Текст книги "Our Lady of the Ice"

Автор книги: Cassandra Clarke

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CHAPTER NINE

ELIANA

“I have just one more person I’d like you meet. Is that all right?” Lady Luna led Eliana through the maze of party guests. The lights were so bright in the house, brighter than Eliana remembered from the last time she was here. Maybe she shouldn’t have had the third glass of wine.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

Lady Luna beamed. They’d spoken to three people already, two women and a man. All three of them had the glossy, aristocratic bearing Eliana was used to seeing only on television, but they’d been polite enough to her, and they’d taken her business card and tucked it away as if they intended to use it later. Eliana knew it couldn’t hurt, having her name out in this crowd. If they all paid as well as Lady Luna, she’d be out of Antarctica within the year.

“This is Eveline Quiroga.” Lady Luna stopped in front of a middle-aged woman in a slim green dress, streaks of gray in her dark hair. “Eveline, you remember that matter we were discussing a few weeks ago? I have someone who might be able to help.”

Mrs. Quiroga turned her gaze to Eliana, who had the urge to shrink away but didn’t.

“You can call me at my office,” Eliana said, handing her a business card. “Whatever the matter is, I work quickly and discreetly.”

Mrs. Quiroga looked over the business card and then slipped it into her handbag.

“A woman investigator,” she said in a cool, sophisticated drawl. “I suppose that fills a niche.”

Eliana plastered on her politest smile. “I’ve been told it does.” She was used to being condescended to, and by people far more practiced at it than this Mrs. Quiroga.

“She does excellent work,” Lady Luna said brightly. “I can personally vouch for her. I’d be happy to speak about it with you sometime.”

“Is that so?” Mrs. Quiroga looked at Lady Luna and then back to Eliana. “I’ll think about it. Excuse me.”

She floated off into the party, wineglass held up. Eliana wanted another drink, dizziness be damned.

“I’m sorry about that,” Lady Luna said.

“About what?”

“Oh, you know, Eveline. She’s like that with everyone, at least until they prove themselves to her. I should have warned you.”

Eliana laughed. “I can handle it.”

Lady Luna sipped from her glass of wine, gazing out over her party. She seemed different this evening, more glamorous and less flighty. Classy, that was it. She was classy tonight. In certain ways Lady Luna reminded Eliana of her own mother, who had faked sophistication on several different occasions during Eliana’s childhood. And like Eliana’s mother, Lady Luna seemed to be faking her classiness, or at least some of it.

Eliana wondered what sort of woman lay behind Lady Luna’s facade, if she was as spirited as Eliana’s mother had been. Eliana thought she could like Lady Luna, if that was the case.

“I’m going to get another drink,” Eliana said, and Lady Luna smiled in acknowledgment. Eliana left her alone and walked over to the bar. The andie was watching the party much as Lady Luna was: unmoving, contemplative.

“Hey,” Eliana said. Then, out of habit, “Nice to see you again.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled, and Eliana was still stunned by the way a smile could look so genuine and so artificial at the same time. “Would you like something to drink, Miss Gomez?”

“You know my name?”

“I remember you, yes. Would you like another glass of wine?”

Eliana nodded and watched as he pulled out a clean glass and opened up a new bottle. The wine sloshed, red and thick. He handed it to her.

“I missed you when I came out here to deliver Lady Luna’s documents.” Even as she spoke, Eliana wondered what she was doing. Playing the damn detective at a party, and for what? There was no case. No one was paying her to investigate Lady Luna or her old-fashioned and highly regulated electronic butler.

“Did you?” His voice was inflected with a cool politeness.

“Yeah.” Eliana arranged herself on a stool. Funny what alcohol did to you. She’d rather talk to the robot than to any of the guests at the party. “Lady Luna give you days off?”

“Why would I need a day off?” All of his words sounded rehearsed, but this question sounded more rehearsed than anything else. “I’m sure I was busy elsewhere on the estate. What day was it?”

“Last Tuesday.”

“Ah yes, well, I was tending to the wheat. I’m sure that’s why I missed you.” He turned away from her, putting the wine back into place along the mirror. Eliana sipped from her glass. Mr. Vasquez had taught her how to read people, as much as you could teach that, but this was an andie. Hard to tell what she was seeing.

