Текст книги "Burning Bright"

Автор книги: Melissa Scott

Соавторы: Melissa Scott
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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“An accident?” Chauvelin said.

“Yes, Sia.”

Chauvelin did not light the screens, allowed himself a smile, hearing the shock in the steward’s voice.

“I’m sorry, Sia,” je‑Sou’tsian said again, “but it’s the Visiting Speaker. There’s been–the Lockwardens say he fell into one of the canals, he was drunk on Oblivion, and a barge hit him.”

“Is he alive?” Chauvelin demanded, and heard himself sharp and querulous.

“For now, Sia. But he’s not expected to live the night. They’ve taken him to the nearest hospital, Mercy Underface, they said.”

“So.” Chauvelin could not stop his smile from becoming a grin; it was an effort to keep his voice under control. “Do they know what happened?”

“Not for certain, Sia. They think he fell.”

“Or did he kill himself?” Chauvelin asked, and was pleased with the bitterness of his tone. If they can believe it’s suicide, that’s shameful enough on top of everything else that the Remembrancer‑Duke will still gain everything he would have gained through the trial. He heard je‑Sou’tsian’s sharp intake of breath, wished he dared light the screen to watch her gestures.

“It–the Lockwardens asked that also, Sia. It seems possible.”

“Such shame,” Chauvelin said, and knew that this time he did not sound sincere. “Send his house steward to stand by him, and one of us to stay with her. Express my condolences.”

“I’ll go myself, if you want, Sia,” je‑Sou’tsian said.

Chauvelin nodded, then remembered the dark screen. “That would be a gracious gesture, Iameis. I’d be grateful.”

“Then I’ll do it,” je‑Sou’tsian said.

“Keep me informed of his condition,” Chauvelin said, and closed the connection. It was good to have friends on the canals. He leaned back in his chair, reached out to touch the story egg again, but did not pick it up, ran his fingers instead over the warm metal of the case. I told the truth when I told Lioe I’d take care of the Visiting Speaker. It’s not my fault that she assumed I meant that I would let the law take its course. That was something Ransome would’ve appreciated, that double‑edged conversation. And I think he would’ve appreciated my decision. He smiled again, and picked up the story egg, glanced again at the bright images. The loop, triggered by the movement, showed god and satyr leaning shoulder to shoulder, and then the faint clear strain of the music as the satyr played.

–

Interlude

Game/varRebel.2.04/

subPsi. 1.22/ver22. 1/ses 7.25

They crouched in the uncertain shelter of the cargo bay, hearing the clatter of boots recede along the walkways to either side. The overhanging shelves, piled high with crates, gave some cover, but they all knew that if the Baron’s guards came out onto the center catwalk it would take a miracle to keep from being seen. Galan Africa/VERE CAMINESI winced as an incautious movement jarred his bandaged arm and shoulder, and stopped trying to pry the power pack away from the nonstandard mounting.

“Hazard,” he said, and Gallio Hazard/PETER SAVIAN slipped his own pistol back into his belt and came to study the housing. After a moment, he pried it loose with main force, handed the two parts to Africa. The technician accepted them, prodded dubiously at the bent plugs. Hazard shrugged an apology, and drew his pistol again, his attention already turned outward toward the retreating footsteps of the guards.

Jack Blue/JAFIERA ROSCHA sprawled gasping against the nearest stack of crates, his face drawn into a scowl of pain and anger equally mixed. Mijja Lyall/FERNESA crouched at his side, digging hurriedly through the much‑depleted medical kit. She found the injector at last, applied it to Blue’s forearm. The telekinetic swore under his breath, but a moment later, the pain began to ease from his forehead. Lord Faro/LACHACALLE and Ibelin Belfortune/HALLY VENTURA exchanged glances, and edged a little bit away from the others, where they could exchange whispers unheard.

“What about the contact?” Desir of Harmsway/KAZIO BELEDIN said. “Where is it, Avellar?”

