Johanna felt a laugh burbling up. She stifled it. “I doubt that even you could make that lie stick. Look, I got quite a briefing from Benky and Wretchly. I know about the big meeting this afternoon. You look so pretty, I figure you’re an honored guest. All I need is for you to get me to where I can jump onstage. Outside of Nevil’s inner circle, the Deniers are good kids. Most of them are my friends. In front of everyone, Nevil won’t dare kill me. I can finally say the truth.”
Flenser’s heads were bobbing in a smile. “Say your truth and not be Denied, eh?”
“Yes.”
The carriage bumped across badly-kept cobblestones. They must be near the edge of town, maybe at the edge of Murder Meadows. This might be a short trip.
“I could do what you suggest, Johanna, but there is a problem. Tycoon himself will be on that stage.”
“So he exists? Okay, but why should that be a problem?”
Flenser waved for Johanna to keep her voice down.
“You see, even if Nevil doesn’t dare act, Tycoon … well I very much fear he will tear you apart the moment he understands who you are.”
“What? Sorry.” She brought her voice down to a whisper. “Even Vendacious wouldn’t be that stupid.”
There were many voices all around them now, both the gobbling of packs and the speech of humans. Flenser raised a head the way a human might lift his hand, meaning to wait a moment on the answer. Outside, Johanna could hear somebody up above—Wretchly in the driver seats?—arguing. Something about whether kherhogs were allowed to proceed under the something-or-other. Under the stage?
The wagon turned and edged slowly up a slope. All of Flenser turned toward Johanna and his voice came soft and focused: “You’re right. Vendacious wouldn’t be that stupid.…” He paused again, listening to muttering from the top of the carriage. “You see, there’s something we didn’t know about Tycoon. He’s Scriber Jaqueramaphan’s brother.”
For a moment, Johanna couldn’t make sense of the statement; it connected such unrelated parts of her life. Scriber?… She knew he had a fission brother. Estranged. Scriber had told her the story the last night she saw him all alive. When she beat the crap out of that poor, innocent pack. She opened her mouth a couple of times. No need to worry about making sound, she couldn’t find her voice. She was just mouthing the words, “But, but…”
Flenser continued, his voice the tiniest butterfly touch on her ears, the sense of it pounding like hammers: “Honestly, I didn’t know until Tycoon was on his way here. Vendacious has worked very hard to keep me away from Tycoon. I do know that Tycoon is exactly the genius at organization we thought. He’s turned the Tropics into a magical surprise and given Vendacious the lever to overturn the world.”
Johanna remembered. Scriber had said his fission sibling was a dour business type. What had changed? And why did Tycoon want to kill her? “Why—?” she spoke the word too softly to hear her own voice.
Of course Flenser heard her—and more—he understood her real question. “Why do you think? Vendacious told him that you killed Scriber. Vendacious is at center of all this, and he’s sneakier than I was, even at my best. He has to be, because sneakiness is all he has going for him. He’s based his plan on Tycoon, and on making Tycoon hate humans, you in particular.” He sounded almost admiring.
Yeah, that was perfect Vendacious. Flenser might admire such perfection.
The carriage stopped, jerked forward a few centimeters, stopped again. She heard the scrabble of Wretchly bouncing down from the driver’s seats. There was an irregular tapping on the door, and when Flenser slid it open, one of Wretchly was looking in. “Here we are, Boss, right under the platform. Heh! Inside all Nevil’s fabulous security.”
Flenser was already streaming out the door. “You can be sure that if Vendacious was in charge, things would not be so easy. Nevil is so new to our primitive villainy.” Now all of him struggled to help his crippled member exit. White Tips was watching Johanna alertly, but as usual made no detectable contribution to the speech sounds.
“I’m supposed to be up onstage,” said Flenser. “This parking spot is to give me easier access. My handicapped condition, you see. I’m leaving Wretchly with you. If you don’t scream or shout, you should be safe.” Flenser wiggled a snout, gesturing Johanna to come to the opening.
