The Baba Yaga (19 page)

“That wasn’t a drug,” Amber said. “At least, not one taken by you.” She shifted in her seat, and for a moment Maria thought she glimpsed a different woman; someone darker and harder and older. Someone who was not as in control of herself as she might like.

“What do you mean?”

The door into the bedroom creaked open, and Springer came out. “She means that she’s the one taking the drug.” He came to stand behind the armchair, one hand on the back of the chair, one hand on Amber’s shoulder. She didn’t try to shake him off. “It’s a clever thing. Makes her quite irresistible.”

Maria understood. “To clients, you mean, don’t you? You’re her pimp. You’ve got her on some kind of drug, and she uses it to hook clients to make you money.”

Springer smiled. “Not quite as innocent as you look, are you?”

“I learn quickly. But what do you want with me? I’m no Amber!” She laughed bitterly. “You’ll need more than some clever drug to make me irresistible.” She was starting to feel stronger now, as if the explanation was somehow stopping Amber’s effect on her. She reached out and clutched Jenny’s hand. Perhaps she would be able to get them both away...

“Maybe so,” said Amber, “but as I said, I haven’t given
you
anything.”

Maria didn’t miss the stress. She looked down at Jenny, still in a deep unmoving sleep, and a dark hollow opened within her. “Jenny,” she whispered. She shook the little girl, who rocked senselessly to and fro against her. “Oh, my God, Jenny! Wake up! Wake
up!
” But the little girl didn’t move. Maria looked up at Amber and Springer, helpless and furious. “What have you
done
to her?”

Springer tapped Amber on the shoulder, and she slid out of the chair. He stepped round to sit, the very picture of ease. Amber sat down again, at his feet. “It’s nothing dangerous,” Springer said, in a lazy voice. “At least, it’s not dangerous as long as she keeps getting a regular dose of it. But if she misses a dose or two... Well, that’s not so pleasant. You’d be well advised not to test my word on this.”

“Why?” said Maria, aghast. “She’s a little girl—she’s not even five years old! Why would you do something like this? What kind of people
are
you?”

Springer looked almost bored by her outburst. “You know, in many ways, you might decide that this is for the best.”

“The
best?
You’ve given my daughter some kind of drug—addicted her! How can that be for the best? You’re a
maniac!
”

Springer leaned forward, his eyes flashing. “Now you listen to me! When we met you, you were in trouble—”

“Trouble you’d manufactured!”

“You were lucky we got there first! It was only a matter of time before someone else got to you. There are bad people on this station—people who wouldn’t think twice about murdering you for that pretty wedding ring on your finger and that cute little pendant round your neck. I don’t want you dead. You’re no use to me dead.” He held up his hands. “I’m offering you sanctuary. You and the girl. Work for me, and I’ll protect you. But there’s no such thing as a free lunch, and I want people I can depend on. Not people who are looking to get away the first opportunity that comes up. This way, you need me.”

“You’re sick.”

Springer laughed. But Amber, at his feet, whispered, “Yes.” There was something in the tone of her voice that made Maria take a closer look at her.

The light in the room was dim, but even so Maria could see the change. Her skin, which had been fresh and youthful, now had a frail and papery look. Her shoulders were slumped, as if her spine was brittle and could hardly bear the strain of holding up the weight of her body. Her dark hair seemed to be threaded with thick wiry strands of grey. Twenty minutes ago a young woman had been sitting in this room. Now an old woman was here.

“The drug is potent,” Amber said, “but the side effects are cruel. And these episodes”—she gestured at herself with a trembling hand—“become longer and more frequent.” Her quivering hand reached out to Maria, who recoiled as if pulling away from a claw. “Every day I grow weaker! I need someone to look after me! I need someone to care for me!”

“Think of this,” said Springer, “as finding your calling in life. Your vocation. Looking after Amber will be a kindness.”

