, this person was led or carried to the screened area out the back.
People only spoke in soft voices. Sounds of trucks and hissing steam came in from outside the tent.
When the suited woman approached Tandor, Ruko rose and placed himself in f
ront of his master. He was pale—Loriane did not recall seeing him eat anything—but he towered over her. She stepped back, clutching the slate to her chest. She called out something to another Chevakian in the tent.
“See?” Loriane said to Myra next to her. “There is no reason that Tandor should be mute like this. I think it’s because Ruko is keeping him that way and he needs to be close to do it.”
“Maybe, but who can scare Ruko?”
Loriane didn’t reply, because another pain was building. She grabbed the edge of the bench and squeezed it as hard as she could, aware that a lot of people were watching her. She wanted to move around and see if she could find somewhere comfortable where Myra could assist her with the birth. She also really needed to pee.
She wished this woman with the slate would hurry up, but she was still a couple of patients away from her.
There was a commotion at the tent’s entrance and a couple of Chevakians came in. They spoke to one already in the tent, who pointed at Tandor. The newcomers marched between the mats. Loriane noticed belts and weapons when they passed her. They stopped at Tandor’s mat. Ruko faced them, his arms crossed over his chest. One of the Chevakians spoke; Ruko didn’t react at all. The Chevakians waited, but after nothing happened, two of them went to either side of Tandor’s mat. One grabbed the bottom corners, the other the top two corners, and they lifted the mat.
At that moment, Ruko whirled. With a roar that sounded like it came from a wild animal, he swung at the Chevakians, hitting one in the head with his elbow. The man dropped the mattress. Tandor fell. The Chevakian tumbled on top of him, while the other Chevakian had pulled a weapon. There was a huge bang. People screamed, and whoever could move, scrambled away.
“Quick, get Tandor,” Loriane called to Myra. She tried to get to her feet, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate.
Ontane yelled, “Don’t be stupid, Myra.” But Myra was already pulling Tandor away.
Dara got up to help her.
Ruko had fallen, and all Chevakians were now struggling to hold him down and tie him up.
“He been shot,” Ontane said, his eyes wide. “And he jus’ keep on living.”
“You can’t kill a servitor unless you kill the master,” a rasping voice said.
“Tandor!”
He looked terrible, shiny new skin stretched taut over his face and half his head, but his eyes were alive.
“Loriane . . .” He panted. “Loriane, have I ever told you how much I love you?”
“I sure as hell don’t love you.” All her anger rose to the surface. If only she could get off the chair, she’d go and wring his neck. All the problems in her life were because of Tandor.
“Loriane, please . . .”
“No, Tandor, the game is over. What did you do to me? Where is Isandor?”
“It’s all wrong,” he said. “Ruko, my mother . . . watch them. They’ll want the child.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Protect this hideous creature? Have you ever thought what it would do to me, carrying a child like that? You betrayed me, Tandor. I hate you, and I’ll always hate you. When this child is born . . .” Another pain was building. “When it’s born, I’ll kill it.”
“No, listen . . .”
“I hate you.” She panted.
“Loriane, you are my princess, the only one I’ve ever loved.”
“I don’t love you. I fucking hate you!” The wave of pain built and built. She screamed at him. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!”
“Shut up.” He grabbed her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. “Don’t draw attention to us.”
She struggled. “I hate you!”
“Behave yourself.” He slapped her in the face.
She spat at him. Tangled her hand into his remaining hair and pulled. “I hate you!”
He slapped her again, harder this time.
Loriane spat, and screamed, and howled with the pain that felt like she was being torn apart.
Two of the Chevakians came and lifted him under his arms. Tandor struggled, and yelled at them in Chevakian, but they picked him up and carried him out the back. His screams became progressively weaker. Ruko still stood, bound and gagged, in the corner. His eyes shone. As if in slow motion, he ripped apart his bonds, tore off the gag. Two remaining Chevakians rushed to tie him back up, but he mowed them aside, and ran for the exit. The Chevakians ran after him, and their shouts faded, too.
The pain ebbed away. Loriane slumped onto the bench and sat in dazed silence.
Myra said, “Well, that worked. Tandor is talking again. I’m not sure if abusing him was so smart. I thought you needed him to get a place to stay in Tiverius.”