Sunlight splattered down through cracks in the construction. She smelled fresh-cut lumber. They were parked somewhere on the heather of Murder Meadows. Crisscrossed timber reinforcement beams were all around the wagon. Flenser was on the ground below her, turning White Tips’ little cart toward a path that led off into the dimness. “Hear the racket, Johanna?” he said.
In fact, she could. Tinish trumpeting. Flenser continued, “Somebody just landed their airship. They’ll be up top on the platform in another minute—and I’m late to greet them.” The slower parts of Flenser were already heading off. “If that’s Tycoon, it’s your death to go up there. You should stay down here where you’re safe.”
“If I decide to risk it, how can I get directly on stage?”
“Ah,” Flenser’s heads twisted around, searching for something in the cracks of light above. “Wretchly?”
Part of the henchpack looked up, studying the strutwork. “Okay. We had the contract on putting this thing together. It was all very hastily done, with lots of screwups. See over there,” Wretchly pointed to where reinforcement struts tilted together. “It may not look it, but that’s the start of an easy climb”—he gestured back and forth, upwards—“to a knockout panel that’s at the center of the main stage.”
Flenser was grinning, that joy-in-shadows posture that annoyed Woodcarver so much. “You could make a very dramatic entrance, very very short-lived, at least if Tycoon is nearby. Part of me would truly like to see…” He brought himself up short. Literally: The parts of him that were furthest along the path stopped, began pulling the wheelbarrow back. “Ahem. Seriously, Johanna. Don’t go up there unless you—and Wretchly—can hear that it’s safe. Even if it’s just Nevil, you should think twice. I took a chance once, going public in the Long Lakes—and look what became of me.”
Johanna brought her gaze down from the ceiling. “Yes. I understand.” In fact, Flenser’s advice was completely sensible—at least if you edited out the maniacal asides.
“Okay, then! I’d best be on my way.” He caught up with himself and soon all five were lost in the gloom.
The rest of Wretchly came over to the carriage steps. “No one’s near. You can come down from the carriage if you want. Be ready to hop back in if I say.”
Johanna descended the little steps, stood in the moist, ankle-deep sod. It was all very stamped down and shaded, but here and there the sunlight caught the color of a wilted flower. Murder Meadows. She seemed to end up here every time things got really really tough.
• • •
“So that’s Tycoon up there. Pack of Packs, it sounds like there’s eight of him, and they’re all big bruisers!” Wretchly was circled widely around their carriage, watching and listening in all directions. One of him stayed close to Johanna even now, as she walked over to the jumble of strutwork he had pointed out earlier.
Johanna looked up into the shadows and bright cracks above. “So what is he saying, Wretchly?”
“It’s still Nevil talking. What a noisemaker that guy is. ‘Peace, prosperity, our new friends, no more terrible attacks,… blah blah.’”
“You know he can talk for hours, Wretchly.”
“Yeah. Well, that would be stupid today. The audience doesn’t sound as patient as usual.” He waved a snout at the unseen fields. “And one particular guy is not patient at all.”
“Me,” said Johanna.
“Somebody else. The eight that I think are Tycoon is shifting around like he has bugs up his rears.” Wretchly paused. Looking around, Johanna could see several of Wretchly shifting, angling their shoulders and heads, building up a sonic image of what was going on above. “That’s strange,” said Wretchly. “I
think Tycoon has humans with him. Ravna and Jefri it sounds like.”
Johanna restrained her desire to shout. “What? Then it must be safe!”
“… Not if they’re prisoners.”
“But Woodcarver and Flenser are up there.”
“Yes,” Wretchly pointed into the shadows in the direction that Flenser had departed minutes before. That would be stage left, if she was visualizing things properly. “They haven’t gone to meet Ravna. It sounds like Tycoon has a pack or two with him. Flunkies with weapons, I bet.”
A minute later, it sounded like a human child had shouted something.
Wretchly pulled back in startlement. “Huh! That’s Tycoon. He wants to talk.”
Various thumping-around noises came from above. Johanna might have laughed in other circumstances. She didn’t think Nevil had ever been upstaged at a public event.
The little girl voice from above was loud, but Johanna still couldn’t make out the words. The tones sounded frightened and lost and … angry?
Wretchly had grabbed her sleeve, was pulling her back to the carriage. “What?” said Johanna. “What is Tycoon saying?”
