by Patty Jansen
Ruko’s touch felt like burning fire, but Tandor laughed. He didn’t know how he still could laugh, but he did.
“I’ll remind you: you’re a servitor. If you kill me, you die as well.”
“Then I will have died a worthy death.”
“Oh, just stop it with the rubbish. Untie me, and we’ll go and find this girl of yours.”
“No. I don’t believe you anymore. I’m going to kill you, and all the people you care about, in the same way you took Peonie away from me.”
“And how do you think the girl will love you when you’re dead?”
“I’ll be dead, anyway. She was the only one who cared for me, ever. You turned her into a murdering monster.”
“It was nothing to do with me. It was the Knights who put sinks in the Imperfects’ bodies. They caused this disaster to happen.”
“You lie, you lie!”
“I don’t, and if you take these bonds away, I can show you. There are ways in which I can turn her back to normal.”
“You lie. I have believed you far too long.”
“But you want her to join you?”
Ruko hesitated. His dark eyes looked suspicious.
“Anyway, supposing you would kill me, and you’d survive, do you have a plan how to rescue her?”
Ruko’s lips twitched.
“See? You have no idea. You can’t do it. If you take away these bonds—”
“Shut up!”
“—I can show you—”
“Shut up! I don’t believe you anymore.”
“Cut these bonds.”
“No!”
“Cut them, I said. You’re my servitor. Obey me.”
Ruko folded his arms across his chest.
Tandor yanked, but his arms would not come free. He tried to call icefire, but it would not come.
He could see his own shape on the bed. He could see two vague figures of the women, but they couldn’t hear him. His bond to Ruko was a bright blue strand of light, and Ruko sat, clear as life, on the corner of the bed. He wanted to sever the stream, but he couldn’t. He wanted to scream at the women for help, but he couldn’t.
And he couldn’t show Ruko how scared he was.
“What are you going to do with me?” he asked.
Ruko smiled, not a pleasant smile. “That’s better. From now on, I am the master.”
Tandor snorted. “Most people can’t even see you.”
“No, but that can be fixed.”
By the skylights. His travel chest contained the jar with Ruko’s heart. He could, if he knew how, or had access to someone who could bend icefire, turn himself back into an independent person.
Chapter 6
* * *
WITHIN A FEW very long days, Sady went from being a senator too academic to warrant much discussion to being one of the most-discussed in the city of Tiverius. Everyone knew about his distribution of salt pills. Everyone had their opinion, too, mostly unfavourable. Budget problems were bad enough already, they said. He should have asked for permission, they said. Maybe he should have, but it had been within his spending limit without having to ask permission.
Destran then halted the distribution of those pills, at which border regions which hadn’t yet received supplies sent a veritable avalanche of telegrams asking why they didn’t get the pills while the neighbouring district had received them.
With his distribution program cut short and half the southern districts angry at him, Sady asked for funding to visit those southern regions to measure and map the changes in sonorics himself, and to quell the anger. Because he wasn’t every senator’s golden boy right then, the application was refused.
Every time certain senators passed him in the corridors of the building, they felt it necessary to make sneering comments. That he wanted to draw attention to the Meteorology office; that he talked up the sonorics crisis just so that he could have more staff and money. An anonymous person sent him a table of data showing effects of various levels of sonorics on humans.
Sady read the report, feeling increasingly sick. The experiment had submitted people with no natural tolerance to as much as three hundred motes per cube. The work was littered with comment like Subject showed severe nausea, disorientation and bleeding from nose and gums or subject died after three months. Yes, it also showed that maybe Chevakian sonorics safety standards were a little on the cautious side, but mercy, this table meant that someone had actually done this work on human subjects. On Chevakians. He thought of all those girls who had been abducted from the border villages, and none of whom had ever returned.
He was unable to trace the origin of the report, although he strongly suspected that it was a translation from a southern document, and that it must have come from some dark corner of the Scriptorium library.
Meanwhile, Viki’s reports of the levels at border stations inched very slowly in the direction of the twenty motes, but not convincingly so, and each time he presented the figures to the doga, Destran asked for a second opinion from the Scriptorium, which either came in not at all or spoke in very vague terms, and offered Destran an excuse for not spending money or resources on the problem.
The more time passed, the clearer it became to Sady that he couldn’t afford to be caught in whatever political reason Destran and Alius had for not acting. Something needed to be done, and needed to be done urgently, while Chevakian still had the opportunity to act.
So one morning, he sent out Orsan, the faithful leader of his personal guard, with a message to a lady he hadn’t seen for many years.
When Orsan returned, he was informed that the Lady Armaine wasn’t interested in seeing anyone. The note she sent him was quite rude, but it made him smile. Lady Armaine might be old, but she certainly hadn’t lost any of her bite. There was a fair chance that the old hag secretly relished the attention.
Everyone in Tiverius, or at least everyone in the inner city, knew the house of the merchant family whose oldest son had married the haughty southern beauty. Her dark-haired children, now well into middle age, were features of the district. Girls both, they had inherited every bit of their mother’s pride, and married into well-off merchant families themselves.
