GHOSTS IN THE GLASS

by S.

  “Don’t forget me. We may never meet again. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, or if I’ll get to see you before I leave, but remember what I said about Dogton.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  “And thank you for the ride here. It would have taken me many days to reach the Foundry on foot, and I don’t know this region like I do the south Shy’war-Anquai. I might have starved or died of thirst if you hadn’t come and helped me.”

  The boy shuffled, embarrassed. “Yeah, it was no big deal.” He stuck out his hand to shake.

  Aizr-hin took it, squeezing firmly. “Goodbye, Erid.”

  Erid ducked his face to hide the emotion there. “Bye, and good luck.”

  Holt cleared his throat. “Erid, let’s go.”

  “Be content, Erid. May the Sun grace you in all your journeys.” He bowed his head grandly, thinking it might cheer the boy a little to see such a foppish gesture from a man in rags. But Erid only nodded again, squeezed his hand one last time, then turned and vanished through the doorway.

  Lawrence Holt paused, looking at him directly for the first time. In those pale eyes, Aizr-hin saw a flicker of contempt no false courtesy could hide. Holt and the three men left without speaking and closed the door softly. The echo of boots against tile followed. Then, even that faded so the only the quiet tick-tock of the clock remained.

  Aizr-hin surveyed the room as he waited. The ceiling and cement walls had been painted a drab green, and the room’s single picture—a smiling Estarian woman—beamed back at him as she leaned eternally against a rover, wrench in hand. Her green eyes seemed flat beneath their layer of dust, and her hair—ash blond and done in some outdated fashion—accentuated her freckles and pert nose. The glass and frame needed cleaning, and the woman’s frozen smile began to depress him.

  I don’t like it here. That black soot gets on everything. Ruins whatever beauty that photograph might have had, and ruins the beauty of the desert, too.

  Aizr-hin sighed, shoulders slumping. There was no point in keeping up the act of regality sitting on a hard bench in a silent, green room.

  The door swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges. Khote stood in the doorway, an unreadable expression on her tawny face. “Ham Elgin is ready. He’s just finished speaking to Erid about what happened in Dogton and on the way here. You made a good impression on the boy.”

  Ass numb from the unyielding seat, Aizr-hin rose stiffly, but managed a smile. “He’s intelligent and kind, but will not let himself be bullied. I think he will do well in life.” He paused, let the smile fall from his face, and spoke without any of the cloying flattery of earlier. “Khote, it is said Drahgur see everything and tell nothing, like the crows, but if there is anything you could tell me about what to expect, I would be sincerely grateful. I am no diplomat, and I am hardly dressed for a meeting with someone like Ham Elgin.”

  Khote regarded him a moment. “Let’s walk, and I’ll tell you a little of what I know.” Motioning him to follow, she turned, moving quickly. Aizr-hin’s sandals smacked sharply on the tiles as he caught up. The sound made him wince.

  I suppose I ought to keep it up, though. A Sulari prince always lets everyone know when he is near. I’m not out hunting sand hog or antelope now—no need to keep silent.

  “Elgin isn’t the only one you’ll be meeting with,” Khote said, interrupting his thoughts. “There’s an important emissary. . . well, no. More than an emissary. . . she’s a Syndicate member from Avaeliis. She’s taken a special interest in all this, and will want to ask you some questions.”

  “From the Avaeliis Syndicate?” Aizr-hin shook off the urge to turn and run out of the ugly Union Hall. Instead, he laughed too loudly, as befitted a Sulari prince confronted with some trivial inconvenience. “I should have worn my silk yalei and brought my body servant for such a meeting. She’ll think me a pretty poor sort of host, I suppose.”

  “She’d think anyone a poor host. She’s got eyes like razor blades; take care they don’t cut you.” The Drahgur tilted her head, her long, black curls bobbing with each brisk step. “The Sulari never did my people any favors. But no one ever really has, except perhaps in the early days of. . . ah, now. That doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand. “But I like you anyway, Aizr-hin. I think you mean well, regardless of your heritage and no small streak of vanity. I seem to have a weakness for handsome men.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed gracefully without missing a step. “Those are kind words. But I think they are meant to mask something else. Am I correct in that assumption, beautiful Drahgur woman with a smile more glorious than the stars?”