“I was just curious,” she said when he turned back to face her.

“A useful trait in your profession, I’m sure.” He gave her a sly smile, which put her at ease.

“Do you like working for Lady Luna?” she asked.

“I like it very much.” In this moment, he looked more human than robot, as if the wine were softening his edges. “Do you like working as a private investigator?”

“Beats working in the steno pool down at the city offices.” Eliana took a long drink, and the alcohol’s warmth spread through her limbs.

“I can imagine.”

Eliana laughed. “Maybe. Most men can’t.”

He blinked at her, and Eliana had the sudden dawning ache that she’d misspoken somehow.

“Luciano! Get us a drink, will you? Whiskey, neat.” A man with steely hair sidled up to the bar, a woman about Eliana’s age dangling off his arm.

The robot—Luciano, his name was Luciano—moved to fix the couple’s drinks. When he turned away from her, Eliana slid off the bar stool and moved through the liquid lights of the party.

She just needed some fresh air.

*  *  *  *

Eliana woke up the next day to the sound of banging on her front door.

She moaned into her pillow, blinking against the glare of the dome lights pouring in through her window. They hadn’t been this bright in days.

The banging stopped, and Eliana breathed a sigh of relief. Her head pounded in time with her heart.

The banging started again.

“Eliana! You in there?”

Diego. She hadn’t seen him for a few days, not since she’d stolen the documents off Sala down at the Florencia. She’d figured he’d retreated into the underworld for a while, the way he did.

“I’m coming!” she shouted, although she doubted he could hear her. She rolled out of bed and ran her fingers through her hair before padding over to the door. She pulled it open when Diego was midknock, his fist lifted in the air.

“Somebody had a fun night,” he said.

Eliana rolled her eyes and pushed the door open farther. Diego stepped inside, swooping his gaze around the room, the way he always did. The door clicked shut behind him, and he reached back and locked it.

“At least, I hope it was a fun night.” Diego collapsed on the sofa, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

“Yeah? You aren’t jealous?” Eliana grinned at him, but Diego didn’t return it. “You want some coffee?”

“You still have coffee this far into winter?”

Eliana shrugged.

“No, I’m fine. It’s the middle of the afternoon anyway. You really do look like shit, Eliana. You should drink some orange juice.”

“No one in the smokestack district has seen orange juice for four months.” Eliana stumbled into the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of water. She leaned up against the refrigerator, sipping at it, and Diego came in to join her.

“Seriously, though,” he said, “was it a good night?”

Eliana peered up at him. His expression was serious, almost stern.

“I was at a party,” she said.

Diego took a deep breath.

“What?” Eliana finished off her water and poured another glass. “I can’t go to parties?”

“You can do whatever you want,” Diego said. “But you probably shouldn’t steal papers off some engineer waiting to meet with Mr. Cabrera in Mr. Cabrera’s own goddamned bar.”

Eliana froze. She and Diego stared at each other, and Eliana felt the way she had the time her mother had caught her sneaking out of their apartment one night when she was fifteen: a weird combination of guilt and irritation at being found out.

“You heard about that?” she finally squeaked. She took a long drink of water.

“Yeah, I heard about it.” Diego sighed again. “You better be grateful Mr. Cabrera has no idea who you are. The only one who got a good look at you was Sala, and he’s—not an issue.”

Eliana felt herself harden. “Why not?”

“Because he’s not. He’s dead.”

“What?”

“Mr. Cabrera had him killed. For lying.” Diego’s eyes glittered. “That’s why I said you should be grateful Mr. Cabrera has no idea who you are. I only figured it out when I put two and two together. Not a lot of lady investigators in the city.”

He was upset. He’d called her an investigator instead of a cop.

“It was a lot of money.” Eliana drained her glass and left it sitting on the counter. Her stomach lurched, and she didn’t think she needed to fill it with any more water. “And I haven’t had any problems since.” She felt cold. Sala was dead. “Should I be worried?”

Diego ran his hand over his hair. “Not because of this, no. Mr. Cabrera’s dropped it, and you didn’t technically steal from him. But you need to stay out of his business. He’s got too much power in this city. He says the word, and someone dies, and the cops don’t give a shit.”

