Æstival Tide w-2

by Elizabeth Hand

  ziz strode to where Ceryl moaned in the guards’ arms. “What’s wrong with her? Is she ill?” She tipped Ceryl’s chin back with one finger. Ceryl groaned and her eyes rolled open, then closed again. ziz dropped her finger; Ceryl’s head flopped against her chest. The margravine grimaced. “Wake her up, I want her to understand the terms of her sentencing.”

  She turned to Reive. The gynander had composed herself, and stared back at the margravine with clear green eyes. She looked at Ceryl, limp in the arms of her guards, and blinked to keep the tears from spilling. She gazed back at the margravine. Hatred like a philter ran through her entire body, hot and strong. Very slowly, she smiled.

  At that smile ziz suddenly went cold.

  Shiyung. She looks just like Shiyung.

  She remembered her sister’s bastard, dead at birth… Or no—there had been something wrong, they had sent it down to the Chambers of Mercy because it was sick, there was something wrong with it, it—

  It had been a hermaphrodite. ziz caught her breath and gazed back at the gynander.

  The Four Hundredth Room had grown very still. Reive could hear Rudyard Planck beside her, his breath coming in quick agitated gasps, and next to him Ceryl groaning as one of the Reception Committee pasted an amphaze tab to her temple. Alone on the dais Nike sucked noisily at her kehveh bulb, then dropped it to the floor and slumped back in her seat, eyes closed as she welcomed her morpha dreams. A few feet away the ‘filing machines whirred and clicked as ziz stared at her prisoner, and the prisoner, her smile a rictus of pure loathing, stared back.

  An odd feeling had come over Reive, a sort of vertigo; as though she leaned over the restraining wall that circled the palace and looked down upon the receding levels of Araboth to the lugubrious depths of the Undercity. At first the margravine’s face frightened her—like the rasa’s, utterly blank and unlined, as though no emotion had ever touched her deeply enough to leave a mark upon that white skin. But now something had changed. The margravine’s mouth remained set in that grim smile, but her eyes flickered with something else—fear, Reive realized.

  She’s afraid of me …

  And suddenly she thought of the sentry by the Seraphim’s gravator, scanning her retinafile and saying, Reive Orsina: pass. And the sentry at the palace reading her genotype: Reive Orsina. And the mad zeuglodon’s thick voice booming, One of the margravines had a baby once… I think you must be that monster ….

  In the arms of his captors Rudyard Planck struggled. After a moment he gave up and sank to the floor, the cuffs biting his wrists as the guards tightened their hold on his chains. He winced. The floor of the Four Hundredth Room was warm—more than warm, hot. It would be just like ziz to roast the place before a sentencing. But even the margravines looked uncomfortable. Could it be that this was an unanticipated change in temperature? Such a small thing; but it would fit into the complex and seemingly meaningless pattern he had seen these last few days, a pattern that seemed to be disclosing a single fact:

  The margravines were no longer in control of the city.

  Twisting around he stared up at Ceryl, her eyes huge and black from the amphaze, her expression witless. A single ’filer had his optics focused on her, and swiveled to get Planck looking at her. The dwarf mouthed an obscenity and turned away.

  In front of him the margravine and Reive were still staring at each other. A sly curve had broadened Reive’s smile, and the dwarf noted suddenly that ziz looked distinctly frightened. There was something odd about the whole scene, something weirdly familiar. He craned his neck, trying to see back to the dais where Nike still sat by herself, dreaming. Those two empty chairs: Shiyung would have been seated there, and once upon a time Nasrani as well….

  It struck him then. Shiyung. The expression on Reive’s face was like that of the youngest Orsina—the same mocking smile, the same intense light in her eyes. And those eyes—she had green eyes, emerald-green eyes slanted as a cat’s, and she didn’t wear tinted lenses to disguise them.

  Like Shiyung Orsina; like Nasrani.

  “She’s one of them.” The words came out before he could stop them.

  “Huh?”

  Ceryl’s voice sounded sharp, but that was just the amphaze. She had no idea where she was. Several men and women in dark suits and narrow ties were supporting her; her head throbbed, but other than that she felt no pain. When she tried to move her hand it didn’t respond; it seemed she couldn’t move at all. She remembered something about a dwarf.

