“No!” she shrieked. “I won’t leave them!”
“Listen to me, damn you!” He caught her, jerked her to a stop. “You said a hovercraft might spook them. We’ve got one; let’s use it, for gods’ sakes! Come on—”
She nodded and turned back without further protest, running toward the cliffs and their waiting craft.
Reede flung himself into the pilot’s seat, barely waiting for her to clear the door before he sealed it. She collapsed into the seat beside him, felt its emergency restraints lock in place around her as the hovercraft lifted precipitously and soared down over the edge of the cliff, skimming the heads of the astounded mers. They looked up, their long, graceful necks stretching almost comically as Reede buzzed the beach. And then, already unnerved by the presence of the sonic, they began to move. She watched the dark rippling mass of their bodies begin to flow toward the edge of the sea like the current of a riptide, as Reede reached the end of the strand and banked sharply, returning for another pass just above their heads. He shouted, a wild cry of elation, as he saw them respond.
Something hit the hovercraft broadside, like an invisible fist. The craft lurched and plunged sickeningly, barely restabilizing before it would have hit the beach; alarms sang.
“They’re firing on us, those bastards!” Reede ordered the hovercraft to climb, taking them up and away from the beach in another stomach-dropping, unexpected change of momentum. Ariele huddled in her seat, held there by acceleration, abruptly seeing nothing anywhere but sky.
“We’ve got to get clear,” Reede said, looking at her now, and she saw the pain in his eyes. “We’re unarmed and unshielded. That was a warnoff; if the Blues hit us again we’re scrapmetal. We’ve done all we can do, most of them will get clear—” And, when she did not answer, “Do you believe me?”
She nodded, closing her eyes; seeing her eyelids blood red against the sun. At last she opened her eyes again, filling them with blue and white. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me.” He looked away, frowning out at the sky. “Shit … This isn’t going to be the end of it for us, either. If they hit us, they got a reading on this craft. They’ll be able to track us back to the city.”
“The hovercraft belongs to my mother,” Ariele said, feeling a slow, cold smile creep over her face. “The Chief Justice gave it to her as a gift.” She looked back at him. “No one knows you came out here with me. No one has to know. You won’t have any trouble. And if the Chief Inspector wants to question me—” she looked ahead again, “she isn’t going to like the answers.”
TIAMAT: Carbuncle
BZ Gundhalinu paced restlessly in the quiet confines of his townhouse sitting room, unable to remain sitting any longer. The music he had called on did not suit his mood, and no amount of attempted meditation seemed to have the slightest effect on his heartbeat or his impatience.
Gods … he thought, feeling the hot ache spreading, deep inside him, as he pushed aside the heavy drapes to look out the window once more. I’m too old to feel like this. Like a lovesick boy, like a character out of the Old Empire romances he had read in his youth. He had never felt this way then; never believed that anyone actually did, that anyone actually counted seconds that seemed hours long, waiting for a knock at the door, the first glimpse of his lover’s face as she arrived in the night for a secret tryst.…
There was a knock at his door, barely audible. He stepped into the hallway, and the security system’s monitor showed him the face he had been waiting to see. He deactivated the system and went to the door, lightfooted; opened it.
She stood there, dressed in the heavy, shapeless clothing of a Summer worker, her hair hidden beneath a scarf, carrying a delivery basket. He stood aside to let her come in, and closed the door behind her—barely in time, as she dropped the basket at her feet and put her arms around him. He laughed in startled pleasure to find she was as eager for this moment as he was. He kissed her long and deeply. “Gods help me,” he murmured, “you were all I could think about, all day.” They had managed to meet this way a dozen times in the months since Mask Night; but still every time seemed like the first time, because the stolen hours they had together were never enough, would never be enough, until they could spend every night together, freely. And he knew that would never happen.
He loosened her shirt, sliding his hands up beneath it, feeling the silken curves of her breasts, the heat that radiated from that contact, suddenly filling her, filling him. Still kissing her, he pressed her back against the wall, feeling the urgent pressure straining against his pants, the sweet yearning of her body arched against his as she unfastened his uniform shirt and began to stroke his skin. “Mother of Us All.” she breathed, against his neck, “I love you.…”
“Moon—” He broke off, as another knock sounded at his door. Moon let go of him, her eyes startled.
