In running away they have done exactly what the Sidhe wanted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
‘Is that why you let Nual in? ’Cause she’s one of these Sidhe rebels?’
The Minister laughed. ‘Goodness, no. That rebellion ended a thousand years ago. Perhaps she would have been, if she had lived back then; she’s not a normal Sidhe, if such a creature can be said to exist. That’s why I let her stay here. The surviving Sidhe, hiding behind the complacent humans they secretly control, know what Vellern is and they steer clear. They’d never be stupid enough to send a Sidhe here. And then this child turns up, lighting up my monitors like a star. My first thought was to have her killed, but she was young, confused, and all but destitute. I let her live, watched her and arranged to meet her. After talking to her I decided to give her sanctuary here - under certain conditions - and here she has remained. You would think that after all the help I’ve given her she might try trusting me occasionally.’ A small, tight smile crossed his face.
‘Why don’t she? Trust you, I mean.’
‘She believes that I would betray her to the Sidhe if it were the only way to save the City.’
‘Are things that bad? And—’ He paused, but continued, ‘would you?’
The Minister tilted his head to regard Taro. ‘My, my, boy: you appear to have developed quite a backbone. Until recently you were terrified I’d kill you.’
‘That was before I met Nual, an’ before I knew you broke yer own rules,’ he said boldly. Which didn’t mean he wasn’t still scared; he just wasn’t going to let fear stop him from finding out what was going on.
‘Ah. Touché. Nual chose well when she decided to trust you. What do you think, then: when all this is over, should I perhaps consider replacing Malia with her son?
Taro said nothing. Not so long ago, this would’ve been his dream come true, but so much had happened in the past few days: the world wasn’t the place he’d thought it was, and his place in it wasn’t what he’d imagined. Besides, the Minister hadn’t answered his question yet.
‘It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?’ the Minister continued. ‘I prefer to avoid Angel dynasties, and there are very few male Angels but, as you say, exceptions are some—’
The Minister stopped speaking, biting off his words mid-sentence.
For a moment Taro wondered if there was some threat approaching that he hadn’t noticed. He tensed, ready to leap up and defend his master but the Street was quiet, people going about their business as usual.
Taro looked back at the Minister. He had stopped with one hand half-raised and a gappy look on his face. He looked like he’d just passed out, but forgotten to fall over. Though he didn’t see his lips move, Taro heard him mutter, ‘I think we may have underestimated our enemies.’
Nual turns to beg Elarn to go back, but the crystal-glazed rocks behind them are featureless and there is no sign of the staircase. Her companion is staring out towards where the sea should be, her face calm and expectant. Nual follows her gaze; now she can make out something on the horizon, a glint, like water held in check. At the edge of hearing is a faint rumble.
‘Elarn!’ she cries, ‘this is wrong! We have to leave, now. I cannot help you; you must find the power within yourself to fight this. Elarn, it is still your mind. Reclaim it!’
She gives no sign of having heard. Instead, she opens her mouth and starts to sing:
When my true love comes to me,
We will walk on the clear blue sea,
Our skin will thrill to the ocean breeze,
When my true love comes to me.
See, my true love comes to me,
My soul and his will at last be free,
Our flesh is nothing, shed with ease,
Come my love, now come to me.
Nual recognises the words, a sentimental ditty they used to sing together.
Elarn stops singing and looks sideways, past Nual, down the beach. As her voice dies away the sound of rushing water grows to a roar.
Nual steps across to block her view and tries to reach for her, but suddenly Elarn is too far away. Elarn frowns at her and Nual’s arms drop to her sides. A little petulantly, Elarn says, ‘Please, don’t be difficult. I have to do this.’
Nual knows now that she can do nothing that interferes directly with Elarn’s mission, so she stays still. At least she can still speak. ‘Do what?’ she asks.
Elarn shifts so she can see down the beach. Nual looks too. There is someone coming towards them, walking like a sleep-walker along the base of the cliff.
Elarn sighs. ‘You shouldn’t have tried to help me. This was going to happen sooner or later, but you’ve seen this place, so it has to be now.’
Nual gives up trying to make out who the approaching figure is. She looks at Elarn. ‘You have to fight this, Elarn. You are doing exactly what they want.’ The noise of distant water is loud enough now that she has to shout; below the roar there is another sound: a high single note, mesmerising and perfect, sung in Elarn’s voice. It chills and fascinates, and Nual has to resist the urge to stop talking so she can hear it more clearly.
Elarn looks sad but calm. ‘I can’t fight them. I never could. But if I do this one thing for them, they’ll leave me in peace. I’m sorry you’re here too, but it can’t be helped. You’ll have to stay now, even though this wasn’t meant for you. This is who it was meant for all along. See? Here he comes.’
Nual turns to see a boy of about the same age she is in this dream. He wears a one-piece suit of unfamiliar design, and walks stiffly, eyes half closed. His is not a single face but a collection, all manner of men’s features of all ages, from youth to old age. The features flicker and change from one to another as Nual watches. A distinguished gentleman seems half-familiar but then he is gone, morphed into a younger, leaner man she has never seen before. Then it shifts again, into a face she knows well.
The face of the Minister.
