When Taro still said nothing, Scarrion sat back on his heels, a look of mock disappointment on his face. He reached into his jacket and drew out a thin, curved metal blade, the kind fleshers used to flay the bodies of the dead.
Taro shrunk back. The Screamer’s smile widened. He leaned forward.
A thin line, beaded with blood—
The tip of the knife worked under a nail—
The upper layer of skin flayed slowly from the layers beneath—
And always questions . . .
. . . questions that Taro answered now, the only way to stop the pain, at least for a while. He was past resistance, past lying. But he wasn’t yet past hope. He said only what he had to say to satisfy Scarrion’s desire for answers. But Taro was becoming aware of another desire, one he could do nothing to stop; over the sound of his own cries and mumbled responses he heard the Screamer’s breathing growing heavier.
This was just foreplay to him.
Scarrion reached forward to place the knife just above Taro’s groin, the point pricking through shirt and breeches. Taro’s breath caught in his chest and his vision went black at the edges. Scarrion let the blade rest there just long enough to savour Taro’s expression, then withdrew the knife a little, snagged Taro’s shirt and slashed upwards. The thin fabric of the shirt ripped and Scarrion pulled the remnants down over his shoulders, pulling his jacket off and pinning his arms to his sides.
In his haze of fear and pain Taro heard himself begging,
Jus’ make it quick
, and
Please, let it be over
.
Scarrion, smiling at Taro’s cries for mercy, spent a few seconds regarding his prey’s pale, heaving chest with gleeful anticipation. He reached out with his empty hand to grab the cord belt holding up Taro’s breeches—
—and froze, arm still outstretched. He was staring at something on the floor by Taro’s legs.
Taro stopped moaning, blinked and followed his tormentor’s gaze. The Minister’s dataspike had fallen from his pocket and lay on the floor by his right knee.
For a moment they both stared. Then Scarrion slid his knife back into his jacket and picked up the chip, turning it over in his hands a couple of times. ‘Shit,’ he said under his breath. Taro, watching him through a dull mist of agony and receding hope, thought that this was the first time he’d heard the Screamer swear.
Scarrion stood up and turned back to Taro. He pulled back his fist and punched him hard enough to send him into darkness.
There were moments, as she travelled from the amphitheatre to Salik’s State Quarter apartments, when Elarn found herself coldly considering possible ways to solve her problem: Salik still had some influence, maybe enough to flush out Lia -
Nual
, as she was now - and put her in a position where Elarn had the advantage. More feasibly, his bodyguard was an assassin, already on the edge, and he might be persuaded to kill an operative of a rival City. She could use that.
They
could use that.
But mainly she just clung to Salik and whispered in her mind,
Hold me, save me! Make the fear go away!
They hardly spoke on the short journey to his blandly luxurious penthouse. As soon as he closed the door she turned to him, ready to surrender to the wondrous, messy union, the loss of self in another. He was there for her, here and now. That was all.
Despite the heat of her desire, it took a while to re-awaken the passions that Elarn had denied for so long, but Salik had the time and the skill to coax complete abandonment from her. As the afternoon faded into night, the world closed in on them until they were the only two creatures in the universe.
Even as she rode the wild tide of back-brain pleasure, some part of her was amazed and frightened at the depth of need he had awakened. She was making love without barriers, with the man who was going to help her commit murder. If the church was right, she was damned, gloriously damned, for evermore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Warm breath on his face. ‘Wake up, Taro.’ Female voice, whispering, nervous.
Where was he? Why did everything hurt so much?
Someone pulled at his arms, not hard, but enough to make the pain worse. He hoped they’d stop soon.
‘C’mon, Taro, wake up. I’m tryin’ to help yer!’
Help him? He forced his eyes open, the lashes pulling painfully. The left eye wouldn’t open properly and kept watering. He couldn’t focus on the person who was tugging at him, but opening his eyes was enough to make him remember where he was. He groaned.
‘Shit! Stay with me now, Taro.
Wake up!
’
Why was this girl bothering him? He wished she’d go away and let him sink back into the numb, safe darkness. ‘Go ’way,’ he mouthed. ‘Lemme die.’
‘What? Fuck’s sake, Taro, yer the one said tha’s not the way. Remember? Remember me? Arel?’
‘Arel?’ A lifetime ago, saving a stranger from herself. He’d told her things weren’t as bad as they seemed. What a lie that turned out to be. Taro blinked and opened his eyes again. He could see her now, squatting in front of him, sawing at the strap around his wrist with a fleck. ‘Why?’ he gasped.
‘Why what? Oh, why’m I doin’ this?’ He felt another tug on his hands. ‘Firstly, ’cause I owe ya, and I pay m’debts. There, got it.’ She pulled the restraints off.
Taro’s hands dropped into his lap.
‘Yer gonna have to stand up. I ain’t carryin’ ya. C’mon.’
‘Can’t.’
‘I ain’t givin’ yer a choice,’ she whispered angrily. ‘Right. I’m gonna pull ya up. It’s gonna hurt, but we gotta get out of ’ere ’fore anyone finds us.’ She grabbed his hand and Taro bit his lip as she pulled him up. He’d just about managed to get his legs under him when the dizziness hit. He gave a raw cough then retched, spewing up thin grey-yellow puke, all over his naked chest and across Arel’s shoulder.
‘Shit and blood!’ muttered Arel, stepping back. He fell to his knees, then toppled forwards. She caught him, hands on his shoulders.
‘Don’ hafta help me. Not yer problem,’ he whispered hoarsely.