“My
vocation?
You’re
evil!
” Maria turned to Amber. “You lied to me! You drugged my daughter! Do you think I’ll help you now?”

“You’ve no choice,” Amber croaked. “The little girl will die if she doesn’t get her medicine! You’ll do what I say for her sake, and one day she’ll grow up and she’ll be pretty, and she’ll know what it’s like to have power over everyone she meets...”

Maria grabbed hold of Jenny. The child flopped in her arms, like a doll.

“She’ll die,” said Amber. She had started to crawl towards Maria, on her hands and knees. “Away from here—she’ll die.”

“I’ll take that chance!”

“It’s painful,” said Amber. She had reached them now. She was trying to stand up. “You’ll see her gasp and choke and writhe.”

“You’re lying.”

“Better stay here,” she crooned, stretching out her hand. “Stay with me! Help me!”

Desperation lent Maria strength. Using Jenny’s body weight, she shoved the other woman back, hard, towards the chair. Amber went toppling down onto Springer, and Maria dragged Jenny over to the door, scrabbling to open the door panel. She threw herself out of Amber’s lair into the corridor beyond, and had only gone a few steps when she heard Springer’s voice calling out behind her. “You won’t go far! You can’t go far! And you’ll see that little one suffer if you do!”

Maria looked back over her shoulder. Springer was coming through the door and heading towards her, unencumbered.

Clumsily, staggering under the weight of her limp, lifeless daughter, Maria tried to run for it. She heard quick footsteps on the metal behind her, giving chase, and rapidly catching up. She tried to speed up, but Jenny was dead weight in her arms. She reached the end of the access corridor. Struggling forwards, heading towards the nearest intersection, she crashed straight into a woman coming that way, nearly sending her flying.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

Maria grabbed the woman’s arm. She must look mad, she thought, her hair flying everywhere and the unconscious child in her arms. She didn’t have time to worry about this, though; nor did she have time to wonder at a human woman travelling with a Vetch child. She held onto the woman’s arm and begged, “Please, help us! For the love of God, help us! Before they kill us!”

T
HE WOMAN WAS
carrying a small child in her arms, and the weight of them both together nearly sent Walker flying. Walker struggled to regain her balance and pulled back to get a good look, reaching for her new weapon. “Hey!” she said. “Watch where you’re going!”

The woman grabbed her arm, stopping her reaching for her gun. Walker was starting not to like this encounter. “Please,” said the woman. “Please, help us! For the love of God, help us! Before they kill us!”

Gently, but firmly, Walker made the woman release her grip, and quickly she took stock of the situation unfolding around her. The woman and her child had come running out of a nearby access corridor, from which a mean-looking bastard with a scar down one eyebrow was now emerging. He had his eye on the woman and child, and was advancing towards them.

“I don’t like the look of him,” Yershov muttered. “No-one should be chasing a woman and a babby.” He stepped forwards.

Gallantry could be found in the unlikeliest of places, thought Walker, but given that she agreed with his assessment of the situation, she didn’t complain. And Yershov had even more surprises up his sleeve. He stepped forwards and put himself between the woman and child and the man.

“Who the hell are you?” said the man.

“I’m the one telling you to get back where you came from,” Yershov said.

“Get out of my way, old man.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Yershov. There were red spots forming on his unshaven cheeks. Walker was starting to wonder exactly how much he had managed to get down him in that booth at the Crossed Keys.

The man stepped towards them. “She’s ours. I want her back.”

“Oh, God,” said the woman. She was pale with terror and shaking. “God, don’t let him take us! Please—he’s hurt Jenny already; drugged her!”

The man moved in closer. Yershov leaned forwards and spat in his face.
Christ
, thought Walker.
What a time for him to discover his inner gentleman.

Things escalated quickly. Walker pushed the woman and child behind her, Failt too, and reached for her weapon. There was no chance of a clear shot—not while Yershov, their unexpected and frankly pretty unconvincing white knight, was wrestling with their assailant—and while it was tempting to put the pilot out of his misery, he was coming in handy. So Walker bided her time and waited until she had a clear shot.

