Osiris

by E. J. Swift

  Shadiyah called him mid-morning.

  “Your birds have flown.”

  “At least they came.”

  “I hope they don’t get punished for it. Someone’s going to see the stitches and ask questions. If they take those antibiotics away, he’ll die within weeks. That’s if frostbite doesn’t do for him. Or pneumonia. Or hypothermia. Or the flu.”

  Vikram leaned back in his chair.

  “Shadiyah,” he began. “Why—”

  “Don’t,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t ask. I know what you’re thinking. I’ll end up alone, frozen to death, or drowning in some flooded cell. But there’s community here, on our side, if you make it that way.”

  The morning edged onward. One by one, lights in the opposite tower winked off. Vikram thought of Nils, who would probably be curled up with the girl, sleeping off his hangover. He thought about the choices he had made in Mikkeli’s name, in Eirik’s name, and wondered who they were really for, what they really meant. But they were past choices. This was his life now.

  29 ¦ ADELAIDE

  Her father’s man Goran was waiting for her in the hall of the Domain. His huge, pudgy hands were folded in front of him. When he smiled she felt every patch of her exposed skin prickle: shoulders, face, the small of her back. That same smile used to curl Goran’s lips each time he discovered the twins’ latest hiding place.

  “Welcome home, Miss Rechnov.” His voice was as soft as ever.

  “It’s not home,” she said.

  “Home is where the heart is, isn’t that the Old World saying?”

  Goran held out a hand to take her cape. She repressed a shudder as his fingers folded around its velvet weight. He led her up the main staircase, past her grandfather’s rooms, and up again. She was struck anew by the richness and secretiveness of the Domain. It corridors were low-lit and full of real wood. They passed alcoves housing shell lanterns, doors with ebony handles, Afrikan sculptures, chandeliers, paintings from Veerdeland and Alaska.

  There were hidden passages too, crawling under and over other rooms like a subterranean maze. It was a mysterious place. Once it had been a magical place, but the twins had promised one another they would never set foot in it again. Adelaide had not been back in six years. She would never have answered this invitation if Vikram had not been there when it arrived. You’re not scared of them are you?

  Of course not, she’d said haughtily. She could have said that the relationship between herself and her family was more complicated than simple fear or estrangement. That it was tied up with a history and a hatred of lies; that the bad blood between herself and her father could not affect her love for her grandfather, but neither could that love compel her to reconciliation; that of all the Rechnov children her mother had always and only adored Axel, and the Incident had only hardened her further against the rest of them; that Adelaide did not quite understand herself the tenuous links she had forged with Linus, and that all of the above was now tempered with far more frightening suspicions: she could not have said with certainty that any one of them was incapable of removing Axel to preserve the family name. She could not say this to Vikram. He did not have a family. The only person who understood the Rechnovs as Adelaide did was Tyr, and she could not tell Vikram that either.

  In a passing mirror she glimpsed her reflection: pale skin in an emerald dress. Goran stepped quietly ahead, the third eye on the back of his neck watching her all the way. Every instinct was telling her to run. I’m not afraid, she told herself. I can do this.

  At the greeting room, Goran moved aside, then put a hand on Adelaide’s back and propelled her through the door. Her skin crawled.

  “Miss Adelaide Rechnov,” he announced.

  Conversation died away as they all turned to look at her. A satin clad lady raised an eyeglass to inspect Adelaide more closely, her wispy brows knitted as she peered through the silver disk. One by one they came up. Some Adelaide recognized from childhood events, others were new recruits to the Rechnov clan. Each guest extended their arm, presenting the inner wrist upward so that she could press her own against it. Her wrist tingled horribly.

  “Delighted to meet you at last.”

  “My, how you’ve changed!” The woman with the eyeglass had pale gums and a quavery voice. “I remember you as a little girl, playing the Steinway at Viviana’s birthday. Such a sweet child.”

  “She’s divine, Viviana.” A man spoke over her head. “Really, quite exquisite.”

