by Peter Newman
He is aware of various factions moving like sharks through the crowds. The scavengers of Slake working for Gorad and Gut-pumper. The First’s nomads, pretending to be independent traders. There are even a couple of the Man-shape’s puppets to be found.
Genner shakes his head. There are too many agendas in the mix, too many ways things can go wrong.
By the time they arrive at the dome, Vesper has come down to meet them. Genner salutes and stands aside, be-coming an unobtrusive figure on the sidelines.
‘You’re alive!’ Vesper shouts, breaking into a run.
The Vagrant smiles, Reela doing the same a beat after.
Just before she gets to them, Jem steps in front and the two embrace.
Some of the lustre fades in the Vagrant’s face.
‘Jem!’ she practically shrieks his name. ‘Oh Jem, I feared the worst.’ She pulls back, looking at him. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Just a few knocks, nothing serious. I’d kill for a good meal though.’
‘Yes, although we’re rationing so don’t get too excited.’ She steps back, looking around him. ‘Is that my Reela?’
Reela nods but as Vesper kneels down the girl backs away.
‘She’s been through a lot,’ Jem mumbles.
Vesper straightens, looking away. ‘I’m sure she has. When you’ve had a chance to rest, I want to hear all about it.’ She steps towards her father, then stops, sudden.
Two swords hum, making the air quiver. An eye at Vesper’s shoulder stares, probing, while the one in Delta’s sword seems to shrink briefly within the hilt before rallying. ‘Is that?’
The Vagrant nods.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s a long story,’ Jem mutters.
The Vagrant nods again.
Vesper looks at the group, taking in each face before turning back to her father. ‘Where’s Uncle Harm?’
The Vagrant steps closer to her, takes her hands in his. He shakes his head, slow, sad.
‘No!’ she shouts. Then: ‘What happened? How did he? No, no …’
While the Vagrant pulls her into his arms Genner updates his files. Even while he does this, he watches them all. How Jem stares at the floor, how the sword that Vesper carries seems to radiate anger, casting its gaze from Delta’s sword, to Delta, to Jem and back again, calculating.
Briefly, Delta looks across at the two blades, then flinches as if struck, turning from the group. Genner does not know how The Seven should act but he is sure it is not like this. Why is Delta not bearing Her own sword? Why does She trail round after these people? If he had not known better, he would have mistaken the immortal for Reela’s minder.
There are patterns here he does not yet understand but he knows that time will reveal them. All he has to do is remain quiet and wait.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Vesper reclines on a mutigel cube, getting her head together while Jem chats in the background. It occurs to her that she ought to have settled into the room by now. It is a functional space without personality. Vesper wishes she were somewhere else. She wishes she were home. But there is no home to go to anymore. The Seven have destroyed it.
‘We need to talk about Reela,’ Jem says, chewing on a flavoured vegetable stick. ‘I know this has been hard on her but she’s getting into bad habits. You know she hasn’t uttered a word since we left the Shining City?’
‘No.’
‘Not a single word. And you know it’s your father’s fault? Reela’s started copying him and he’s encouraging it.’
She realizes that she should probably be getting ready and slowly starts to pull on her boots. Jem continues to talk. He sounds angry. She should probably do something about that.
‘Reela nearly died following him into the ocean.’
Vesper nearly drops her coat. ‘What was that?’
‘I said she nearly died. Suns knows what would have happened if I hadn’t gone after her and pulled her out. But he doesn’t care. I’m starting to wonder if he’s actually looking for a way to get himself killed, and us with him.’
‘He loves Reela. He always has.’
‘When you love someone you look after them, you don’t abandon them.’ He waves the vegetable stick for emphasis. ‘I’m telling you, you need to do something about him. He’ll listen if it comes from you.’
Vesper shrugs into her coat and moves the shoulder plates into position. She hates it when her family argue. The thought comes to her that Uncle Harm will sort it out, followed by the sure knowledge that he won’t. That his soft voice will never take the heat out of their arguments again. She covers her mouth, clamping the sob inside before it can escape.