Meraint sat behind his desk, watching the two women on the far side of the room. They were holding hands loosely and their faces looked relaxed, as if in a trance, their eyes staring sightlessly at each other. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he had fallen into one of the ancient stories and here were two Sidhe queens silently battling over the fate of humanity.
When he had awakened this morning Meraint had been looking forward to a quiet day with the family, maybe they’d even visit the Zoo . . . He had still been under the illusion that he could make a life here.
Not any more. Once these two had finished doing - well, whatever it was they were doing - and the Angel was safely out of his office, he would go home to Bera, tell her how much he loved her - and then insist that they leave this place as soon as arrangements could be made. Damn making their fortunes. Khesh City was no place to bring up their children.
Just as soon as the Angel was gone.
While she was climbing the stairs up to his office he had activated the desk’s defences so he could shoot her if she threatened his client - not kill her; he would never kill one of his City’s agents, but he could stun the Angel if things turned nasty. But when she came through the door and looked him in the eye he knew he could never harm her. He had never met an Angel before; he had had no idea how magnificent they were. No wonder they were the mistresses of the Undertow, revered by all. And now he would stay here and watch over her, just as she had asked.
When the door buzzer went this time he felt only irritation. Did everyone in the City feel they had a right to visit him today?
Irritation turned to fear when he saw that he was finally getting the one visitor he had been most dreading . . . and to think he’d almost forgotten the Screamer.
He couldn’t let him in, not now, not with Elarn and the Angel standing entranced in the middle of his office.
Perhaps he should run, try to draw the Screamer away. He could use his back door, hide himself in the sidestreets. But what if the Screamer caught him? And the bastard knew where he lived. If he couldn’t find Meraint here, he might go to the house where, even now, Bera and their daughters would be having lunch together. And he couldn’t just abandon Elarn and the Angel. In their current state they would be defenceless. Scarrion had broken into his office once before, he could do it again.
Meraint checked his screen inset. The Screamer was holding his finger on the buzzer and staring up at the camera. He did not look happy. Meraint keyed the com. ‘Hello. I have your file, I’ll be down with it in a minute. Wait there, please.’
Scarrion narrowed his eyes and spoke into the open com. ‘Every other time we’ve met I have been unable to persuade you to leave your desk. Now why would you suddenly want to come and meet me down on the Street, Sirrah Meraint? I think I’ll come up, if it’s all the same to you.’
Mouth dry and armpits damp, Meraint cut the com. Now that narrowed his options. As he stood up, the inset showing the camera feed went blank. The screen was full of static.
Elarn ignores Nual and steps forward to take the boy’s hand.
He reaches out blindly to her, motions clumsy and slow, his face still shifting between a dozen different people. Nual recognises the head of one of the City’s major maintenance corporations and, on the second pass, the High Speaker of the Assembly.
‘You must come too,’ says Elarn, and holds out her other hand to Nual. Without volition, Nual sees her hand reach for Elarn’s.
They are doomed, and there is nothing they can do about it.
Singing, Elarn leads the pair of them towards the glistening wall of destruction hovering at the horizon. With every step the siren song beneath the water’s rush grows louder, and Nual finds it increasingly hard to maintain concentration in the face of the beautiful scream of destruction.
Meraint felt horribly exposed when he stepped out from the protection of his desk, but his defences wouldn’t be much help against the Screamer. All the assassin had to do was stand in the doorway and use his implant and he could take down all of them without even entering into the room. He bent down to pick up Elarn Reen’s dart-gun; nothing more than a handbag weapon, but dangerous enough at close quarters. He slipped it into his pocket.
His best chance, perhaps his only chance, would be to enlist Nual’s help. She was an Angel, used to dealing with such situations, so she should decide whether they ran, or stayed and faced Scarrion. It must be her call.
He looked over at the two women. Something had changed. Elarn Reen’s expression was no longer serene; it looked slack, more like death than trance, and the Angel’s face was twisted as though she were caught in a waking nightmare.
‘Medame Reen? Lady Nual?’ he called, ‘can you hear me?’
There was no response. He stepped up to them and laid a hand gently on Elarn Reen’s shoulder. The pulse that beat in her neck was rapid and uneven, and her posture was rigid and unnatural. ‘Medame Reen,’ he tried again, ‘we have to leave now. Please, wake up.’
Overhead, the lights flickered.
At first Meraint thought he’d imagined it, but then it happened again. He felt a ripple of motion in the floor below him, as if the building were being shaken by the wind . . .
But there is no wind in the City.
It was designed to be perfectly balanced, always controlled.
Without thinking, he pulled Elarn towards him, breaking the contact.
In eerie unison, both women gave a high, incoherent cry, like no sound Meraint had ever heard from human lips.
Then Nual flew backwards, as if she had been electrocuted, and collapsed on the floor by the desk.
Elarn fell against him and he managed to catch her before she crashed to the floor. She started howling like an injured animal, thrashing feebly against his restraining arm.
On the other side of the room, Nual lay still as death.
Meraint was so intent on calming the hysterical woman that it took him a couple of seconds to register what else was wrong. The room was shaking harder now. The walls swayed and the floor shifted and bucked beneath his feet. The door of the cabinet Elarn Reen had clung to earlier flew open, dumping a box of hardcopies onto the floor. The holo-pic of Meraint’s girls toppled off the edge of the desk and smashed into glassy fragments.