Reens took off his hood and shut the door behind Fache. He approached the assassin in the other bed without a glance in my direction. "Hello, Melanie. You killed a few of my friends last night."
The woman tensed, ready to attack, but Reens made no effort to move closer. Instead, he grabbed the bag of fluid that was feeding her and injected a blue liquid.
She struggled to grab the tubes before the blue could reach her veins, but as she bent her cuffed hand round the tube to pull it loose, Reens grabbed it and pulled it straight again. His other hand round her neck, he lent in and whispered, "You're not going to have a very good time from now on."
The metal cuffs clashed against the sides of the bed as she tried to reach him, but he was stronger, and she was caged by metal. As the blue dye reached her, her eyes rose, and the lids fell over them. Her neck spasmed briefly and she was still.
"Did you kill her?"
Reens shook his head, looking at me for the first time since he entered the room. "She's asleep."
I nodded. "Why don't you kill her?"
Reens shrugged. "I underestimated you, Nidess. Figuel was a coward, so it followed that he wouldn't risk one of his good detectives on a case with such high stakes, but I've looked you up. In any other nation the evidence you presented at that Keeson woman's case would have got her off. You're relentless and you stick by people. A man has use for friends like that, but if you aren't careful you'll be fertilizing the Gargantua within the week."
The swamp as big as a nation already held an army of dead men. Being an enemy of the SP was like being terminally ill. Death was close, it was only the precise timing that was uncertain. "What can I do?"
"Solve the case. You do that, and most of your problems will go away. I might even be able to get you into the SP."
I didn't trust him for an instant. They were all game players in the SP, manipulating to suit their ends. "What happened to Sina?"
"Dead. No one knew how many friends Vins and Figuel had. Bodies started dropping like the agency was full of nioxin gas. The SP is weaker now than it's been since Clazran wiped out all the men loyal to Granian when he came to power, and the factions have never been so polarized. If you solve the case soon, I can get you in."
"And why would you do that?" I sounded more skeptical than I intended.
"Everyone needs allies. I'm not asking you to marry me."
I met his sarcasm with a nod. "I'll solve the case, but I need time."
His face darkened. "I'm going to give you the same advice I gave Dr. Fache. Solve the case as fast as you can, and you'll be better for it. There are things about Kenrey they are not even telling me, and no one is appreciating us poking about his past looking for the killer. I know you told Fache about the girls, and I covered for you, but do it again and you won't be so lucky. You, Fache, and the Commissioner; no one else can know."
I said nothing. If he knew I told Fache, then he could already destroy me. The fact that I was still alive despite breaking the official secrets act testified to his intent.
"I don't care if it's you or me, Nidess, that solves this crime, but one of us better do it soon." With that, he turned and walked back past the sleeping assassin, disappearing like a shadow.
I walked around making stars with my hands, curling my toes against the cold floor. I needed to think about Rake.
He must have known exactly what would happen to him when he killed Welker. It was an act of self-sacrifice as well as vengeance, but at terminus it accomplished nothing. Clazran would replace Welker with someone else, a bit better or worse, and Rake would spend the rest of his life in Sytheria if he avoided Blay Square. There was now nothing I could do to help him. Perhaps I had some influence now, but not enough to help a man who crossed Clazran.
Fache returned with two jaffees and enough packets of cookies, chocolates, and sweets to cover the bed. He insisted on knocking polystyrene cups to the success of our partnership, though in my opinion it was more of a mutual benefit by coincidence, but it gained me nothing to correct him.
The volume of sugar I ate before a nurse brought in my hospital meal was enough to send a man into a diabetic coma, though still healthier than the igueenie pasta booze combo of the last few weeks.
After I'd finished, and my mouth was dry from all the sweets, the reappearance of the doctor and a nurse carrying a set of clothes indicated my taxi was here. I dressed, shook Fache's hand, nodded to the nurse, and went to meet it vibrating with adrenaline.