“Justice Gundhalinu!” a voice called, muffled but clearly audible beyond the door.
“Capella Goodventure,” Moon said, her surprise deepening.
“Justice Gundhalinu!” The Goodventure elder’s voice reached them again, louder and more demanding. “I know you’re in there.”
“There was another hunt today,” Moon said, her expression turning distant and gray. “Wasn’t there? She’s come about the mers.”
“Yes.” He looked down, away from the grief in her eyes, toward the door.
“I think you should speak to her.”
He nodded, resigned, the burning need inside him suddenly gone to ashes. He refastened his shirt; went to the door and opened it, revealing Capella Goodventure’s startled, angry face. Her disbelief at seeing him face to face would have been laughable, under other circumstances. “Come in,” he said wearily, standing aside.
She pushed her way past him, as if he had tried to bar her way; stopped dead, as she discovered Moon Dawntreader waiting in the hall behind him. The Goodventure elder stared at the Summer Queen, at her clothing; turned back to look at him, at his own disheveled clothes. “You—?” she said softly, shaking her head.
Capella Goodventure hugged her arms against her chest, beneath the loose folds of her cloak, as she moved toward Moon. “I thought I would find him dallying with some foolish, empty-headed market girl. But you, and him— This is why the hunts go on, why nothing we do is enough. You—and him!” Her head jerked in his direction.
“No,” Moon said, swallowing her chagrin. “He is with us, Capella. He wants to save the mers. He is doing all he can for them, just as he has for our people.”
“He controls policy for the Hegemony. He controls what his people here can or cannot do; or so he claims—” Capella Goodventure looked back at him, her eyes like searchlights. “And today not only did they slaughter the Lady’s sacred children, but they also sank the ships of our people who tried to stop it. Three people drowned—one was my own grandchild! Is that how you intended to help us, Justice?”
Moon murmured something under her breath, a prayer or a curse.
“Three people dead?” BZ repeated. “No one gave them orders to do that. They’ll be punished to the full—”
“No!” Capella Goodventure’s voice was shrill with hysteria. “No, the punishment is the Lady’s, by right. It is my duty as Her hand, to deal it out to those who are guilty—” She withdrew her hands from beneath her cloak.
BZ froze as he saw the gleam of metal in both her fists. He threw himself forward, trying to knock her off balance as she lunged at Moon. As he caught her, she swung around, bringing up one of the blades. He felt a sickening pain lance through him as his own momentum drove the blade into his side. He caught her other arm as it flailed wildly at his face; her eyes were blind with frenzy, and her strength was incredible. Moon’s hands locked over the older woman’s wrist, dragging her back away from him. She let go of the knife handle, setting him free; he staggered two steps and fell to his knees, as his body suddenly refused to obey him. He dragged himself up again, as Moon cried out; he saw blood on the other blade, as
the two women struggled against the wall.
“Justice!” Abruptly there was a fourth person in the hallway. He saw a blur of blue uniform, realized it was Kitaro who had somehow appeared there. She pushed past him, her drawn stunner useless in the cramped space. She caught Capella Goodventure from behind with an arm lock and dragged her away from Moon, still screaming, still swinging the knife wildly. “Lady! Get out of here! Out!” Kitaro gasped. “I called for help—”
“BZ—” Moon hesitated, turning back to him, clutching her bloodsoaked sleeve. Her eyes filled with frantic concern.
“I’m all right,” he said roughly. “Go now, before somebody comes.”
She nodded, ashen-faced, tight-lipped. He watched her go out the door, disappearing from his sight. Kitaro turned, glancing at him. “Justice—”
“No!” He lurched forward as Capella Goodventure twisted suddenly, with insane fury, blind to her own pain as she drove the remaining knife into Kitaro’s chest, once, twice. Kitaro screamed, and fell. The Goodventure woman turned back to him, and there was nothing human in her eyes. She started toward him with the knife.
