He swallowed hard and pressed his face into her shoulder until the nausea subsided. She smelled like the Gardens at dawn. Her body was warm and firm against his, relaxed save for the occasional flutter of tension along her thighs as she controlled their flight. Most downsiders believed the Angels’ flight was City magic, but Malia’d once told Taro that they had tiny machines buried deep in their muscles that allowed them to ignore gravity.
When he looked up again he found they were flying below uncut vanes. For one confused and horrifying moment he thought she was taking him to Heart of the City to be punished for his recent mistakes, but then he got his bearings; the spine was off to the left. They were flying under the State Quarter.
After a while he spotted water-traps ahead. Nets started appearing below some of the open vanes, then full mazeways. He was just trying to work out whether he really did recognise the colours on the ’traps from last night when they shot upwards and came out in the open area in front of the Exquisite Corpse. Nual manoeuvred them over the ledge and murmured, ‘You can let go now.’
Taro obeyed, though his legs didn’t want to take his weight. He was still trying to get his knees under control when Nual pulled the curtain aside and swept into the bar. He followed her in.
At this time of day the Exquisite Corpse was deserted. Nual gestured at a table and went into the back, presumably to find the alien. Taro hoped she wouldn’t mind if they sat on the upper level; the view through the floor on the lower level made his balls retract and his stomach turn somersaults. He shuffled across the transparent floor, holding onto chair backs for support, careful not to look down.
She returned a few minutes later, accompanied by the barkeep. Solo put a loaded tray down in front of Taro. Nual sat opposite him. ‘Eat,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you passing out on me.’
Taro ate. At first he wasn’t sure his stomach could handle food, but after the first few mouthfuls, he gave it his full attention. It was good; really good: cold meat pie, pickles, dried fruit and fresh bread, with a beaker of something sharp and refreshing that made his tongue tingle. He could feel Nual watching him, but she didn’t say anything. Finally he sat back and, before he could stop it, gave a loud belch.
She looked amused. ‘You live with that gang near your linemother’s old home now - Limnel, isn’t it, the leader’s name?’
‘That’s right, lady.’ He wished she hadn’t reminded him about Limnel: the boss would be well pissed at him for missing the start of his shift. Ah, screw Limnel. He was on City business, back with the Angels. Limnel was nothing more than a jumped-up hustler.
Nual’s smile became a frown. ‘So, why would a boy I’ve never met, who lives in a part of the Undertow I’ve hardly visited and works for a small-time criminal I know almost nothing about tell me that his line-mother wanted to pass her gun on to me? A gun that he doesn’t actually have.’ She sounded puzzled.
As well she might be. At least she was giving him a chance to explain. ‘I panicked,’ he told her honestly. ‘I needed a reason to be here last night.’
‘And why
were
you here last night? You’re a long way from home and you bluffed your way in here with colours you no longer have the right to wear: a risky move, particularly here.’
He wasn’t going to lie to her. ‘It was ’cause of the Minister. I’m workin’ for the Minister.’
She leaned forward and asked mildly, ‘Doing what?’
‘He . . .’ He hesitated, then decided lying at this stage would just get him killed. ‘He asked me to find out what you was up to.’ There. He’d screwed up again. The Minister had said to watch her, not have breakfast with her.
Her voice became chill as steel. ‘Ah. So you’re his latest spy.’
Taro said quietly, ‘Aye, lady.’
She sighed, then continued more casually, ‘He gets concerned for my well-being now and again. Or perhaps he thinks I’m about to go rogue. What do you think, Taro? Should he call feud on me?
‘I don’t know, lady.’
She dropped her voice. ‘Ordering my fellow Angels to kill me would make his life simpler. Assuming I let them.’
Taro said nothing. Malia had never killed another Angel. She believed having to turn on her own was one of the nastiest aspects of her calling.
She continued, her tone casual-like, but still with a cold edge just beneath the surface, ‘After all, he’s got an excuse now. I’ve failed. After eighteen perfect removals, I finally miss my target - so I must be losing it. Why else would I suddenly fail?’
The food turned acid in Taro’s stomach. She knew it had been him in Confederacy Square. ‘’Cause of me,’ he whispered, ‘’cause I fucked up yer shot.’
‘Aye. You did. I saw you, through the sights of my gun; I knew you must be the Minister’s agent. That made sense. But why did you disrupt my removal of Consul Vidoran?’
That was why she hadn’t killed him yet. She knew he’d smoked her rep and she wanted to know why. Then she’d kill him. Or maybe not. He doubted she often bought meals for her victims.
‘I din’t mean to get in the way,’ he said quickly, ‘I was tryin’ to get to ’is bodyguard.’
She frowned. ‘The militia-woman I killed by accident?’
Taro looked down at the empty plate in front of him. ‘No. The Screamer.’
‘And what did you have against the Screamer? Something more than loyalty to your City, presumably.’
Taro forced himself to meet the Angel’s eyes. ‘He killed me line-mother.’
She nodded slowly. ‘I see. And so you want to kill him.’
‘Aye. I swore it.’ Taro felt the prickle of imminent tears and dug the heel of his hand into his eyes to stop them, instead sending spikes of pain lancing through his head.
Crying now, of all times. Get a grip!
‘What happened?’ Nual’s voice was soft, almost tender.
Taro swallowed sharply. ‘The Screamer, Scarrion, he tricked me, followed me into the Undertow, back to me homespace. He shot Malia. I can’t let him get away with that. I gotta kill him.’