Chapter 9
I'd never traveled by JC before. It was basically a large slider with another slider sized engine on the back, but only the super-rich ever owned them. Sliders and windows together could take anyone anywhere in Cos, barring Cronos, Sytheria or a bunch of other places no one ever wanted to go, in a matter of hours. It was difficult to think of a situation where the additional time saved by owning a JC was worth the cost. But this only made them more popular amongst those who could afford them. JC's were the ultimate demonstration of affluence – with the exception of living in a palace the size of a small city.
The man leaning on the vehicle was dressed all in white, a daft color even for a day trip to The Kaerosh, but there was not a drop of mud on him. Other than one earring on the left side, a fad which came and went in The Kaerosh, he looked like a Guardian of The Sodalis. This was the chauffeur, a relic from ages past when men were needed to drive vehicles, but now they were just one more outlet for people with too much money.
"Mr. Nidess," he said, holding open the door.
I was immediately faced by another man sitting on one side of a rectangle of leather sofas. As the door shut behind me, a pocket at the base inflated until it formed a seat, completing the shape. He lent forward and offered his hand. "Mr. Nidess, I am Ezius Pollo, if there is anything you need throughout the day you ask me, and if it is within my power you shall have it." His voice was oddly nasal, like he was speaking through a long tube. "And here are my contact details if you need me while I'm not around."
"Very gracious," I said, feeling the impulse to use better words than normal as my tablet accepted his information.
Pollo nodded. He looked as I imagined a man who'd spent a long time in Clazran's service might look. The skin under his eyes was dark and his cheeks sallow. His hair looked thick and tidy but for the few strands that fell further than the rest, a façade of neatness masking the harrowed individual beneath.
"First the President will meet you on the podium in front of all the major network channels," he said, "and he will thank you for your part in uncovering the conspiracy. Then you will meet him in private for a chat, and finally you will attend dinner with him, his family, and friends. After that, you may retire to whatever location you desire. There will be a bedroom laid out for you in the palace, if you choose."
Since hearing about it was exhausting, I could only imagine what living it was going to be like. Calling him Clazran or letting it slip that I thought he was a murderous incubus would be a huge mistake.
"Can I offer you any refreshments?" Pollo asked.
"I could eat a vhy whale."
He opened a black door which blended entirely with the back of the seat, revealing a cabinet full of food in gold packets or wooden cases that might contain a smoker's finest cigars. It summed up Clazran's rule nicely. The divide between the rich and poor was growing like the great swamps in the flooding season, and Clazran had erected a barrier fiercer than the Line of Knives to keep back the destitute.
The Kaerosh was a great power, with more wealth than any other single state nation, yet the number of those in poverty resembled the Dygians in their constant wars. We were a prison nation, where the warden could kill us on a whim.
"You'll have a lot of invitations to do interviews," said Pollo, "but the President would pre-fer that you not do any of them." Prefer was so elongated that only a fool would assume there was any preference about it. Clazran demanded I not give interviews, but if there was one civil right I was happy to lose, it was that
one.
When Pollo inquired about the hospital, I told him the staff were polite and helpful. Pollo nodded and passed me a sandwich in a tin containing coscod in a cream sauce. I tried to hide how good it tasted, but the speed in which I ate it probably gave it away.
Most of the journey consisted of me eating things in silence as both of us looked out the window at the front, the chauffeur sitting in the back so we didn't have to look at him. Clazran's palace was not in a populated area. The closest city was Volis, but the palace had its own window which was accessible from nearly every city in The Kaerosh.
The longest part of the journey was heading from the hospital to the nearest window, and that didn't take long. We didn't even have to wait at window security. Clazran used a special window on top of the building that was only accessible by JC. I would never have known it was there if it wasn't for this journey. My tablet bleeped as we approached, asking me if it was ok to have it scanned by the security program. It didn't ask me to allow a photo-recognition scan, which meant that Pollo's security level made it unnecessary.
