Empress of the Sun (20 page)

‘You ever been to a Punjabi wedding?’ Everett asked.

‘You have me at a disadvantage there, sir.’

‘Let’s just say, you’re not the only guys can do old-school chivalry.’

Everett stopped before the hovering throne. From the heart of a dazzle of light rays, the Empress of the Sun looked down at him. His pride, his little tricks to make himself confident, all evaporated in the searing light. The sense of power and presence made him want to turn and
run. This creature made the sun dance for her amusement. He had never felt more like a mammal, like a small, scuttling, fraidy-male. Everett pulled himself upright, pressed his hands together in a namaste and dipped his head in a brief bow. Sharkey whipped off his hat and bent a leg in a theatrical bow.

‘Miles O’Rahilly Lafayette Sharkey at your service, Your Majesty,’ he declaimed.

‘Everett Singh: goalkeeper, mathematician, traveller, planesrunner,’ Everett said. The same formula he had recited when he had first been introduced to Sharkey, right after the weighmaster had tried to throw Everett off
Everness
.

The Empress of the Sun sat motionless. Not a movement. Not a word. For a long time. I know what you’re doing, Everett thought. You’re making us feel like little squeaking apes. It’s working.

The great Hall of the Presence was silent. Not a claw clicked on the polished floor.

The Empress of the Sun blinked her eye-membranes.

‘Welcome, Planesrunner. I am Gapata Hehenrekke Exto Kadkaye, Empress of the Sun, Clade-Mother of the Sunlords, Chatelaine of Palatakahapa. Welcome to my lands, demesnes and cities.’ The Empress of the Sun’s voice was soft and light and maddeningly familiar to Everett. ‘You’ve come a long way. Please enjoy the hospitality of the Sunlords.’ He had it now. The Empress of the Sun spoke in his
mum’s voice. Everett wasn’t sure what shocked him more – that Kax had dragged a memory of his mother out of his head and given it to her own mother, or that he hadn’t immediately recognised Laura’s voice. Either way, it was one of the creepiest things he had ever heard. ‘My daughter has told me so much about you. What a thrill!’ Kax’s skin flushed a delicate turquoise, her crest turned crimson. ‘When the probe from your universe came through to the Worldwheel, we knew it would only be a matter of time before you returned. And you have come with a gift that none of us could have imagined. We are a people who enjoy gifts. In the exchange of objects – gifts, ideas, hostages, family members – we show ourselves to be civilised beings, don’t you think? It shows willingness and appreciation.’

Everett’s voice was as cold as the lump of dread in his heart. ‘I know what you want.’ He saw Sharkey glance at him, a tiny nod of the head: do it. It’s the only way. ‘You want the Infundibulum.’

‘Want is such a cold word,’ the Empress of the Sun said, and Everett felt sick inside because her tone was the same tone Laura used when she was very, very angry but all she wanted to show was her deep, deep disappointment. Hurt was crueller than anger. ‘We would appreciate a token from you, in return for what we’re doing for you. A consideration. The Genequeens are an uncouth, rough people, with no manners and less culture, but they do respect protocol. They claim you and your ship by right of it having
landed in Crechewood, which they stubbornly and against the sense of all the other clades believe to be their territory. By the Treaty of Hedrehedd Larsweel the crechewoods were established as common grounds eight thousand years ago – things may be different on the Outward Rings, but there are cold and barbarous creatures out there, far from the light of the sun. Barely sentient at all. My esteemed daughter Kakakakaxa has filed a claim that you enjoy the protection of my clade as our honoured guests.’ Kax’s shade of turquoise deepened. Pride, Everett guessed. The newest princess in this hall of a thousand princesses had outshone all the others. What were the colours for jealousy and resentment? Everett suspected that Kax’s battles to the death were not over yet. ‘Our lawyers have formed a case. The High Magisterium is weighing it. We expect judgement within the hour. The High Magisterium’s judgements are always honoured, but we’ll send a detachment of skyqueens. An escort, an honour guard. The Genequeens can be sullen, petty creatures. Your friends and ship will be returned to you by sunrise.’