She nodded, then asked, ‘Have you ever killed anyone, Taro?
‘I . . . No. I never ’ad to.’
‘Trust me, murder is overrated. It usually causes more problems than it solves. Avoid it where possible. Did you tell the Minister how your line-mother died?’
‘Aye. He said it weren’t up to me to decide who he called feud on.’ His dismay flashed into anger. ‘He said I should forget Scarrion and get on with the job he gave me. Like I can just forget what that fucker did!’ Taro clamped his mouth shut. This was no time to lose his temper, especially when Nual appeared so calm - a little crazy, maybe, but calm.
‘Work for me,’ she said, ignoring his outburst.
‘What?’ This was the last thing he’d expected.
‘You have fire and honesty - despite your lies - and a desire to see right done. The arrogant old goat has got you chasing me anyway. Allow me to give you messages for him and report back to me on what he is up to. What do you say, Taro sanMalia?’
You don’t say no to an Angel, even one who calls the Minister an arrogant old goat. And when he looked into her eyes he couldn’t imagine himself ever refusing her anything.
‘I’d be honoured, lady,’ he found himself saying.
‘Thank you, Taro. Can I find you at Limnel’s if I need you?’
‘Aye. Or on Soft Street.’
‘I have no intention of spending more time topside than is necessary right now,’ she said firmly. ‘That is why I have recruited you.’
‘As you wish, lady. Limnel can send someone to fetch me.’ The boss would hate that - but he wouldn’t be able to refuse. ‘How do I find you again?’
‘When you need to contact me you can come here and leave a message with Solo. If it’s urgent she will come to get me.’
Taro looked from the Angel to the gangly alien busy wiping down tables on the lower level. ‘It’s a she? I didn’t know—’
Nual laughed. She had a beautiful laugh. ‘Aye, Solo is female, at the moment. And she likes you. You bring out her maternal instinct, which is particularly strong right now.’ She raised her voice. ‘Isn’t it, my friend?’
Solo looked up. ‘I listen to my body as ever, Nual.’ She turned her flat golden gaze on Taro. ‘Even though you lie, I think you are a good person, Taro, and a survivor. We orphans must stick together, no?’
‘Aye, I s’pose.’ He needed all the friends he could get, even ones who looked like they were made up of bits that weren’t meant to fit together. And it wasn’t Solo’s fault she looked so freaky. Humans probably looked pretty freaky to her. ‘Sorry I lied to you,’ he said, feeling contrite.
‘You are forgiven.’ The barkeep started to turn, then stopped and put her head on one side. ‘Perhaps when you come back, you can pass the time waiting for Nual by cleaning my fryer. It is not a job for a person with fur.’
Between the alien’s lack of body-language and the flat tone of the voice-box, Taro had no idea whether she meant that as a threat or a joke. He smiled back anyway. It couldn’t be worse than scraping out a water-trap. ‘Right, I c’n do that, when I come back.’
Solo nodded - it looked like another learnt gesture, like when she had beckoned to him last night - and turned back to her work.
Nual asked, ‘How do you make your reports to the Minister, Taro?’
‘I com him every mornin’ from a public booth.’ Though Nual probably had a personal com it wouldn’t work down here. Besides, even assuming Nual let him use it, he wasn’t sure how impressed the Minister would be if he called from the com of the person he was meant to be spying on. ‘I should get topside an’ do that soon. He’ll be wonderin’ what’s ’appened to me.’
‘Do you know the ways topside to the Merchant Quarter?’
‘No. No, I don’t.’ Shit and blood, the drugs had addled his brain. For a moment he’d forgotten where he was. He would have to cross the Undertow before he came to any topside exits that he knew.
She stood, pushing back her chair. ‘In that case, I had better take you.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The demons are coming.
She can hear them, in the next room. She huddles in the corner of the wardrobe, muttering a child’s rhyme to cloud her mind. It won’t be enough. They will still find her. They have travelled light-years to find her and they will never give up.
They do not look like demons. They wear human faces, but their hearts are black as space and cold as ice. When they pull her from her hiding place, she will have to answer every question they ask with perfect and honest truth. There is no point in lying when your questioner can see into your soul.
Something shrieks. An alarm.
Elarn woke with a start, almost falling from the chair.
The com, screen tuned to dark blue on power-save, was chirping. She thumbed the control on the arm of the chair, hitting accept on her second attempt. Ando Meraint’s face appeared, bright as day and large as life. He focused on her, and looked dismayed. ‘I’m sorry, Medame Reen, I’ve obviously chosen a bad time. Shall I—?’
‘Yes, sorry,’ she managed, still caught up in her dream, ‘I—Can I call you back?’
‘Of course, medame. I’ll look forward to it.’ The com went back to comforting blue.
Elarn, heart pounding, pulled herself upright in the seat. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep - perhaps, she thought bitterly, it was her subconscious, insisting she got her daily reminder of why she was here. What had she been doing? Looking up distractions . . . except that was over an hour ago. There was hardly any point in going anywhere now. She might as well call the infobroker back - hopefully he would be about to tell her that he couldn’t find Lia - and wait for Salik’s call.
There was something about Salik . . . she remembered it now, the thing that had been bothering her just before she dropped off to sleep. Meraint might be able to help her there too. She called him back.
‘Medame Reen,’ he greeted her. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you earlier. I’ve got some good news.’ Elarn wouldn’t have thought so from the look on his face.