by Sue Perry
Another female Cobra jostled us and spat on the placard in a companionable way. Hari!–Ya clapped a welcoming hand on the woman's shoulder and shouted in my ear, "She is ours to save. Mark her well."
The marchers stomped onto the Williamsburg Bridge then stomped in place, waiting their turns to go through the narrow Connector to the government complex suspended above the East River, where the Framekeep coup had occurred. Hari!–Ya kept us on the outskirts and I guess the plan was that we would slip away. But we got pushed forward and we had no choice but to walk the Connector.
The government complex was in ruins. Streetlights were broken and demolished buildings cast shadows like enormous broken teeth. The march pushed south and to stay unnoticed we moved with them. Hari!–Ya and the Cobra woman we were to rescue waved their placards. I held their elbows and steered us to the far west edge of the complex. We marched as slowly as we dared. The vibe of the march was nothing compared to the menace behind these ruined buildings. Jumping into the East River began to seem like a viable alternative to remaining in that complex.
The Framekeep meeting hall had a jagged cavity where the doors had been on the day of the coup. As the marchers cheered, beasts poured from the building openings. I braked. Those beasts, slobbering hot oil, were clockwork dogs.
The suspended streets shook with hundreds of synchronized stomping feet and the far end of the complex filled with goosestepping men. They wore orange plaid suits and had sequined sword scabbards slung over one shoulder. They moved with the precision of a single manufactured being distributed through hundreds of bodies, which is what they were. We'd been joined by a large contingent of the Entourage.
They brandished swords like a demented dance troop and the marchers screamed their enthusiasm. I screamed, too. In fear.
The East River had been babbling like it was overdue for its meds and now spirals of water shot up the bridge pillars. For the first time, I liked that river—because the shooting water made the Entourage hesitate. Any being that earned wary looks from the Entourage couldn't be all bad.
Spotlights snapped on, flooding the area in harsh light. The marchers blinked and the Entourage swiveled toward the Framekeep meeting hall. Three beings stepped outside, each more stubby and ugly than the previous, all wearing orange plaid caftans. Please let this be a nightmare. As soon as I thought this, the three beings—the Warty Sebaceous Cysts—turned to applaud in my direction, which meant they were close enough to read my leaky thoughts. It was the last complete thought I allowed myself.
At the sight of the Cysts, the marchers went berserk with joy then silent as Center Cyst raised his arms.
Left Cyst called out, "This concludes your final march."
"Such a shame you have to go," Right Cyst shouted over scraping noises. The Entourage had produced whetstones and sharpened their swords.
"What can we do?" Center Cyst complained rhetorically. "They leave us no choice. They've allowed traitors in their midst."
"Now we can't trust any of them."
The marchers may have worshipped the Cysts but apparently had little experience with them. Cluelessly, they cheered and shouted stuff like lead us to Maelstrom. I think that's what they said. I couldn't hear much, because I had plenty of experience with the Cysts and I had a roar in my ears from the adrenaline surge. I knew. We were all supposed to die.
From the moment I saw the Cysts, I'd backpedalled my Cobra women away from the marchers. This complex only existed in one Frame. In other words, if we changed Frames there'd be nothing around or below us until we fell 100 feet into the East River. I'd rather fall in the river than let the Entourage hack me to bits, but I was going for c, neither of the above.
"Run," I instructed, and we did.
From the ruins of the Framekeep meeting hall, a Cyst said, "Now, lads." The Entourage dropped their whetstones and moved among the marchers, swords slicing air. Confusion gave way to terror and the march became a stampede. Clockwork dogs bit and lunged to herd the marchers back toward the swords.
Spotlights followed us as we sprinted for the Connector. A Cyst called, "Nica, don't leave us! Fetch her, lads." Clockwork dogs yipped and their clanking gears grew louder way too fast as they galloped toward us.
The Cobra woman we were supposed to rescue yelled, "This area persists in other Frames."
"Then get us outta here!" We grabbed hands and Hari!–Ya ricocheted us to a far Frame.
Four clockwork dogs followed our trail to the new Frame and as they chased us, acrid hot oil sizzled in their overworked joints. Behind them, eight of the Entourage materialized, brandishing swords and shouting at the clockwork dogs like bettors at a cockfight.
