I considered that for a moment. “Ask me when I get back from Graveyard.”
“Maybe I will.”
When the pressure door had closed behind us, the old woman said, “He wouldn’t be a bad match—but you can probably do better.”
* * *
I have spent a lot of time in quite a few darkened tunnels, with more than my fair share of scary people (a description that I think also suits me pretty well), but I have rarely felt as cautious as I did in the company of that old woman. “Baba Yaga, I presume?” I said when we had put some space between ourselves and Jay Momoa.
“That is one of my names,” she replied. “I have had many over the centuries, from many cultures. In Japan, they called me a kitsune yōkai—fox witch. In Finland, I was Kikimora. Belters with roots in Oceania call me Auntie because that is their word for female kupuna—respected elders. If you wish to be more accurate, you may call me the Engineer.”
She fished something out of a pocket and raised it to her lips. At one end, a dull glow responded to her breath as she puffed on the other end. She nursed the glow until it was steady, exhaling with wafts of that mysterious herb. “I cultivate my own tobacco,” she explained. “Perhaps I’ll introduce it to your farmers on Olympia.”
The smoke was a bit caustic, but not unpleasant. She inhaled and exhaled it as if it were her natural atmosphere. Her skin might have been cured in it, over the centuries. It looked like paper that had been wadded up and then ironed out again, multiple times. I don’t know what was keeping this old woman alive, but it wasn’t the same sort of longevity treatments Gennady must have gotten.
Baba Yaga moved with confidence as we wound our way into passages that enjoyed more illumination. I could see that she wore a woven skirt and blouse, and her vest was heavily embroidered with colorful flower and animal motifs. A cap sat firmly on her head, and her boots were lined with fur that stuck above the tops in tufts.
“I am the one who had you made,” she began without preamble. “I saw the benefits of creating Hybrids from the DNA stored in the brains of those ancient ships. Your people may go places that no others could venture—and survive. So I was pleased to learn that the Three spoke to you of their own accord, Oichi. That was a rare thing. Do not underestimate its significance.”
When it became apparent that she expected an answer to that, I said, “I am honored by their interest.”
“I believe you,” said Baba Yaga. “You seem like the type who would keep quiet rather than saying what one would wish to hear. Yes, you were honored, though it is also true that you deserved that honor.”
She swatted a control pad for a mover, and the two of us stepped inside. When the doors had closed, she typed coordinates with gnarled but nimble fingers. Once we had begun to move, she continued. “I have spied on you, just as you have spied on others. I have seen you kill without remorse and without hesitation. Your reasons for doing so have been practical. We have that in common.”
I tried to imagine this diminutive woman killing someone. It was surprisingly easy to do so.
Baba Yaga looked sideways at me. “You seem a bit awed. Do you suppose that I drink mead from the skulls of my enemies?” She gave a short nod. “I have done so, in my day. It was an essential element of statecraft.”
I suspected Lady Sheba would agree with her.
When she fell silent again, I ventured a statement. “Captain Nemo seems to have been killed because he stopped cooperating with the Weapons Clan.”
She exhaled an amazing amount of smoke. “The Weapons Clan have their uses. They have a lot of money, and though they spend it freely, they have sometimes spent it wisely. Olympia is a case in point.”
Did that mean Titania was not? Did she approve of what Baylor (and Gennady) had done in order to be rid of the interference of Weapons Clan operatives? I probably wouldn’t like the answer to that question, even if I dared to ask it.
“Nemo died because he made the right choice at the wrong time,” said Baba Yaga. “You have made a better one by pursuing your sovereignty. Now you have initiated courteous relations with the Belters. That is also wise.”
“I suspect you think so because you also have business interests here,” I said, “and our resources will enrich you, as well.”
“I have many ways of enriching myself.” She made the bowl of her pipe flare with her puffing. “That’s not the reason. I want you to go to Graveyard. I want you to meet with the entities there. You should get them to regain some awareness of the universe. They need not wake completely, but they must be more active as players than they have been.”
“Why?” I demanded.
She didn’t like my tone. I suspected there were not many people from whom she would tolerate questions. She answered me anyway.
“Because they didn’t kill themselves after their creators died.”
That seemed a non sequitur, until I thought about it a little bit. “You mean—because they’re not dead, they are still able to interact with people? Perhaps someone will misuse them?”
“You’re halfway there,” said Baba Yaga. “They are powerful tools. They should be properly used. We cannot simply bury our heads in the sand and hope that no one else will do so.”
“These tools can think,” I said.
Her eyes glinted. “Do you imagine your grandmother doesn’t know that, child? They are the reason you were created. They are the lock; you are the key. How you decide to turn in that lock is up to you, but what is unlocked is up to them—what energies you unleash. You must both consent in this undertaking. You must both take responsibility for the outcome. Once you see each other clearly, you will understand why I say a partial awakening is for the best. The ultimate choice is yours, not mine.”