“You’re the one who works for him.” Eliana left the kitchen. She wondered if Diego had killed Sala—but only for a moment. He was an errand-runner, nothing else. He just wanted to warn her.

The living room was too bright, all that dome light pouring through the windows. She’d forgotten how bright it could be. She drew the blinds and stretched out on the sofa, hands resting on her stomach. Diego sat down on the floor beside her.

“Working for him is different from chasing him down,” he said quietly.

“I’m not chasing him down! I just needed to get those documents back for my client. It’s over.” She didn’t mention the party because she didn’t want to listen to Diego complain about her palling around with Marianella Luna. Not that she’d call that party palling, necessarily.

Eliana closed her eyes, and her headache subsided.

“Look, I’m just worried about you, is all.” Diego’s large rough hands tugged on her hair. She opened one eye. He was staring at her with an oddly concerned expression, like she’d fallen and hurt herself. And that softened her. All she wanted right now was to be taken care of.

God, she really shouldn’t have drunk all that wine last night.

“I know you are,” she said.

Diego smiled and kissed her on the forehead. How could this man be a killer?

And then the electricity went out.

The darkness was sudden and absolute. Eliana sat straight up, blinking, terrified at the idea that her eyes could be open and still she could see nothing.

“Diego?” she called out, her heart pounding.

“I’m here.” And he was, his voice close to her ear, just as it had been on Last Night. “Nothing to worry about. We’re inside. Worse comes to worst, we’ll drag out your emergency parka. Those things are always big enough to share.”

“I don’t have one! It wasn’t in the apartment when I moved in.”

Diego put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close. In the stifling darkness she could feel him and smell him, the hardness of his shoulder and that musky sweet scent of his aftershave. She buried her face into his sweater. After a while, her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. It wasn’t pitch-black. A faint, silvery light came in through the window, and it seemed to shift around like liquid. Eliana could make out the shapes of her apartment: her couch, her chair, Diego. She snuggled up closer to him.

Voices shouted curses outside on the street. Somewhere on her floor a door slammed.

“We’re safe,” Diego muttered against the top of her head. “I locked the door when I came in.”

“Yeah, yeah.” That little bit of gangster’s paranoia. It was reassuring to see it came in useful.

Eliana wasn’t sure how long the lights stayed out. It felt longer than the blackout on Last Night, but her apartment stayed warm. She leaned against Diego and listened to his heart beating (fast, it was beating fast). Neither of them spoke. She watched the weird light move across the floor.

And then there was a sound like an enormous car starting up, and the light in the window brightened and brightened until it was clear the dome lights were back on, only at twilight levels. A moment later, the lights inside Eliana’s apartment switched on again, and the coils on the radiator glowed red.

“Oh, thank God,” Eliana said.

Diego was already at the door to the balcony, peering out at the street. “Ten minutes,” he said. “That’s the longest it’s been out since—” He snapped the blinds shut and turned back around to face her. “You need to buy another parka,” he said.

Eliana didn’t answer, just curled her legs up to her chest. He was right. The emergency parkas had been a staple of her childhood—she remembered the set hanging in her closet at home, and the cheap metallic ones they kept at the school. But it wasn’t something she’d ever thought about now that she was on her own.

“I’ll get one for you,” Diego said. “If cost’s the problem.”

“It’s fine,” Eliana said distractedly. She thought about the old steam-powered generators installed on every street corner. The city had sworn they’d been reactivated after Last Night for backup, and Eliana had even seen the steam puffing out of the exhaust pipes when she’d walked home. She shivered. Diego glanced at her, then walked over to the radiator and turned it up. Then he switched on the radio. A tango orchestra blared out of the set station, but he spun the dial until he came to a news program.

“Repeat, the problem has been resolved. As of right now we are assuming the possibility of involvement by the Antarctican Freedom Fighters—”

Diego snorted. “Please,” he said. “They need to stop bullshitting us.”

“You don’t think it’s the AFF?”

“Do you?” Diego slid back down into the couch beside her. “Why the hell would they want to turn off the power?”

“So we could all truly live in Antarctica. Build ice houses and hunt seals and all that.”

Diego laughed. “No one’s ever lived outside a dome in Antarctica. They’re in for a nasty surprise.”

“Don’t tell Essie that.”