Avellar/AMBIDEXTER looked back at him for a moment, gave a slow, crooked smile. “Something’s gone wrong, obviously. But unless you want to go back…” He let his voice trail off in a mocking invitation, and Harmsway looked away, scowling. Avellar’s smile widened slightly, and he moved to stand beside Jack Blue. “How is it?”

Blue shrugged, made a so‑so gesture with one hand. “I’ll live.” His voice sounded better, and Avellar nodded.

“Maybe he’s losing weight,” Harmsway said, too sweetly.

Blue frowned, and a cracked piece of the floor tiling tore itself loose and flung itself at Harmsway’s face. Avellar plucked it out of the air before it could hit anything, dropped it onto the flooring at Blue’s feet. There was blood on the tile, from where the sharp edges had cut his hand, but Avellar ignored it.

“Try that again,” he said, almost conversationally, “and I’ll leave you.” He was looking at Blue, but Harmsway stiffened.

“Not me, surely,” he said, his voice provocative. “If you leave me here, Royal, all this will have been for nothing.”

“All what?” Avellar said, softly. “All this? Coming here, risking my life, planning this escape for the lot of you? That’s nothing compared to what I’m willing to do to have you back at my side, Desir. But you need me just as much, if you’re going to get off this planet. Don’t forget that, my friend.”

In spite of himself, Harmsway glanced toward the cargo door, only forty meters away across the width of the warehouse. It was even open, and he could feel that the last barrier was sealed only with a palm lock, the kind of thing he could open in his sleep… if he could reach it. And beyond that hatch were Avellar’s people, loyal only to Avellar. His lips thinned, and he looked away.

Avellar nodded. “The ship’s mine,” he said. “Without me, none of you will get aboard. Hell, without me, none of you would have gotten this far.”

“Without you,” Gallio Hazard said, “some of us wouldn’t be here at all.”

“Touche,” Avellar said. “But you shouldn’t‘ve left my service, Gallio.”

“Avellar.” Lyall’s voice was suddenly sharp with fear, and Avellar turned to face her. “They’ve brought in a hunter,” Lyall said. “And the Baron’s with him.”

“How close?” Harmsway demanded, and Lyall shook her head.

“I can’t tell. There’s–he’s shielded.”

“No one use any psi,” Avellar said. The others murmured agreement, and he looked at Africa. “Is it finished, Galan?”

Africa shrugged his good shoulder. “I’ve got the connection rigged, but there’s no guarantee it’ll work.”

Avellar nodded, and looked at Belfortune. “That leaves you, Bel.”

Faro said, “Let him be.”

Avellar ignored him. “Bel–”

“Avellar,” Lyall said again, real horror in her voice. “He’s found us.”

“What?” Harmsway’s voice scaled up in surprise. “Damn you, Royal–”

“Shut up,” Avellar said, and was obeyed. “Belfortune. Can you stop the hunter?”

Belfortune shook his head. “I have to be close to him, I can’t just reach out and take his power. It’s not that easy–”

“All right,” Avellar said, his voice gentle but firm, and Belfortune was silent. Faro laid a hand on his shoulder, then reached for his pistol.

“Well, Desir,” Avellar said, “it’s up to you and me.”

Harmsway shook his head sharply, and Hazard said, “The last time, you nearly killed him.”

Avellar ignored him. “If we don’t work together, we’ll never get out of here. You and I will both die on this wretched planet. Do you really want that, just to spite me? Or do you just enjoy it too much?”

“Yes,” Harmsway said, “I can admit it. You’re too strong for me, you and your crazy clone‑sibs, and I like it too much.”

“Would you rather be dead?” Avellar asked.

“Desir, don’t,” Hazard said.

Harmsway ignored him. “No, damn you. All right. I’ll do it.”