‘Aye, well, if I’d any sense I’d jus’ leave ya. Yer not the only one who’s in comedown, y’know? Fuckin’ Keron decided to keep me hangin’ on, so I din’t get anythin’ last night. I feel like shit. But this’ - he saw her eyes flick over him, and wondered how bad he looked - ‘it’s not just that I owe ya. There’s more to it than that. Tell yer the rest when we get outside, mebbe. Give ya somethin’ to stay awake fer.’ She put an arm round his waist and pulled him up. Taro collapsed onto her. She staggered under his weight, slight though it was, but managed to keep them both upright.
They had trouble getting through the curtain; Arel heaved a sigh of relief that the corridor outside was still deserted.
Taro gave up trying to make sense of the world and concentrated on staying on his feet. He could feel the individual drops of sweat breaking out over his body, and he had to keep gulping to stop himself throwing up again. Arel, one arm round his waist, steered him through corridors he didn’t recognise to a narrow door, barred on their side. She hooked the bar off and pulled it open with her free hand.
She helped him through into the darkness of the mazeways. She propped him against a vane and stood back. ‘Right. Yer outa there now. All right?’
Taro started to slide down the vane, eyes closing.
‘
Shit!
I can’t leave ya out here, they’ll just find yer again. Know anywhere safe?’
‘Fenya,’ he managed after a moment.
‘The water-trader? All right. But then I’m off to Daim’s brother.’
‘Who—?’
‘Oh, I din’t tell ya, did I? Or mebbe I did, when I was pasted. Daim was me partner. Only he’s dead now.’
‘What?’ He remembered something about that, about other people’s shit. Maybe she’d managed to get free of hers. Good luck to her if so.
‘Tell ya while we get away from ’ere.’ She hoisted him up again, walking on the outside so he could lean into the vane. After a while she started to talk. ‘Me and Daim’d been close since we was kids, shared a blood father, though our mothers came from different troupes. Soon as we was old enough we started workin’ together, jackin’ the rollers. We worked for Limnel, but casual-like. We’d give ’im a cut in return for protection an’ a place to stay, but we din’t hafta do what ’e said, long as we paid ’im off. Worked fine.’
She paused and tensed. Taro sagged against her. No one was shouting at him or hurting him so he decided not to worry about whatever had made her stop. Now he didn’t have to concentrate on moving he found himself drifting off, heading to a place with no pain, no regret. Then she pulled him up again and muttered, ‘Fuckin’ meatbabies. Give me the creeps.’ Taro grunted vague assent and they were off again.
When she started talking again her voice was a harsh, bitter whisper. ‘Three days ago Limnel suggests we buzz this offworld bitch in the transit hall, fresh off the shuttle. Said she’d be rich ’n’ easy, no guard, lotsa credit. Gave a real specific description, and ’e didn’t negotiate ’is cut up front. Smelled a bit smoky, but we took the tip anyway, ’cause his info’s usually prime. Only some fucker in Yazil colours turns up just when we’re about to get our hands on her cred-bracelet. He broke Daim’s fuckin’ neck. Jus’ like snappin’ a stick.’ She stopped for a moment, and drew a long breath. ‘An’ that’s when me life went to shit. Fuck. There’s nets ’ere, Taro. Can ya manage ’em?’
Taro raised his head and focused with difficulty on the gap in the mazeway in front of them. About two metres, hardly worth breaking his stride for on a good day. Today it was the end of the world. ‘Dunno,’ he murmured.
‘I could just leave yer ’ere—’
Taro grasped at her shirt.
‘—but I ain’t gonna, am I? No, ’cause yer the one talked me outta givin’ up. I got rope. I’m just gonna prop ya up ’ere. That’s it, ’old onto that support rope by yer ’ead.’
She reached into the pack on her back and pulled out a length of plaited rope with a clip on the end. She put the tether round Taro’s middle, talking while she worked. Taro watched her dully, slumped back against the vane.
‘Ya said yer survived by not lettin’ them touch yer mind. I took yer advice. When the drugs ran out, I just sent me mind back t’the place the drugs took it, an’ told meself it weren’t me body no more. It weren’t easy but I got through the day. When I come back from me shift that pig Resh wanted me but ’e was too drunk to get it up. Left him snorin’ down the hall. Thought about breakin’ into Limnel’s stash, but I’m gonna hafta learn to live without it some time, ain’t I?’
‘Scarrion . . . give . . . him—’
‘Who’s Scarrion?’
‘The Yaziler.’
‘Oh, shit! What is it ya sayin’, the fucker who killed Daim gave Limnel the drug?’
‘Think so.’ Taro closed his eyes again.
‘Shit. Makes sense, I s’ppose.
Hoi!
Taro! Doncha slip away now. I got ya this far and I’m gonna finish the job.’
Taro nodded slowly, head rolling back against the vane, then forced himself to open his eyes.
Arel looked at him and said, ‘We’re goin’ across now. I’ll jump first, tether the rope, then yer come over.’
Taro tried to laugh, but ended up coughing. ‘Can’t jump.’
‘Ya don’t ’ave to. Ya crawl over the nets. They’re pretty tight here, should be easy. And I’ll keep talkin’. Jus’ move towards me voice.’
Then she was gone.
Taro let himself slide down the vane onto the mazeway, then pulled himself painfully round onto all fours. He stared at his hands, bloody, bruised and filthy, and too close to the edge.
He felt a faint tug round his midriff. He raised his head to see Arel on the other side of the gap, tying off her end of the rope. She kept talking in a low tone, beckoning him to come to her. ‘Y’know, when I was with Resh last night, ’e was goin’ on about some important roller who’d done this deal with Limnel, and ’ow ’e’d left ya holed up with ’im - he thought that was really funny, the sick little fuck. Said ’e thought this sleaze was from Yazil - mebbe even a Screamer, for City’s sake - but I din’t get it at first. C’mon, Taro, start comin’ across.’