Sady had been only a small toddler at the time that the woman had arrived in Tiverius, but he remembered the gossip, especially since she had come into the city alone and pregnant, had given birth while staying in the merchant’s house, and had subsequently married her host, a man more than twenty years her senior.
Sady remembered her son, an arrogant, sleek, black-haired youth with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He came to Sady’s school when Sady was in the highest grade, and caused a lot of fights by being an incredibly rude and outspoken little creep of a kid. Sady was never quite clear what had become of the boy after he had left school, save that his mother had taken him on an extended trip to the south when he was about sixteen or seventeen. By that time, Tiverius was in a full-scale diplomatic conflict with the City of Glass over the Knights’ kidnapping of women from the towns on the border. The surly teenager had taken over some unidentified part of his stepfather’s business and had been one of the few people who regularly travelled between Tiverius and the City of Glass. Not needing protective suits was no doubt a great advantage for him. He would be able to blend in perfectly in the City of Glass.
He used to be on the doga’s books as a spy, but as far as Sady had been able to trace, hadn’t delivered reports for many years. How the family lived was anyone’s guess, because their merchanting business didn’t appear to be bringing in a lot of money. They had no physical office, no shops, no warehouses and yet they were still considered one of the wealthiest families in Chevakia.
The merchant had long since died of old age, Sady hardly ever saw t
he son anymore, but the woman’s two daughters, the ones resulting from the marriage to the merchant, and their mother, still lived in the family house and Sady decided to pay them a visit in person.
Like most merchant houses, the residence was a huge sprawling affair, comprising several buildings, courtyards, pools and other such extravagances in Tiverius’ dry climate.
The merchant had built it back from the street on a hill. A solid wall surrounded the land, with a forbidding fence attended by a doorman in family colours.
Sady introduced himself. “Senator Sadorius han Chevonian from the doga. I’d like to see the lady of house.”
The guard’s eyebrows rose. “The lady Rosane?”
“Armaine.” Such southern names, too. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember the son’s name, the arrogant little creep.
The guard’s eyebrows rose further. “You’re sure you mean to see the mistress’ mother? She is very old and hasn’t left the house for months.”
“Yes, it is her I wish to see.”
The man gave him a weird glance. “We have a standing instruction not to let anyone talk to her.”
“I wrote to her and she should be expecting me.” He held out the letter.
The man raised his eyebrows. “Doesn’t it say here that she doesn’t want to be disturbed?”
“Has the lady ever welcomed anyone? Yet, does she complain when people don’t consult her? I’m about twice your age; I am familiar with her tricks.”
“Fair enough. Come along, then. But don’t blame me if she starts swearing at you. She’s got a temper and is not exactly accommodating these days.”
“I’m willing to give it a try.”
The man led Sady through a magnificent garden where water burbled in ponds with fat yellow fish, and shrubs were neatly clipped into miniature shapes depicting birds and bears, similar to the plants he had seen in the houses of the rich in the City of Glass. The garden beds in between the bushes were paved with pure white stones, so it looked like there was snow on the ground.
He became overwhelmed with memories of his two trips to the City of Glass, the pristine whiteness of it, the scents of cooking meat, since it was almost the only thing southerners ate. The absolute bitter cold that was nothing like anyone in Chevakia would have experienced before. The claustrophobia of being stuck inside a suit for days on end. The smell of the inside of the suit. The feeling that everyone in the City of Glass was on edge and you could get arrested for the simplest transgression.
They went up the stone steps into a wide and airy hall with mosaic floors with large double doors and glass-stained windows.
The guard knocked at one such door and stuck his head in.
“There is a senator from the doga to speak to you, mistress.”
Sady couldn’t hear the reply, but it sounded sharp. He was expecting to be refused, but the man stepped back and opened the door fully. “You’re in luck. She is in a good mood today.”
Sady entered a magnificent high-ceilinged drawing room with a mosaic floor and plaster friezes on the walls. An elegant row of pillars supported the roof. The doors into another garden were open and let in the breeze, which billowed up the curtains. The cold edge of the breeze didn’t seem to bother the woman who sat at a solid wooden desk in the middle of the room.
Sady hadn’t seen her for years, and she looked much older, her face lined with deep wrinkles. Her hair was now snowy white, and tied in a loose bun at the top of her head. Over her thin shoulders she wore a heavy embroidered robe, too hot for Tiverius, but something that would not have looked out-of-place indoors in the City of Glass.
She was writing something in a thick book, her hand gnarled with age and corded with veins. Sady glanced at the curly script wondering how many people in the south could read and write. Not many, he thought. During his visits, he had never spotted any scripts.
She looked up from her work. The eyes that met his over the rim of her glasses were cloudy with age, but still dark blue.
“Forgive me, lady, for interrupting you,” Sady said. “The matter at hand is quite urgent.”
