As they rose up into Limnel’s homespace Taro’s heart jumped. Someone stood with their back to them, leaning over something on the floor. Taro heard the splash of water being poured at the same time as he realised who this was. He felt Nual tense.
‘Osin,’ said Taro, as much to stop Nual doing anything scary as to get the water-trap man’s attention. Osin started, put down the tray he’d been emptying and turned around. Taro might once have found his look of wide-eyed amazement amusing, but right now he needed to keep things bolted down. ‘You din’t see nothin’, right?’ he whispered.
Osin, eyes fixed on the Angel who’d just appeared in his workspace, shook his head. As Nual floated to the floor and released Taro, the old man crossed his arms and bent his head. ‘Lady,’ he croaked, ‘you was never ’ere. I understand.’ He kept his head bowed while they walked past him.
Outside, the corridor was deserted. Taro heard distant voices, the usual hum of a busy homespace, but there was no alarm, no sign they’d been spotted coming in. Before they carried on he whispered to Nual, ‘He’s a good man. He was friendly to me.’
‘I know,’ she said.
Rather than think too much about
how
she knew, he moved in front to lead the way. As they approached the corridor leading to the whores’ sleeping room the chatter of voices grew louder.
Suddenly Nual froze and pulled him after her into a side corridor. They pressed themselves against the vane.
A moment later a gaggle of painted tarts wandered out from the whores’ room: the early shift, off topside for another day hustling the rollers. None of them even glanced their way. It felt weird to Taro that life was still going on as normal here when his world had been turned upside down.
He took half a step forward, but Nual’s voice in his mind stilled him: <
Wait. More coming.>
A moment later a couple of young lags passed the end of the corridor, one laughing at something the other one had just said.
Taro opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and thought clearly, <
That’s Manak, the one Limnel told to copy the dataspike.>
For a fraction of a second he thought she hadn’t picked up the thought, then she responded, <
The one on the right?>
Taro formed the thought <
Aye>
, and Nual stepped out into the corridor. As Taro followed her, the pair turned round to look at her, and the one on the left crumpled to the ground. Manak, his mouth open in shock, started to walk jerkily back towards the Angel.
Taro crouched, ready to defend them even though he didn’t have a weapon, but Nual slipped a wordless reassurance into his mind. Manak stopped in front of Nual. She reached out to touch the lag’s cheek with one finger. His face went slack, his eyes rolled back and he swayed on his feet. Nual traced her fingertip slowly down his cheek and neck, then drew a long slow breath.
‘The copies of the dataspike are in the secure store, as you thought. He took several copies to give them a better chance of breaking the encryption.’ Taro, faced with another demonstration of Nual’s powers, was guiltily glad she’d chosen to speak out loud . . . which was probably why she did it.
Taro tensed as Manak moved, but a feather-light touch in his mind told him not to worry. The lag reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a metal key, which he silently handed over to Nual. He bent down and started to drag his unconscious companion back down the corridor.
‘What’s he doin’ now?’ asked Taro.
Nual, her attention still fixed on the departing boy, said, ‘Taking him to the nearest empty room and then having a little sleep himself, hopefully without remembering any of this. Most of the gang, including Limnel, are currently topside, which is good. But we should still hurry.’ Her voice was tense and she didn’t move until Manak had disappeared through a curtain into a side room.
Taro had started to move ahead to lead the way when it occurred to him that she must’ve read the directions from Manak’s mind. Instead, he followed Nual. In the meeting room, one of the cooks was scrubbing down the table. He looked up as Nual and Taro passed, frowned and went back to his work. Taro was puzzled for a moment, until Nual silently assured him, <
When you are not expected, it is easy not to be seen
.>
There was no one in Limnel’s private room but Taro still found himself going cold as they passed it, trying not to remember what had happened here just the previous night.
The key Manak had given Nual unlocked the padlocked door to the safe-room. The small room was lined with shelves crammed with prime loot, in bundles and boxes and bags. At the end stood a huge plastic water-box which had to contain over a hundred litres.
‘I’ll take the left wall, you take the right.’ Nual sounded tense. Taro wondered if she knew how freaky it had looked when she’d controlled the gang members. ’Course she did. He began to see her point: she was a monster - or she could be, if she let herself be. It didn’t change his feelings for her, not one bit.
On the top shelf Taro found a bolt of cloth that shimmered like oil in lamplight. Behind it was a wallet containing dozens of plastic packets of golden powder. He knew what that was. He tensed, waiting for his body’s inevitable reaction. Nothing happened.
On the shelf below he spotted a familiar cloth-wrapped bundle: his flecks. He shoved them into his belt and checked the rest of the shelf, but it was mostly preserved food, including topsider delicacies, like dried fruit and chocolate. The next shelf held a pair of full-size holo-com units. The one below that had a boltgun, a couple of cutters and several boxes of bolts.
On the bottom shelf he found a bag of dataspikes, the common grey ones. He grabbed the whole bag, no time to check which ones had stuff on. ‘Nual, I’ve got ’em!’ he called.
Taro stuck his head out just far enough to see down the corridor. Four lags were coming their way. One was Resh, carrying a topsider popgun, another the woman he’d seen here on his first day. She had a boltgun. The other two were armed with flecks.
