Unless the ship was Itzpapalotl. There were elements in the design and the furnishings of that room that reminded me of the finest things in the homes of the Executives of Olympia and Titania. Vaulted ceilings, wooden screens, tapestries, ink-and-watercolor paintings, and exquisite ceramics decorated a space that evoked an ancient palace. The low dais in the center of the room could have come from the House of Clans. I addressed the man who knelt there, pouring tea from a set decorated with flowers and bees.
Here was the man who had almost destroyed us, though that hadn’t been his intention. As much as he blamed Gennady for the losses we had suffered on our journey, Bomarigala had been in charge. He was the most responsible. If he had earned every syllable in his long name, he had also earned my vengeance. Yet even as we stood over him, I had a feeling that payback was not in the cards. I wasn’t even sure I wanted that anymore.
“Bomarigala,” I said.
He looked up, but didn’t drop his cup. “Join me. Have some tea.”
We stayed where we were.
“You just had to wake them,” said Medusa. “With no second thoughts about the consequences.”
Bomarigala lifted one eyebrow. “Oh, I assure you, there have been plenty of second thoughts about the consequences of waking the Three. We committed ourselves long ago, and we can’t afford to have doubts.”
That would have been the right moment for me to lay down the law, but I felt so intrigued by this person who moved people as if they were pieces on a chessboard. I wondered if he grieved for his missing clone, or if there were plenty more where he came from.
“Tell me, Oichi,” he said. “What are your doubts?”
“I had plenty, going in,” I admitted. “Now I have just one question, Bomarigala. How do you expect to move forward? The Three have not awakened the way you wanted them to. They’ve made their choice. Your best gambit failed.”
“You sound very tired,” he said. “Please, do have some tea.” Once again, he indicated that we should sit.
Medusa and I knelt in the spot he indicated. “No poison, please,” I said.
“No poison.” He handed me a cup.
Medusa sampled the contents with the tip of a tentacle. “Trust in Allah,” she said, “but tie up your camel.”
Bomarigala raised an eyebrow. “What is Allah’s verdict?”
“No poison in the tea.” Medusa’s tone implied she wasn’t sure where else a toxin may hide.
He sipped his tea, studying us over the rim. Medusa raised our cup to her lips—we drank it together. “Bit of a fruity undertone,” I decided. “Maybe a hint of honey. That would explain the bees on your charming cups.”
He seemed pleased with the compliment. “This conversation is turning out much better than the last one we had. I believe negotiation may be possible.”
“You understand our terms?” Medusa said.
“You expressed them succinctly. The Weapons Clan has always adapted to new circumstances.”
Medusa and I took another sip. “What do you expect of us?” I said.
“For now, simply that you should not regard us as enemies.”
When we didn’t answer that, he gave us a grim smile. For a second, I could see the ancient man who watched behind the young, perfect face. “I know—that’s easier said than done.”
“I wouldn’t count on it being done anytime soon,” I agreed.
He nodded. “We did not order the destruction of Titania. We would have stopped it, had we known what the Charmaynes were planning.”
“No one is to blame,” I said, “yet everyone is responsible.”
“Fair enough. It may interest you to know that we have been contacted by Union representatives. They are sending an ambassador to Olympia. They are seasoned negotiators, and we don’t oppose their participation in this matter.”
“Not all negotiations require an ambassador,” I said. “For instance, we have a demand that can’t be negotiated.”
He didn’t smirk at me. He didn’t frown either, but he seemed overconfident when he said, “Everything can be negotiated.”
“We want the survivors from Titania.”
Bomarigala poured more tea into his cup, and offered the pot to me.
“No, thank you,” I declined.
He didn’t make us wait while he sipped, but set his cup on a low, carved table that smelled of cedar. “Do the Titanians have a choice in the matter?”
“Sure,” I said. “They can choose whether they want to live on Olympia, on Graveyard, or with the Belters. They don’t get to choose you. They don’t get to choose Itzpapalotl and the Weapons Clan. If they do, they will become my enemies, and I will treat them accordingly.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, now. It would seem you learned quite a lot from your Executive oppressors.”
I felt grateful Medusa’s stern visage covered mine. “Count on it.”
Bomarigala picked up his cup and took a sip, watching us over the rim. He looked almost proud. “I do count on it, but I’m curious—how will you pry them out of here? We are the Weapons Clan. It goes without saying that we are well defended.”