Then the other woman appeared.

Walker struggled to describe her, afterwards. She had an impression of beauty, and grace, and long dark hair. There was a strong scent of flowers—roses, Walker thought, remembering the bouquets her grandmother had placed in every room of her childhood home, grown and bought at great expense. She realised that something was happening to her—that mind was clouding—and she shook her head to try to get back her usual clarity. Behind her, the woman with the child gave a low, panicked moan. Walker found herself lowering her weapon: she watched as her arm went down, almost of its own volition.
What the hell is happening here...?

Then the voice came, sweet and low. “Stop this. You. Let him go. Move away.”

There was a moment where Walker saw Yershov struggle against the command. But then he obeyed—dropping his arms and moving backwards. The scarred man picked himself up from the floor and started to smile.

“What the hell are you doing, Yershov?” Walker hissed, but the woman had started speaking again. Walker found herself straining to hear as much of her voice as possible. She seemed almost to
crave
it...

“We don’t mean you any harm,” said the young woman. “Maria seems to think we mean her harm—but we are her friends!” She opened her arm. “Will you come back to us, Maria? Will you let us look after you—and Jenny?”

Walker was dimly aware that the woman behind her—Maria—was still moaning, but she couldn’t make out any words and wasn’t even sure whether Maria was saying anything. Distantly, though, she heard Failt tug on her arm and speak to her:
Missus! Missus Dee! What you doing? What’s happening?
She brushed the child away. She didn’t want to listen to him. She was sick of his chattering. She wanted to hear what this young woman was going to say next. It was, she thought later, like waiting to hear the voice of a goddess.

“My name is Amber,” she said. Beside Walker, Yershov sighed in happiness to hear her speak again. “There has been a misunderstanding.” She gestured back towards the access corridor with a long, beautiful hand. “My home is very close. Perhaps you would be willing to come back with me there? We can talk together—explain to you what is happening, and you can see for yourselves that Maria and Jenny are safe with us. Maria,” she said, and her voice became regretful, almost hurt, “how could you think that we would harm you? We wouldn’t dream of it!”

Maria, it seemed, had no reply to this. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out. Yes, thought Walker, there must have been a mistake. Maria was hysterical, obviously. Amber would not—
could
not—mean anyone any harm...

“Will you come back with me?” said Amber.

“Yes!” cried Yershov. “Yes, we’ll come with you!”

The woman granted him a golden smile. “Good,” she said. “I’m so glad. We’ll take care of you.” She stretched out her hand, palm open, gesturing them to come towards her, reeling them in. And then, suddenly, she shrieked in pain. She turned round and saw Failt. “What the fuck?” Her voice was now harsh and unlovely. “You fucking piece of Vetch shit! You fucking
bit
me!”

“Sorry,” Failt said, without a hint of remorse. He turned to look up at Walker. “Didn’t like the sound of her voice.” His tentacles quivered. “She smells funny too. Made everyone go funny. Promise I won’t bite again.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Walker said. “But thank you nonetheless. I think you broke her spell.” She turned to Amber, whose furious face no longer seemed so perfectly beautiful, and she raised her weapon. “I think you’d better go,” Walker said. She nodded at the man with the scar. “And take him with you.”

Slowly, Amber backed away, the man retreating with her. Yershov aimed a kick in his direction, and he lunged at Yershov, but the pilot was ready for it, blocked the blow, shoved the man to the ground, and began to kick, nastily. Amber, seeing her champion was down, turned to run down the access corridor.

“Get down, Yershov,” Walker commanded and, astonishingly, the pilot did what he was told. Walker fired, hitting Amber in the back. Yershov moved away from the man with the scar, and Walker went over to him, pulled him up from the ground, and covered his mouth. She dragged him down the access corridor, and shot him too.