First thing, Lanaya trades her earrings for a new stock of edibles. She hands Little Face a choxbar, and almost before he gets the wrapper off he’s grinning like he’s just been made king of the latch. “Chox!” he chirps, clinging to her shimmering white gown. “Lan-ay-ah chox!”
That freezes me. I save the brat’s life more than once, and let him come along with us, but he learns to say her name, not mine? Lanaya gives me a look that says, see, I told you, but I pretend not to be annoyed. We’ve got more important things to worry about.
“This way,” Lanaya says. “I know exactly the man to see.”
She leads us to one of the larger stalls, where three lovely young women offer a variety of luv-scents. They make their pitch to Ryter, holding out their scented bottles and chanting, “Essence of orchid! Essence of rose! Come on, old man, put it under your nose!” as if they assume he wants to buy luv-scents for the beautiful young proov girl.
Ryter waves them off with a smile while Lanaya gets right down to business. “I must speak with your master,” she says, keeping her voice low. “Is Bender here?”
“Bender is always here,” trills one of the luv-scent girls. She makes a funny, birdlike noise, somewhere between a whistle and a laugh, and the man himself appears from behind the curtains at the back of the stall.
When he sees who has summoned him, Bender’s face lights up. “My dear!” he exclaims. “What a wonderful surprise!”
They say “fat as a rich man” because only the rich can afford enough edibles to make them fat. If it’s true, then Bender must be very rich indeed. He wears the proof of his wealth like some men wear body armor, and he keeps patting his wonderfully plump belly as if to make sure he’s well-protected by his layer of hard-earned blubber. His face is as round as the rest of him, and just as jolly. Everything about Bender looks jolly except his eyes, which are small and bright and watchful. As he carefully looks us over, he fingers the many small gold rings that are woven into his silky black beard.
“I see you have taken a new escort, my dear. Did your teks displease you somehow?”
“Indeed they did,” Lanaya says, offering no further explanation. She beckons to Bender, drawing him closer, which seems to make him more than a little nervous. “I’m interested in trading for probes, Bender,” she whispers huskily. “Can you help me?”
Bender shrinks away as if she’s cut him. “Oh no, my dear! Probing is forbidden in this latch! Merely to possess a probe means instant cancellation. To actually trade for them means even worse.”
“Worse than death?” Lanaya asks curiously.
“Oh indeed, there are many things worse than death, and the Latch Queen knows them all. Forget about probing, I beg you.”
“But surely a proov isn’t bound by the same rules,” Lanaya says, coaxing him. “Surely an exception can be made for me?”
She reaches out as if to stroke the rings woven into Bender’s beard, but he hastily pulls away. “No, my dear, not possible!”
“But you’ve made many such exceptions in the past.”
The trader shakes his head so hard that the rings in his beard chime and all of his many chins wobble. “Not for probes, my dear. Never for probes. Anything else I’ll happily trade, but not that. Gold, silver, gemstones, these I can provide. But not the other.” Bender has been slowly backing up, trying to put distance between himself and the dangerous proov girl, but she won’t let him get away. Lanaya finally hooks her fingers into his beard rings and draws him close. She whispers something in his ear, he nods fearfully, then whispers something back.
Lanaya returns to us with a secret smile. “Come along,” she says, looking very pleased with herself. “It’s not far from here.”
She leads us behind the stalls, into the darkest part of Traderville. To the place where armored thugs guard each shack, and luv-girls beckon from the open windows. You can buy anything in this place, from dice-bones to a human life. My first impulse is to cover Little Face’s eyes, but I know he’s seen worse, like every child on the curb.
Lanaya doesn’t seem to notice all the wickedness and filth. As if somehow it isn’t real to her. Which makes me think that nothing in the world of normals is quite real to her. Maybe that’s why she acts as if nothing can touch her, because she thinks we’re all part of an exciting, entertaining game called Proov Princess Visits the Latch.
Ryter glances at me and shakes his head. He looks worried, if not for himself then for the rest of us. It’s not unusual for people to enter this part of Traderville and never be seen again. I’m about to say something, when Lanaya holds up her hand.