What energies you unleash. Did she mean the sort that drive a ship through folded space? Or something so far beyond that, even Baba Yaga hesitated to attempt its description?
“You are the Engineer,” I said, “the one who sent Gennady’s agents into the graveyard. I need to know—how did you become entangled with the doings of the Three?”
“For two reasons,” she said between puffs. “The first is that the most advanced technology we use is based on salvage from the graveyard—and the Three are the oldest and most advanced race represented there. I have a more personal reason, too.”
She considered me for a long moment. “I have told no else what I’m about to tell you. I advise you to forget it.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I am concerned with the doings of the Three, because, like you, I encountered their avatars. Long ago, they visited Earth. Before your human ancestors learned to forge metal, Oichi. It is fair to say that the Three are a large part of the reason I eventually became the Engineer. No!” She pointed at me with the end of her pipe. “Do not ask another question. I will not tell what you will eventually learn yourself.”
I had drawn breath to do exactly that, but I let it out again without comment. Her eyes glittered as she watched me regain my composure.
Finally she said, “Your team will go into the graveyard. I expect you will come out again. When you do, the path ahead will be much clearer. Even I, who have seen so much, do not know what direction it will take.”
She struck the floor with the tip of her cane. “I know what I hope, and I know what I dread. I must rely on you to make the right decisions. That, Oichi, is why you were tempered in harsh conditions. You have been useful in the past, and I think you will prove to be so in the future. Your usefulness is not a matter of profit, regardless of how much some wish it to be. It is a matter of the survival and prosperity of our kind, diverse though we may be—diverged though we may be. Bear that in mind, and you won’t be so mad about what’s been done to you.”
The door to the mover slid open, and we entered another corridor. Baba Yaga chose a direction without hesitation. Either she didn’t suffer from the same null zone that still blocked my access to my networks, or she had the layout of the place memorized.
“You Olym
pians,” she said, “remind me of kintsugi, the Japanese art of golden joinery. You don’t break easily, but when you do, you highlight your damage in gold rather than trying to hide it and pretend it never happened.”
As I pondered that elegant comparison, something rumbled overhead. The Engineer paused and pointed with her cane toward the roof of the corridor. “That is the sound of our refinery, here. That is its beating heart.”
Should I interpret that to mean Baba Yaga owned the refinery? I had detected pride in her tone.
She began to walk again. “In the days to come, Olympians will become better acquainted with the Belters. I believe you will adapt well to your new circumstances.”
I couldn’t resist asking her one more question. “Baba Yaga—are you a deus ex machina?
She seemed amused by the question, though I can’t say how I knew that. “Technically, that would be dea ex machina. I suppose I would fit that role if this were a play. I have also been called a witch, Oichi. In many languages. Any grandmother who does not have her infernal devices is not paying attention.”
She halted in front of another mover and gestured inside with her pipe. “Go now. Find your way back to your friends. We will not speak again until you have completed your mission, for better or for worse.”
I entered the mover. As soon as I had crossed the threshold, the Engineer slapped the controls on the wall, and the doors closed between us.
I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as if I had just emerged, miraculously unscathed, from an interview with the sphinx.
I felt that way for a good five minutes, while the mover sped me on my way. When it stopped, the door opened, and I was confronted by another corridor. I stepped out and scanned it, first up one end and then down the other.
I had no idea which direction to take.
The door shut behind me. It didn’t seem to matter much—there had been no directory inside the mover. Still, I wondered if I should get back in and take it down a level or two. I felt the lightness of being closer in on the spin arm. It might be easier to work my way back if I returned to the level where we had docked.
I had pretty much decided on that course of action when someone touched my communication link.
She was cut off mid-word. Maybe she had been trying to take down the null zone. Medusa could give her some advice on that. Did Medusa even know I was missing?
A schematic popped into my head. For one bright, shining moment, I could see where I was in relation to everything else. If I could just plot a course …
It disappeared before I could do that.
<—in the mover and—>
I turned and touched the controls, but a message popped up on the display. IN USE, it declared.
Okay. I’d give it a few minutes and try again. After all, I had survived imprisonment, dancing movers, and a conversation with the Engineer. A few more minutes wouldn’t kill me. I turned away from the display, bearing in mind the old colloquialism about watched pots, and scanned the corridor again.
The door opened behind me. I spun around to see who was in there. I had a half-baked list of persons it could have been, anything from a perfect stranger to Jay Momoa, come to pledge his troth again, or possibly Fire, who was almost a perfect stranger, to Baba Yaga, who would shake her cane at me and call me an idiot for getting lost. It included just about anyone but the person who actually stood there. Because he was supposed to be dead.
That man was Gennady Mironenko.
I punched him right on the bridge of his nose, as hard as I could, and then I ran.
