Principles of Angels (34 page)

Authors: Jaine Fenn

‘Vidoran? The politician in Confed Square? So this is all about him is it?’

‘So I believe. I put you in Confederacy Square because you had been keeping company with Vidoran’s Screamer. I wanted to know whether you were just a night’s diversion, or if there was something more to your relationship; specifically, whether you were part of whatever Vidoran was up to. It was unlikely, of course, but I had to be sure. When I assigned you as a watcher I had not had confirmation of your line-mother’s death. As it was, your understandable but ill-timed outburst during Vidoran’s botched removal did at least convince me you were not the Screamer’s ally. Unfortunately, it also ruined Nual’s shot, thus invalidating my reasons for assigning her to perform the removal.’

Taro remembered the Angel from the Exquisite Corpse, the one probably still sleeping like a baby on a mazeway somewhere below them. ‘Nual weren’t meant to ’ave the next removal, was she?’

‘Indeed not. I have a system that allows all my Angels a fair and equal share of the action, but I wanted Nual to be the one who pulled the trigger on Vidoran.’ For a moment Taro thought he was going to stop there, but he gave a little sigh and went on, ‘I suppose I had better explain why, or risk Nual’s ire. This is rather complex, so pay attention.’

Taro wondered if the Minister thought everyone was stupid, or whether he just liked being rude, but he said nothing.

‘In the past few weeks there have been two attempts to access Nual’s records; this after years of silence. Both attempts were subtle, and both failed and were traced. The second was made a couple of days ago from the office of the infobroker where Nual has just now gone to meet Elarn Reen. It was made at Medame Reen’s request. When Nual returns I hope she will be able to explain Elarn Reen’s motivations for making that request.

‘The first attempt was made just over a week earlier. I traced it to an unscrupulous sidestreet infobroker who turned up dead in an alley with a broken neck later that same day. Interestingly, that was not a search for “Lia Reen” - which was the name Nual had on her ID when she first came here - but for
anyone
with the surname of Reen and a Khathryn ID who had arrived in Khesh City in the past seven years.

‘Nual has her own topside agents monitoring all enquiries made about her. Being hunted by your entire race makes one justifiably paranoid. The first attempt was enough to drive her into hiding. I doubt she even knew of the second, as she hasn’t spent more than a few minutes topside since then - until today, of course.’

The Minister paused and Taro asked, ‘How does Consul Vidoran fit in with this?’

‘Patience, boy, patience. Certain circumstantial evidence - particularly the nature of the sidestreet infobroker’s untimely death - suggested a link between the psychopath that Yazil had rather ill-advisedly assigned to the Consul and that infobroker. Combined with earlier events, that was enough to convince me that Vidoran had to die, and Nual, whose loyalty I was no longer sure of, had to perform the hit.’

‘You mean you rigged the Concord?’ Taro had never bothered much with the ins and outs of how a politician came to be marked but he’d always assumed the system was, at some level, fair.

‘Goodness no, I don’t do that - at least, not as such,’ the Minister protested. ‘But the citizens of the Confederacy of Three aren’t always aware of - or interested in - the big picture and sometimes I have to give them a bit of a nudge, just to ensure they make the right decision. It’s generally just a matter of throwing money at the media and letting them do the job for me: tell people someone is bad enough times and they’ll start to believe you.’ He smiled benignly.

Taro decided to let that one go. This was the head of the Kheshi League of Concord he was talking to. Respect for life was obviously not top of his agenda. ‘So what was this earlier stuff that Consul Vidoran did?’

‘A few weeks ago Salik Vidoran made an unscheduled and highly uncharacteristic trip to the outer habitats of the Tri-Confed system. During his absence certain political misdealings of his were uncovered, but when attempts were made to contact him, he had disappeared. He turned up some days later claiming to have been stranded at the extreme edge of the system on a transport that had experienced technical difficulties. By the time he got back to Vellern his career was on the slide and my suspicions were alerted. I checked with the pilot of the transport, who swore blind she had never met him. Maybe she hadn’t; maybe she just
thought
she hadn’t. That kind of thing happens a lot with the Sidhe. And then Vidoran’s Screamer tried to find out about the Sidhe who is now the Angel Nual. That was enough for me.’

‘You put him on the hot-list just ’cause he might’ve left the system without tellin’ anyone an’ ’cause he might have been asking about Nual?’ And he thought Nual was paranoid!

The Minister observed Taro from under the brim of his hat. ‘No, I decided that his otherwise minor political mistake would cost him his life because I believe he has had direct dealings with the Sidhe. And I will not permit Sidhe influence in my City.’

‘But I thought they never came here.’

‘I wouldn’t say that. They constructed everything on Vellern.’

‘The Sidhe built Khesh City?’ A day ago Taro had barely heard of the lost race; now he found he was living in one of their Cities.

‘A faction within the Sidhe built Khesh and the other two Cities. That faction was made up of rebels who were opposed to the Sidhe Protectorate: hence the impressive array of scanners at immigration, all tuned to detect Sidhe minds and devices. The founders of the Confederacy were very keen to keep the other Sidhe out, and this remains true today. The Sidhe are as much my enemies as they are Nual’s.’