  “… one of them! ” the voice whispered, more loudly this time. One of the Reception Committee kicked him, but the dwarf ignored her and hissed until Ceryl looked over at him, blinking.

  “Damn it, look at her, Waxwing! Where the hell did you find her, she’s one of their bastards!”

  Several ’filers had turned to check out this new confusion. ziz shook her head, half hearing the whispered accusations behind her but too stunned by the thought of what this might mean: a true Orsina, the child of siblings as she and Shiyung and Nike and Nasrani had been: a true heir. In front of her the gynander gazed at her with Shiyung’s eyes in her pointed face, dirty hair uncoiled about her shoulders, small breasts and tattooed thighs and that tiny penis half-glimpsed inside her gossamer trousers. A morphodite, heir to the Holy City of the Americas. ziz started to laugh.

  “Well,” she said quickly, straightening herself and adjusting her conical crown so that the light flared from its twin crosses. “I wouldn’t have expected an assassin to scare easily.”

  Clicks and whispers as the ’filers all turned to ziz.

  “Assassin, Margravine?” one called out from the back of the room.

  ziz nodded, her smile gone. Get this over with quickly, get them out of here and into the holding area by the Gate. “Early this morning,” she began, glancing back at Nike asleep on her throne; “ early this morning —”

  Nike jumped, glanced around and nodded anxiously. ziz gave her a curt look, then continued.

  “Early this morning we discovered the body of our sister, Shiyung Orsina, in her private chambers in the Alkahest. She had been murdered, her neck snapped. The murderer and her accomplices have been detained—”

  Gasps and a few angry shouts from the ’filers. ziz swept her arm out toward Reive and Ceryl and Rudyard Planck, but looked over her shoulder and whispered to the head of the ’filer crew, “No names, no names.” Then, sternly and facing the optics, “These three are hereby sentenced for the murder of Shiyung Orsina, also for collusion, also treachery and theft—”

  “We did not —” Rudyard Planck said hotly, before someone kicked him.

  “Theft,” ziz repeated. On her throne Nike adjusted her rubber cape and nodded. ziz coughed, then said, “But even criminals and assassins may beg for forgiveness. We have heard their pleas; we will show them mercy, and allow them to save their eternal souls through the ministrations of the Compassionate Redeemer.”

  Ceryl’s mouth twisted as she tried to gasp. Rudyard Planck shouted, “No!” The ’filer crews murmured excitedly. Only Reive continued to stare at ziz with that same cold smile, although she grew pale and her hands trembled.

  “There,” ziz announced. She turned to the head of the ’filer crew and waved at him dismissively. “That’s it, that’s all, tell them to stop. Now.”

  Muttering and staring balefully at the three prisoners, the ’filer crew started to leave. One spat at Reive as he passed her. Another stopped in front of Shiyung’s empty throne and held out her optic, before the crew head came after her, barking at her to leave. ziz stared after them with a satisfied expression. Nike smiled and waved goodbye.

  “Damn it, ziz, you know we had nothing to do with this—” Rudyard Planck exploded, heedless of the guards tugging at his bonds. “That morph, you know who that morph is—”

  ziz turned to him, smiling; her eyes glittered as she said, “I do indeed: the murderer of our sister.”

  “Couldn’t—done it,” said Ceryl. Her voice was thick, almost unintelligible. ziz
and Rudyard Planck both looked at her, surprised; her captors jerked her chain but still she went on. “Too small—look—her. Didn’t—hear she said— rasa, Aviator—where’s rasa?”

  ziz’s face grew tight but she said nothing. On the dais Nike sniffed and stood, grabbing the arms of her throne as she was unbalanced by the weight of her heavy rubber cape. “Where is Margalis?” she asked. An empty morpha tube rolled out from her feet and she giggled, then looked at her sister. “ziz? We should tell him, because— you know.”

  “It makes no difference what you do now.”

  Reive’s voice came out clear and high as a child’s. One of her captors raised his hand to strike her, but ziz shouted, “Enough!” and gestured for him to leave.

  “Go, I want you all to go now! They are guests no longer, they are now prisoners of the city. I have summoned a guard from the Aviators—”

  The Reception Committee looked aggrieved. “ Go ,” repeated the margravine fiercely, pointing at the door.