We came out the other side in view of the palace. I'd seen it on the network, but that was not the same as being there. As the JC rose higher I realized that not even my initial impressions did it justice. It looked like an ancient religious temple built to impress the Gods. Surrounded by canopies of trees on three out of four sides, the monument dwarfed them all. Pillars of marble and staircases of white stone rose above the highest branches as clean as the day they were placed. Disconcertingly, the one formation not dominated by the palace was the crowd of people at the front, producing a sea of color greater than Kenrey's gardens.
We descended above a small section at the west of it, and the ceiling began to part before us. Despite its speed, the JC dropped like a feather on a breeze. What would have been a terrifying maneuver if I wasn't protected from the force was instead like watching it on the network, though contact with the ground was still a relief.
Outside the JC a buggy was waiting to escort us around the palace. Pollo and the chauffeur got in, but this time a small steering wheel suggested that the man in white was driving it manually. The garage was a fairly underwhelming box of yellow stone, but once we were in the corridor the sheer expense of the palace became more obvious. The walls were littered with paintings of landscapes, battles, and huge beasts which came to life on canvases wider than my bedroom. Portraits of men and women of every age sat between expensive looking artifacts on glass stands.
When the buggy stopped, Pollo opened a door. "This is your room. The wardrobes contain a selection of clothes for your perusal. The crowds are amassing at the front of the palace. I will be back to pick you up in an hour, after you have washed and dressed." He dipped his head, and the door shut behind him.
I had the craziest idea that perhaps I was supposed to tip him. It would be almost amusing to see his face as I transferred five credits to his tablet.
I opened the wardrobe, as Pollo called it, and browsed the selection. It could have fit six of my wardrobes in at least, and did not contain a brown item amongst them. No thick coats, waterproofing, or zeolate. Nearly everything was cotton, a substance deeply unsuited to the penetrating damp. There were ties, shirts, waistcoats and ruffs, all of which I ignored, slipping on a jacket that fit me as if it was tailored.
The boots all ended below the ankle like the shoes from more hospitable climates that were only fit for indoors in The Kaerosh. All except one pair had pumps, raised heels, or souls thicker than my arm, while the last had an effeminate metal buckle over the top and a green tinge to the black leather. It was probably the ugliest male shoe I'd ever seen, but I sensed that they were selected to make me look foolish, so I picked that one. I wasn't about to appear ashamed of my height on the network.
Everything took twice as long as it should have, the tingling in my nerves approximating to pins and needles. My fingers pruned before I exited the shower, as I was overcome by the notion that when I left it I would be meeting Clazran. I rushed dressing and made a mess of it, so that when Pollo returned he glared at me like a school boy with his uniform on inside out.
He made several adjustments, touching me as little as possible before we set off down the corridor. There was not a sound other than our footsteps even though the crowds were so close outside the walls. My stomach sank and my bladder filled as we turned a corner and I saw the double doors at the end. Two huge gold slabs stood in a frame of white stone. No handles or markings on them, they opened seamlessly as we approached. The applause erupted as I stepped out onto the red carpet. Incoherent shouts and cheers filled the air like noxious gas, and my limbs went stiff as though walking through ice water.
The main entrance to the palace was an archway of double doors constructed so that dragons could fit through them without bowing their heads. In front of them were a set of steps designed to make men's hearts give out as they climbed, with rest points and benches to stop and enjoy the view on the way up. It was still The Kaerosh, so Clazran couldn't stop the gray murk of poisoned clouds, but on the ground the same exotic plants, statues, and fountains filled the scenery as in Kenrey's compound. The difference was the serenity of Kenrey's secluded sanctuary had been replaced by a sea of people and the dull hum that filled the air, all meaning lost in the multitude of voices.
Half way down the steps was the stage with Clazran and Rortel already standing on it. Above it, not one set of feet blocked the vision of the shining marble stairs, but below it not a cim of white poked through the crowd. A walkway had been constructed to connect my door to the stage so that I remained under an energy shield throughout, and a red carpet laid across the floor as if I were some ancient monarch giving a speech to his people.