“He’s talking about peace, but he doesn’t sound happy about it. That’s not the point, Johanna. I hear packs coming back under the stands, some humans too.”
“Woodcarver’s?”
“No, they’re Deniers and the lowlife Tines that Nevil hires. We got a couple of minutes. I can get you out of here.”
As he spoke, the rest of Wretchly had come rushing in from their listening posts. Now they were clustered around her, silently pushing and pulling her toward the carriage. When she still resisted, Wretchly stepped back, his heads cocking indecisively. “Cripes. My boss knew this would happen. Can’t you see? He set you up.”
Maybe, and so what? Jo looked up one more time. From here she could see the top of the path Wretchly had pointed to. It ended at a panel, quite thin and weak-looking compared to the walls around it. Scriber’s brother is up there. In the early years, she had wondered about that nameless brother, wondered if he ever knew what became of Scriber, or if that estranged pack would even care to know. If Flenser was right, Tycoon had really really cared. The lie Vendacious had told him had propelled a decade of history. Vendacious had murdered Scriber and turned that into a monstrous coup. The old rage rose up in Johanna, what she had felt ever since Vendacious had escaped execution and then escaped imprisonment. This must not stand.
“Get to someplace safe, Wretchly.”
“Good. C’mon!” said Wretchly. Then as she started up the ladder: “Aw, cripes.”
She glanced down, saw him clustered around the base of the ladder, one of him starting up toward her, the rest all looking at something out of sight behind her. Three looked up, waving their heads, but not daring to call aloud. Then the one on the ladder tumbled back to the heather, and she heard all of him rushing away.
From above, the little-girl voice continued on, wailing with words Jo couldn’t quite make out. Surely the distress was an illusion. And yet, Tycoon deserved to learn how close his brother had come to greatness, how his special crazy goodness had gotten him killed.
She was at the top of the ladder. She swung to the side, reached out to touch the wood panel. It was tacked on with temporary pegs. She could smash right through. She hesitated, let the rage give her strength. Somewhere there was a voice in her head, but it wasn’t the voice of caution; that was still tied and gagged. The Mad Bad Girl of Starship Hill was in charge.
Chapter 40
Ravna climbed down the stairs and stood in the soaking heather. The airship’s carriage was seated thirty centimeters into the heath. The main hull was only a few centimeters above their heads. They were in the ship’s shadow, mostly out of sight of the welcoming crowds. Even here the daylight was awesomely bright and cheerful and familiar.
The gunpack urged them to follow Zek and Tycoon. Ravna took a step or two, unsteady after all the low ceilings. As she stepped out into direct sunlight she stumbled and would have been crawling again if Jef hadn’t had an arm around her. Together they staggered a few steps more, then stood straight for a moment, reveling in having the space to do so.
Cheers came on the wind. Ravna turned. The ground crew had retreated. Except for Tycoon’s entourage, the nearest people were thirty meters away. The cheering was coming from the Children and Best Friends. And Ravna suddenly realized they were cheering Jefri and herself.
She gave them a wave back and then gunpack pushed at their legs, urging her and Jefri to catch up with Tycoon. Their progress across the field was slow, partly because of Ravna’s unsteadiness, partly because the hummocky heath was an ankle-twisting obstacle course.
None of the Children came running out to meet them. They were staying behind low barricades. Several older Children—Nevil’s people—were keeping the more enthusiastic from rushing onto the field. All for the safety of the public, no doubt. A lot had changed since she was kidnapped.
Tycoon’s party turned across the bow of his airship and walked in stately splendor toward the midpoint of the stage. Ravna and Jefri hobbled along behind. Nevil’s voice was audible even from here. Of course, he was using his power with Oobii to advantage: “… and the attack this morning must not get in the way of our meeting here. Peace is finally within our reach.…” she heard him say. But his voice was mainly focused on the crowd, and she lost the rest of the words.