14
Werewolves and Their Lawyers
I know it was a good punch, because my hand went numb. I’m pretty sure anyone else who had been hit that hard would have stayed down longer. However, I didn’t get very far before Gennady caught up with me.
“Oichi, wait!” He grabbed me by the collar and yanked me backward. I jammed an elbow in his gut and tried to pull free, but he wrapped an arm around my neck. It was his right arm, so I dropped to my right knee and yanked as hard as I could. I felt a rush of triumph as he toppled over my shoulder.
My joy evaporated when he tightened his grip around my neck and rolled me right along with him. We both ended up on the floor, and he didn’t seem inclined to let go. It was getting a little hard to breathe.
I tugged at Gennady’s arm. “Stop choking me!”
“I’m not choking you!” he insisted.
“Yes, you are!”
“If I were choking you, you wouldn’t be able to talk!”
I elbowed him again. “Well, it’s close enough!”
“Stop fighting!” he said. “Let’s talk this over!”
I paused my fruitless assault.
“Have you decided to be civil?” said Gennady.
“What if I have?”
“Then I can let go and we can stand up,” said the man who once held a knife to my throat—though he was right about the choking. I would be unconscious by now if he had been serious.
“We’re both going to move slowly,” I said. “You let go, and we’ll stand up, and we’ll take a step away from each other. Deal?”
“Deal.” Gennady let go of my neck. We climbed to our feet.
“On the way,” I asked Gennady, “do you promise to explain why you’re not dead?”
He wiped his bloody nose with his sleeve. “If that’s the price I must pay, then so be it.”
I nodded toward the mover. “You first.”
He gave me a pained smile. “I don’t think so. You first.”
“I’m not going to—” I began, before Queenie broke in.
We hopped.
* * *
“If I may quote the ancient philosopher Hunter Thompson,” Gennady said as he dabbed his nose with his other sleeve, “‘Even a goddamn werewolf is entitled to legal counsel.’”
“That’s an apt comparison.” I leaned against the far wall of the mover and flexed my hand. No longer numb, it was beginning to hurt like hell—and to swell up.
The smile he gave wasn’t exactly happy, but it did at least manage some affection. “It may be unwise, but I’m not sorry to see you again.”
I gave up on torturing my hand. “It’s definitely unwise.”
He started to shake his head, and winced at the motion. “I would have been content to stay dead, as far as you’re concerned, Oichi. I’m here because I owe a favor.”
“To Baba Yaga?”
He didn’t confirm or deny that, and I recalled something Cocteau had told me. “She was connected to Andrei Mironenko, from what I hear.”
He sighed. “My cousin Andrei. I’ll never live up to his example.” Gennady looked into my eyes. “If you remember the Lord of the Rings chess set I gave you—”
“Then took back again,” I reminded him.
“—I played the dark side of that board; Andrei played the light.” Gennady shrugged. “He’s dead, so you’re stuck with me.”
I hate to tell you—n
ow that the surprise had worn off, I felt glad to see him. I hoped he didn’t know that. I wanted to learn a few things from him, and I didn’t want him to get familiar enough to make me punch him again. “You promised to explain why you’re not dead. We saw you get onto the party shuttle, just before it was destroyed.”
“Indeed,” said Gennady. “That was stupid of me. Of course Baylor wanted all his enemies in one spot. I had been to so many of his tedious parties by then, I let myself get bored. Give me some credit, though. I had spent a lot of time on the party shuttle—practically lived there, when I got sick of it all. I squirreled away some resources.”
“Like one of those fancy pressure suits Sultana and Tetsuko had?” I guessed.
“Several, actually,” said Gennady. “When I realized my fellow partygoers were passing out in their seats, I knew they had been drugged. I scrambled into a suit and exited the shuttle just after Baylor did. I saw the gravity bomb go off. It was spectacular, but I didn’t want to see it that close.”
I was thinking that the adults must have passed out—they had shared drinks with Baylor before they boarded the party shuttle—but some of them had brought children with them, and those children had not been drugged. They would have been wide awake when the bombs went off. If Gennady hadn’t liked seeing the bombs from a relatively safe distance, just imagine what it was like closer in.
“There I was,” said Gennady. “Going in the wrong direction at a very fast rate—so I placed a call.”
I frowned. “Nobody called to Olympia for help.”
said Queenie, and I jumped. I had thought she was done talking to us. Who was she, anyway? Gennady’s secretary? She seemed to be linked with both of us.
Maybe so, because Gennady nodded. “I called Bomarigala.”
I could tell we were moving farther out on the spin arm; my hand hurt more with the increased gravity. “Bomarigala—that’s such an odd name.”
Gennady inspected his ruined sleeves. “Isn’t it, though? Where he comes from, you start off with one syllable, and then you scratch and claw your way to the top, another syllable at a time. He’s earned five of them, so don’t let him fool you with his polite manners.”
Medusa in the Graveyard (The Medusa Cycle) Page 14