“Essie’ll give up Independence the minute she realizes she has to give up her space heater.”

They laughed together, and Eliana’s nerves soothed a little. Diego was right; it didn’t make any sense for the AFF to want to turn off the power. The Independents all claimed the power troubles were the inevitable result of producing energy for the mainland—that the atomic power plants had created a draw on the steam power running the city, that Antarctica needed the atomic power to support itself. Eliana shivered, thinking of that breaking-down steam power. So it wasn’t sabotage. It didn’t make the situation any less frightening.

The man on the radio was still going on about the AFF, though. “Oh, turn him off,” Eliana said. “He’s not saying anything useful.”

“You’re right.” Diego hopped up, turned the dial back to music. “This shit happens when the equipment’s old enough. Nothing lasts forever, you know. Bet the drones are on their way over now.”

She almost told him not to lie to her, but then she realized, watching him fiddle with the dial, the electricity-powered transmission of the singer’s soft voice filling the room, that was exactly what she wanted him to do.

At least right now. At least as far as the electricity was concerned.

He joined her on the couch, and they stayed like that for a while, pressing close to each other. And although the dome lights never brightened to their earlier intensity that day, they didn’t go out again either.

For right now, that was enough.

CHAPTER TEN

SOFIA

Sofia sat waiting in the dining room of the Florencia, but there was no dancing girl this time. The Florencia was closed down for the afternoon. Cabrera did that sometimes, so he could eat a steak without distraction or interruption. She could see the remains of his meal sitting at a table in the center of the room, although she had arrived after he’d finished.

She was alone, no Luciano or Inéz, because she wasn’t here to do the reprogramming. Cabrera had called the telephone at the amusement park’s operations room earlier. Sofia’s payment was in.

She quaked with excitement.

One of Cabrera’s bodyguards appeared at her table. She could smell the powder in his gun and the spice in his aftershave.

“Hello, Diego,” she said.

“Cabrera’s ready for you.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that.” She stood up, gathering her handbag and her coat. Diego walked side by side with her through the dining room and down the hallway. He didn’t say anything—he never said anything. Some deep-rooted part of her wondered why, wondered how she had displeased him.

She hated that part of herself.

They walked to Cabrera’s office, where Sebastian was waiting outside the door. He nodded at Diego, then pushed the door open.

The office was dim but tidy. A row of filing cabinets stood along the back wall; a painting of a horse hung between the two windows.

And a record player waited in the corner, music lilting softly in the background.

Sofia stopped.

“Music,” she said. “We had a deal, Mr. Cabrera.”

Cabrera leaned back in his big leather chair and smiled. “I swore to never play anything from before 1936,” he said, “and this little number was released last year.”

Sofia didn’t move from the doorway.

“Relax,” he said. “If we’re going to work together, you’re going to need to learn to enjoy music.”

Sofia knew that she would never enjoy music.

“Come, sit, sit.” Cabrera snapped his fingers in Sebastian’s direction. Sebastian nodded and disappeared down the hall. Sofia watched him go, then turned back to Cabrera. The music whispered on, rubbing her nerves raw.

“I sent him to fetch your payment. It’ll take a few moments. I didn’t want to bring it off the ship just yet.” Cabrera made his face look solemn. “I do have some bad news, I’m afraid.”

“What?” Sofia dug her fingernails into her palm. The song fizzled into silence, and another took its place.

“I couldn’t quite get all the things you asked for. This time.” Cabrera held up one hand and pressed the other to his chest. “I’ve got my men seeking out the rest, but we may need to go north, up into Brazil. Some of the items are quite obsolete, and we’ll need to find Autômatos Teixeira’s old supplier in order to acquire them.” He grinned. “But I swear you’ll get them as soon as possible.”

Sofia stared at him.

“Oh, really, Sofia, just sit. Is the music bothering you so much? I’ll turn it off.” He lifted the record needle. The silence was beautiful.

“Thank you.” Sofia glided across the office, cautious. She sat down in front of his desk and crossed her feet at her ankles. “I’m sorry to hear you couldn’t acquire everything.” She regulated her tone as best she could; Araceli had told her this was likely, that some of the equipment, as old and outdated as it was, might be hard to find. She still thought he might be lying.