Loriane felt like saying. You don’t know what pain like that is like, except Myra did know, very well. Whatever this child was, it was just another birth, and nine previous births really did not make it any easier. You could have all the experience in the world, but whenever the next time came, it was just as painful, as scary, as tiring, and just as much sheer physical, sweaty hard work as the previous one. She didn’t know why she had ever allowed herself to forget that.
The Chevakians came for her next.
They carried her out the back entrance into a second tent, this one not as busy, with a series of cloth-walled rooms on one side. Going past the entrance of one, she got a glimpse of a child being washed by a Chevakian in a suit. The cubicle where the Chevakians brought her had an examination table and a chair. There was also a Chevakian woman in a suit. She indicated for Loriane to undress and get onto the examination table. But Loriane couldn’t walk, so she had to call for someone to help Loriane up and assist her. Cold suited fingers undid the buttons on her dress.
“Sorry, is there anywhere I can piss?” Loriane asked
The nurse shrugged and pulled Loriane’s dress over her head, eyes widening at the dreadful red marks that cris-crossed her belly. Even her thighs were bruised now.
She made Loriane lie down on the table and proceeded to prod her belly. Loriane clamped her jaws. Hurry up, hurry up. By the skylights, if this lasted any longer . . . Then the nurse pushed Loriane’s legs apart and slid a cold gloved hand inside her. A stab of pain made her gasp. Warm fluid dribbled onto the table.
The nurse called out.
I told you so, seacow.
Another woman in protective clothing rushed into the cubicle. The two of them dragged Loriane into a sitting position on the table. One tried to shove a metal bowl under her, but it was much too late. A pain built and Loriane lost all sensation. It was a bad one, and she closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly. The cloth under her grew sopping wet. Drops plinked onto the floor.
When she opened her eyes, both Chevakians were gaping at the table.
Loriane looked. Her piss was nearly black.
What was this about? What was going on inside her body?
She yelled, “Tandor!”
She stumbled off the table, out of the cubicle, naked as she was, the Chevakian nurses yelling behind her.
But then a pain started building, stronger than before. She couldn’t walk, couldn’t move. Purple spots danced in her vision.
A number of white-suited Chevakians caught up with her, dragged her back into the cubicle and one of them directed a stream of hot water at her, while another held her from behind. One rubbed a sharp-smelling substance all over her that made her skin burn. Then they hosed it off. Pains lanced through he like hot knives.
Loriane struggled. “Let me go! Let me go! I’ll kill this thing as soon as it’s born!” She could feel the pressure building. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before.
“Tandor, I hate you. I FUCKING HATE YOU!” And then the building pain exploded into agony.
&
nbsp; Somewhere in the middle of all that, the nurses finished hosing her down and lifted her. Like some sort of out-of-body experience, she was aware of people running into the tent, looking at her. She was aware of being carried. She was aware of the tent flap opening and a couple of important-looking people coming in.
The Chevakians were rubbing her dry. The pain subsided, but the pressure grew worse. And the Chevakians were trying to put some sort of night gown on her. She hit at them.
“Let me go.” She was going to give birth right here.
More Chevakians were still coming in, and held her arms behind her back so that she couldn’t move and this stupid woman was trying to put this stupid garment on her. She trembled. Drops of fluid trickled down her legs. The nightgown went over her head.
The Chevakian nurses—now without suits—were talking to each other in calm voices. They lifted her onto the examination table.
Two nurses held her motionless while a third stuck a needle in her arm. There was a thin hose attached to it and attached to that, a fluid-filled balloon.
“What are you doing to me? Leave me alone!”
One nurse spoke in harsh Chevakian. She tapped a few times against the balloon and turned away.
“Hey, where are you going?” They were still holding her. Another pain was building and she really wanted to get off this table.
But the nurse paid her no attention. The pain built and built. It wasn’t just pain anymore. She could almost feel the child’s head inside her. If this kept up, she was going to embarrass herself and give birth on this stupid table. Very soon.
Help me!
The Chevakian woman put a blanket over her.
Help me!
A wave of dizziness came over her.
The roof of the tent twirled and circled. Oh, by the skylights! She closed her eyes. And then she knew no more.