Hari!–Ya lunged us through many Frames while the other Cobra Woman reported on our pursuers and I kept us sprinting toward the Williamsburg Bridge. We would have a Frame to ourselves for a few hundred steps. But then gears would grind and swords would flash, and there our pursuers would be, always closer than the last time we saw them.
"Separate to survive," the other Cobra woman shouted. She took off in a new direction and changed Frames without us. The dogs took the bait and chased her. Hari!–Ya and I enjoyed several minutes without pursuit. Then the Entourage reappeared, wiping gore from their eyes. I assumed they had killed the other Cobra woman. There was never opportunity to learn her name.
Hari!–Ya tried to release my other arm. "She spoke truly. In separate Travel one of us may survive."
I held on. "No. I have an idea." Whatever she saw in my eyes convinced her to let me lead.
It was at that moment that I evolved to a true creature of the Frames. In my leaky outer brain I put all my confused frightened irrational for the Entourage to enjoy, while my subconscious steered me. Perhaps most impressively, I did all this during dry heaves from rapid distant Frame Travel.
We changed Frames and lost our pursuers for a time. At next appearance the Entourage was farther back but had spread out, north and east, probably to get between us and the Connector to the Williamsburg Bridge. I took Hari!–Ya south and west.
Hari!–Ya yelled. "Nica! This way is –"
"I know!" I gestured with a hand cutting my throat. Don't talk. If she finished that sentence it might give me a readable thought.
Our pursuers were slow to realize that we had reversed direction, which increased our lead. My Frame changes were awkward and apparently easy to follow but it was the running that would save us now. I ran like a Kenyan on a switchback mountain road and pulled Hari!–Ya to keep up. We zigged and zagged then we ran straight and flat out. I climbed a pillar, shouted to Hari!–Ya, "Up! Now!" Twenty feet up, I grabbed her hand and changed our Frame.
We were in the part of the government complex that existed in no other Frame. We would only be here a moment and my hope was that by the time we fell twenty feet, we'd be back in the government complex and still above the streets.
The pursuing Entourage materialized, following our Travel trail effortlessly. They were close enough to smell—the stench of rotten teeth. As hoped, they entered a section of street that no longer existed. Miraculously, our pillar persisted in this Frame and I tightened my grip on it and tried to enjoy the vision of the Entourage running on non–existent ground. After a cartoon instant of treading air, one by one they fell the long fall toward the East River. They fell with an enraged surprise that I found very satisfying.
If only we had not stayed to watch their plummet toward the river.
One of the Entourage clung to a pillar. He waved one finger in a naughty naughty gesture then brandished a semi–automatic gun. Water from the East River shot up his pillar and dislodged him but as he fell, he sprayed bullets, chipping cement and steel from our pillar before he fell out of range.
We flattened into the pillar to make smaller targets. A chip of something speared my thumbnail and it burned like gasoline and I hoped it would keep burning because it confirmed I was alive.
At last it was quiet, except for the distant shrieking of the East River. "Well pl
ayed, Nica. Mmh." Hari!–Ya tried to shift position and slipped. The pillar was slick and our toeholds were narrow, so my arms had to bear most of my weight. I couldn't take Hari!–Ya's hand without dislodging our grips.
"We need to Travel separately back to the government complex," I realized.
Hari!–Ya's reply was faint behind the River's cackling, which crescendoed as water spiraled up our pillar. Before I could clamp my mouth shut I swallowed a nasty gulp, suggestive of a corpse dissolved in battery acid. It made me hallucinate. The water bumped and jolted us as it retreated down the pillar. Hari!–Ya slipped again and lost one arm's grip.
"Grab hold," I shouted and jutted my elbow toward her, bracing to handle the extra weight. Water hit my eyes and stung like wasps. I blinked but couldn't soothe them. My eyes must be bleeding: red bloomed like time–lapse flowers on Hari!–Ya's torso. I blinked faster. She had bullet holes in her chest.
Hari!–Ya slipped again. "My son," were her last words.
"I promised," I assured her.
Another spiral of water swept us. When I blinked to clear the wasps, Hari!–Ya was gone.