Nevil was standing behind a high lectern at one end of the stage. Three humans were with him, and two packs, one wearing crowns. Downhill, beyond the stage, Ravna had a view of Out of Band II in all its iridescent splendor. Nevil had positioned his stage so that all the participants were within the field of fire of the ship’s beam gun. With his admin authority, Nevil figured he could kill anyone here, pack or human. He could burn the meadow clean if he wished. Was Nevil really capable of such monstering? I better assume so. In any case, it was his top threat against anyone who truly knew him.
Except perhaps for me, thought Ravna. Oobii was smart enough to recognize a human face. And Nevil, by putting this scene in its line of sight, had guaranteed that Oobii could see her. If it recognized her … She leaned against Jefri, letting him steady her. She looked at the ship and said softly, “Ship! Give me a milliwatt of red if you hear me.” Her voice was whipped away in the breeze. Jefri himself didn’t seem to hear her.
As they walked on, Ravna stole an occasional glance at the ship. There was no sign, no red glint. Okay, that had been a long shot.
Tycoon had reached the edge of the crowd. Nevil’s guards made way for them, keeping humans and packs away from Tycoon and Zek and Ritl. Ritl? The singleton trotted along like an official part of the delegation.
Now that Tycoon was past the barricades, some of the younger Children pushed forward, eluding both Nevil’s guards and other older kids who tried to stop them. Tycoon shied back slightly, then walked forward, not showing the loathing he must feel. He actually acknowledged the greetings with something like cordiality. He was doing better than most of the first-timers she’d encountered in the circus.
Zek lagged back from Tycoon and spoke to Ravna and Jefri with Vendacious’ voice. “Remember remember, up in the sky.” Yes, Vendacious and Amdi up in the sky. The other airship drove along, heading into another turn.
Then she and Jef were in the crowds. The kids closed in, arms outstretched to both of them. Some shied back when they saw her face, others kept coming. She hugged one or two, even as the gunpack’s snouts were pushing at her knees.
Closer to the stage, she noticed something new. On one side, she saw people like Wilm and Poul Linden, who had never approved of Nevil and company. On the other, were those who had avoided her after the vote. The human world had split into camps, a civil war waiting to happen. They all looked uneasy, shying away from Tycoon. Some flinched when they saw Ravna’s face.
“What did they do to her?” she heard one of the Children say.
Ravna continued forward, trying to smile,
biting back the things she wanted to shout to everyone. Today she wore an invisible muzzle.
Timbered steps led to the top of the stage. The risers were high, more for humans than Tines. That would be Nevil making a statement about human superiority, obliging Tycoon and his Tinish company to scramble up the steps.
The stairs reached a platform, still twelve steps short of the main stage. Three older Children stood at the top of the stairs, all Nevil’s pals. Strange, none of them was Bili Yngva; had there been a falling out? The three stepped back a little nervously as Tycoon clambered heavily toward them. Ravna heard a little of the indignant hiss that Tycoon cast their way. Zek and Ritl climbed up after him, followed by Ravna and Jefri.
She gave Nevil a hard glance, then noticed that he was wearing the remaining head-up display—a link to Oobii. For a moment her gaze caught on the device’s crystal facets. Then she forced herself to look away.
Flenser was sitting nearby, looking indolent and relaxed. He gave Ravna a friendly, ambiguous nod. To the right of Flenser, past a sound baffle, was Woodcarver. All her heads were turned to look at Jefri and Ravna. The pack was a picture of tense alertness. And anger. There was the Puppy from Hell, perched on one member’s shoulders. But wait … a second puppy was shyly looking up from between the legs of another member. The Queen had become eight!
Ravna stepped out onto the platform, moved a little way around Tycoon. Woodcarver shifted slightly apart, and Ravna heard her whisper: “What of Pilgrim?”
Ravna gave her head a little shake.
Nevil’s voice boomed over the crowd. “Let us welcome Tycoon, come all the way from the East Coast. Unwise policies of the past set us against people who would be our friends. Today we unite against those who bring violence upon both our peoples. Today—”
The words were misleading nonsense, but his frank openness was almost what Ravna remembered. Almost. Even though Nevil hadn’t been kidnapped and chased through wilds, the guy had lost some weight. The time since he had grabbed power had not been kind to him. That had been true even before Ravna’s kidnapping. Apparently things had not improved since. And what was this about an attack earlier today?
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