His hands tightened over the slippery hilt protruding from his side; he jerked it free, cursing with agony. He held it ready in his fist, pressed back against the wall.
“Freeze!”
The hall behind him suddenly filled with uniforms, patrolmen answering Kitaro’s summons.
Capella Goodventure stared at them, her eyes wild and unreadable, the knife still in her hand. They had their stunners out, trained on her as they eased into the hallway, surrounding her. “Drop it,” someone said grimly. “Come on, let it go—”
She looked back at Gundhalinu with something like despair, her trembling hands tightening harder and harder around the knife she held, as if it were a precious treasure. And then, suddenly, she drove the blade into her own chest, into her heart, with a wail of anguish that made him shudder. She dropped like a stone to the floor, and lay still.
They were all around him then, supporting him, seeing to his wound, trying to staunch the river of blood that seemed to be welling out of him, as if he contained an endless source of it. He watched it defy them, watched it flow, watched blue figures working over the two motionless bodies that lay at his feet. He heard the rushing of the river in his ears, as his vision slowly became a tapestry of golden static, golden/blackness, until blackness swallowed them all.
* * *
“Gods, how could this happen?”
Jerusha PalaThion glanced up from where she sat at Gundhalinu’s bedside, as Vhanu murmured the question for the third or fourth time since he had entered the hospital room. He turned away restlessly from the bed where Gundhalinu lay, still unconscious.
“He is going to be all right—?” He asked that for the second time, of the medtech who stood studying the displays on the monitor above the bed.
The technician nodded. “He’ll be all right, Commander. He lost a lot of blood, but we put it back. The knife didn’t hit anything critical. In fact, he’s showing signs of increasing brain activity. He should wake up any time now.”
“Thank the gods,” Vhanu said. “How could he have let that woman into his home, armed with knives?” He faced Jerusha at last, finally speaking the doubts she had read in his eyes. “Why didn’t his security system warn him she was armed?”
“He’d just had another caller,” Jerusha said, glancing at BZ’s face, seeing a random muscle twitch in his cheek. “He must have forgotten to reset it.”
Vhanu grunted. “Was it Kitaro?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Looks like it.”
He shook his head again, and muttered a curse. “Gods, what a pointless tragedy.” He swung around, staring at the closed door as if he could see through walls. “What in the name of a thousand ancestors made that woman suddenly go berserk and try to assassinate the Chief Justice?”
Jerusha shrugged. “It probably had something to do with the mer hunts,” she said, carefully noncommittal. “The mers are considered sacred by the Summers, you know.” He glanced at her, frowning, looking for criticism. “Capella Goodventure was an extremely conservative woman,” she finished, keeping her expression neutral. “Even fanatical.”
“These miserable dashtanu,” he muttered. “After all we’ve done for them. Nothing makes any sense here, nothing seems to go right here! What is it about this place—?” He broke off, as Gundhalinu stirred beside her.
She looked back at Gundhalinu’s face, saw his eyes flicker open and stare blindly, as if he had been looking into the sun. He murmured something; she could not make out the words. “BZ—” she said softly, and his head turned toward her. Vhanu crossed the room in three strides, and stopped beside her.
“Jerusha,” BZ whispered, half in surprise, and half in relief. He tried to push himself up, getting nowhere; went limp again, with a spasm of pain. “Moon … is she all right? Is she safe, did she get away?”
Jerusha froze; nodded imperceptibly, before she glanced at Vhanu, trying to carry BZ’s attention with her.
“What did he say?” Vhanu asked sharply. “He said ‘Moon.’”
“No, he didn’t,” she answered.
“Yes he did. He said ‘Moon.’ Is he talking about the Summer Queen?”
“He’s disoriented,” she insisted. “I couldn’t tell what he was saying. Justice—” She put a hand on Gundhalinu’s shoulder, in comfort, in warning. “The Commander is here with me, sir.”
Gundhalinu blinked and grimaced. “You’re Commander now, ma’am,” he whispered, almost inaudible. “No … I mean I am…” He shook his head, barely, and made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Vhanu,” he said, with real recognition this time. “You are.” He smiled; the smile disappeared as quickly as it had formed. “Is she all right?”
