“How do we get there?” Sam asked as they began walking again. Then as he wondered, intent blazed in his mind. He stumbled with the new knowledge, looking to the end of the street they were on. They should turn left between the next two residences.
“Oh,” he said. A shiver ran through him at the invasion.
Rey chuckled. “Yer’ll get used to it. The Nether likes to be helpful.”
I’m not sure I want this thing in my head. He found his watch again, feeling lightheaded. One breath per tick. No more. He watched the Sureri’s shaggy head in front of him. He was even less human than Majus Cyrysi. How much did the Nether blunt differences between species? If it could translate words, and not just that, but intent and idiom, it was surely doing other things to help the ten species get along with each other. On the one hand, it was a violation. One the other hand, Sam tried to imagine the different countries on Earth co-habiting peacefully with the Sureriaj, or the Kirians, or the Etanela. He didn’t think it would happen.
They walked a few more minutes through close streets made of polished cobblestones, the Nether’s direction guiding Sam’s feet. He would have to stop again, soon. He felt panic rising. Occasionally, a cart or carriage would go past the other way, pulled by a two or four-legged beast. A few looked as if they were carved of wood or metal and then animated in some way. Even more rarely, a motorized cart rumbled by, steam coming from pipes in the top, the clanking of its passage making him wince.
He stopped halfway down a narrow alley, the others around him, and studied a door with Morphonyion Hapt, Dresser etched in the glass. The urging in his head faded away.
Inas opened the door, and they piled in. There was a lively jig piping from a wheezing mechanical contraption in a corner. Sam examined the walls and counter slowly, a smile growing on his face, and calm filling him. This was familiar. Aunt Martha would definitely have wanted to come here. It was almost like being in her workshop.
There was every variety of cloth and fabric, some already made into shirts and pants. Leather jackets and hats hung on mannequins of all shapes and sizes, from ones eight feet tall to a few that only came up to Sam’s waist. Gears and screwshafts showed how the mannequins were adjusted in height.
A movement behind the counter caught his eye and he froze. Bear in a top hat. Then he realized he had seen this species before, often in the little shops that peppered the Imperium.
“Ah, how’re my favorite merchant twins?” the Not-A-Bear-In-A-Top-Hat said. “With some new friends? In need of clothes?” His glance passed over Sam. “Morphonyion Hapt, Dresser, at your service. You can call me Mister Hapt. What may I do for you this fine day?”
“Our friend is in need of a new wardrobe,” Enos volunteered before Sam could speak. “He is a Festuour,” she whispered to Sam. “Many of them are merchants in the Nether. Our family sold him bolts of silk from the Ofir archipelago.”
The words meant little to Sam, but it didn’t matter. He was the most relaxed he had been since arriving in the Nether. He almost expected his aunt to walk in from the next room, and swallowed past a sudden catch in his throat. Instead, Mister Hapt bustled out from behind the counter, taking a monocle from underneath his top hat and screwing it into one bright blue eye. Sam did his best not to goggle. Bear in a top hat with a monocle.
Mister Hapt did not actually look like a bear. His snout was more pronounced, and there were the very intelligent blue eyes looking over Sam. The fur covering his body had a greenish brown hue. He wore nothing but the top hat, monocle, and a belt cinched around his waist, full of pouches with scissors, thread, measuring tape, pins, and other supplies.
The Festuour smelled of cinnamon and sage, with something musty underneath. Large but gentle three-fingered paws touched the fabric of Sam’s shirt. The three digits were spread wide to allow for much dexterity.
“Smoother than a sheared woolrat, though dirty,” Mister Hapt commented on the fabric. “Fearfully simple, I say. Let me show you some styles.”
He led Sam off to a corner of the shop to demonstrate the stretch and feel of a section of blue fabric with a sequence of black stitching running through it. Sam could tell from the care the alien gave the cloth that he would be here a while. Fine with me. His aunt had friends like Mister Hapt, and Sam had joined in their conversations every once in a while. While sewing, he could follow a pattern and know it would come out as he expected. He glanced over his shoulder. Enos gave him a raised eyebrow and a shooing motion with one hand. Inas was fingering a leather hat, comparing it with another style. Rey stared hard at nothing in particular, his expression drooping. Sam gave over to Mister Hapt’s ministrations.