Avellar held out his hands, carefully not smiling, and Harmsway took them with only the slightest hesitation. There was a little silence, and then a kind of darkness seemed to gather around them. Shapes moved in the darkness, shapes that were Avellar, shapes that wore Avellar’s face and a woman’s body. Avellar closed his eyes, felt his power returning with Harmsway’s presence, Harmsway’s raw electrokinesis bridging the holes left by the deaths of half the clone. He could sense the others’ presence, too: Quarta in her cell, gibbering in darkness; Secunda caught in midstride, dragged away from herself by his insistent demands; Tertius ever silent, great eyes staring at nothing. He pulled them to him, made their power his own, built a ladder with it that carried him out of the prison of his body and let him look down on the warehouse as if from a great height. He saw the world in black and white, the figures of his party and of the Baron’s men clustered at the doorway pale as ghosts against the dark walls and shadows that were the piled crates. The Baron’s group had stopped, huddling together around a grounded airsled. The hunter smells something he doesn’t recognize, Avellar thought, and laughed silently. No, you wouldn’t recognize me. He spun again, looking down from his illusory height for a solution, saw Harmsway on his knees, head bowed with strain, still clinging to his hands. Harmsway was weaker than he’d realized; Avellar allowed himself to look farther afield, saw Jack Blue now standing at Lyall’s side.

Blue, he said, and felt the word fall for what seemed an eternity before it struck air and was heard. “Give me your hand.”

He forced his body to free one hand from Harmsway’s grip, held it out to Blue. The telekinetic took it, reluctantly, and Avellar felt the other’s power join his own. He let himself rise back up the ladder, dragging Blue’s talent with him, hung for a moment beneath the rafters, looking at the piles of crates through the lens of Blue’s talent. Then, almost lazily, he reached out–his hand, Blue’s telekinesis, moving as one, Harmsway still bridging the gaps that let him draw on his clone‑sibs, his other selves–and tipped the first row of crates onto the Baron’s men. He heard screams–close at hand, and more distant, the noise reaching his physical body half a heartbeat later–but he closed his mind, searching for the right point. Blue’s power was fading, stuttering like an underfueled engine, but he ignored it, and toppled a second set of shelves, blocking any advance. Then he let himself slide back down the ladder, feeling it dissolve behind him as he fell, until he was back in his own body, on his knees, Jack Blue’s hand cold in his own. Harmsway was crumpled on the warped tiles, breathing in harsh gasps, his forehead against the floor. Blue lay open eyed, unmoving, his face red and mottled. Lyall crouched beside him, hand on his wrist, and shook her head as Avellar looked at her.

“He’s dead.”

Belfortune laughed softly. “So that’s how the great Avellar’s power works. You’re no more than I am, nothing more than a vampire. At least I don’t use the power I take.”

“You just dine on it,” Hazard said.

Faro said, “This is why I won’t support you, Avellar. No one who can do that should be emperor.”

“But that’s just it,” Avellar said. He reached down almost absently, lifted Harmsway so that the electrokinetic’s head rested on his lap. “This power is exactly why I should be emperor. I’m psi, yes, but it’s unlimited in type, because I can draw on all of it. But only if you let me. I can’t coerce, I can only take what’s given. Jack gave me what he had, he let me use him up, to save the rest of us. He couldn’t‘ve done it alone, and I knew how to use what he gave me. If a psi is going to be emperor–and you know that’s inevitable, there’s no one left who isn’t psi–then it should be me, because I can’t do anything alone, and without consent.”

Hazard nodded slowly, came to crouch at Harmsway’s side, he touched the electrokinetic’s face gently, and looked relieved when Harmsway stirred. Hazard supported him, helped him sit upright. Harmsway’s face was drawn, lines of fatigue sharply etched.

Faro said, “The ship’s waiting.”

Avellar nodded, pushed himself to his feet, fighting back his own exhaustion. “Let’s go.”

Two guards were standing by the cargo door, one with rifle leveled, staring toward the far door where the crates had fallen, the other babbling into a hand‑held com‑unit. He didn’t seem to be getting any satisfactory answers, but Avellar shrank back into the shelter of the nearest stack of crates. “Faro,” he whispered. “Can you take him?”