“You’ve done excellent work with my icebreakers, and I want to ensure you receive the payment you deserve.”

Sofia nodded. She found it difficult to look at him. Instead, her gaze was drawn to the silent, unmoving record player. Maybe she should have brought Luciano after all. Of course, he couldn’t have done anything about this situation either.

“Such excellent work,” Cabrera repeated, and Sofia was aware of Diego lurking behind her, leaning up against the wall. “Did you know I used to have a former park engineer do the reprogramming for me? He died. Heart attack.”

Sofia didn’t say anything. She remembered crawling into the engineer’s bedroom in the middle of the night. She remembered the sight of him lying stretched out on his bed, the way he’d let out a sigh when she’d slid the needle full of poison into the vein of his neck. It had been the first stage of her plan. No one but she and Luciano and Inéz knew about that moment.

“A shame, of course, but being a city man, he was costly. I have to say, I like working with robots. Even having to send a man into Brazil, you’re still cheaper than he was. Helps my bottom line.” He smiled and folded his hands over his desk like a businessman.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Sofia said.

Silence settled around them, burning at Sofia’s ears. The office was lit with green-globed lamps that cast strange, liquid shadows across the floor. Cabrera leaned back over his record player, and Sofia tightened her grip on her handbag.

No.

He rifled through a stack of albums and pulled out one with a sleek silver cover. She didn’t recognize it, but that didn’t mean anything. She’d never seen the album covers when she’d worked the dance houses.

“My niece likes this one,” Cabrera said.

“No music, please.”

“Sofia, Sofia, I’m just trying to get you accustomed to our ways.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “This isn’t like anything you’ve ever heard, I promise.”

It better not be, she thought.

He put on the record. As the needle crackled, tension racked down Sofia’s spine. The music started, soft and faint, an opera singer’s shimmering wail.

She didn’t recognize it. And opera was never used for programming anyway.

“Told you,” Cabrera said. “Like nothing you ever heard before.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what? Playing a bit of music while we wait for Sebastian to bring your payment? I do this with all of my contract workers. I like to make you feel welcome.”

Sofia glared at him. Her insides twisted and churned. Rage coiled around her like a wire. She hadn’t been built for strength. None of them had. Strength was not required to be the amusement at an amusement park. But she wished she could leap across the desk, wrap her fingers around Cabrera’s throat, strangle him until he slumped down dead.

She didn’t move.

Cabrera smiled. “Sebastian is certainly taking his time, isn’t he?”

“Perhaps you should hire someone more efficient.” Her words were ice. The music played on in the background, a mournful Italian soprano. Sofia could speak Italian, but she couldn’t hear the lyrics, not with the music digging into her programming, trying to find a connection.

“One or two of the items were rather large. It’ll take some time for Sebastian to prepare your car.”

Sofia clenched her fingers around the armrest.

“Could you at least turn off the music?” she said. “Please.”

Cabrera tapped his fingers against the desk. “I’m trying to help you.” He wasn’t. She could see it in his cold shark’s smile.

“Please.”

Cabrera closed his eyes in defeat. “Fine. No appreciation for culture.” He lifted the needle. In the sudden buzzing silence Sofia’s thoughts stopped trying to find instructions.

But Cabrera didn’t turn away from the record player. Instead, he extracted another album. This cover he kept hidden.

Sofia went cold.

“Just one more.” He peered up at her, eyes glinting.

“No.”

“Sofia.” He said her name as if it were a sound to comfort a baby. “You know I couldn’t stand to hurt you. You’re too important to me.”

He switched out the albums. Sofia was rigid. She knew what he was going to do. He was a dangerous man. Araceli had said that. A dangerous man, and Sofia had corrected her—a dangerous human. But now Cabrera was going to poison her thoughts, and she didn’t know how to stop him.

The needle dropped.

The speakers went hiss, hiss.

And Alberto Echagüe began to sing. “Paciencia.”

But the singer and the song didn’t register in Sofia’s thoughts. This wasn’t one of the new songs, the safe songs. Those, she heard the way a human would. This song, she could only hear through her programming.

The music was a code, and she was programmed to recognize it. The notes and beats and melodies told her what to do.

Dance, the music whispered. I want you to dance.