A bit over one lightening—or maybe darkening, as it was after noon—later, Sam emerged from the shop into the cramped alley, wearing a new set of clothes, with a lighter purse, Mister Hapt’s card, and a promise for the rest of his wardrobe to be delivered to Majus Cyrysi’s apartment in the House of Communication.
Sam brushed a speck of dust from his new green vest, layered over a cream undershirt. The vest had lines of subtle yellow texturing he had to squint to even see, and a special pocket just for his watch. All were cinched together with a new belt, intricate, yet still easy to put on. His baggy cloth pants had hefty pockets in the hips, and were tucked into brown leather boots. They pinched a little, but he was sure he’d break them in soon. The smells of leather and cloth reminded him of Aunt Martha’s shop, but subtly different. Soothing.
“Much better,” Enos said as they made their way back to the main street. She stopped him a moment to re-arrange the collar of his shirt, her hand sliding off down his arm. Sam’s heart sped, but in a good way this time. He smiled back. Even the crowds can’t break this mood.
“I told you he would tidy up nicely,” Inas told his sister. He took one of Sam’s vest sleeves, pulling the shirt underneath out a little farther. “There.” Sam grinned, watching the twins fight over him.
He pulled them close on impulse, and they didn’t resist. Is this real? “Thank you.”
“If I blabber on about how nice ye look, will ye nae stop in any more clothes shops?” Rey pleaded. “I’ve had me fill for a month. Reminds me o’ me second father’s mam. Couldnae pry her out her wardrobe wi’ an iron bar.”
Sam joined the twins’ laughter, then stretched his shoulders. I feel lighter. The anxiety was a permanent presence in the back of his mind, but the Nether felt a little more familiar, a little safer. He settled his new shirt. His clothes were more like the others they passed, with the same sort of fine detailing, and he realized how much he had been other before now. Inas and Enos’ silky shirts had small trails of blue trim, and even Rey’s plain leather jacket and thick denim pants had patterned indentations.
Aunt Martha would have loved to see the clothes these aliens wore, and Sam swiped a hand under his eye. He would find his way back home eventually, but for now, he fit in.
CHAPTER TEN
Lines Drawn in Secret
-A number of animals have migrated to the Nether along with the ten species. They brought domesticated animals, but also scavengers, insects, prey, and predators, gathered from every world in the Great Assembly. Ecologists speculate the Nether was barren when it was first discovered, and new species always look to fill out niches in the ecological web.
From “The Flora and Fauna of the Nether”
Origon winced as Rilan slammed his apartment door shut behind them. He didn’t need the Nether to tell she was furious with him. He remembered how she used to ask for his opinion, to depend on his knowledge of the homeworlds back when she was first made a majus. Now she commanded, as often as not. He missed when they used to travel together, to be together.
“A lightening and a half devoted to arguing about your voids, Ori. This session was supposed to be about the Sathssn wishing to secede. The Council gave you direct instructions not to bring the subject up!”
“Would that have made them any less likely to be seceding?” Origon
countered. His crest fluttered up in annoyance and hurt, and he didn’t bother to flatten it. Just because she was on the Council, she thought she knew everything. He saw the political undercurrents as well as she did. “As it is, they will have to think about their position carefully before they are maintaining their petition.”
Rilan snorted. “Don’t even try to tell me that was your aim. It was a far second, if that.”
“They did not secede,” Origon insisted.
“No, the Most Traditional Servants didn’t secede, despite everyone’s best efforts to the contrary.” Rilan sighed. “The Great Assembly is the shakiest I’ve seen in cycles, probably since they debated entry for the Lobhl, though that was before my time. To hear Bofan tell it, there was nearly a civil war.”
Origon waved a hand to shoo away the off-topic comment. “I do not remember it being so dramatic, but it was more than fifty cycles ago—I was only an apprentice at the time.”