Jem doesn’t notice. ‘Sorry to go on but it’s been unbearable, cooped up with him all this time. He hates me. Never says it of course but I see it in his eyes.’
She moves to the door, nods. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.’
‘Already? Is everything alright?’
She doesn’t turn to face him, picking up the sword and slinging it over her shoulder. ‘Yes, everything’s fine.’
‘But you are going to speak to him?’
‘Yes. I’ve just got something to take care of first.’
Full of people, the audience chamber has an energy to it. Vesper drinks it in, accepting aid from any quarter. The leaders of the fragmented world are mostly present, together in the same space for the first time in living history. Representatives from Slake, New Horizon, Red Rails, West Rift, Verdigris and the Thousand Nails all sit in their designated areas, staring down at her.
She is mindful of the empty spaces waiting to be filled by the First and Neer, and of the many people who have journeyed to her still waiting to be given a voice.
But there is no more time. She has to act now.
Vesper spreads her arms wide. ‘Welcome. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you’re all here. I know we didn’t exactly plan it this way but before I get to what’s coming, I wanted us to take a moment to appreciate where we are right now.
‘For my whole life, it’s been about survival. There was a war on, and people were either fighting the enemy to hold onto their homes or fighting their neighbours to get enough to eat that night.
‘They say that the Usurper won the Battle of the Red Wave but that it lost the war against the Empire. That’s only half true. The Usurper did lose the war but the Empire also lost. And everyone in the middle lost too. There were no winners in that conflict.
‘Since then we’ve all been fighting over what’s left. Well, I say, no more. I say there’s another possibility: one where we meet, as we’re meeting right now, and make a different kind of future together. A safer future where we build something better.
‘We’re at the very start of what I hope is a new age, and what we decide here,’ she spreads her hands to encompass them all, ‘will shape the world.’ She pauses, lets it sink in. ‘So with that in mind, there are a few simple rules that you’ve already been apprised of but I want to reiterate here. One, everyone has the right to speak their mind. Two, everyone has the right to be heard. Three, everyone has the right to speak without interruption. Four, everyone has a right to hear the truth and only the truth. Five, this is no place for angry words or insults. Six, any of you who have a matter to lay before us are welcome to come down to the floor and do so.’
She smiles, sheepish. ‘That’s all for now but rules will probably develop as we find need of them.’
For a while the various delegations talk amongst themselves, leaving her to stand alone, exposed, unsure of what is to come.
The Man-shape is the first to speak. It has been ensconced on a high, hooded throne, modelled after the one in New Horizon. The back of the chair curls over, casting the Man-shape’s head in shadow, hiding it from view. Because of this, the assembled are spared the sight of its mouth contorting to make the right shapes. ‘This is a statement of intention. I am here to make peace with you. I have served those making war on your world. It did
not work. Your world changed us. It forced us into new forms. We did not ask to be this way just as you did not ask for us to come. Your world changed us and we changed your world. It is our world now. We must find a way to coexist or we will surely destroy each other.’
Vesper inclines her head in the Man-shape’s direction, grateful. There are gentle noises of support from the direction of Verdigris’ delegation and from the prince of Red Rails.
‘Thank you, Man-shape. Who wishes to speak next?’
The rulers of Slake sit on elaborate seats constructed of sparkling chrome. Gorad leans forward, the old woman’s smile patient, painted. ‘My colleague, Gut-pumper, has a thought.’
Gut-pumper leans over as well. ‘More of a question, really.’
‘Yes,’ agrees Gorad, ‘more of a question. All of this talk of peace is well and good.’
‘Lovely,’ adds Gut-pumper.
‘But the thing is, the Empire of the Winged Eye isn’t interested in peace. They’ve been blowing up everything between here and the Shining City and it doesn’t look as if they’re going to stop anytime soon.’