Nual unslung her own gun and slipped a finger under the trigger-guard in one smooth motion, then stepped out into the corridor. Taro stepped out behind her, and was pleased to note Resh’s expression.
‘We were just leaving,’ Nual said tersely.
The lags exchanged glances, but no one moved. Nual sighed and twitched the end of her gun. A deep smoking gash appeared in the floor half a metre in front of Resh. The troupe members scattered.
As they disappeared round the corner he wondered why she hadn’t just put them all to sleep.
She must have still been reading him as she said quietly, ‘I manage well enough the human way, most of the time. And I have my limits. Time to leave.’
When he looked at her he saw she was pale as a pureblood downsider, her lips pressed into a thin line. Before he could say anything she grabbed his hand and broke into a run. No effort to be stealthy now; they just legged it for the water-trap room. Nual still had her gun out and she waved it threateningly at anyone who stepped out in front of them. No one argued. When they reached the ’trap-room Taro found that Osin had wisely made himself scarce. Without stopping, Nual slung the gun over her shoulder, grabbed Taro and stepped into the gap.
Close to her again, Taro felt how drained she was. He reached out, willing to help, to give her any support he could. For a moment he felt her begin to draw on his strength, then, abruptly, she shut him out and, as though nothing had happened, said out loud, ‘We need to land somewhere safe and check these dataspikes.’
Taro looked around. ‘Fenya’s,’ he said. He felt Nual nod and they flew off hubwards, towards the water-trader’s homespace. ‘Won’t it be encrypted?’
‘It’s meant for me. My com and password will decode it, even a copy.’ She slowed as they approached Fenya’s.
Taro shook the water-trader’s alarm and a few seconds later Federin’s wrinkled face peered out. His surprise at seeing Taro gave way to awe when he saw who was with him. He almost tripped over his robes getting the door open. ‘Lady, it’s an honour to see you again so soon,’ he said.
Nual led Taro inside. ‘Thank you. Would you bar the door again, please?’
Federin had nearly pulled the door off its hinges in his haste to let the Angel in. Taro gave him a hand shutting it. It looked like Fenya was out, which was good; he’d caused her enough grief.
Federin crossed his arms, dipped his head and asked, ‘May I get you anything, lady? Water? Food?’
‘No, thank you. If anything I owe you, and your partner, for all you have done for me, and for Taro.’
Federin gave Taro a look that said that he wasn’t sure that honour was deserved, but he just said, ‘Then I’ll leave you alone,’ and scuttled off into a back room.
Nual sank to the floor and arranged herself comfortably cross-legged. ‘Dataspike, please. Any one will do.’
Taro squatted next to her and handed her a ’spike from the bag. As his fingers brushed hers he felt her tremble.
She flicked the screen of her com up and clicked the first dataspike holder into a slot on the side. While she worked Taro bound his fleck sheaves to his wrists. When he had finished he looked over at Nual.
Without looking up from the screen she said, ‘Nice blackmail material but not what we want. Next, please.’
This one had a single red line on the holder. While Nual slotted it in, Taro searched the bag and spotted two others with the same mark.
He looked up at Nual’s hiss of indrawn breath in time to see her raise her head and close her eyes.
‘No,’ she said distinctly. She shook her head slowly, eyes still closed, then opened them and looked down at her com again. Taro was glad her mental shields were back in place. From the look on her face whatever was happening in her head wasn’t pretty. ‘That is not possible,’ she whispered.
Taro reached out to touch her, to comfort her, but she had already whirled to her feet. ‘Last chance, Taro,’ she murmured with a softness at odds with the twisted look on her face. ‘This is your last chance to cut and run.’
As though he could let Scarrion get away with it! As though he could let Malia die unavenged!
As though he could leave Nual
. . . ‘No, I’m with you,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Then let’s go.’
‘To perform the hit?’
‘Oh no. This is one mission I would never take. We’re going to see the Minister.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Grace Street was further proof, as though Elarn needed it, that everything was for sale in Khesh City: temples, churches and shrines lined the Street, selling nearly every human religion Elarn had heard of, and several she had not. She almost expected to find an Ascensionist Chantry here, but the Sidhe religion had disappeared from the universe, even if the Sidhe themselves had not.
The Cathedral of Christos and the Almighty was one of the largest buildings on the Street, towering over its immediate neighbours. The frontage had high arches and a small spire.
She paid the pedicab driver and walked to the entrance porch, which was faced in stone bas-reliefs showing the suffering and sacrifice of the Manifest Son. A board outside announced that the cathedral was temporarily closed, but the guard on the door had already spotted her and was on his way over. Once he’d satisfied himself she was indeed Medame Reen, he let her in.
Inside, the architects had worked wonders. The ceiling had to be a holo, but the vaulting looked perfect, the stained glass shone and the golden icons gazed down at her from their niches. A group of some thirty sombrely dressed men and women were milling about at the end of the chancel.
This was the first time she had been in a Salvatine church since her parents had died, and the strange mix of memory and novelty gave her a sense of dissociation. As she started down the aisle she barely resisted the urge to cross herself.
A man peeled off from the crowd of singers and came towards her. His expression was uncertain and it suddenly occurred to her what she must look like: still wearing last night’s clothes, hair a mess, no make-up . . . and reeking of sex. She stopped.