  Her mother came forward, placed her hands on Adelaide’s shoulders and dabbed her lips to each cheek. Adelaide smelt her cloying lavender scent. Viviana’s eyes were searching. It felt as though her mother were running a flannel over her face, softly the first time, but gradually peeling away layer after layer of skin until she unwrapped the flesh beneath.

  “Welcome home, Adelaide,” Viviana said finally. There was something formidable about the easy elegance of Viviana’s stature. Adelaide was aware that side by side, they made everyone else in the room look plain, but there was no pleasure in the knowledge.

  “Where’s Grandfather?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid that he is unwell.” Feodor joined the growing throng around mother and daughter. “And unable to join us tonight. Adelaide.”

  He put a hand on her waist and steered her towards the windows. The familiarity of the action unnerved her. Both of her parents were treating the situation as though she had just returned from a week-long holistic retreat in the northern quarter. She felt sweat forming under her dress.

  Viviana approached, carrying a stained-glass container, the shape of a lantern, with a steepled lid. She placed the pot in Feodor’s hands. He removed the lid and handed it back. They exchanged subtle, not-quite smiles. The room hushed.

  Feodor took a pinch of salt from the pot. He drew a deep, slow breath, then he flicked his wrist and scattered the salt. It was quiet enough to hear the grains skitter against the glass.

  “To the dead,” said Feodor.

  “To the dead,” the guests intoned solemnly. A theatrical shiver ruffled the room.

  It was the melodrama that Adelaide despised above all. The way that everyone present conspired in the act, dressing it up as philanthropy, as though they were above such fundamental fears as ghosts at the window. Then they turned away, huddled over their grape-crushed wines.

  Adelaide went to stand where the salt had fallen. Vikram had thrown a pinch over her shoulder earlier, to give her luck. She had met his eyes across the salt tin. Brown eyes should be warm, but Vikram’s eyes were too complicated for pure warmth. They swirled with other things, with sadness, and responsibility. She’d had a fleeting urge to take his face in her hands and tell him he must not be so sad, he must not let Osiris work its deep, malicious magic.

  Did the ghosts feel abandoned by the salt ritual? Did it hurt them to be thrust away into the night? The windows gave no answers, only her flimsy reflection.

  “Adelaide. Enchanted. My name’s Ukko.”

  It was the man who had called her exquisite. He gave her a glass of grape-wine and started to talk about next year’s Council elections. He was running for a seat in Resources. She could tell by his pitch, nasal and overly confident, that he expected to get it. She sipped at the wine. She remembered the taste, rich and mellow, but sweet too, overly sweet, and she found that she no longer cared for it.

  On the other side of the room, Tyr was engaged in discussion with Dmitri. They had to be careful tonight, more than usually careful, especially with Linus present. Her brother was chatting to Zakiyya Sobek. Her parents networked. Feodor’s most expansive smile was in place. Every now and then she sensed his surveillance, but there was no sign of the telltale tic. In fact, her father seemed remarkably at ease.

  A nasty idea seeded in Adelaide’s mind. Was it possible that the twins’ great escape might have been less of an escape than she had believed? The Rechnovs had foreseen this day. They had let her and Axel go, always assuming that the
y would have to come back.

  Viviana clapped her hands.

  “And now, dinner!”

  The guests murmured their appreciation as they entered the banquet hall, footsteps ringing out on the chequered floor. Feodor and Viviana took their places at the head of the oval table. Each place was laid with a symmetrical display of crystal and cutlery. Adelaide’s grandfather should have been opposite, but in his absence Dmitri took that chair. His fiancée, a banker, sat next to him. A chair was pulled out for Adelaide. She sat, strangely aware of the air and space at her back, the nebulous movements of the servers. She found herself directly facing Tyr.

  They had first met at a banquet like this, weeks before she left. They kissed behind a tapestry, giggling, each caught by surprise. She had run at Tyr like any other obstacle, unafraid of implication or of consequence.

