Osiris

by E. J. Swift

  She didn’t tell Tyr that she had already walked across the bridge four floors above and back down the stairwell of the scraper on the other side, gone to the floor above Hanif’s, worked out where his offices were, stood there imagining the discussions going on below, almost convinced, once, that she heard the burr of Hanif’s voice. She knew it would sound ridiculous. She didn’t know how to explain that she could not stay away; she had to do something, even if something was nothing.

  Tyr went to the window, twitched aside the curtain, and looked across at the tower opposite.

  “Shit.”

  “Don’t fret. They have no idea I’ve found them.”

  He let the curtain fall and turned back to look at the room with new eyes. She saw him register the supplies of Coralade and poppy-head crunches stacked on the bureau. A pair of Haakan binoculars propped on a chair. She half expected him to be angry. She had already prepared her response, but she saw only worry in his face.

  “Adie, how is this helping? What can you possibly learn from sitting here watching them?”

  “I don’t know yet. That’s why I’m here.”

  Tyr sat on the edge of the bed. “Look. Everyone says Sanjay Hanif is very good at what he does. And equally as important, he isn’t corrupt. You have to trust him to do his work.”

  “Tyr, I just want to know what he’s doing. I want to help. I’m the only one who believes Axel is alive, I know that. I can see it in your faces. Even you. But you’re wrong, you’re all wrong. Because I’d know if he was dead.” She pressed a hand between her ribs. “I’d feel it—here. You couldn’t understand unless you had a twin.”

  Tyr’s hand came to rest, warm, on her ankle. She took his wrist.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But Hanif can’t operate on a hunch.”

  “Unlike Tellers, I suppose.”

  “Unlike Tellers.”

  “And why should Hanif get access to the penthouse? What right does he have to go through Axel’s things? He doesn’t know Axel. I hate the idea of them going in there, touching things, when they haven’t even spoken to me—to anyone...”

  “You think they’ll judge him.”

  “They won’t understand him.”

  “Can you blame them? Adie, he threw you out of your own apartment.”

  “He didn’t know what he was doing.”

  “Because he was ill.” She glared at him until he corrected himself. “Is ill. Alright, let’s say he’s alive. What’s happened to him? Where do you think he is?”

  “Maybe something scared him, maybe he’s gone into hiding. What if someone kidnapped him?”

  “What for? There’d have been a ransom demand by now.”

  “They might be playing a long game.”

  “They couldn’t get in. The security on that tower is impenetrable to outsiders.”

  Outsiders, yes, she thought. But not to someone who knew him. Or to an aerialist.

  “What if they came in through the balcony? Abseiled, used a glider?”

  “Now you’re in animé territory.”

  “Am I?”

  Tyr put his head in his hands. “I don’t know. But you’ll drive yourself mad wondering. You’ve gone through enough over Axel already, Adie, I don’t want to see you hurt any more.”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders, massaging gently.

  “Has Feodor said anything about the investigation?”

  “You know I’d tell you if he had.”

  “You could ask how it’s going.”

  “It’s better if he confides in me. Trust me, I know your father well enough by now.”

  She knew they were both thinking about the day she had come to the offices. The strange middle ground that Tyr walked between her and her father. She was suddenly afraid that the day might come when he had to choose, or when she had to choose. The truth was that all liaisons were a transaction at heart. With every intimacy gained, the ground was paved for what could be lost.

  She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his temple. “You don’t have to go.”

  “I wish I didn’t.”

  His tone was sombre and there was something in his expression that she wasn’t sure she liked. She took his face in her hand and turned it towards her, forcing him to meet her eyes. Her tone when she spoke was playful.

  “Don’t say you’re feeling sorry for me, Tyr.”

  He responded in kind.

  “How could I? You’re a spoiled, selfish—shall I go on?” Adelaide threw a pillow at him. “—ruthless, soulless, grouchy bitch.”

  “Grouchy?”