“Be still,” she commands. “We must wait here while the Furies check us out.”
Furies, I’m thinking, what Furies?
And then I see them. Figures in black-hooded capes, creeping out from between the shacks. It’s not until they’re close enough to touch that I notice the skull masks and the black daggers, and by then it’s too late.
IT’S AMAZING HOW Furies can blend into the shadows without making a sound. Their skull masks are the mark of the assassin — that and the black daggers. I’ve heard about Furies, of course, but never seen one. Supposedly they have to be female. Not that you can tell the female part; it could be anybody or anything inside the hooded black capes.
They say Furies are so cunning and stealthy, their victims die without uttering a sound. All I can do is hold tight to Little Face and hope that Lanaya knows what she’s doing.
“Greetings,” she says quietly, as the Furies move silently around her. “We bring offerings to Vida Bleek.”
My heart clenches when she speaks that name. Vida Bleek is boss of the underworld traders and in his own way as powerful as the Latch Queen. He deals in all things stolen or forbidden, and nobody gets the best of him and lives to brag about it. I can tell Ryter has heard of Bleek, too, because his eyes are as big as targa stones. We look at each other but we don’t dare speak, afraid that the wrong word will trigger the Furies.
Lanaya has no such fear. “I’m a child of Eden,” she says, ignoring the daggers that dance beneath her elegant nose. “Tell Bleek I must see him on a matter of great urgency.”
Notice she doesn’t say “please,” not even to dagger-waving assassins. My brain tells me the proov girl is maddeningly stupid to taunt the Furies, but my heart thinks she’s also incredibly brave, braver than I’ll ever be.
“Quickly!” Lanaya demands. “We haven’t got all day!”
That’s it, I’m thinking, and I’m hoping the daggers are sharp and true so we won’t suffer much. And then before I can let out the breath I’ve been holding, the Furies seem to vanish and a small, hairless figure emerges from the darkness.
“Offerings?” the small man asks. “Did I hear the word ‘offerings’? What have you brought me, besides your lives?”
Vida Bleek stands with his tiny arms folded across his chest, looking up at Lanaya with an expression of curiosity. As if he’s discovered a rare gemstone he’d just love to pluck from its setting. The only big thing about him is his eyes, which seem to blaze with intelligence and cunning. Lanaya is at least twice as tall as Bleek, but he doesn’t seem to mind. How big you are doesn’t matter when you have the Furies at your command.
“Whatever it takes,” Lanaya tells him. “That’s what I bring.”
“You’re rich,” he says with a shrug. “But then all proovs are rich. What is it you want, exactly?”
Lanaya taps a finger against her forehead. “Probes,” she says. “Mindprobes.”
Bleek’s teeth are small, too, when he smiles. There’s nothing friendly about the smile, though. It’s a smile that wants to chew you into little bits. You can almost hear his mind whirring as he tries to figure an advantage. Behind him the Furies blend themselves into the darkness, waiting for his command, as silent as eternity.
“Probing has been forbidden in this latch,” he says, as if making idle conversation. “You must know that.”
“Many things are forbidden,” Lanaya says. “Tha
t just makes them more valuable.”
“Not every forbidden thing carries a sentence of death,” Bleek says, rubbing a hand over his hairless head. “Do you know what happened to the last mope who said ‘probe’ to me?”
“I’m not a mope,” Lanaya reminds him. “I’m a child of Eden.”
“Yeah,” goes Bleek, sounding unimpressed. “But what makes you think proovs are invulnerable? If you cut a proov, does she not bleed? Hmmm? Tell you what, child of Eden. We’ll have a sitdown. I’ll do that much for you. Step into my office.”
We follow him into a shack. The only light inside the shack is a single candle that barely pushes the shadows back. I figured a man as powerful as Vida Bleek would live in splendor, but everything is plain and unadorned. The walls are bare. The rug on the floor is worn thin. If Bleek has anything to trade — and he must — he doesn’t keep it here. Then I realize this isn’t really his “office,” it’s just a place of convenience, the nearest shack. He figures we’re not worthy enough to need impressing.