  When she met his eyes he looked away.

  A hand reached from behind her to fill her weqa glass. As the server continued around the table, the man on Adelaide’s left turned to her. He had greying hair and a hooked, distinctive nose. It was the Councillor of Estates, a man Feodor was no doubt eager to court.

  “Delighted to meet you, m’dear,” he said. “Such a close family, you Rechnovs. I’m sure Feodor is delighted to have you back.”

  What had Feodor told people?

  The man complimented Adelaide on her bone structure.

  “Nice to see a Rechnov girl. Great men in your family, of course, quite a line, but few women. Which would you prefer, a boy or a girl?”

  Adelaide took a demure sip of weqa.

  “I hear the abortion rate is very high these days,” she said.

  The Councillor looked surprised, but nodded. “A valid fact. Pregnancy is a serious notion for any young woman.”

  She was not sure whether he was hinting at her as a potential breeder, or trying to gauge her attitude to the practice. She offered no response. The Councillor tried again.

  “I’m told you have a fascinating little outlet of your own on the outskirts. Do you ever find it lonely living with such a view?”

  “I like my own company,” she said.

  “If I might recall the popular saying, Miss Rechnov: a Rechnov dreamt the City, a Dumay built it, and an Ngozi lit it. I propose that you, Miss Rechnov, are a dreamer.”

  She felt the hooks digging in. It would start here, over a five course dinner. The tug would start with tonight.

  On her other side was the Councillor of Netting, a man it would also be useful for the Rechnovs to forge an alliance with. Since the population control laws were introduced twenty years ago, choosing a mate had become a matter of vital importance. She noticed that Tyr had been seated between two influential women. On his left was Zakiyya Sobek, and on his right was Hildur Pek, Councillor of Assessment, who had lost her husband in a shark attack many years ago and had formed an almost pathological obsession with the ring-net ever since. Feodor must be incredibly sure of Tyr’s loyalty to consider setting him up like that.

  She turned her gaze to Linus. Did Feodor have anyone in mind for him? Linus was devoted to the Rechnov line, but he had independent political ideas which Feodor would prefer to curb, not least of all his anti-Nucleite stance. And Linus’s support for Vikram and the west had no doubt been a contentious subject in the domestic core.

  “Guava dressing, Miss Rechnov?” The Councillor of Netting indicated the platter hovering beside them as though he had produced it personally.

  “Thank you.”

  She wanted to push her chair back and stretch out her legs, but not wishing to brush against either man, she kept her elbows in and her knees pressed together as she ate. The Councillor of Netting was discussing the state of the kelp forests with his neighbour—“It won’t be a good year for weqa, my dear”—whilst across the room, Hildur Pek had cornered Tyr with horror stories. Elsewhere, Adelaide overheard snippets about the educational syllabus. A small group including Linus were debating the relevance of taught history.

  “—essential to have a world understanding—”

  “But in the current climate, practical and sociological issues are far more important. Osiris must remain strong—”

  “But informed.” That was her brother.

  “What about the south? What about Tarctica… surely we should be considering…?”

  “Still decades away.”

  “And it could act as a terrible temptation. I mean, technically, we’re still under quarantine.”

  “Precisely. Any eventual excursion would have to be heavily supervised—not to mention kept under wraps.”

  “Personally, I believe quarantine is a technicality that should have been lifted years ago. The idea that it’s actually illegal to leave the City is absurd in this day and age, and as for the map ban, it’s quite simply ludicrous.” Linus was in argumentative mode. Adelaide wondered, suddenly, what he would have made of the balloon room.

  “That law keeps people safe. We don’t have a seaworthy boat left in the City and everyone knows it. Start bandying Tarctica about and I tell you, people will be tempted to make rash decisions.”

  “Then again, we do have a population problem. Maybe these futurists shouldn’t be disencouraged?”

  “That’s a rather cynical view—you don’t really think?”

  “Oh, of course not. Just a little gallows humour.”

  Low laughter.