‘And in return …’ Everett said.

‘We only want to study the Infundibulum,’ said the Empress of the Sun. Everett knew that mild, reasonable tone too well. His mum had always used it just before she asked him for something he did not want to do.

‘If they can learn our language before they even meet us, that’s as good as giving it to them,’ Sharkey muttered.

‘What do we do?’ Everett whispered back. He could feel the weight of every eye in the Hall of Presence on him.

‘Everett, that’s not my decision.’

‘You’re the officer in charge here. The adult.’

‘The Infundibulum is yours.’

‘You were the one would have given it to Charlotte Villiers to save the ship.’

‘Yes, I would. I would always act for the good of the ship. And it’s clear to me what the good of the ship is. But the Infundibulum is yours. You must decide. “Choose this day whom ye shall serve.”’

‘But if I give them the Infundibulum …’

‘No one said it would be easy. Decide, Everett. The Empress is waiting.’

There was a way of standing, a way of walking off the pitch after you had lost a game, a way of holding yourself, that Everett had learnt. You are small and shrivelled inside, but you focus on every muscle to make you tall and proud. The hall was vast and filled with powerful and dangerous aliens; he was far beyond the edge of all Known Worlds, stranded on the biggest engineering construct in the multi-verse, before the shining throne of a ruler who could make the sun itself dance for her amusement; but by the Dear, he was not going to walk the Walk of Shame.

‘Your Majesty,’ Everett said in his loudest, clearest voice, ‘I am honoured to share the Infundibulum with you.’

The knock on the antechamber door was sharp and clear. Three raps.

‘Enter.’ Charlotte Villiers applied the last precise touches to her make-up. Her eyes widened in surprise at the figure that came through the open door. A flicker, no more. The mask of cosmetic perfection betrayed nothing.

‘Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting you,’ Charlotte Villiers said. ‘Have you come to gloat? Schadenfreude is such a grubby little emotion.’

‘A dozen deaths are not a thing to gloat about,’ Ibrim Hoj Kerrim said. He was dressed for the Heiden winter: thick gloves, scarf knotted tight around his throat, the collar of his brocaded coat turned up. In his right hand was a heavy cane. Its silver knob had produced the sharp knock on the door. From the solidity of the knob and the obvious
weight of the cane, Charlotte Villiers guessed a hidden purpose.

‘Swordstick?’ she said. She turned to Ibrim Hoj Kerrim. ‘Do you think I’m that much of a threat to you?’

‘We all face a greater threat,’ he said. ‘I come to offer you my support. A full session of the Praesidium must be an intimidating prospect.’

‘It’s nothing compared to the Jiju,’ Charlotte Villiers said. She straightened her attire, adjusted the set of her hat. ‘Veil up or down? Up, I think. It shows openness. Your support is welcome, Ibrim.’

‘I will back up whatever you tell the Praesidium.’

‘I shall tell the Praesidium the truth.’

‘Will you tell them how you alone of your entire squad came back from the Worldwheel?’

‘Are you accusing me of abandoning my soldiers? Of cowardice, Ibrim?’

‘That would be dishonourable. You do, however, have a keen sense of self-preservation. I will say that I sanctioned the operation. I will also swear that the soldiers were an Al Buraqi unit, and not your private Earth 10 army. You have informed the next of kin?’

‘McCabe is looking after that,’ Charlotte Villiers said. ‘What’s your price?’

‘My price is the vigilance and security of the Plenitude of Known Worlds, nothing more.’

‘Oh come on, man!’ Charlotte Villiers flared with anger.
‘Say it: you want my resignation from the Plenipotentiate and the Security Council.’

‘The Praesidium had already suggested that,’ Ibrim Hoj Kerrim said. ‘I persuaded them that you had been a good and faithful servant of the Plenitude. Special threats call for special circumstances. Personally, I want to keep you where I can see you.’ His grip tightened on the sword-stick. ‘God’s mercy on you, Charlotte.’ Ibrim Hoj Kerrim tipped the ferrule of his cane against the jewel of his turban, a farewell gesture. The door closed heavily behind him.