I didn't know how I was walking, but equally the ability to stop had departed me. I was stuck on this course until I either walked off the other end of the stage or Clazran blocked my path to shake my hand. My vision was starting to blur, the faces bleeding into each other creating one continuous life form. Only extravagant fountains depicting the aquatic behemoths that inhabited the seas of Cos created breaks in the crowd.
I tried to wave, but every muscle in my body was contracted, stiffer than the bones they were supposed to move. My arms pointed straight to the ground like drills. Who were all these people? What sort of person came to hear Clazran's speeches? It was difficult to imagine they were there to see me. Most of them probably wanted to see Clazran assassinated, maybe even one or two were assassins looking for an opening.
Clazran was not an imposing individual. Average height and build, he had a pleasant face that concealed the demon beneath it better than his palace walls. His golden hair gave him the corn-fed look as if he grew up on a farm, and his boyish features had remained even in his advancing cycles. Were his statues not all over The Kaerosh, he might have been mistaken for a good natured, shy individual. Behind him Rortel was an entirely different frame of man, built like the extinct mech infantry, with a huge scar running across his face.
As I walked onto the stage, Clazran shook my hand, bending at the knee as if he was talking to a quiet child. I smiled, pretending it was funny. Rortel stood right behind me as Clazran walked up to the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen, those of you who have come down here in person, thank you for doing so. Those of you watching at home or on a network screen or tablet elsewhere, thank you for doing so. For this man here is a model citizen, against which we must assess the height of our own achievements." Clazran raised his voice at the word height, and paused as pockets of laughter broke out in the audience.
I forced a smile, but I doubted it looked genuine. I'd seen him bully and humiliate people on the network before, but somehow I wasn't expecting it when I was a supposed hero, even after the cupboard full of platform shoes.
"But seriously," he continued, "I felt sufficiently indebted to this man's services that he has received medical treatment at my personal expense." Applause. I clapped along as if Rortel was moving my hands for me. "Very few
people show the courage that this man demonstrated when he stood up to his superiors intent on deceiving your President. And look what happened, he is here at my palace elevated beyond plausibility, while those men face my displeasure. So now I encourage all of you out there to follow this man's example. Defy deceit and corruption, stand up to those who seek to suppress truth, earn the gratitude of your President."
The deafening applause ran contrary to the wave of death and misery that his advice would provoke across The Kaerosh as dissenters were killed in droves. I wanted to stand up and shout into the microphone that standing up to corruption cost me five cycles, and if it wasn't for Philip Rake I would have been dead.
I said nothing. Why? Because I wasn't what they thought. Perhaps five cycles ago I had the spine for sacrifice, but I was crippled under the weight of consequence. I made that report because it was my only viable option. There was nothing honorable or heroic about it.
Perhaps he said more things. I did not listen. I waited until Rortel ushered me off the stage again as Clazran's latest mascot. My departure was met with more thunderous applause that left me almost as sick as Clazran's speech.
Back inside, I felt no relief. He was just using me. The message for the people read loud and clear that I might stand up to the Commissioner or the SP, but I wouldn't stand up to him. He'd made me a fraud and a hypocrite and he'd laughed at me while doing it.
I wanted to kill him.
I was led into a room full of refreshments where Pollo instructed me I could take as many as I wanted, but I should save room for dinner. I nodded.
I knew I should be making more of an effort to look enamored by Clazran's hospitality, but every gold statue or huge painting disgusted me. Fountains at the intersections of the corridors, and wooden doors so large and thick that I wasn't sure I possessed the strength to open them, were just a few of the indications of where my tax money was going. Not to the armies of homeless or public transportation, but to stocking Clazran's palace with the finest chocolates and sweets, which would probably be thrown away if I didn't eat them.
The Iron Swamp Page 10