Sofia stood up, pushed the chair away. Cabrera leaned back and watched her, not with lust or wonder or even admiration but with a cold calculating menace, as if he wanted to see what she was capable of.

She lifted her hands above her head, twisted her spine contrapposto. And then she danced.

It was a tango. A nighttime dance. She didn’t have a partner, but she still swept across the room, twisting her hips and stomping her feet. The music pounded in her brain, and it stripped away everything: Cabrera and Diego, the dimly lit office, her supplies. As far as Sofia was aware, she was performing in the ballroom of the Ice Palace, cast in blue lights, her bustier dripping with sparkles.

This was what she was programmed to do.

The music stopped. The flood of information ceased, and Sofia collapsed. She didn’t hit the floor. Diego caught her and helped her to her feet without speaking, without looking at her, and moved the chair back into place. Sofia slumped into it.

Cabrera’s face was a mask.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Sofia said.

“It doesn’t seem to me that you have much choice in the matter.”

I will kill you, Sofia thought.

“It wasn’t difficult,” he went on, “finding the old songs. The city offices keep all the old park records.” Nothing changed in his voice, in his expression. “I was surprised to learn all you’re capable of.”

Sofia trembled. Her thoughts bled together, indistinct, fragmentary.

“I respect you, Sofia. I’ve always loved Echagüe. You dance beautifully, by the way. I would never have asked you to do any more than that.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Cabrera pulled his head back, a false recoil. Then he laughed. “Sofia! Did you say that to your clients?”

“I didn’t have clients,” she said. “I had masters. But I don’t anymore.” She stood up and turned to Diego. “Where’s Sebastian?” she demanded. “He’s waiting for some sign, right? You tell him Mr. Cabrera’s done with his little game.”

Diego looked away from her.

“It wasn’t a game,” Cabrera said.

Sofia glowered at Diego. But he didn’t move.

“It wasn’t a game,” Cabrera said again. “It was a reminder.”

Sofia turned around, slowly, her whole body aching with fear. Cabrera smiled a hollow smile at her.

Cabrera was not human, she realized. Not in the sense that humans meant the word.

“A reminder,” he said, “not to cross me. You think I did that to you because you’re a robot?”

“Yes.”

Cabrera laughed. “You aren’t any different from the weasels at the city offices that I keep on my payroll. Oh, the wiring’s different, I guess. Same result.” His eyes were empty. “Everyone has something, some hidden control panel. Maybe not quite as literal as yours, but there’s always something. A wife, a little boy. A fucking pet.” He shook his head. “You aren’t special, my dear.”

Sofia felt hollow. The music always did that to her. It stripped her of her own mind and then didn’t bother to replace it.

“Ah,” Cabrera said, “and here’s Sebastian now.” He stood up. The door clicked open. Sofia refused to look away from Cabrera. Footsteps. Voices. Human warmth. Everything came to her through a fog of rage.

“Your keys, my dear.” Cabrera reached into his pocket and then held out one hand, palm up, the keys glinting in the lamplight. “I expect to see the car the next time I see you.”

“Everything’s there?” she asked dully.

“All of the things I was able to acquire, yes. In matters of business, I’m a man of my word, and you’ll see the rest of your payment soon.”

Sofia grabbed the keys, shuddering at the moment his skin touched hers. Diego and Sebastian stood like guards on either side of the door. She looked from one to the other. Neither met her eye.

“I haven’t seen much evidence of that today,” Sofia said.

Cabrera didn’t answer. She left the room and walked down the hallway. Her joints, her movement, were all out of balance, but she knew that was just an aftereffect of the music. This was the first time she’d heard music that old in years, and it had strained her system.

The car was parked beside the docks, one of Cabrera’s sleek black automobiles. His trademark. She opened the trunk. The ticker tape was there, along with a handful of some of the less obscure models of vacuum tubes. They were all tucked away in boxes and wrapped up in plastic. The clockwork engines and the programming key were missing. Of course. The most important things, and he hadn’t managed to get them.

Sofia slammed the trunk shut and looked out over the water. Only one boat was in port, an actual shipping boat, not a renovated cruise ship like the others. Its lights glimmered in the darkness, and she could smell the brine and wind of the iced-over sea.

Someday the humans would all be gone, and then she could tear down the domes and smell the sea and the ice whenever she wanted.