“Who are the Lobhl?” came a voice. His new apprentice poked his head around the door to the next room. As he entered, Origon saw he had gotten new clothes, thank the ancestors. Rilan’s apprentice, a stocky Methiemum, and a Sureri followed him.
“The Lobhl are the latest race to join the Great Assembly,” Rilan told the young man. “They required some adjustments to the Assembly chambers.”
“I was surprised at how many of the Methiemum were agreeing with my assessment of the Drains,” Origon said, trying to steer the conversation back to relevant territory. Sam looked at him, his mouth quirking. The Nether told him it was annoyance. Not his fault if the boy didn’t have topfeathers to signal his intentions. At least he was calm, in the apartment. He’d shown a lot of courage, coming even this far from the shivering wreck he’d found in the alley.
“Of course they did,” Rilan said. “They’ve heard gossip of the space flight. It’s still not enough to give your voids more attention than the Aridori.”
“Drains,” Origon corrected. He cocked his head at the apprentices. There was something going on in the group. The three young Methiemum were speaking in low voices, and Sam had his hands on the young woman’s shoulder, pushing her to the front with words of encouragement.
“Enos and Inas have information for you,” Sam said. “It might help me find Earth again.”
Enos looked down, hands clasped. Sam nudged the other Methiemum male, who pursed his lips, then took in a breath and pushed his black hair behind one ear.
“My sister and I have seen what you call a Drain.”
Origon felt his crest expand in shock. He was across his living room in a second. “Where? When? Can you be taking me there?” He barely kept from gripping the young man’s shirt to get him to talk.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rilan said from behind him. “That means this is more than just Ori’s ravings.”
“I could have brought this to the Assembly today.” Origon threw a glare backwards. She needn’t be so harsh. His thoughts raced. When was the next session?
“We did not know the issue was of such import,” the young woman answered. Her voice was tentative, wavering. “It is an emotional matter for my brother and me.”
“How is the Drain emotional? Dangerous, yes. Needing to be studied, yes.” He looked back and forth between the two. If they had been Kirian children their crests at least would give something away. Maybe if he shook them he would get more out of them. Why didn’t anyone react with the proper amount of concern?
“We lost our family—” the young man—the brother evidently—broke off with a choking sound. Origon cocked his head again. Regrettable, yes, but how did this tie into the Drains? He needed more information.
“They lost their whole family to the Drain, Majus Cyrysi,” Sam said. He sounded accusing. The Sureri in back patted the brother on the shoulder.
“Oh, I see.” That would make it hard for them to express what happened. Origon thought about how to rephrase so it would cause them less grief to answer. Kirians were much more philosophical about death than Methiemum. Rilan brushed past him, almost knocking him aside.
“Just ignore him,” she said, catching Enos’ shoulders. “I am so sorry. I can help you—both of you. If you want any counseling, or if I can do anything with the Symphony to help you through—” Rilan raised a hand, offering, and white and olive green sparks swirled around it.
“No.” Enos backed up quickly, bumping into the doorway with a grunt. “I—we will work through it on our own.” Her brother had backed up too, crowding the young Sureri. Sam looked from the two to Rilan, confused. Origon shook his head. Rilan was one of the best at ferreting out what caused mental strife. She’d take his head off if he said it directly, but he thought she might be too reliant on how the House of Healing could change mental activity.
“Then if you are recovered,” he said, “could you tell me where the Drain was occurring?” He tried to keep his words calm, his crest down. “The more exact the location the better.”
“I—I do not—” Enos looked as if she might burst into tears, and Origon frowned. Time was wasting.
“It happened halfway between the towns of TaiRapa and ChinRan, in the Prishna district,” Her brother started, “I was the one who—”
“Good,” Origon cut him off, “I could make a portal to ChinRan—tonight, if you are ready.” He looked around the room. No one else seemed to realize how important this was. He had fled as the last Drain was forming, with no way to get back to it. This was a chance for him to study the abominations.
“The Drain is no longer there,” Enos told him, her face flushing. Anger, the Nether told him.
“How are you knowing this?” Another one lost? He could feel his crest spiking in alarm. Would he never get to research an ongoing Drain?