  “Maybe not grouchy. But the rest.”

  “Don’t forget it.”

  Tyr brushed a strand of hair from her face.

  “Believe me,” he said. “I won’t. Now I really have to go.”

  After the door closed Adelaide listened to his footsteps fading down the corridor outside. Her bare legs felt cold. The hotel’s heating probably hadn’t been serviced in years. Adelaide pulled on her trousers, tucking in the candy-striped shirt and cinching the belt tight. She didn’t trust the shower. Besides, she enjoyed the feeling that they had marked one another; that each carried the other’s imprint. She liked the feeling of secrecy as she went back into the public world, on the shuttle lines, into the shops, the restaurants, wearing Tyr’s sweat on her skin.

  She opened the curtains and picked up the binoculars once more. The Sobek Electronics logo blinked innocently from the top of the adjacent factory. Across the waterway, a blonde woman sat at a desk with a headset. Adelaide tried to decipher the glowing display on a large notice board behind her, but the zoom function on the binoculars was not quite powerful enough. She caught a brief glimpse of Sanjay Hanif. He was wearing black again. What were they discussing in there? Shouldn’t Hanif be out searching for Axel?

  It had been fun, tracking down Hanif’s office. Fun inviting Tyr over. But Adelaide was angry with herself. Here she was acting as if her twin’s disappearance was some kind of game, a game that he himself had instigated. But it couldn’t be. The Axel who had disappeared was not the Axel she had lost. That man—that boy—was long gone. All she could hope to recover was his shadow.

  She had to start thinking like Axel. What would her twin do? What had been going through his head in those last few weeks? If he had run away, then why?

  The Rose Night was two days away. She would give Lao another week. If he had no further information, he would have to help her get into the penthouse. There, she would find clues that Sanjay Hanif and his secretary had no chance of deciphering. After all, Adelaide knew that apartment better than anybody. She used to live there.

  10 ¦ VIKRAM

  The doorman’s eyes flicked from the invitation’s inscription, to Vikram’s face, to his clothes and his shoes. He turned over the card and held it up to the light, examining the watermark. At last he straightened, and opened the door. A wave of music spilled out.

  “Welcome to the Red Rooms, sir,” said the doorman.

  “Thank you.”

  He’d passed. Hoping his relief did not show, Vikram stepped inside and found himself in a hallway lined with mirrors and roses. At the end on the right was an archway. The music pulsed from the other side of it, the floor thrummed beneath his feet. Without pausing to check his reflection or allow himself second thoughts, Vikram walked through.

  He was assailed by red, smoke, bodies and chatter. There were more flowers than he had ever seen in his life, all of them roses, all of them perfectly crimson. They were everywhere. On the walls, hanging from the ceilings, twined around furniture and plants and in sprays protruding from heads and corsages. Their scent infused the air, a light but sinuous perfume. The women’s costumes were also red, and so, he realized, was all the decor. Behind the people there were plush red backless sofas, soft red rugs, red meshing screens.

  Adelaide Mystik’s legendary set, the Haze, were busy with drinks and cigarettes, their lips with newly chartered gossip. The women looked like an exoti
c breed of bird, encased in beaded corsets, flame-coloured feather skirts, shimmering stockings and jewelled sandals. Plumes erupted from their heads, making them taller than most of the men, who were a sleek contrast in black and white. Heads swivelled; they were continually looking over each other’s shoulders to check on new arrivals. Vikram edged to a corner.

  Already he could feel sweat on the back of his neck. The room was vast but it was intensely, tropically hot. There were no air vents open. Near the entrance end, several people clustered around a large piano, their glasses resting upon its shiny black lid. At the other end was a mezzanine and beyond the mezzanine he could see an open doorway, where the apartment opened into other rooms. The prospect of so much space for one person was incredible.

  “Olga! Darling! Been to Ilse’s yet?”

  “On Tuesday, sweetie.”

  “The opening was so charming, very select.”

