The idiot had had his commission bought, so he had probably never killed anyone with his bare hands before. No wonder she had survived.
"So, here we are again," said the sergeant, his gun level and steady.
Velesti said nothing, but kept her arms up and perfectly still. Her eyes were wide.
"Come, now, what about 'Don't hurt me'? No tears this time?"
Velesti continued to regard him steadily, her face blank.
"So, you think that you have a chance because you have a gun. Take it out of your belt, slowly, give it here."
Velesti did not move.
"Give it here, slut! I'll kill you!"
Still Velesti did not move. The sergeant advanced slowly, his gun held before him.
"Just the slightest nudge of my finger and this bores into you. Understand that? Eh? Better to have me boring in, just you believe it. Who would have thought I would again lie between your legs? Think about that while I—"
He had reached out to draw the flintlock from Velesti's belt. Those skilled in martial arts know that a well-trained and totally confident fighter can move faster than an opponent can react to pull a trigger, provided that the gun is within reach. Velesti's left hand swept down to bat the gun aside while her right chopped down into the side of the sergeant's neck. With her right hand she seized his collar and chopped the edge of her left into his throat. Now her left hand slid under his right arm and she bent him over with a straight-arm lock before bringing her knee up into his face. Unconscious, and with his windpipe crushed, the sergeant collapsed with the gun in his hand still ready to fire. Velesti put a knee into his back and gripped his head in both hands. With a brisk twist she snapped his neck.
It might be fair to say that the sergeant's dead body did, technically, lie between Velesti's legs as she stepped over it to walk away, but it was not the sort of technicality that would have given him any comfort, or one that she cared about.
Velesti set out for her hostelry. On the street ahead were two figures walking very slowly, and spaced so that with their arms outstretched they could have touched the buildings on either side. Glancing behind her, she noted a third shadowboy, this one hurrying along as if to catch up. She did not vary her pace, and closed steadily with the two ahead of her, walking to the left of the gutter in the center of the street. They closed. At the last moment she stepped to the right as if to give way.
The shadowboy sprang for her. Velesti took his arm, dropped her weight, spun him, thrust her hip into his abdomen, and flung him over her back to crash down on his companion. Picking up his swagger stick she spun and slashed it down across the face of the shadowboy who had been following her, then brought it up backhand into his crotch. By now the first shadowboy was back on his feet with his flintlock out. Velesti's Morelac went off in his face, placing a shot neatly between his eyes. The man he had come down upon did well to merely collect the side of her boot in his throat. Although it did not quite crush his windpipe, he suddenly became far more interested in merely breathing than trying to abduct any girl, no matter how good her background in arithmetic might be. Dropping the swagger stick, Velesti stepped over the bodies of both the dead and the severely distressed, then continued on down the narrow street.
A light began to shimmer beside her as she walked through the drizzle that was again falling, and within moments the light resolved itself into a striding human figure. The more detail the figure gained, the less it glowed.
"The evening's compliments, Frelle Zarvora," said Velesti without turning.
"You look wet," replied the apparition.
"Rain has that effect on me."
Zarvora's hair remained bushy and dry as the raindrops plunged straight through it unimpeded.
"That was a remarkably quick and humane pair of killings," Zarvora observed.
"Does that disappoint you?"
"No, but it does surprise me."
"I am not a cruel person. I think of it as culling an unhealthy characteristic from the human species, while at the same time giving a strong incentive for potential offenders not to offend."
They approached the awning of a tavern, where several galley engine navvies stood drinking. The burly men began to whistle and call unseemly suggestions. Zarvora walked straight through them. They dropped their tankards and scattered, screaming with fear, into the rain sodden darkness.
"I trust you have not forgotten our arrangement," said Zarvora, folding her arms behind her back.
"It is less than a month since you placed me here, and as you may have noticed, this body was not in the best of condition. I am on my way to Rochester and this is a scheduled stop. Is there a problem with any of the foregoing?"
"No. But remember that I have a deadline that is not subject to negotiation."
"I shall meet your deadline, Frelle Zarvora of Mirrorsun, and with no tricks. After what you did to me, I think that is an extra-dordinarily generous concession on my part."
"I had no choice, you know that as well as I do."
Rochester, the Rochestrian Commonwealth
Une hundred seventy miles to the east in Rochester, Martyne entered a tavern and ordered a drink. This he sipped at so lightly that even the taste barely got past his lips. Before long he was accosted by a drinker with the mannerisms of an old friend rediscovered after many years apart.
"Fras Delta," his contact said as he slapped Martyne on the back and sat down at his table.
"Fras Gamma," replied Martyne softly, but with a wide smile.
Delta glanced about, but kept his own smile wide for the benefit of any interested onlookers.
"I hear that you are from Balesha, and have a contract to teach theology at the university," Delta said as if in congratulation.
"All true," said Martyne.