67. SIMPLE PLEASURES
"Let go, Nica."
"Release your grip."
Two voices pestered me to fall in the river. If I did that, noxious water would burn me. Silver–lining–wise, the pain might dull my memories of Hari!–Ya, blooming red.
I couldn't see who was talking, the glare of sunrise on the East River was too bright. When did it get to be dawn?
"We can't protect you from falling until you fall."
Love and confusion jolted me. The statement made no sense, in a way that only one being made no sense. Monk. I reviewed recent memories. Yes, that voice did sound like Monk, and the other voice sounded like Miles.
I willed my neck to tilt toward the voices. The Watts Towers stood in the East River below me. I hoped that water wouldn't corrode their steel. How often does a person fear corrosion of a loved one?
I might be delirious.
"Let go. Drop. We'll catch you," Miles reminded.
I tried to let go of the pillar but, clinging overnight, my arm muscles must have spasmed for so long that they stopped processing signals from my brain. I grabbed my sleeve in my teeth and dislodged one arm from the pillar. This put extra weight on my other arm; it pulled free and I fell. I slipped a few feet, thunked into the pillar, bounced a couple feet, whacked the pillar again. It took four rounds of slip–thunk before I hit Miles and rebounded onto Monk. All of which certainly got my blood moving again. A pottery shard on Monk's girder stabbed my cheek. I welcomed the pain and the taste of blood.
"Your laugh holds tears," Monk noted.
"I can't believe I'm alive. And with you."
"We share your surprise and pleasure."
In this Frame, Brooklyn Bridge was the only bridge across the East River and that was where we headed. The river was full of boats that seemed to be playing a slow version of soccer with splashed water instead of a ball and tugboats in goal.
"The shots tipped us something was up over here," Miles said. "Guns aren't allowed to play with their ammo so we came to do a look–see. Figured we'd find young pistols, fooling off."
"That was not my expectation. Anya warned that Warty Sebaceous Cysts have enslaved firearms."
Even I could have told Monk that a schoolmaster tone would make Miles testy.
Miles replied, "Then take a bow for always knowing everything." He accelerated to get ahead of Monk, which brought him close to the boats' game. A spectator boat honked and flashed a searchlight at him. "Don't flash that unless you mean it, girl," Miles called to the boat.
The Towers bickering, flirting. Warm sun on my back. Maelstrom and the Cysts had taken simple pleasures like these from too many beings who shouldn't be so suddenly, terribly dead.
"Your soul shivers today," Monk noted.
And then I was telling them everything. About Hari!–Ya and the Cobra woman we were supposed to rescue. The murdered children of Marzipan. Lilah. Sam. Fatty and Mikal. Ben's susceptibility to kidnap—not to mention relapse and overdose. The stolen lawn chair. When I finished, I didn't feel better, exactly, but talking to concerned friends always helps.
The Towers had stopped moving while I spieled, hovering just north of our destination. When I finished, they resumed the last leg of the trip to Brooklyn Bridge.
"How come you're in the New Yorks? Who's protecting L.A.? I thought you went home after the Framekeeps coup."
"We did go home," Monk said with a sigh.
"Plenty of other cats got Ellay as their gig," Miles reassured. His fresh cement was now fully encrusted with pottery shards, completing the repairs to the damage sustained during his kidnapping. Fascinating: repair work done on Ma'Urth showed up in other Frames, just as injuries incurred in other Frames showed up as damage on Ma'Urth. I added that to my infinite list of how–is–it–possible–that... Frames questions, when this—when Maelstrom—was over. Assuming our side won, of course.
"When Anya summons we can but answer," Monk's new sigh was bigger than the last.
"My brother gets homesick, he's a stay–at–home dude." Miles' tone was sympathetic.
"I'm like that, too. And I had to leave home to find out," I realized.
"Home is where I never get lost," Monk said. "But Anya wanted us here."
The air vibrated around Miles. He sounded excited. "The first battle will be fought through the New Yorks before much longer."
"Yes, Anya and Anwyl have mentioned that strategy!"
"That is not strategy, it is prophecy."
"Won't the Cysts attack somewhere else then? To be unpredictable?"