  “She doesn’t seem too afraid of this murderer,” a guard muttered. On his way out he kicked Rudyard Planck. ziz remained with her arm outstretched commandingly. From down the corridor echoed the clatter of boots on marble. The Reception Committee dropped their hold on the steel chains that bound their prisoners, adjusted their ties, and shuffled toward the door.

  As she watched them leave, Reive cried out, “We know who we are! We know—”

  Rudyard Planck looked at her, frightened. “You know—” he said, and stopped.

  The gynander only tipped her chin and stared at ziz through slitted eyes. “We know now. We have the Sight, we have seen what is to come. We may have scryed it, but it was your dream, ziz.”

  The margravine stepped forward until she stood in front of Reive. She bent to take the gynander’s face in her hands.

  “You are a fool, whoever you are.” What little color was left in Reive’s face bled away and her gaze faltered; she looked like a child being punished. “There will be no storms, hermaphrodite, because we control the weather. We control everything in Araboth.”

  She let go of the gynander and turned to stride across the room. She stopped in front of a tall column and gazed back at her sister. Nike looked confused, then raised a triumphant finger and pulled up the hood of her cape.

  In the doorway several tall figures appeared, gleaming in their crimson leather uniforms. “Enter,” ziz called out to them. She glanced at her prisoners, then back at the Aviators. “I was just telling them that there is nothing to fear from the weather—what’s a little rain?”

  The margravine pressed a switch hidden behind the column and flicked her own hood over her head. A sound like flames licking at the walls; then a brackish scent filled the room. A moment later fine mist began to fall from tiny jets in the ceiling.

  “See!” ziz crowed. Nike adjusted her cape, holding out her hands to catch the moisture. “Nothing to fear from the weather, nothing at all!”

  One of the Aviators stepped forward and raised her hands in salute. Rain caught in her silver hair and glittered like sun on steel. “Margravine—”

  ziz turned to her. “I want them in the holding area on Archangels. The prison by the Lahatiel Gate. They’re to speak to no one.”

  “Yes, Margravine.” The Aviator gestured; the others followed her. But before they could reach the prisoners a tremor shook the room. Nike cried out and grabbed a chair. Glass tapers rattled in their sconces and one shattered as it struck the wall. For an instant the rain ceased; then there was a gurgling from overhead and it poured down heavier than before. ziz’s mouth was set in a grim line as she pulled her cape about her shoulders. Only the Aviators seemed not to notice, their booted feet steady upon the marble floor, their eyes fixed on the margravines.

  “Take them,” whispered ziz.

  Ceryl whimpered. Rudyard Planck’s ruddy face went white, and he struggled as the first Aviator lifted him in her arms like a child.

  “No! Margravine, please, Sajur Panggang will tell you—”

  Only Reive remained impassive, her smile gone, her dark lashes trembling above pale green eyes. “It is coming,” she whispered. She lifted her head to stare at Nike. The margravine clutched the edges of her cape and shivered in the chilly artificial rain. “There is nothing you can do now to stop it, it is—”

  “ Now! ” shouted ziz. “Have them shriven in preparation for their meeting with the Compassionate. Redeemer.”

  “As you wish, Margravine.”

  The leader of the Aviators stared at the dwarf still struggling in her arms, then with her head motioned to her followers. They stepped forward and not ungently took hold of Ceryl and Reive. “Please don’t fight,” one said. Ceryl collapsed against his chest. In her captor’s arms Reive turned to gaze at ziz. The rain glistened against her breasts, where the ward against Ucalegon gleamed brilliant yellow and blue against her white skin.

  “The Wave will take you all,” she said. Then they bore her from the Four Hundredth Room.

  Silence for several minutes. “That’s it, then,” ziz said at last. The door remained open; rain pattered against the walls and ran down through the little diamond-shaped grates set into the floor. Nike nodded, still steaming in her cape. Her sister began to pace, finally paused and tripped another hidden switch. The ocean-smelling rain tapped against the floor, then stopped. Warm air blew up through the grates. Sandalwood essence oozed down through ventricles in the ceiling. “There: all done.”

  “What did she mean, ‘She’s one of them’?” Nike’s voice was still husky with morpha, but her eyes were brooding. She crossed the room to her sister and took her arm. “ziz? What did she mean?”

  ziz turned away. “Nothing. They’re desperate, they were just talking.”