  “Oh? I was at the Weedy Seahorse.”

  “That little nook Mino found? How is she? Still dallying with the Ngozi boy? Naughty.”

  He listened a little longer but it was all names; who had done this, who had been there, who had taken that new lover. Vikram recognized faces he had only ever seen on display boards. There was the acrobat Lilja Aapo, chatting to the guy who had won the biking championship. A girl with blue hair whispered to another girl wearing a tiara of thin blossom branches that she’d found messages on Jokum’s Neptune. Of course she wasn’t meant to be looking, but she was sure he was seeing another mistress and did Idunn think she should confront him? Idunn didn’t.

  Adelaide Mystik was nowhere to be seen.

  For a few minutes he played the old game: guessing which Old World land each guest was descended from, imagining the landscapes where their ancestors had lived. He wondered if Citizens even cared about those places, or if it no longer mattered to them.

  There was a relentless, kinetic energy about the party. Near the mezzanine, people were dancing. A DJ was up there. Vikram imagined these people would die rather than allow silence to fall between them. He lit a cigarette, because everyone else was, and almost ashed in a glass bowl before he realized there were petals and a ladle in it. A few glasses with the dredges of liquid were stacked beside. He looked about for a new one. A red jacketed man appeared, refilled the bowl with a pale pink liquid, replaced the used glasses with clean ones, and retreated.

  “Thanks—”

  The man had already gone. Vikram took a glass and ladled himself a drink. It was strong and very sweet. Heady too, or maybe that was the rose perfume, twining about his senses.

  Now armed with the two essential accessories for the party, he made his way across the room. He knew that it was important to look purposeful. All of these people were actors; they might be Citizens, but Citizens had things to hide too. He found himself looking out for cats, remembering Mikkeli’s old tales about the City. She would have gone crazy to see this.

  Under the mezzanine, a couple were entwined upon a sofa. The woman’s eyes met his over the man’s shoulder, thick lashed, boldly inviting. Imperceptibly, she patted the seat. Vikram moved on.

  The next room was much smaller. A table made out of shiny dark wood was in the centre, and along the wall there were shelves lined with paper books and scale mosaics. At the table, a man shook out a line of milaine.

  “Hello.” He nodded easily to Vikram. His pupils were dilated.

  “Hi.”

  The man cut the line with an invitation card identical to Vikram’s.

  There were two doors leading out of this room. Vikram tried the first. It was a bathroom. The bath was full of ice and bottles. Vikram retreated.

  The man lifted his head, sniffing. “There’s another bathroom through there.”

  “Thanks.”

  The man frowned. “Not seen you before. What d’you do?”

  “I’m a biker.”

  “Ah. Probably seen you at the races. From afar.”

  “Probably.”

  The second door took him into a sparkling chrome kitchen. A few people were leaning against the counters, smoking and chatting. Potted herbs lined the window wall. Vikram could not imagine Adelaide as a cook.

  He passed straight through into a dining area, empty this time. Vikram exhaled shakily. It was the layout of the place that was making him nervous. With each room, he took himself further away from the exit, and escape.

  He forced himself to survey the room rationally. Like everything else in Adelaide’s apartment, this space was elegantly beautiful. He counted eight chairs pushed in under the glass-topped table, but it was laid, inexplicably, for two people.

  There was one more door. If Vikram’s judgement was correct, he must have made almost a complete loop of the tower. Which meant there should be only one room left.

  He turned the handle cautiously. It gave onto a corridor. The corridor went off to the right and bent around a corner, presumably skirting back along the rooms he had just passed. Vikram was facing yet another door. This time, he was certain he would meet with a lock.

  He glanced down the hallway. It was empty. He put an ear to the door he had just closed, and then to the door facing him. He could hear the muffled sounds of the music and people shouting over it. Nothing extraneous. When he tried the door it opened easily. He held it just ajar and peered through.

