A World Too Near (9 page)

The sled moved out again, loaded with its
riders and stonewell computers. The engineer drove the sled faster than she’d hoped, and worse, instead of following the wall of the watch, he was still heading to the centrum.

Johanna tossed her hair back from her face, capturing Morhab’s eye. In what she hoped was an even tone, she said, “Too busy then, to indulge bored ladies?” The engineer’s nostrils flared. Gonds could smell strong emotions; this one had mistaken her scent for a strong attraction to his person.

“Today, too busy.” He waved at his stone wells, their screens springing to life at his gesture, scrolling with mathematical characters. “Not too busy at other times, mistress.” His eyes scanned the glyphs. “You must visit again when leisure permits conversation. I have meetings with personages, and reports to make.”

Why had she not known of
meetings with personages
? But her spy network consisted of only two people, both of them lowly.
Oh Gao, hurry, hurry
, she prayed. If captured, Gao might expose her, and then so much would be lost. Such as the blue sky of Earth . . .

Morhab went on, “Not even for you can high matters wait, matters pertaining to the welfare of the Repel.”

The welfare of the Repel. Also her concern, but in the opposite direction from Morhab. When Titus came to destroy the fortress, she must know how to destroy its heart. Day by day, her fate hung on the wits it took to run her spies and keep them safe. She used those wits now to let a tear escape from her eyes. It moved down her face, drawing Morhab’s sudden and discomforting stare.

His reaction was sour. “Must have her way, I expect.”

She dabbed at her eyes. “The master engineer is perceptive. One cannot hide one’s sadness.”

“Sad,” Morhab repeated. “Despite all advantages.” His style was to alternately flatter and instruct her, a strange little sandwich of habits used to manipulate those around him.

“Yes, despite all advantages,” Johanna said with some bitterness. Then she smiled, to soften her lapse.

They came to the wall of the centrum, where the sled triggered a door to open, and they slid inside, into the cooling dark of the fifth domain. Lights bloomed around them in response to their entrance, but Morhab suppressed them with a flick of his hand toward his sled panels. They sat in darkness, the servants on the back and sides of the sled completely still and the only sound the groaning of the engine, buried deeper in the centrum.

Morhab’s deep voice came to her from nearby. “Comfort is needed.” His voice went soft. “One can hardly presume to comfort a lady where a bright lord fails. . . .”

“Oh, the gracious lord doesn’t fail,” Johanna was quick to say. “But he is busy, of course, and one . . .” She was steeling herself to be comforted by the Gond. It might only be a touch, a small, intimate conversation. Surely not so bad. She went on, “One is lonely.”

“Cross over,” the deep voice came to her.

She was frozen to her seat. Did he mean that she should come across to his seat?

“Such a little space to traverse,” he murmured, his voice still loud in the stone hall. The hall wasn’t completely dark, but the shadows fell deep, and Morhab’s face was thankfully drowned in shadow.

How much time did Gao need?

She rose, and finding the parasol still open, closed it as a way of gaining time.

“Yes,” Morhab said. The way he said it, with that long exhalation of breath, teasing out the word, caused her to panic. She hadn’t moved.

Morhab’s hand came forward to her waist. Perhaps he couldn’t see in the dark that he had touched her person. But the hand stayed. Then it traced the line of her waist, venturing neither up nor down, but slowly traversing her body. Suddenly Johanna found herself clutching that Gond hand with both of her hands, as though locked into a friendly handshake.

“The engineer is more than kind,” she blurted. “Such kindness reminds me that one is never completely alone.” She straightened. “How much better one feels. Indeed.” She released his hand and almost fell back onto her former seat.

Silence from across the sled, as Morhab adjusted to the rebuke. Then the lights came up, showing Morhab’s face in a horrible grimace. His mouth drooped, the lower gums red and wet.

“I have mistaken you,” his bass voice rumbled. His eyes, so large and wet. The little hands twitching in his lap. She felt faint.

He went on, “And you have mistaken
me
.”

The sled lunged forward. She gripped the seat as they sped down the corridor, the wind of their passing rippling Johanna’s silks. She shivered, chilled by the sled’s speed and her inexcusable cowardice. Perhaps she would only have had to endure his closeness, perhaps his arm in comfort around her. Her thigh pressed against his body, no more.

She couldn’t.