‘So my question is—’ begins Gut-pumper.
‘—His question is, when are we going to start talking about the Empire and how we’re going to fight them?’
‘We also wish this question to be answered.’ This new voice comes from amidst the West Rift delegation, distorted by a breathing mask, anonymous. The group has not identified a single leader, deliberately obscuring their command structure.
Vesper feels the attention of the room focus on her and the sudden bloom of heat on her cheeks. ‘I’ve heard what the Empire are doing and of course we have to be prepared to fight if it comes to it.’
She hears her words barked back from a few places, turned into exclamations. ‘If it comes to it? If it comes to it!’
‘Yes!’ she says, raising her voice. ‘They haven’t listened to anyone else but they might listen to me. Before we fight I’m going to try and reason with them.’
Gorad taps her cane three times to get the room’s attention. ‘If I remember correctly, rule number four says we have to have truth and only truth here. So, I hope you’ll forgive my …’
‘Being blunt?’ suggests Gut-pumper.
‘My plain speaking, but when you set all this up, you spoke for the Empire. Now it looks to me like you don’t speak for them no more. Looks like they want to burn you as much as the rest of us.’
‘Maybe more,’ adds Gut-pumper.
‘So, if I’m honest, I’m wondering why we should listen to you at all.’
Vesper’s throat dries up. She has to fight to keep from drawing the sword. It is furious and she is furious and, pent up, that fury swats away any words of peace before they can get out of her mouth.
From the area reserved for Verdigris, Tough Call clears her throat. ‘Way I see it, none of us would even be here if it weren’t for Vesper. We’d be behind our walls waiting for the Empire to pick us off one by one. If it weren’t for Vesper we’d all have been eaten by the Yearning years ago. I know most of you by reputation but I know Vesper by deed. She saved my city from a plague. Didn’t have to but she did.
‘I reckon she’s earned the right to have my ear. I don’t reckon any of the rest of you can say that. With or without the Empire, I say that Vesper is the only one that we all actually trust. Unless you want me to run this show?’ Tough Call looks around, meeting the eyes of the other delegations. ‘Thought not. So until someone better comes along, how about we stop acting like gutter scavs and start listening.’
The Thousand Nails roar their approval and Vesper’s next breath comes easier. ‘You have to decide for yourselves if you want to listen to me but I have Gamma’s sword, and that makes me the only one that The Seven might listen to. And if they don’t, I’ll stand with you and I’ll make sure we win. I have my own knights and my own soldiers that will fight with us.’ Somehow, the sword is in her hand and her voice acquires a new resonance. ‘And I have bled for all of you. Is that not enough?’ She sweeps the tip of the sword from one end of the room to the other. ‘It’s up to you. Listen or don’t listen but I stand here. And I will speak. And nobody, not you,’ she points at Gorad, ‘or you,’ she points at Gut-pumper, then extends the sword straight out to her right, ‘and certainly not The Seven are going to stop me.’
There is a long silence, filled by the vibrations of the sword. As the room stills again, Gorad and Gut-pumper exchange a look.
‘In that case,’ says Gorad.
‘Yes, in that case,’ agrees Gut-pumper.
‘In that case,’ repeats Gorad, ‘we’re all ears.’
Vesper strides out of the dome, needing air, needing to be alone. She manages to sheathe the sword though she still feels its power tingling through her.
Normally she would go to her room and shut out the demands of others but the space is no longer empty and, guiltily, she realizes that the thought of speaking to Jem is not a comforting one.
She makes her way up the side of the valley, having to scramble up in places. It isn’t dignified but she doesn’t care. It feels good to concentrate on something simple.
As her body attends to the demands of the climb, the events of the meeting play out in her mind. Words are dragged over, analysed. Several times she winces at the memory of her tone, or how she struggled to answer a question, or the way some of the other leaders stared at her. Even worse, she finds gaps in her recollections, where the memory is emotional only, disconnected.