Nual finds herself standing in the bedroom of the house she shared with Elarn for those few confused but happy months seven years ago.

The detail is perfect, provided she doesn’t look too closely. The pale yellow-and-gold carpet is soft and warm beneath her bare feet. The walk-in wardrobe is there, the shelves with the statuettes of saints carved from translucent pink coral above the hardcopy antique books. And there is the bed of sea-oak beams with its coverlet of azure silk: the place where Elarn finally discovered what Nual was.

The Sidhe made this, creating a perfect illusion in Elarn’s mind. It is a trap; Nual is not sure of its nature and purpose, but she knows she has fallen into it. She tries to withdraw her presence, to bring herself out, or at least to raise herself up from the depths of Elarn’s unconsciousness.

The room wavers for a moment, solidifies again. She is still here, in Elarn’s reconstructed memory.

The only choice is to go on. She walks round the bed, slowly.

A storm is in full force outside, but above the rain and wind she can hear another sound coming from the wardrobe. It sounds like someone crying. She tries to extend her mind out to sense the presence, but nothing happens. She is as limited as a human here.

She walks towards the wardrobe. As she does so she sees her own reflection in the burnished front.

She is seventeen again, waif-thin, with cropped hair, wearing the long umber robe she favoured when in the cliff-house. Naturally she would look like this here. After all, this is how Elarn remembers her.

The sobs are suddenly silenced, as though the person hiding in the wardrobe has sensed that someone is in the room.

Nual pulls open the door.

Elarn is crouched in the corner of the wardrobe, dressed in her white nightgown, hair a messy halo, face puffy with tears and white with terror.

She flinches at the figure looming over her, then recognition dawns in her eyes. ‘Lia?’

Nual decides against asking Elarn to use her chosen name; this is Elarn’s dream, after all, and she would be wise to obey the logic of the dream world. She nods.

Elarn regards her warily, the fear still in her eyes. Outside, the storm throws itself at the house with renewed force. ‘How do I know it’s really you? How do I know they haven’t chosen to wear your face to trick me?’ Her voice is rising into a hysterical scream, mirroring the howling wind. ‘After all, you left me and now you’re back—’

‘I didn’t leave you,’ says Nual, her calm assertion cutting across Elarn’s terror, ‘I wanted to stay with you, to regain some of the unity I lost when I left my people. But in order to do that, I had to show my true self, and that was not something you could deal with, so you told me to leave. And I did. I was hurt, but I understand now why you did what you did. I forgive you. I hope you can forgive me for being what I am.’

‘Lia, it’s really you, isn’t it? How did you get here? Wherever here is . . . I’m not sure where I am, or how I came to be here. I mean, I think this is my room, but—’

If Elarn starts to question the illusion it may start to unravel, taking both women’s sanity with it. ‘Elarn.’ Elarn looks at her, her eyes wild and unfocused. ‘What are you hiding from?’

‘You know what.
Them
. They’re coming for me. And for you. And when they find me they’ll bore their way into my soul and leave their seed in me, the
scream
—Oh God, I can’t—’

Nual reaches in and takes Elarn’s hand. Elarn lets her. ‘Then perhaps we should not be here when they arrive.’ Nual starts to help her up.

Elarn stares at Nual, then nods. ‘Yes. Why didn’t I think of that? There are still places to run . . .’ She levers herself up with Nual’s help, then stumbles out into the room, frowning at the familiar but not-quite-perfect illusion.

Nual, wishing she could tell how much of what is happening now is Sidhe programming and how much is Elarn breaking free of that programming, follows her.

Standing outside the bedroom, they hear a door slam in the house below - the wind, perhaps. Or maybe not. Elarn freezes. Nual pulls at her, but the other woman does not move. Elarn’s much-repressed maternal instinct had been stirred up when Nual -
Lia
- first came to her; she can use that.

‘Please Elarn, you have to protect me from them,’ she cries. ‘They have come to take me back.’

Elarn shakes herself, looking at Nual as though seeing her for the first time. ‘Yes, I have to help you. There’s a way down, one they don’t know about—’ She starts to walk slowly, and around a corner they find a door which, as far as Nual remembers, should lead to one of the spare bedrooms. Elarn opens it to reveal a metal staircase spiralling down a rough-hewn tunnel. Crystals in the wall emit a pallid yellow-green light.

From her knowledge of the human psyche, Nual is far from sure that down is the right direction, but fear of their enemies’ proximity is sending chill prickles down her spine. She is losing her objectivity, being drawn deeper into Elarn’s nightmare.

There’s a footfall from behind: someone is on the landing.

Nual hurries onto the stairs, Elarn following. Behind them, an incoherent shout - of victory? frustration? - echoes down the hall.

The stairs burn cold on Nual’s bare feet, but the terror is real now as recollections of her own flight from her people flash through her mind. She must run, run,
run
!

The staircase ends abruptly: one moment they are in the green twilight, the next, on the beach below - except it is not the beach Nual remembers. There is no storm and no sea either, though the rising sun fires the wet sand before them into molten gold. For the first time she notices smell in the illusion, less like the tang of salt than the scent of fresh blood. And there is a reason the sand is whiter and harder than the sand below the cliff-house. It is not sand; it is finely ground bone.

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