Bleek settles himself on the rug and bids us to do the same. After we sit, several of the Furies glide in, hugging the walls. Once they’ve stopped moving they remain as still as hooded statues. I’m so scared of them, I don’t even want to know what they look like under their skull masks.
“What have we here?” Bleek asks, indicating me and Ryter and Little Face. “Is this your idea of an escort?”
“These are my friends,” Lanaya says, and tells him our names.
“Spaz,” Bleek says, looking directly at me. “I remember that name. You were banned from this latch, were you not? And now you return in the company of an old man, a boy, and a proov. Very strange. What is your explanation?”
I try to shrug as casually as possible, like traveling from latch to latch is no big deal. “I, um, wanted to visit my family unit,” I tell him.
Bleek seems to find my explanation amusing. “Just drop in and say hello?”
“Something like that.”
His small teeth shape themselves into a grin. “Feel free to lie, boy. I often find lies more interesting than the truth. They say more about the liar. And you, old man, what of you?”
Ryter spreads his hands. They tremble a little, but not as much as my own. “One last adventure,” he says. “One last chance to see the world before the lights go out.”
Bleek nods and then turns to Lanaya. “The most interesting lie remains yours,” he tells her. “You pretend an interest in probes and yet I can see at a glance you’ve never experienced one. Therefore you want information about probing for some other purpose. Treachery, no doubt.”
“No,” says Lanaya.
“Silence!”
The room seems to shrink as the Furies draw closer.
Bleek’s eyes blaze, as if he’s been lit from within by the candle. The light is cruel and angry. “You proovs have a weakness — you assume that all normals are ignorant. Do you think a man keeps a position like mine by being stupid? Let me tell you something, my fine young proov: I trade in more than forbidden things. I trade in information. And my information tells me you’re here to please the Latch Queen by betraying the probe runner. Do you deny this?” he asks quietly. “Hmm? Do you?”
Lanaya shakes her head.
“Good,” he says, satisfied. “What you may not know is that for some reason the Latch Queen fears me. She thinks I want to get rid of her and take over the latch myself. She has a point. Why should I pay her tribute, eh? When she does nothing for me, hmm? When my Furies can strike without warning? Tell me, who is feared more, the brutish, noisy Vandals or my silent, cunning assassins. Hmm?” Bleek doesn’t expect an answer. He’s telling us his plans because he’s so pleased with himself, and because he knows it makes us afraid. “Have I shocked you?” he asks. “Didn’t know what you were getting into, did you?”
Lanaya takes a deep breath and says, “May we leave?”
Bleek laughs. It sounds like a series of little shrieks, eek-eek-eek, like he stores up all the pain he inflicts and uses it when he laughs. “Leave,” he says, “but we’re just becoming acquainted!”
“But we still have to find the probe runner,” Lanaya insists.
Bleek shakes his small, deadly head. “You don’t get it, do you? Let me ask you this: Who brings us the probes and the equipment to use them?”
“If I knew that —” Lanaya begins.
“You know nothing! Probes, probes! Who cares about probes? Not the Latch Queen. She doesn’t really want to ban them; she just wants more tribute.”
“But she said —”
“Silence!” the little man roars, his voice as sharp and cold and quick as a chetty blade. “Are you really that stupid, Proov? Don’t you know that you and probes both come from the same place?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Lanaya says, flustered.
“No. All probes come from Eden.”
“I don’t believe it,” says Lanaya.
“No?” says Bleek, who seems pleased by her denial. “Look around. Do you think we possess the technology to develop mindflix? Or brain probes? Or the equipment to make them work? We who beg edibles from the likes of you? We who live in squalor and despair? We who risk our lives to jam needles into our brains so we can pretend to live in Eden until our minds burn out? Hmm? Hmm? Your ignorance is an insult! I don’t care what that wretched Latch Queen says, you’re too stupid to live.”
Bleek makes a small sign with his left hand, and the Furies advance, daggers raised.
“Wait!” cries Ryter.
That’s when the air begins to move. The candle flickers out. Something big is coming, something big enough to make its own wind. My heart beats once and then it washes over us, the earthshaking roar of jetbikes, the scream of attacking Vandals, the dull, ugly explosion of splat guns.