  She flashed a grin, then grew serious. “Be careful of what you say to her. That’s as much as I can do—anything more, and I’ll be out of a job and forced to go peddle snake oil like my cousin. Sokepta never did know how to keep quiet.” Khote motioned toward several doors further down the long, empty hall. “Last one on the right. I’ll be taking notes of this meeting, Aizr-hin. Remember everything you say will be on file in Avaeliis.”

  A chill settled at the base of his skull. As Khote paused in front of the door, the ache grew heavier, almost into real pain. The urge to run became so strong Aizr-hin found himself planting a hand against the wall to stop himself. Some deep instinct—the same he sometimes got out hunting in the scrub country—made sweat bead along his brow.

  Whatever this Syndicate woman is, she’s as hungry as threk or a pack of starved coyotes, and she’ll eat me if I’m not careful. This cannot be what Father had in mind. . . can it?

  Khote motioned impatiently. “This way. They’re waiting to hear what you’ve got to say.” Her irritation faded to a vague sympathy. “Good luck, Aizr-hin. I hope you can get the help you need here for Bywater.”

  He squared his shoulders and swept into the meeting room. The bright, colorless lights bounced off the gray walls, hurting his eyes. Khote closed the door and stepped behind a large table in the center of the room. There, a man waited. Balding and short, he’d pushed the sleeves of his spotless work shirt to the elbows. Sitting beside him was the woman with razor eyes that cut, just like Khote had warned. The lights gleamed against her dark hair, emphasizing the first wrinkles of middle-age on her otherwise statuesque features. She wore a black dress suit made from a fabric Aizr-hin had no name for. It rippled like water as she crossed her legs at the ankles. Behind her, a man—

  . . . ghost. . .

  —in black Excerii plating turned his head to reveal a face bloodlessly pale. His blue eyes stared blankly out at nothing. Aizr-hin almost lost every bit of his feigned dignity as the dead man strode toward him, a bone-white hand extended

  “Please, stand before the table,” the mechinae said tonelessly. “Present yourself to Junkers’ Union President Ham Elgin, and Avaeliis Syndicate member and Veraleid chairwoman Nyia Preciaus-Gamelyin.”

  Precaius? Oh, Father! I’m afraid this won’t end well for the Sulari.

  Aizr-hin moved to the place indicated, tucked one hand over his waist, and the other behind his back. He tilted his chin and looked down his nose, imagining himself wearing flowing robes made of silk and dyed wool, fingers a-glitter with Worm Glass bound in silver and gold. Yes, he was one of those grand diplomats from the paintings; he had no gift to bring, but his very presence would be enough.

  “This is him? The Sulari from that shanty town. . . Dogwater?” Nyia Precaius’s cold, gray eyes raked him, shredding the imagine silks and stripping him of his finery. He stood before her, a beggar in rags.

  “Bywater,” Elgin corrected. He slid a pair of spectacles from his front pocket and balanced them on his wedge-shaped nose, then motioned Khote over. “Let’s have a look at the report the secretary prepared and see if it matches up with what young Erid told us.” He peeked briefly over the rim of his glasses before fixing his gaze on the VDA again.

  “While Mr. Elgin is checking that over, state your name and business here.” Nyia smiled without any warmth. “I’d like to hear it from your own mouth.”

&n
bsp; Aizr-hin returned the smile, but did not let it reach his eyes. It would do no good to flatter this one, he decided—she’d chew up compliments and spit them back at him. “I am prince Aizr-hin, son of prince Gah’leen of—”

  “And what do you want, Aizr-hin?”

  Do not blink. If you blink, it is over.

  “To ask for aid for my people in Bywater. It is said the Junkers’ Union believes in the fair and humane treatment of all people, no matter their race or nationality.” Aizr-hin inclined his head toward Elgin, who only continued to frown at Khote’s report.

  “My people are starving,” Aizr-hin went on. “The children, in particular, have very hard lives. They should not be to blame for what happened more than twenty years ago. They are innocent.” He moved his hand with a grand gesture, as if throngs of hungry, ragged squatter children huddled at his feet. “We have very little food and water, and—”

  “And you,” Nyia interrupted smoothly. “Are blameless as well? I’ve heard reports that the Sulari in Dogwater are known bandits and thieves. That’s where Lein Strauss was from, yes? Indeed. And were you part of that whole debacle?”