The Espionage Constable appraised him warily.
"Your background seems ideal, but you must realize that trust will take a long time to grow between the Constables and yourself. You must submit to tests of loyalty, and dangerous drudge work."
"I expect nothing less."
"A report has been made about you. You accessed certain registers to trace the movements of one Frelle Velesti Disore, Dragon Yellow and national of the Central Confederation."
"So? Is she under suspicion?"
"No."
"We grew up together; she is my friend. I wish to stay in contact with her."
"She should not be of concern to you, Fras Delta. You are one of us now."
"I have lived five years with colleagues instead of friends, Fras Gamma. You are a colleague. Velesti is a friend. Without friends a person's decisions become as cold as meltwater in a gutter after a hailstorm, and that is not healthy."
Velesti Disore was within the walls of Libris within fifteen minutes of arriving in Rochester. She regarded the Libris examiner steadily through cold, blue-gray eyes. He actually shivered, then stared at her application rather than lock stares with her again. Candidates for examination were meant to be nervous, or at least to be cultivating a cheery facade. This one could have been strikingly pretty with a little stylish makeup, yet she came across as merely wholesome: well scrubbed, lightly tanned, with hair cut straight at the shoulders and bangs at her forehead.
"So, you are Dragon Yellow level at the Theological College of Holy Trinity in Griffith," Sotel said brightly.
"No, I have resigned."
"Oh! That is . . . oh."
Librarians never resigned. Once one was in the system, one was part of the system. She was either insane, stupid, or very confident about something. He looked farther down her application. She had applied for regrading from Dragon Yellow to Dragon Blue.
"In order to be graded to Dragon Blue one needs a degree and a great deal of experience in library administration, procedures, and protocols."
"I have detailed knowledge of human calculor component training, discipline, and regulation, along with knowledge of human battle calculor functioning, communications protocols, and knowledge manipulation theo
ry."
The fact that she even knew the terminology took Sotel's breath away.
"Where did you get such a background?" he asked, once he was able to speak.
"I knew Highliber Zarvora."
"You—but you must have been a mere girl when she died."
"I was a very precocious girl."
Sotel considered. Dragon Blue was the highest level that one could gain via examination. Higher levels came from ability, experience, or patronage—and generally the last-named featured most heavily in assessment. If she was all that she said she was, she would be the recruit of the year. She could certainly pass the examination. If she failed, he would lose face. He decided that he would personally escort her to the stocks, were that to happen.
"Well, then, I think that we can arrange an examination, Frelle Velesti. Is straight away too soon for you?"
"No."
Three hours later Velesti Disora had completed the examination, and ten minutes after that Sotel had finished marking her answers. Nine questions out of every ten were correct, and those that she had not passed were to do with fairly recent changes in calculor procedures. There was still the matter of weapons experience, however. Her papers showed that she had never taken a test or done training. Sotel took a Cambrissen flintlock down from a rack on the wall and presented it to her on the palms of his hands.
"You are required to demonstrate proficiency—" he began.
Velsti took the flintlock from him, twisted back the striker, laid the barrel across the back of her left wrist and turned to the window. She fired. When the smoke had dispersed a little Sotel looked through the broken window. A distant weather cock was now missing its head.
"I-I-I see," stammered Sotel, shakily writing "Proficient" in the space beside Duelist.
Two Tiger Dragon guards burst into the room. Sotel assured them that everything was all right and dismissed them.
"Well, then, that appears to be all," he said to Velesti when the guards were gone. "Do you have any preference as to where you would like to work?"
"As a calculor regulator or in the Espionage Constables."
"But, but the calculor does not exist—I mean, no calculor exists."
"I wish to work as a calculor regulator or in the Espionage Constables. If I cannot, I shall leave."
"Leave? But no, you cannot do that. Nobody with skill in mathematics may leave Libris—except with permission of the Highliber— and you have demonstrated very impressive skills with figures."
"If I cannot be a calculor regulator or an Espionage Constable, I shall leave."
"You would be stopped."
Velesti clasped her hands together on the desk and locked stares with Sotel.
"That would be a very, very bad idea."
Perspiring heavily, and somewhat unsteady on his feet, Sotel left Velsti in his office and hurried to his Dragon Silver supervisor.
"Good news, I have just taken a candidate through the Dragon Blue examination," he said, flourishing Velesti's application without actually laying it on her desk. "What is more, she has knowledge of human calculor systems as well as very advanced weapons skills. She wants to join the regulators or the Espionage Constables."
The Dragon Silver rose to her feet, beaming.
"Praise to the Lord!" she exclaimed. "She can join both! Draw
up her articles, I'll present them to her, then take her to Dolorian Hall for the Highliber to meet. Was that her shot, just now?"
"Yes, at the weather cock."
"So, and she took the head off from at least sixty yards! Stunning. Where is she from?"
"The Central Confederation. The trouble is that she has no degree."