“My brother’s mentor, Caroom, took us there two days after it happened. We wished to find out what happened to our family.” She shivered, her shoulders folding in.
“And?” Origon peered down intently at Enos. His nails dug into his palms.
“There was nothing left but pieces of wood and half of a carriage.” Inas said. He took in a deep breath. “Our family was gone, destroyed by that thing.”
“No residue? Nothing like a yellowing skin?” Origon prodded. Surely the Drain would leave something behind. It could not simply disappear.
“There was a perfectly spherical crater in the ground, wider than one of the columns here. It erased my entire family from existence.” Enos wiped at her eyes.
“Now stop goin’ on about it,” the young Sureri told him. “Can yer nae see they’re all bodged up about it?”
Origon ignored the interruption. Methiemum emotions would have to wait. Was there anything else the two could tell him? Probably not. “I must go,” he told them, and turned to his bedroom. He had a bag under the bed for just such an emergency.
Rilan caught him by the arm. “Later, Ori,” she said. “It will still be gone tomorrow, and the day after.” She tilted her head to the sibling Methiemum, who were both teary-eyed. Origon opened his mouth to argue and Rilan raised her eyebrows at him. “Later.”
He didn’t push. Rilan understood Methiemum better, naturally, and if she thought it was important, then he would wait. Besides, she could have the Council bar him from studying this at all. He didn’t think it likely, but with the panic over Aridori sightings so high, anything was possible. “It must be before the next time the full Assembly is meeting,” he insisted. Waiting galled him. “A few days before. I will be needing time to analyze any deposits I find.” He had work to do, had to get ready.
“The next session is a ten-day away.” Rilan answered. “You can let them rest a couple before dragging them off to where their parents died.”
“Then so it must be.” Origon pointed a finger at her. He felt his crest rise, though he tried to keep it flat. “Only a couple of days.”
* * *
The next few days passed quickly for Sam. He clung to his new friends, though
his mind screamed they would get tired of him. However he agonized, they seemed to enjoy having him around. It made the Nether into something welcome, a place he belonged. The open grounds of the Spire, and the massive column in the middle still set his heart racing, but as he tentatively made more trips into the Imperium, he found the close walls, of so many types and materials, almost exciting. Every trip presented new sights to see, and if it was too much, then Enos would rub his shoulder, or Inas would put an arm around him, and the resounding panic inside would fade. Even his new clothes, though they would have stood out back on Earth, were plain compared to some outfits he saw. They were normal.
They tried out an Etanela seafood place the second day. Sam had tried to give the pouch of money back to Majus Cyrysi, but the majus waved him off, telling him it to keep it if it would help him get used to the Nether quicker, so Sam treated his friends. The restaurant was near a festival hall and closer to High Imperium, so Sam only had to bring out his watch a few times. He explained to Rey how it came from his grandfather, showing off the engraving around the face. He knew the wavy crisscrossing lines by heart, tracing them so many times with his fingers. Enos, with a practiced merchant’s eye, approved of the manufacture, the timing mechanism, and even the silver of the casing.
The day after that, they went back to Mushroom and Spice. Sam was eager to try the combinations he hadn’t gotten to the first time, as well as some of the spicier mushroom stems Inas liked. By unspoken agreement, he didn’t mention Earth, or Aunt Martha, and the twins didn’t bring up their family. Rey talked about whatever came into his head, but most of the time he was complaining about the crowds, the heat, or one of the letters his first father had sent him, asking when he would be getting back to “civilization.”
“Eyah, he’s a specist, but most o’ the old-timers are. First Father’s getting on a bit compared to Mother and Second Father.” Rey stood and stretched as they finished their meal. Inas shook his head, helping Sam pile the bowls in the middle of the table. Sam’s hand brushed Inas’ ever-warm skin, and his dark-haired friend gave Sam a one-sided smile. He didn’t pull back. Sam gently brushed fingers down Inas’ knuckles. He imagined his hand on Inas’ cheek, pulling his head in closer—
The Seeds of Dissolution Page 13