She reaches the top, flopping down, savouring the quiet. On the opposite side of the valley there is a great deal of industry. Fortifications continue to be built, and new arrivals appear in regular spurts, hurried, looking warily over shoulders.
But on her side it is quiet, there is no reason for anyone to be there.
The buck does not need a reason. He goes where he pleases and, for the moment, that is close to Vesper. Nearby tufts of grass are picked at, restlessly, his dark eyes often on the lookout.
Vesper reaches up to stroke his flank. If she closed her eyes, she could almost be home, a child, innocent again, dreaming of adventures in the Shining City.
Then a voice slaps her back to the here and now. ‘A nice view, yes?’
She groans. ‘Ezze?’
‘Yes, and it is good that I have caught you here.’
‘Not now, Ezze. I need a bit of time alone.’
‘Ah, but this is the best time for us to be speaking, uninterrupted by others, where the only tongues wagging will be ours.’
She looks up, sees her father slowly working his way up the side of the valley and sighs. ‘Go on then.’
‘As you know, great lady, these are hard times. Ezze has been working hard to give the people what they need. Much of this is like the children playing, and after a quick talk, they leave, fresh meat on one shoulder, leather balls on the other for the recreation and all is well.’ He chuckles for a moment before letting his face fall. ‘But!’ He holds up a finger, dramatic. ‘There is one thing even Ezze cannot sell.’
He waits and Vesper sighs again. ‘And what’s that?’
‘Much as it brings great sadness, Ezze admits that he cannot sell hope, not without you, great lady.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Always, you inspire. When the people see you striding about, your hair ready for war and your eyes flashing like the lamps. But this is only in the day and it is in the night that the fear creeps in. Imagine how it could be if the people could be touching you at night!’
Vesper grits her teeth. ‘Seriously, what are you talking about?’
‘Little Vespers!’ exclaims Ezze, brandishing a small doll. Padded insides covered with flexible plastic give the texture of human skin, with face and clothes painted on.
‘It doesn’t even look like me!’
‘The people will not care so long as they are thinking it is you.’
The Vagrant is not far away now. She gives him a wave. He doesn’t
wave back, his attention on Ezze.
‘And who is this?’ asks Ezze. ‘He looks like a man from the Winged Empire. This is good! Their needs are always interesting!’
‘I doubt he’ll want to buy anything.’
‘Then watch as Ezze brushes away those doubts with the best offers around. See how the man gets quicker with an-ticipation!’
Vesper frowns, and an eye opens at her shoulder, curious. The Vagrant is moving faster, his hands clenched tight at his sides.
‘Ah,’ says Ezze, opening his arms. ‘I see you are a man of purpose. You have come to the right place. Whatever help you need to fulfil this purpose, Ezze can provide. Just unfold your desires and we will soon find a suitable product to match them.’
The Vagrant comes to a stop in front of Ezze, his chest rising and falling, air whistling angrily through his nose.
‘This is not our first meeting, no? There is something familiar about the unhappiness in your eyeballs. Do not be sad, friend, if something has not been to your liking, perhaps we can trade?’
The Vagrant’s hands slowly rise, opening.
Vesper’s frown deepens and she starts to get up. ‘Father, what is it?’
Ezze’s eyes widen. ‘Did you say fa—?’
The Vagrant’s hands encircle Ezze’s throat and squeeze.
‘What are you doing?’ Vesper says. She goes to intercept but one of the sword’s wings grips her shoulder, telling her to wait.
Sweat patches appear on Ezze like magic, at armpits, across the chest, beads popping up all over his face. He begins pulling objects from his pockets, holding them up so the Vagrant can see: a rat-fur moustache, a diamond choker made with real plastic, an unidentified tablet.
The Vagrant continues to squeeze and more things appear: a sausage with dubious filling, a highly polished molar, an actual diamond.
None of them catch the Vagrant’s attention.
Veins now rise under Ezze’s skin, the sweat pouring freely.