The sled came to a jolting halt by the stairway by which she could return to her apartments. “Let this sad lady leave to find other diversions,” he said with irony and poise. His cold tone signaled an appalling turn of fortune for Johanna’s relationship with the beast.

She stumbled off the sled as servants hurried to assist. Pai scrambled up on the platform to snatch the sunshade, drawing a mighty scowl from Morhab.

Then, standing with Pai and SuMing, Johanna bowed low. “One will always be grateful for small kindnesses.”

But Morhab was not deceived. He looked down on her like a king on his throne, or perhaps the lord of hell, whose subjects had failed in fealty.

Unconsciously, she crossed herself.

Then the sled rushed off, hurtling in the direction of Morhab’s apartments.

As they prepared to ascend the stairs, Johanna saw someone far down the hall. A man stood, dressed in green silks, a long queue down his back.

It was Gao, finished with his assignment. She couldn’t show her relief.

Turning to Pai and SuMing, she said with some peevishness, “Gonds can be so difficult to please.” She nodded at her servants. “Let us find other diversions, then.”

“A cup of wine?” Pai suggested.

“Or two,” Johanna breathed.

Without looking at Gao, she led the way up the stairwell. In the narrow confines of the enclosed stairs, the engine boomed, muffled and deep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Heaven is the moral realm, where the vows, bonds, and clarities
are observed with piety. There is no heaven after death, but a sentient
who is a citizen of the Entire is already a citizen of heaven.

—from
The Radiant Way

C
IXI STOOD ON THE RIM OF THE FLOATING CITY high above the sea. Inevitably here, one thought of the fall. The four-minute ride, as it was called. A grand way to die, if one had to die violently. Standing on an outer ledge of the Magisterium, in the golden hub of the radial universe, she bowed to the lords’ domain, a gesture of reverence.
May they fry in the bright.

Beneath her, five pillars plunged down from the bowl of the city, their feet melting into the Sea of Arising. Legend said that the pillars were the eternal connection between the Tarig and their subjects. In reality, the pillars held up an aristocracy cowering in fear. Cixi had spent one hundred thousand days seeking to know the reasons for their fear. Fear implied a weakness. To raise the new kingdom—the Chalin kingdom, with Sydney at its head—she must discover this weakness. Until then, she remained a most ancient and loyal servant of the Tarig.

Rising from her bow, Cixi tapped her fingernail twice to quell the incessant clamor from her minions, scrolling their miniature and often mindless messages. Let them be silent. She had more important matters just now.

Preconsul Depta was late. She was the closest confidante of Lady Chiron, and although only a miserable
Hirrin and lowly preconsul, she held the high lady’s authority and took liberties because of that, such as suffering her betters to wait for her.

The field barriers wavered in a gust of wind. Wearing her high-platformed shoes, Cixi placed each step with deliberation. One couldn’t easily fall through the invisible railing, but one could push through and jump. Once, long ago, a small human girl had threatened to jump, keeping her jailors at bay. They had summoned Cixi, who had coaxed her back. Since that hour Cixi had loved the child, and in return, Sydney loved her. Then the fiends had blinded her dear girl, giving her to the barbarians. Even before that awful day, Cixi had hated the Tarig, but they managed, in their inimitable way, to constantly replenish hatred.

Even if they could not replenish the power source of the world.

It was on this matter that current matters stuck, drawing in all manner of trouble—trouble that was about to become rather larger than ever before.

Because Titus Quinn had stumbled upon intelligence best left hidden.

Three hundred days ago, Quinn had been in the Ascendancy—in full view of them all, she remembered with mortification. Hiding in the bright city for many days, he abandoned his disguise and left in spectacular fashion, killing a lord and leaving behind his daughter whom he had come so close to finding. He escaped the Entire by a means so bold it took her breath away: He freed the brightships, enabling them to slip away into their nether worlds between the atoms of the Entire. . . . Oh, that was so like Titus Quinn, to make the grand gesture of emancipation.

Well, now the lords had new ships, and better ones. Not sentient this time. You can’t trust a machine that can think. Cixi snorted. Even
she
knew that much.

The question that occupied the best minds in the Entire these days was
why
Quinn fled.