  “I. . . very few Sulari in Bywater had any love for Lein Strauss. He forced us to do his bidding.”

  “Lein Strauss is dead,” Elgin said. “I had a report from Dramen Frell before he left Dogton last week. That Shyiine scout and some Enforcer woman killed Strauss down by the Bywater Gully. We haven’t been able to get any reports of further bandit activity in the area because the Dogton scout has gone missing, and Niles. . .” he sighed. “Has made a sheer mess of things down there. No one knows what’s happening. Anywhere.”

  “That will be taken care of shortly.” Nyia flashed her hungry smile. Elgin cleared his throat and turned back to the VDA.

  Aizr-hin steeled himself. “If the Sulari in Bywater are bandits, it is because we are hungry and have no food or water. But the young ones. . . I, Prince Aizr-hin, humbly request you take them into the Foundry. Let them learn a trade. If there is no mercy for the older men and women of Bywater, let there be mercy for the children. They should not starve for what their fathers and grandfathers did.”

  From behind the table, Khote shook her head in silent warning.

  “You’re making demands?” Nyia asked. “Let me lay this out in a frank, simple manner that you can understand. You are a bandit. You could be tried for robbery and murder, right here, and right now. You have, in all likelihood, stolen Avaeliis property and distributed it illegally amongst exiles that should have left the Shy’war-Anquai more than twenty years ago. If we had concrete evidence, I would begin the trial myself this moment. It is that simple lack of evidence that is saving your life.”

  A rush of anger burned through Aizr-hin, making it hard to keep his tone civil. “Our people have nowhere to go.” Ignoring Khote’s fearful expression, he stepped closer to the table. “This desert is our home, and has been for thousands of years, even before the Shyiine or the Estarians.”

  The mechinae slid in front of Nyia Precaius, blocking her from view. He grasped Aizr-hin’s shoulder and gave a single, easy shove. Startled, Aizr-hin stumbled, arms pinwheeling as he caught his balance.

  The mechinae moved to his former position next to the table and clasped his hands at the small of his back. “Please stand three feet from the table at all times. If you do not comply, I must perceive it as a threat to the Veraleid corporation and its chairwoman, and you will be sentenced to Permanence.”

  Hiding his shock as best he could, Aizr-hin nodded; the mechinae would execute him without hesitation, while Ham Elgin and Nyia Preciaus watched. And Khote was a Drahgur who couldn’t fight to stop them. Even now, her shining eyes turned on him, full of sympathy and exasperation. Then, she dropped her gaze again, writing notes on a small pad of paper.

  Nyia’s mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smug smile. “You are an exile, Aizr-hin. I could have you sentenced for that alone. But you are no threat, only a beggar. A thing meant for the rubbish bin of this foul desert. You came here to make demands when your people repeatedly broke all treaties and agreements with Avaeliis? No, I think not. But I will thank you for reminding me of this Dogtwater problem. My brother should have taken care of it years ago, but he’s soft.” Her lips parted, showing even, white teeth. “However, you will find I am not at all like Neiro.”

  “And you, Ham Elgin. . .” Aizr-hin said quietly, hating himself for the plea in his voice. “People say the Junkers’ Union helps everyone, even Enetics. Are the Sulari less worthy because of something that happened a generation ago?”

  Ham Elgin lifted his shoulders. “Your people continually raid caravans. It’s unfortunate, and you have my personal sympathies, but the Union does not aid or send its support to bandits, terrorists, or outlaws. If your people can learn to live within the laws of the Shy’war-Anquai province, then the Union would take your petition and make a vote on it.” He slid the VDA aside. “Take that, Khote. Go make your notes and file it, please.” Adjusting his spectacles, he turned his attention ahead once more. “Aizr-hin, the best I can do is offer you some supplies to take when you leave.”

  There it is, Father. That is the aid the Sulari people are going to get. A few days’ worth of food and water. Not even enough to see me home.

  Nyia smirked again. “A generous offer. I’d take it, if I were you.”