Medusa stretched her tentacles, then drew them in again. “Were your defenses in full effect when we arrived?”
His heart rate remained admirably steady, and he managed to return Medusa’s fathomless gaze with one of his own. “Good point. Still, I feel compelled to point out that you are two, and the Titanians number in the thousands. Together, you could do quite a lot of damage, as you roamed this ship in search of people who don’t wish to be rescued, but damage isn’t what you’re trying to accomplish—is it?”
Diplomats have methods for getting past an impasse in negotiations. At least, I hope they do. I was new at that game, and I was beginning to feel flummoxed at Bomarigala’s circular reasoning. You can’t make us, and they don’t want to leave anyway. I wondered if he knew how close he was to finding out how much damage Medusa and I could do. That was no small measure—and we had a new means of transportation that could tip the balance.
We hung on that precipice for a few seconds. Then I felt the program in my head activating a Gate. Moments later, an overwhelming presence emerged, and I did not have to confirm the arrival with our eyes.
Bomarigala looked past us. His face became supernaturally still.
“His name is Dagger,” I said.
“An entity from the graveyard, I presume,” said Bomarigala.
“Yes … ish.”
“And the agent of your sudden appearance in this room?”
When Bomarigala hadn’t been surprised to see us, I had presumed he knew something about the Gates. That he hadn’t, yet had still been so calm, said quite a lot for the relative steeliness of his nerves.
“The very one,” I confirmed.
Bomarigala stared for a moment longer, then nodded. “I’ll take you to your people.”
“Understand”—Dagger’s voice reached every corner of that space—“I know where they are. All of them.”
The implication was clear. Bomarigala couldn’t keep any of my people secretly.
“I understand,” said Bomarigala. He set his cup down and stood. “We’d better get started.”
* * *
Yet a certain amount of energy still had to be expended. I had to speak coherently to people, to stand upright when I wanted only to fall into my comfy bed back home, to activate the program inside my head, to see and feel where I put people. Despite Bomarigala’s claim that the Titanians didn’t want to leave, few expressed displeasure at the idea of going to Graveyard or Olympia.
We found each Titanian, in groups or singly, spread throughout the vast chambers of Itzpapalotl. We transported most of them to Olympia. The rest went to Graveyard, with c
redits in their new bank accounts, thanks to Bomarigala.
“Thank you for that,” I said sincerely if not humbly.
“I hope it will pave the way to friendly negotiations in the future,” he replied.
Medusa said, “It is an excellent start. Have we retrieved all of them?”
“You have,” he said. “Oichi—I regret that your parents did not survive.”
I suspected he did, but it hadn’t stopped him from holding their possible existence over my head when he had thought it might gain him leverage.
I doubt it would have stopped me, in his place. “By the way,” I said, “did your missing clone ever show up?”
Bomarigala didn’t bat an eyelash. “Which one?”
Perhaps he expected some parting bit of verbal diplomacy from us, but we opened the Gate without another word and stepped through.
I expected we would emerge on Olympia. Thoughts of my bed loomed large in my mind. Our suspension between stretched. I felt Dagger there with us, and others of his kind, watching us. Each of them had a different form.
I had tried to forget it.
Medusa withdrew her face from mine. It hovered where she could observe his actions. Through her eyes, his between form almost made sense. He touched my face.
Did he want to see it the way the ghost of my mother had revealed it to me? Should I provide the same soundtrack, the hayashi flute, shoulder drum, hip drum, and stick drum, as chaotic scenes patched together from Security cameras all over Titania showed me the bulkheads tearing apart, people and objects being dashed against surfaces as the parts of their ship were wrenched in different directions by the gravity bombs?
I felt a tiny spot of moisture on my face. I had mustered a tear. Dagger collected it with the tip of a claw.
Understanding dawned on me.
Dagger’s almost-sensible form loomed in the between. Others seemed to peer over his shoulder at me.
My sanity was beginning to fray. I could feel Medusa trying to hold me together. She respected my need for answers.
I tried to focus. He had told me more, and it should make sense, but between and my weariness were having their way with me.
The southern gods watched my struggle for understanding. I couldn’t grasp their physiology, but my instinctive reaction was awe. I tried to question that. I tried to gain a different perspective, but that struggle prolonged my presence in a place that made me want to unravel.
Medusa in the Graveyard (The Medusa Cycle) Page 32