“Who?” Vhanu said flatly.
BZ looked up at him, clear-eyed. “Kitaro,” he said. “Is she all right—?”
Vhanu’s face changed. He looked down. “She’s dead, BZ.”
“No…” Gundhalinu shut his eyes; she saw a tremor pass through him. “Oh, no. Oh gods, no.”
“There was nothing they could do for her, Justice,” Jerusha said, as gently as she could; resenting the fact that Vhanu called him by his given name, as a friend would, and would not permit her to do the same. “She died instantly.”
“It was my fault…” he said.
“No.”
“If we hadn’t been—” He broke off.
She glanced at Vhanu again, unable to tell what his expression was.
“May I see him?” a voice asked unexpectedly, from the doorway.
Vhanu turned, startled by the sudden presence of someone else behind him.
The Queen. Jerusha pushed to her feet, staring in surprise.
“Yes … of course, Lady,” Vhanu murmured. He bowed formally; Jerusha rose and did the same, as Moon entered the room.
“I came as soon as I heard,” she said, her attention already abandoning them for the man lying in the bed.
“He just regained consciousness, Lady,” Vhanu said, intersecting her course. “This isn’t the best time for you to speak to him—”
She stopped, glancing at him, and away again. Jerusha noticed that one of her hands was clenched whitely at her side; the other hung loose-fingered and oddly still against the folds of her cloak.
“I’m all right—” BZ’s own voice, thready but resolute, cut off Vhanu’s attempt to stop her. He pushed himself up onto an elbow; Jerusha saw in his eyes what the effort cost him.
“I am so glad to hear it, from your own lips, Justice Gundhalinu,” Moon said softly. She bowed her head, in a gesture of relief, barely concealing the other emotion that reddened her cheeks.
“You know that it was one of your own people who tried to kill the Chief Justice?” Vhanu said. “And who murdered a Police inspector—?”
“Yes.” She lifted her head. “And killed herself, as well.… Words are useless to express my sorrow that such a terrible
thing has happened here.” She looked toward Gundhalinu, turning away from Vhanu; the anguish and helpless longing on her face were suddenly, perfectly clear from where Jerusha sat. “I feel … responsible.” Jerusha watched her one hand tighten again. “Tell me if there is anything I can do to help—”
By the Boatman, Jerusha thought, with a sinking feeling. She was there with him. Kitaro had not been having an affair with him, as she’d let everyone on the force think she was. She’d been covering for him. It was Moon he’d been seeing. Jerusha swore silently. She should have guessed it sooner; she should have known. But she rarely even saw BZ, lately. If she’d still been working for the Queen she would have sensed it—even if she hadn’t been told, she knew the woman too well, after so many years. She would have seen the truth long before now. If only she’d known …
“You can start by keeping your Summers out of our way when we hunt the mers, instead of encouraging them,” Vhanu said, to Moon’s turned back. “You set off dangerous fanatics like that Goodventure woman—”
Moon faced him again. “What ‘set her off,’” she said, her voice hard with pain, “was that your hunters attacked Summer vessels. Three people drowned, including her own grandchild.”
Jerusha stiffened, looking toward Vhanu. Gundhalinu pushed himself up in the bed.
“Where did you hear that, Lady?” Vhanu asked, his eyes suddenly as cold as the icebound peaks of the inland.
“From one of my people,” she said, her own eyes like ice. “Is it true?”
His frown deepened.
“Is it, Vhanu?” Gundhalinu asked, supporting himself on one elbow.
“For gods’ sakes,” Vhanu snapped, looking at the Queen. “This is hardly the time or place to be making such accusations, with the Chief Justice barely recovered from an attack on his life—”
“Vhanu—” Gundhalinu said, angrily. “Is it?”
Vhanu turned back, and Jerusha saw his eyes. “Summers interfered with our hunt, as usual, sir. We warned them off. No casualties were recorded.” He’s lying, she thought. Ye gods, he’s lying.
The Summer Queen Page 88