  Nike shook her head. “No. I heard them. That morphodite—she looks like Shiyung. And Nasrani—she looks like both of them. She’s their child, isn’t she, the morphodite they were supposed to have killed—”

  “What would you have done?” ziz shook her arm free and glared at her sister. “I didn’t know, I had no more idea than you did, until today. She’s a bastard, and a monster—you saw her, a hermaphrodite! They would say it was an evil thing— if they knew. It’s best we do this, Nike, she should die before anyone else has a chance to learn about her.”

  Nike hissed softly. “It is an evil thing, ziz! That was a tremor just now, it’s as she said… She has the Sight, she scryed your dream—even if she did kill Shiyung—”

  “She’s a scheming little morph, that’s all! How could she kill Shiyung?” ziz laughed coldly. “You saw her, a skinny thing like that—”

  Nike’s eyes widened. “Then who did?” Her cape squeaked as she hugged it close to her and suddenly her eyes widened. “Margalis! He did it—you knew it and—”

  “ I will take care of Margalis. Shiyung was spending far too much time on the lower levels, Nike, you saw that. They were starting to think she belonged to them, and she was starting to believe it. It was time for a change, Nike. She’d been turning us against Nasrani. We need to speak with him now, it’s been too long. We can’t have these squabbles go on forever.” ziz tossed her head, the black hood of her cape falling back onto her shoulders. “And Sajur, I want to see him as well, I think we should ask him about—”

  “About what, Margravine?”

  The two sisters whirled. In the doorway stood the Architect Imperator. He wore a morning suit of striped gray wool with a high white collar. The black turban of his office drooped over his forehead, but the Orsinate’s heraldic eye had been ripped away. In its place gleamed a brooch of Angelika’s, a glittering piece of ancient computer circuitry in clear plastic, set with zircons and emerald glass.

  “Greetings, Nike.” He stumbled as he walked into the room. There was a small gash at the corner of his mouth where he had cut himself shaving, and blood spotted his white collar.

  “Sajur!” ziz frowned. Then she composed herself and walked to meet him. Behind her Nike stepped gingerly. A cl
oying steam rose about their feet, where the cold rain had pooled and was now heated by the vents. “I was going to call you—we need to discuss a few things. Tomorrow’s opening ceremony, for one—”

  Sajur waved her away. Nike gasped: his white shirt-cuffs were soaked with blood, and blood dripped from his wrists to the slick floor. “No need, Margravine, no need at all. It doesn’t hurt, Nike, I drank quite a bit first, did a bit of morpha—”

  He grinned, straightened himself unsteadily to face them. When he raised his hand to straighten his turban a long red smear marred the soft fine cotton. “I am performing my final duty to you, ziz.” He covered his mouth as he coughed. There was more blood. “I have sabotaged the Architects. There is a chasm beneath us now, on Angels—a fissure the length of the Undercity. The domes are already starting to buckle under the stress. Tomorrow, when the Lahatiel Gate opens—”

  He smiled and flicked his fingers, ffffttt! A fine spray of blood spattered the margravines’ black rubber capes. “You shouldn’t have killed Angelika, ziz. It was ungrateful of you, after all I’ve done.”

  His voice almost sounded pleading. “And she won’t let me sleep, ziz, I see her at night, she comes to me…”

  He choked. Blood splattered his trousers. “Don’t bother calling your damn Aviator watchdogs, I—” Shuddering, he crumpled to his knees. “—dying anyway.”

  “The domes! The domes!” Nike shrieked. ziz slapped her and turned back to the man slumped on the floor.

  “How do we stop them, Sajur?” she shouted. “Dammit, tell me! The program, how do we revert the program?”

  The Architect Imperator smiled and gazed at the ceiling. “Nothing to be done,” he murmured. “Set them and left them… strange things, uncontrollable—ideas of their own, now.”

  His voice faded to a soft gurgle. The bloodstained turban slid from his forehead to the marble floor, and he rested his cheek upon it. For one last instant he stared up at them, his dark eyes glazing over. He whispered, “But you’ll see lots of weather, ziz… bring an umbrella.” He closed his eyes and was still.