  Aizr-hin stiffened his spine and stood arrow-straight, mustering every ounce of dignity. It flowed into him, as if all the ghosts of his dead ancestors had seen and heard what had gone on in that gray, shadowless room. He smiled, inclined his head, and bowed with easy grace, speaking in the melodious tones he always imagined the finest of diplomats using. “Thank you for your offer, Ham Elgin, but a lion does not become a house cat for the pleasure of a pig.”

  The look on Ham Elgin’s flushed face made him dizzy with joy. Aizr-hin turned his dazzling smile on Nyia Precaius next, met her sleet-gray eyes with the nonchalance a great bird of prey might feel for a skittering beetle, and touched his finger to his groin in the rudest gesture a Sulari could make. “Let all of the seed of House Precaius fall onto empty sand and take no root there. Let your womb lie barren and your family’s bloodline blow into the wind. Let all of the Nah’gatt of the desert come to haunt your life and take you with them, Nyia Preciaus-Gamelyin; you are more venomous than a threk.”

  She blinked, those razor eyes dulled for an instant. It was enough. As he turned, Aizr-hin could almost feel the silk robes on his shoulders twirling with the movement. He walked out of the room without a backward glance. The door closed with a quiet click, and the long hallway stretched before him, dim and barren. Aizr-hin moved slowly, grandly, as if every Junker in the entire Foundry were there observing. And he waited for the mechinae to come bursting through the door at his back and kill him.

  The door did open, but it was not the mechinae; he could tell by the way the quick footsteps tapped on the tiles behind him, growing louder.

  “Aizr-hin!”

  Feeling as though he were drifting along in some surreal half-dream, he looked back. “Khote. You wish to speak to me?”

  “Don’t go back to Bywater,” she said, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “She. . . I’m sorry, Aizr-hin. I tried to warn you. It’s too late now. Glasstown would be safer, and closer. It’s twelve days’ walk to the west. My brother goes there sometimes, he’ll—”

  A shadow moved beneath the doorway behind them, followed by the rattle of the steel knob. Khote blanched, touched Aizr-hin’s arm as she scurried by, and muttered. “I’m sorry.”

  “I thank you for your help,” Aizr-hin said, barely aware he’d spoken at all. He hadn’t saved his people—he’d doomed them. Maybe it had already happened and the ghosts he felt watching him had not been the spirits of ancestors, but shades of Bywater: hungry children, hard-eyed women, and gaunt, hopeless men, thinking only of the next caravan to raid or the next drink of whiskey.

  Gone.

  As Khote vanished around the corn
er, the door opened again, and the even tread of the mechinae’s boots rang down the hall. Squaring his shoulders, Aizr-hin walked, heedless of the tears streaming down his face. Far down the long corridor, the double doors waited. Sunlight slanted underneath, thin and bright as a knife blade. He followed that scant light like a moth, mind blank, eyes aching from holding them open so long.

  Maybe this is how a mechinae feels. Or doesn’t feel—that is more the appropriate way to think of it.

  “I am to escort you out,” The mechinae said.

  Aizr-hin did not acknowledge the dead man as he caught up and walked alongside in silence. From the corner of his eye, Aizr-hin studied the pale, expressionless face. Who that man had been and what crime he must have committed to be sentenced to eternal servitude, he did not know. It seemed fitting, though, to march alongside a ghost. Perhaps they weren’t walking to the outside world and the desert beyond, but to a black pit of Hell. There, his father would be waiting, bemoaning the fate of all their people and the failure of his only son.

  But when the mechinae opened the doors, sunlight, not hellfire, hit Aizr-hin with the force of a smack. He shielded his eyes and looked out at the ugly town the Junkers had built. Beyond the Foundry gates, the sea of dry grass rippled in the wind. Though the sky above was murky with soot, the western horizon shone a brilliant, sapphire blue. His heart lifted, and the tears dried on his cheeks.

  The Sun molded the Pihranese people

  from red dust and onyx black

  And no people alive had such grace,

  Or pleased Sun so well. . .

  Aizr-hin imagined Ga’behz’s voice singing those lines and tried to recall the rest of that ancient poem, but could not.

  The mechinae escorted him through the streets. Several Junkers, watched with interest, but no one spoke or asked questions. Then, Aizr-hin spotted Erid. The boy stood next to a tall, middle-aged woman with steel-gray hair tied at the nape of her neck. Even from the fifty yards separating them, he could see the marked look of shock on the child’s face.