"Pah, a Tiger Dragon can be Dragon Blue without a formal degree; these days anyone with sufficient talent can be anything if the Highliber puts his seal on the paperwork. Well, don't just stand there, Fras Sotel, bring her here, I want to meet her!"
Velesti was escorted along numerous corridors while an entourage of lackeys and lesser Dragon Colors drew up scrolls on trays, pinned and sewed badges and colors onto her clothing, and had her sign registers and swear oaths. As the clock in Dolorian Hall struck three, Velesti entered as the second most rapidly promoted recruit ever to have passed through the Dragon Librarian Service examination system.
wP p j
—FIST OF FRIENDSHIP
Rochester, the Rochestrian Commonwealth
Velesti looked around Mica's little room in the attic of the tavern. It could very easily have been described as small and seedy, but Julica had a talent for making do with very little and the room actually seemed intimate and cozy even though its furnishings would not have cost more than a dozen or two silver nobles.
"After persuading the bargemen that I knew mathematics I was bound, hidden, and smuggled right through Southmoor territory to Rochester," Julica explained as they sipped tea from borrowed wine mugs. "Once in Rochester I was taken to Libris."
"And thrown out almost as soon as you arrived?" asked Velesti.
"You have it; figures are not one of my strengths. I got work in this tavern that very day. One of their jarmaids had been dragged off to Libris due to knowing a little arithmetic. So, here I am, building a new life. Harlotry pays better, but I am not that sort of girl."
"Are you the sort of girl to listen for suspicious conversations and report their content to me in return for payment?"
"You mean among the drinkers, Vel?"
"Yes. I shall pay you well."
Julica did not hesitate for very long.
"The money would be welcome. I may not be able to keep this job more than four or five months, being pregnant."
Velesti nodded at the revelation, but made no attempt to hug or otherwise comfort Julica.
"I heard about Martyne and you," she said.
"From who?" Julica gasped. "Surely not Martyne, he said he would not—"
"The Camderines' maid. Like you, she is prone to listen at keyholes."
"Girls looking obviously pregnant cannot work as jarmaids."
"That will not last."
"I have no family. How can I work and raise a child?"
"Libris has a nursery," said Velesti as if she was answering a very easy technical question. "I could arrange for the child to be placed there."
These words were worth a great deal more than any hugs or good wishes that anyone could have possibly given Julica. Dropping her mug of tea, she flung arms around Velesti and clung to her for many minutes, sobbing with relief and gratitude.
"Then you will be my spy?" asked Velesti.
"Anything, anything!" cried Julica. "You have given my future back to me."
The Rochestrian Commonwealth, east of Rochester
Barely a month after it had fallen from the sky, the remains of the Titan were crumbling and dissolving into the soil. Even its electrical engines and propellers had the look of being centuries old. The two riders dismounted and walked over to the nearest of the engine pods, waving to the distant farm laborers.
"Fully a half mile in wingspan, would you have imagined it without seeing this?" said Terian with a gesture to the wreck that stretched away across the fields like a long, bluish road.
"And you say it actually flew?" asked Shadowmouse.
"It could go so high that the air was too thin to breathe. It was dropped from orbit in a case the size of a palace, but the case split
open ten miles above the ground and all this unfolded. It drank sunlight as it glided, then began to spin these propellers. It could even store sunlight to stay up during the night."
"So it had never touched the ground before it crashed?"
"Correct."
"Incredible," breathed Shadowmouse. "But you say that much smaller sunwings were used to ferry passengers and crew from the ground. Did they all meet with the same fate?"
"All three that we know about, yes. Two ferries were on the ground, one in the air. Its flyer parachuted to safety but died of thirst in a desert before he was found. Watch."
Terian reached out to an unbroken blade of the propeller and pulled. About a yard of it snapped off in his hand. Shadowmouse whistled.
"Just over a month ago a direct blow from an ax would have barely scratched the surface, and even the scratch would have healed over within hours. This machine was alive, with electricity as its lifeblood. Now it is dead and its body decays, just as ours will one day. As for salvage, the scavengers arrived within a few hours of the crash. We had made sure that everything of importance had been either burned or destroyed long before the crash, so they found only food, bodies, and a few oddments of no particular worth."
"You? You mean you were actually aboard?"
"I was the captain, Fras Shadowmouse. It took the Titan nearly three hours to fall out of the sky, but only one in three aboard survived that nightmare glide. It's strange to think that by going down with my sunwing, I turned out to have the best chance of survival."
They mounted their horses and began to ride along the edge of the Titan. Even though the thousands of other visitors to the site had worn a clear path around the edge of the huge aircraft's remains, it was an hour before they reached the point from which they had started. Shadowmouse took one last look along the wreck without dismounting, then reached out to touch the stub of a broken propeller.
"Saying good-bye?" asked Terian.
Eyes of the Calculor Page 18