The Furies vanish in an instant, taking Bleek with them. The walls of the shack split open, and the noise of the jetbike engines is so loud I can’t think. Ryter tries to scream something but I can’t hear him. He grabs Little Face and runs through the opening in the walls. Lanaya tugs at me and, when I don’t move, she slaps my face.
That does it. I’m awake now, and following Lanaya, following her shimmering white gown. Around us the world explodes. I bounce off the side of a jetbike, see the silent, screaming face of a Vandal warrior. One of the Furies clings to his back, dagger poised. I don’t know what happens next because I’m running into the night, away from the insane roar of the battle, running, running, running for my life.
TRADERVILLE IS DESERTED. The busy stalls have been emptied and boarded up. All that remains are a few metal storage cans some trader must have dropped in his hurry to get away when the Vandals roared through.
A light rain falls from the dark sky and goes pip! pip! pip! on the hollow cans.
Pip! pip! pip!
I’m standing there like a googan with the rain running down the back of my neck. My insides feel as hollow as those stupid empty cans, like I’m going pip! pip! pip! inside because I was so scared. Too scared to move until the proov girl slapped me. Too scared to help anyone but myself. Too scared to do anything but run. Too scared, even, to think of Bean.
No, that’s a lie. That’s really why I feel so hollow and miserable. I did think of Bean, but I was wishing she’d never sent for me, wishing I’d never come. Blaming her because we’d got ourselves stuck in the middle of a turf battle between the Latch Queen and her rival. Like it’s Bean’s fault I’m a rotten coward.
So I’m standing out in the acid rain, letting the warm itch of it nibble at my skin, and thinking if it rains long enough I’ll dissolve and my problems will be over. Spaz boy melts. Good riddance.
I’m thinking about opening my mouth and seeing if maybe I’ll drown faster, when Ryter comes limping out of the rain. He’s leaning on his walking stick pretty hard, holding himself up, and there’s a lot of hurt in his ancient eyes. He gives me a tired old smile and says, “So, you made it. Good.”
Good for what? I’m thinki
ng. “You’re hurt,” I tell him.
“Just bruised,” he says. “Nothing serious. One of those horrible jetbikes knocked me down. They’ll be the death of me someday, I suppose. But not today.”
“What about the others?”
“Lanaya and the boy have gone to get the takvee,” he says. Then he looks at me, really looks at me, and goes, “What’s wrong, son? Have you been wounded?”
I shake my head and look away.
“Ah,” says Ryter knowingly. “You were scared and ran. So what? We all ran. There were too many of them and not enough of us. What else could we do?”
I shrug.
“This may work in our favor,” Ryter says, trying to cheer me up. “It’s obvious the Latch Queen was just using us to get at Vida Bleek and his assassins. Distract him with us while she attacks. I doubt she really cares about the menace of mindprobes. Or maybe she does, who knows? The point is, right now she’s got her hands full. She’ll need all of her people fighting by her side. So the way is clear.”
I keep staring at the wet ground and go, “Huh?” like a major mope.
“Your family unit,” says Ryter. “Your sister. The Latch Queen can’t spare the men to guard them, not with a battle going on.”
If I hadn’t been feeling so lowdown I’d have thought of that myself. The old man is right. We’re almost there, with nothing to stop us if we hurry. Suddenly I can’t feel the rain. All I can feel is the need to see Bean. Be alive, I’m thinking, please be alive.
I stayed alive for you. Now you stay alive for me.
A takvee is amazingly quiet for a heavily armored vehicle. Lanaya glides it up behind us and the first thing we hear is her voice going, “Come on, quick!” and then, “Lan-ay-a Chox!” as Little Face chimes in. It turns out she’s letting the kid pretend to drive the takvee. He’s bouncing around at the console, giggling and making all sorts of explosive little kid noises. Probably stuff he picked up when the Vandals attacked, and now it’s all part of his pretend game, which is just as well.
The proov girl asks me where my family unit lives, exactly. When I tell her, she programs the takvee and we get underway.
The Last Book in the Universe Page 8