  Adelaide’s bedroom glowed with faint, violet lighting. He listened again, wary that she might be inside. But the room was still. He slipped through and pushed the door shut.

  It felt like dusk. He waited for his eyes to adjust. A subtle scent hung in the air, not floral, something more exotic. The bed dominated the space. The wall facing it was mirrored from floor to ceiling. The window-wall was bare and black—she looked out on the open ocean, a bleak view. There were no paintings. There were no roses either.

  The table beside her bed was empty except for a lamp and a bottle of medication. He read the label with little surprise; they were sleeping pills. When he put them down his arm brushed against the lampshade and the bulb lit up, making him jump.

  On her dresser was a teapot in the shape of a dragon. He picked it up. A thin trickle of green powder spilled from the spout. Hastily, Vikram replaced the pot and dusted off the dresser.

  There was only one photograph. He had to angle the frame under the light to see it properly. The photograph was of Adelaide and her twin, aged about twelve. Their grins and their freckles were identical. Inside her hood, Adelaide’s hair was longer than Axel’s, but otherwise it would have been difficult to tell them apart. They were on a rooftop, and it was nighttime.

  The picture was out of focus. It seemed an odd choice to have framed when there must be so many of better quality, but maybe that was the point. Vikram put it carefully back on the dresser. He opened a couple of drawers. They contained cosmetics and lingerie. He shut them. He looked around again at the bed. Its covers were pulled perfectly straight. He supposed she had a cleaner to keep the place in order.

  For a girl who could have bought anything in the city, it was a curiously impersonal room.

  Voices the other side of the door alerted him. He crossed the room silently. Laughter sounded in the hallway outside. The handle turned. Behind the door, Vikram froze.

  A rectangle of light spilled onto the pale carpet.

  “Oops,” a girl giggled. “Looks like we’ve found Adelaide’s boudoir.” She rolled the last word around her tongue, loading it with innuendo.

  “Not a bad pad, is it?”

  “We could…”

  A set of painted fingernails curled around the door frame. Vikram shrank back.

  “Not if you want to be invited again.”

  “Mm, maybe you’re right. Where shall we go?”

  “Down here. I know the place better than you.”

  The hand withdrew. Vikram’s heart was thudding. He waited for their voices to fade, then stepped outside.

  “Hello.”

  A girl was standing in the corridor, observing him. Her arms
were folded. Her jet black hair shone almost blue and a pink feathery tail fell between two curious eyes.

  “Hi.” His throat was as dry as sand.

  “It’s okay. I’d want to see it too, if I hadn’t before.” When he didn’t answer, she let her lips part in a mocking smile. “What’s the matter, catfish got your tongue? I’m Jannike Ko. Adelaide’s best friend. You can call me Jan.”

  Vikram tried to speak casually.

  “Where is Adelaide? I haven’t seen her.”

  “Oh, everyone wants to know where Adelaide is. Hiding somewhere, you know what she’s like. Forever mysterious. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “I suppose so.”

  She laughed. The pink feather tail bobbed up and down.

  “Why don’t you come with me instead? I don’t bite you know. Actually I’m sapphic. I should say, I’m dying for your outfit. It’s so ironic. And pioneering, I don’t think anyone’s done western rag yet. You should talk to Mino. What was it you said you did again?”

  “I’m a biker.”

  “A biker? You must know Udur then?”

  “Not really. We’re at different levels. Excuse me, I must find the bathroom,” he said quickly. “It was nice to meet you.”

  He made his way back through the apartment, fuelled by an urgent desire to be near the exit.

  In the main room, the noise and the scent of roses were overwhelming. He looked for Adelaide but could not see her. Now he wondered if he had missed an opportunity—could that awful girl have been his way in? Why hadn’t he gone with her?

  He refilled his drink and headed back towards his original observation post. A man and two women were grouped in intense conversation around a table. A low-hanging lantern cast shadows on their faces, giving them a slightly furtive air. Vikram leaned against the wall and sipped casually at the pink stuff.