If Monk had a nose, he would have sniffed. "Prophecy cannot be outsmarted."
"Or maybe this is one of the prophecies they don't believe in?"
"Their disbelief is matched only by their belief."
There might be a Frame where that made sense. "Damn I've missed you, Monk! And Miles! I thank every day that you're back safely."
My hair wafted in the static charge that was their spread of affection.
When we got to Brooklyn Bridge, Monk hoisted himself onto Miles and rose like a ladder extension. He tilted to hang over the Bridge and all I had to do was drop a few feet to the footpath.
When Monk touched Brooklyn Bridge, the Bridge said, "That tap on my balustrade—after all these cycles is it truly Monk?" The name he actually said was Monk's real name, seventeen syllables and all consonants. "Well met, old friend."
"The Frames spin and our hearts stretch," Monk recited, then listened a moment. "Miles stands below. He 'likes what you've done with your girders, you must catch a nice flock of pigeons that way.' I quote him there."
Which set us all laughing. No one sounds less like Miles than his brother!
Laughter made their leave–taking easier. And harder.
"Guide her safely home," Monk instructed Brooklyn Bridge.
"Like you always do but double," Miles called from below. And then they were gone and I headed west.
"You walk with a limp," Brooklyn Bridge observed. "Have you an injury?"
"I'm stiff but not hurt. Unlike too many others." It took effort to keep moving. When the Towers departed, grief took over. I wanted to drop to my knees and pound the pavement. You'd think I'd be used to death by now.
"I understand. I am grateful to feel your tread, one never knows when... " The Bridge sounded like he didn't want to finish that sentence.
"I've got lots of tread left," I vowed.
"Yes, I feel that determination in your steps."
68. ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT?
I'd been away from Ma'Urth long enough that the bipolar vibe walloped me. Still, I was relieved to be back in a familiar world. I couldn't wait to get inside the Julian but there was something I had to do first.
I entered Hari!–Ya's safe house on Ma'Urth then changed Frames once I got inside.
Raff and Nada, the Cobra couple who cared for Hari!–Ya's son, w
ere still there but Raff was packing their things. Nada nursed the misshapen potato that was her infant Cobra daughter. But where was the other infant, Hari!–Ya's son?
Raff brought forward an adorable toddler who had been unpacking a bag nearly as fast as Raff packed it. "Here is Hari!–Ya's son, Dar–Yo." He saw my disbelief. "During times of threat to the grandmaters, the seeders grow and evolve rapidly."
"Rapidly is an understatement. Thank you." The toddler handed me a cloth, pilfered from the bag. He was cuter than a dozen boy bands. I squatted to match his eye level. "Dar–Yo, I'm Nica. It's okay if you forget my name. You'll keep seeing me as you grow up. And when you're ready, I'll have amazing stories for you, starring your mother."
Nada had begun to cry and now rubbed her tears like they were to blame. "Already she is gone."
I could only nod. I stood quickly so that Dar–Yo didn't have to witness my sadness, although he surely felt the vibe coming from all three adults. The baby girl began to mewl. Raff hoisted the boy to his shoulders and Dar–Yo smiled, but didn't laugh.
"How will I know where you've Traveled?" I asked.
"We will send word through Anwyl."
"Okay, that should work. May I help you pack?"
"Thank you, yes. The sooner we are away –"
There were too many dark endings for that sentence.
Back on Ma'Urth, walking home, I thought about nothing but Hari!–Ya. I had to lock down those memories—I couldn't lose a single second with her. I was just the caretaker, after all, until I could give the memories to her son.
The Julian's front stoop was bright with sun and Dizzy stretched the length of the top step, soaking it in. That's what I needed! I sat with her and partook of purr therapy. Once again, the cat was friendlier than usual; maybe that was her reaction to Maelstrom. One of her ears had a freshly shredded edge and a deep puncture but she showed no sign of discomfort when I explored the injury with a gentle rub. Here was proof that everyone was at risk—Dizzy was too smart to get into fights unless absolutely necessary. "Defending the Free Frames can be dangerous work, huh, Dizz," I cooed and she stretched, inviting me to pet her belly—a first.