  “Well, we’ve already got an issue with psychological containment trauma.” The voice was lowered but Adelaide just made out, “Everyone knows the—well, that particular rate is high enough already.”

  The debate rescinded. Suicide was not a dinner party topic. The woman who had spoken flushed, aware of her mistake. Adelaide, remembering Radir’s last words to her, felt her own colour rising. Surely nobody else imagined Axel could have taken such a course?

  The second course was brought out. Around the table, glasses chinked in private toasts and engraved cutlery scraped on plates. In Adelaide’s ear, the Councillor of Estates was praising her family’s architectural skill.

  “I understand the Osiris Board never really considered anyone but Alexei Rechnov. And wisely so. Through his and your grandfather’s great work, the city has endured. And this residence is—quite spectacular.”

  Grandfather calls it a house, Adelaide felt like saying, but she did not, because that was a personal piece of information. Tonight would be the only occasion that she had been in the Domain without her twin. He had always stood between her and them, fighting her fights, sharing the blame for her mistakes. There had been no mention of Axel. It was as if he had been whitewashed.

  Adelaide’s hand shook as she cut into a rainbow-fish fillet. She put down the knife to hide it.

  “Delicious,” said the Councillor of Estates. “Highly cunning of Feodor to slip this dinner in before the official ban goes through.”

  “What ban?” she asked.

  “Oh, you don’t know?” The Councillor looked pleased at this opportunity to repair Adelaide’s ignorance. “Rainbow-fish is on the danger list until the stocks rebuild. Along with a few of the bigger staples. We’ll all end up vegetarian by the end of it.” He gave her a wink. “Of course, there are ways around these little rules, if you know the right people. In fact, I sometimes hold soirées of my own. Nothing on this scale—just a few, intimate acquaintances.”

  Adelaide turned to the Councillor of Netting on her other side. “When you said it is going to be a bad year for weqa, Councillor, did you mean, just the weqa? Or did you mean, the kelp harvest as a whole?”

  Her voice, which carried clearly in the vault of the banquet room, was louder than she had intended. She saw Feodor glance in her direction. The Councillor of Netting looked uneasy, but rallied.

  “There are always good years and not-so-good years, Miss Rechnov. That is a perfectly normal and healthy state of fluctuation. It may be one of our not-so-good years, but the next shall improve.”

  “And with that and the new ban on certain fish stocks,
do you anticipate food shortages this winter?”

  “Not in my household,” murmured the Councillor of Estates.

  “Supplies will be adequate,” said the Councillor of Netting firmly.

  “Forgive me,” said Adelaide. “I’m something of an amateur in these matters, but wasn’t the last major crop shortage three years ago?”

  “I believe it was, and, as you see Miss Rechnov, we survived to live another day.” He gave a little laugh.

  “Yes,” she said. “It didn’t stop the riots, though.”

  Now she saw the spots of colour in Feodor’s cheeks. The look he gave her this time was pure warning, but the Councillor of Netting had misunderstood her tone.

  “I assure you, my dear, you have no need to fear for your safety. The Minister of Security has everything in hand, is that not the case, Ailia? Any hint of violence from the west shall be swiftly crushed.”

  “But that’s the point, isn’t it? If the supplies were adequate, westerners wouldn’t feel the need to riot, would they?”

  “I don’t think you quite understand, my dear,” said the Minister of Security kindly.

  “I understand that three years ago, food supplies were stockpiled unnecessarily in the City and withheld from the west. Is that what’s going to happen this time?”

  “You’ll have to forgive my daughter’s passion,” Feodor interrupted. “The west is her latest whimsy.”

  “It’s not a joke—”

  “Of course, of course, very admirable—and you have been championing that young man with the schemes, have you not? It’s an excellent cause.”

  “He won’t fail.”

  “Yes. Yes, well, we all hope for that.”

  The words filled Adelaide with unexpected rage. I was at that address too! she wanted to shout. You weren’t all so complacent then.