Four days ago Cixi had discovered why. He had learned the purpose of the engine at Ahnenhoon. Not even the denizens of the Entire knew
that
. For the Rose to know was unsettling. Titus Quinn had discovered the Tarig intended solution to their power needs and by now had surely informed his masters in the Rose. This was the matter on which all matters most profoundly
stuck
.

Cixi had immediately reported her discovery to the Lady Chiron, but oddly, the lords did not seem to be on alert.

“High Prefect,” a voice came from behind. Depta, at last.

Cixi turned up the corners of her mouth. “Pleasant to see you, Preconsul.” Cixi inclined her head somewhat, but Depta gave only a slight nod in turn.
Damn the four-footed fool.
Cixi reigned over the Magisterium and its thousands of legates, stewards, factors, and clerks, as well as preconsuls, consuls, and subprefects. Add to this her recent stunning, even brilliant, intelligence to Lady Chiron, and a considerable amount of deference was in order.

Depta walked down the ramp way from an upper viewing post, her long neck craning for a moment to take in the sights. Like many denizens of the Ascendancy, Depta did not often come to the lip of the city, it being considered vulgar to stare at the view.

“Let us walk, High Prefect.”

Cixi understood. Their conversation must remain private, and moving was better than staying put. The narrow walkway afforded just enough room for them to walk side by side. And because Depta was a Hirrin, Cixi for once could have a standing conversation without looking up.

They walked as Depta murmured, “Lady Chiron is deeply stirred by your investigations and cunning, Cixi.”

Depta had omitted her title. Such overfamiliarity needed a rebuke, but Cixi forbore. “A trifling thing.”

“Perhaps. We would have deduced the same, eventually. But the lady approves that you informed her before others.”

Cixi allowed irritation to creep into her voice. “Naturally I informed her first. It was the lady’s request, as surely you remember, Depta, since you conveyed the request to me.”

The preconsul sighed, stopping before a landing and gazing down. “It is said that some sentients fear heights. They say that when standing near a precipitous drop, they are convulsed with fear. Do you credit this tale, Cixi?”

Cixi saw the barrier’s shimmering field bend for a moment under a gust. “I have little time for children’s tales.”

“But some tales are true,” Depta insisted.

For a cold moment Cixi wondered if Depta was threatening her. Was it possible, even thinkable? If so, she had horribly misjudged. Where were her advisors, minions, and spies who hadn’t heard the whispers, or read the signs? She said, carefully, “Those who have reason to fear heights, should fear them. Those who might slip, for example.” She was not one of those, if this long-necked minion didn’t know.

Depta turned back, smiling. Her unfailing sweetness didn’t fool Cixi. “Lady Chiron is happy to keep your counsel to herself for a time. You understand?”

The bright shone down on Depta’s too-small head, her broad back bearing the icon of the flame bird. Cixi noted all this while her mind furiously parsed the preconsul’s words:
Keep this to herself. The other lords will not
be told.

She bought time: “Mmm. Indeed, Depta.”

“The lady wishes no others informed until she approves. It is her judgment.”

Heaven give me mercy, Cixi thought. Chiron required treason, then. The Repel of Ahnenhoon was in jeopardy, now that the Rose was alerted. This, one must keep to oneself?

Why would Chiron not tell the three lords who shared her power? They were already guarding the Inyx sway where, if Quinn wished to take Sydney, he would have to go. But they didn’t expect an assault on Ahnenhoon. Now only Chiron was to know.

Depta stepped closer. “Swear by the bright, Cixi.”

The Hirrin was still impudently saying
Cixi
. As she stood perilously close to the edge, a strange sensation forced its way through the pores of Cixi’s body, leaving her dizzy and dry-throated. It was stark fear, a sensation she had almost forgotten.

“Swear,” Depta repeated.

Cixi had paused a long time. She turned to look the Hirrin in the eyes, acknowledging the weight of what she was about to say. She whispered, “What the bright lady bids me to do, I do not presume to question. I will keep my counsel, Depta.”

The Hirrin resumed their walk. “No sentient being is beyond hope,” she intoned.

Meaning, even you can do things right. The outrage of the insult could keep. Cixi would remember it, and revenge would come in due time. For now, her mind raced at the implications of Chiron’s order to
inform no others
of Quinn’s likely return. Perhaps the lady wished for the glory of Titus Quinn’s capture. Or perhaps to prevent his capture. Was it love, then?