Aestival Tide (34 page)

The Reception Committee brought their new guests to the Four Hundredth Room. Theirs was not to be the first sentencing that evening. The other guests in attendance at the dream inquisition had all been sent to Principalities, as volunteer donors for the medifacs. Tatsun Frizer screamed and called upon Blessed Narouz, then fainted loudly, resulting in her being borne down immediately via vacuum capsule. As the Committee brought Ceryl and Reive and Rudyard Planck to the Four Hundredth Room they passed Echion in the hallway, shrieking as she was led to the special chamber where she would be administered excitatory hormones, the better to prepare her for her role in the Feast of Fear. When she saw her, Reive began to cry.

“Don't worry,” soothed Rudyard Planck, ignoring the Reception Committee's baleful glances as he gazed up at the gynander. “Sajur Panggang will be there and he'll intervene for us. Tomorrow we'll all be drinking sake with Nike on the beach—”

Reive nodded miserably as her guard tugged at the chain about her neck. Behind her, in the arms of two of the stronger Committee members, Ceryl moaned. Across her forehead a swollen purplish bruise showed where the cudgel had smashed against her; she had been unconscious ever since.

The Reception Committee shoved their way through a 'file crew crowded around the door to the Four Hundredth Room. Their monitors and catoptics were trained upon a small dais that had been rolled out for Nike and Âziz. The margravines sat in ornate chairs of bronze and steel, decorated with the automotive motifs the Orsinate was fond of. There were two other chairs, conspicuously empty, beside them. At Âziz's feet crouched the yellow-haired serving girl Petra. The margravine stroked her hair absently, murmuring; but her face held a cold expression and her gaze lingered upon Reive. Beside her Nike yawned, her pupils dilated from morpha, and sucked at a bulb of kehveh. Both of them wore simple shifts of white linen and their conical crowns of office, and over these heavy capes of shining black and yellow rubber. Everyone looked miserably uncomfortable; the room was so hot that condensation trickled from the metal arms of the margravines' chairs.

Once inside, the Reception Committee shuffled about, adjusting their ties and their guests' chains and maneuvering to avoid the catoptics focused upon them. Âziz tapped one sandaled foot upon the marble floor and tugged at Petra's hair until tears welled in the girl's eyes. Another girl tiptoed about the perimeters of the chamber, adjusting the vents until jets of cool air hissed into the room.

The Head of the Reception Committee cleared his throat.

“May I introduce your guests,” he began. The catopticians turned, their machines whirring, and began to 'file the prisoners. They hastily switched their focus back to the dais as Âziz waved the Head away impatiently.

“I know who they are.” She stood and held her arm out. Petra wiped her eyes and assisted her from the dais. The catopticians scurried to 'file them, the crew leader speaking softly but excitedly into a vocoder as he followed the margravine across the room. Âziz shoved Petra away. She stopped in front of Rudyard Planck and peered down at him, frowning.

“Rudyard Planck. This is a surprise. Now, if your patron Sajur Panggang were here—”

The catopticians tripped over each other as she did a graceful turn, her long pale hand indicating the empty beds and divans at the far end of the room.

“—but, he is not.” Her tone as she turned back to the dwarf was questioning, but Rudyard only shook his head, his ruddy face gone quite pale.

“I—I don't know where he is, Margravine, but there's something you should know, surely we can wait a little longer—”

“We cannot,” snapped Âziz. On the dais Nike smiled absently and waved at the dwarf. The vents made a popping sound; the flow of cool air stopped, and a barely perceptible tremor shook the room. The two serving girls exchanged frightened looks.

Âziz 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. Âziz 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 Âziz 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.
Âziz 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 Âziz 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 Âziz 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 Âziz 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. Âziz 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. Âziz 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 Âziz.

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

Âziz 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. Âziz 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. Âziz 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,” Âziz repeated. On her throne Nike adjusted her rubber cape and nodded. Âziz 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 Âziz with that same cold smile, although she grew pale and her hands trembled.

“There,” Âziz 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. Âziz stared after them with a satisfied expression. Nike smiled and waved goodbye.

“Damn it, Âziz, 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—”

Âziz 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. Âziz 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?”

Âziz'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. “Âziz? 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 Âziz 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. Âziz 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 Âziz 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, Âziz.”