“You have already interrupted me. We might as well get it over with.” Her voice was educated, with the slightest of accents. Sady had almost forgotten what a southern accent sounded like.
“I’m here as a representative of the Chevakian doga,” Sady began. “My name is Sadorius han Chevonian.”
“Oh yes, I remember you.” She cocked her head. “Weren’t you one of those pesky kids who used to tease my son? What was it you used to call him? Mudhead?”
Mercy, did she really have to dig that up? To be honest, the kid’s behaviour was asking for it; even the teachers said so. At some stage, Sady must have participated. Not something he was proud of.
“So, you’ve become a politician, like your useless brother.” She chuckled. “Yes, yes, I think this talk will be interesting. Sit down there, young man. I cannot stand having to look up at people.”
Sady sat, meeting her eyes, which were blue. “Just to clear up any misconceptions, I’m not here for any political purpose.”
She laughed. “That’s what they all say. I am sure, senator, that once we get to the real reason you’ve come here, we can get the discussion to political subjects in no time. But do tell me, because I’m interested now, what makes you so insistent to see me?”
Sady bit his tongue. He had secretly hoped that might have mellowed with age. False hope, as it turned out to be.
“My question is simple, Lady. Are you aware of anything that is happening in the City of Glass?”
Another cock of her head. “Why do you ask me? You know I am not in contact with the City of Glass on a daily basis. I was a refugee, as you are certainly old enough to remember. They killed my family.”
No, she certainly had lost none of her bite. “I understand, but at the moment, we have no one else to turn to. I am the doga’s chief meteorologist. We have recently measured a recent sharp rise in the level of sonorics. Under the influence of the cold air streams, there is a huge supercell developing over the southern continent, a storm the likes of which we haven’t seen for many years. You see, low pressure systems can be induced by a rise in sonorics and we are afraid that—”
“Yes, yes, you don’t need to spell out all the details for me. I know. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know?” She laughed at her own joke.
Sady met her eyes, wondering how much she knew about this subject. There were rumours that some people in the south had formulae to calculate the energy carried by sonoric motes, and that they did so in order to predict how many people they could kill and how many buildings they could destroy with it. And that brought his thoughts back to that uncomfortable piece of research circulated by unknown sources in the doga. Subject died after three months. Imagine the pain and suffering encapsulated in that simple line.
He asked, “Do you know then why this is happening?”
She laughed. “Don’t your machines give you the answers you need?”
“Our sonorics metres and barygraphs tell us the patterns, but we need to understand what causes them, and what we can do about it.”
“What you can do?” She laughed. “Once the Heart roars, watch and see glory return to our land. The process has been set in motion; there is nothing you can do, except buy our marvels, when they become available.”
“Wait—this increase is the result of something people have done?”
“What do you think? That we are as helpless as you?”
“But his power cannot be controlled. When I visited the City of Glass, the Eagle Knights told me—”
“Knights!” She laughed. “They wouldn’t know anything. They pretend the whole thing doesn’t exist. It is they who spread these rumours—rumo
urs which you Chevakians have been oh so quick to believe—that this power is magic and uncontrollable. Did you think anyone could derive real power out of a myth? That you could run heating and trains from something that’s magic? The Knights have been trying to stifle it, for the only reason that they cannot see it, or do anything with it. Out of sheer jealousy, they condemned our land to poverty. But when the Knights couldn’t stop the Heart working, they dragged it down under the ground as far as they could. You thought your barriers worked so well? Ha, no, that’s because the Heart has been sheltered by layers and layers of stone for many years.”
Sady knew that to be a lie. The Most Learned Alius had done a lot of work on the barriers, and they were effective; measurements proved that. But the suggestion that this machine could be made to emit more of the deadly rays worried him deeply. If it was true, it would be a disaster.
“Then what has changed now? Did they uncover the machine?” He didn’t believe any of this, but it was always easier to get what you wanted out of people if you agreed with them. One of the despicable sides of diplomacy.
“No, not them. The Knights thought that only if they eliminated all the elements that supported the royal family, they could seize complete control over the south, but they forgot that people have memories, people have books, even in the City of Glass. Some people travel all the corners of Chevakia and Arania to find these illegal books that were smuggled from the City of Glass at the fall of the king.”
Sady glanced at the book on her desk, and remembered stalls of dusty old books in the marketplace, and the great libraries: the multi-storey treasure of the Scriptorium, and his brother’s extensive library. And some dark place that housed the book with the horrible experiments. He regretted that he’d never had much patience for study out of dusty books.
She continued, “Books have become quite valuable in certain southern circles recently, initially as curiosity. Those old, forbidden books show a City of Glass none of the current population recognises. In those books, they will see the trains. They will see the comfortable houses, heated glasshouses with lush plants, and they will ask: why can’t we live like that anymore, if it means no more hunger and cold. And then they find out that some people have been using the remaining power of the Heart, and have been practicing the knowledge of the old royal family and want to rid the land of the ignorance perpetrated by the Knights—see we’re already into politics.” Her eyes twinkled.