“I can take him,” Faro said, and nodded to the closer guard. “But that one will spread the alarm the minute he goes down.”

“Leave that to me,” Harmsway whispered.

“Don’t be stupid,” Hazard began, and the electrokinetic shook his head, the ghost of a smile wreathing his mouth.

“The com circuit has to go, or we’re all shot. Lucky you have me.”

“Be ready when he takes out the com,” Avellar said to Faro, and the older man nodded, his eyes fixed over the leveled gun. Africa dropped to his knees beside him, tucked the laser rifle against his shoulder.

Harmsway closed his eyes, drawing on what remained of his power. His whole body seemed for an instant to be stretched to breaking, as though the psionic stress had translated itself to every muscle in his body, and then the pain had passed. He reached along the wires behind the distant wall, searching carefully to avoid anything that was not part of the communications system, and teased his way into the handset. For an instant, he considered the spectacular, blowing all the circuits in a shower of gaudy sparks, but he no longer had the strength for that. He reached for a fuse instead and quietly poured what was left of his power through it. The cylinder melted, and he allowed himself to fall back into his body.

The guard stopped, shook his head and then the handset, and stepped forward to join the other, holding out the suddenly silent com‑unit.

“Now!” Avellar said, and the others fired almost as he spoke. The guards fell without a sound. “Nice shooting. Let’s go.” He started across the narrow space without looking back. The others followed, crowding into the narrow space between the outer door and the ship’s hatch, and Africa fiddled with the controls to close the door behind them. Avellar nodded, and laid his hand against the sensor panel in the center of the hatch. There was a soft click, and then a high‑pitched tone.

“Royal Avellar,” he said, and waited. A heartbeat later, the cargo lock creaked open. Familiar people, familiar faces, were waiting inside the lock, and Avellar smiled with open pleasure.

“Danile,” he said, and a man–greying, thin, a long, heavily embroidered coat thrown open over expensively plain shirt and trousers–looked back at him gravely.

“I’m back, Danile,” Avellar said again, and the greying man nodded.

“You’re here.”

“And I have Harmsway, and the others,” Avellar went on. “We had an agreement, Danile.”

Danile nodded again, more slowly. “Yes.”

“You said,” Avellar said, a note of menace in his voice, “you said you would support me, support my claim to the throne, if I brought Desir of Harmsway out of Ixion’s Wheel. We’re here, Danile. Are you going to keep your part of the bargain?”

“I didn’t think you could do it,” Danile said. “I thought–I thought I’d be rid of you. But if you can do this…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. “If you can do this, yes, you’re the best choice for the position. Yes, I’ll support you–Majesty.”

Avellar smiled with wolfish triumph, and one of Danile’s crew said urgently, “Sirs–”

“She’s right,” Danile said. “We have to hurry. We’re cleared for departure; we’d better go while we still can.”

There was a ragged murmur of agreement, and the group began to move farther into the ship, following Avellar and Danile. The cargo door slid shut again behind them, closing off their last view of Ixion’s Wheel.

Day 16

Storm: Ransome’s Loft, Old Coast Road,

Newfields, Above Junction Pool

Lioe closed down the system for the last time, running her hands over the secondary controls to disconnect the monitors. She already had all the data she needed, stored in spheres until her new space was up and running–a newer building, down in the Dock Road District, closer to the clubs. A haulage company would come for the machines later, or at least for the ones she had decided to keep. It was a generous legacy, maybe too generous, especially since she was still not sure if Ransome would have wanted her to have it. She was better than he had ever been, at both games, politics and the Game itself, and once the novelty had worn off, it might have become awkward between them. But there was no point in might‑have‑beens. She looked around a final time, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. There was nothing left, nothing that she wanted, and she let herself out into the sun‑warmed corridor. The elevator was in use, as always; she scrambled down the new stairway, walled in storm‑hardened glass, barely aware of the cityscape spread out below the cliff edge beyond her. Roscha was waiting, with a borrowed denki‑bike, and the new Game began tonight. Lioe smiled, and hurried.