Do not imagine that pretty sword will save you
, Charlotte Villiers thought.
Cowardice
. She shook with rage. The Villiers did not forgive such insults. How dare that smooth, oily Buraqi suggest that she had abandoned her squad to their deaths to save her own skin. She had made a terrible but correct decision. Someone had to bring the information back. Someone had to warn the Plenitude. How the Plenitude might defend itself was not her concern – her alter Charles was already consulting the Thryn Sentiency on the far side of Earth 4’s moon. Even the Thryn might not be able to withstand a full-assault Jiju invasion of the Ten Worlds. If only she had the Infundibulum. For if it was everything she suspected, even the Jiju were chaff in the wind before its power.
Her
power. Again she trembled with rage at Ibrim Hoj Kerrim’s presumption. Accusing her of cowardice.

I will deal with your insult in time. And it will be direct, and it will be personal
.

Another knock at the door, this one discreet and polite.

‘Madam Villiers …’ a male voice began.

‘… the Praesidium is waiting,’ a second, almost identical male voice finished.

‘I am ready.’

Veil down, she decided. For her entrance at least.

*

The twin ushers swung open the double doors. Charlotte Villiers walked between them and up the short flight of wooden steps into the council room. She stood at the centre of a horseshoe of box-pews, banked up tier upon tier like a vertigo-inducing lecture theatre. Every pew was occupied, the twins of Earth 7 pressing close together, the periwigs and quizzing glasses on sticks of Earth 5’s delegates, Earth 2 turbans and lace headpieces, Earth 6 silks and elaborate hairstyles.

‘Charlotte Villiers …’ a woman’s voice announced.

‘… Earth 3 Plenipotentiary to Accession Applicant Earth 10,’ her twin concluded.

Charlotte Villiers surveyed the amphitheatre as the last Praesidium members took their places. Yes, the veil was a good idea. She could watch without being watched. She saw Ibrim Hoj Kerrim sit down among his E2 colleagues and slip off his coat and unwind his scarf. He gave her the briefest of nods. Paul McCabe was high up in the Sojourners’ Gallery,
among the carved cherubs that squabbled on the ceiling. No sign of the Harte woman. Charlotte Villiers waited until all eyes were on her. This is a theatre, not of dreams, but of nightmares, and I shall give you such drama as you never imagined.

The silence was total.

Charlotte Villiers lifted her net veil. She looked up at the rows of faces.

‘I come with the worst possible news,’ she said.

The Rentokil van had sat outside the school for two days before anyone noticed. Then Mr Culshaw had peered through the windows and within half an hour another van had arrived from the company, and shortly after it a police car. By now it was break and a small crowd had gathered.

‘He’s dead,’ Noomi declared. ‘Drank his own rat poison. In the back. He was starting to smell. That’s my theory.’

Everett M had fought Nahn shape-shifters and Victorian zombies, but Noomi’s taste for dark weird stuff still surprised him. They had been on their third Homework Date. No homework had been done, or would ever be done, Everett M suspected, but he was allowed to walk home with Noomi, as long as he wasn’t in school uniform. Or anything she might be embarrassed to be seen with. She had given
him a couple of websites to check for fashion if he was too wimpy to go into a real clothes shop. No snog yet. It would come.

‘Right you lot, back to your classes,’ Mr Culshaw shouted. ‘The bell’s gone. Nothing to see here.’

The Rentokil people had forced open the back of the van. Noomi tried to get a look inside before going back to the art room. Ryun and Everett M went to biology.

‘Um,’ Ryun said. Everett M had noticed that Ryun had started saying that at the start of every sentence he said to him, as if Ryun was about to apologise, or was uncertain, or had bad news to break. Since the night Everett M told him the lie that was a truth, Ryun had been different with him. It was as if Ryun was watching himself – he was still friendly with Everett M, made jokes, talked about games and movies and comics and football, but it was as if he was checking everything he said, guarding everything he thought. Every word, deed, thought had an ‘um’ in front of it. ‘Um, Ev … is this something to do with you?’

‘I didn’t kill a Rentokil man.’

‘I know that, just, um … those rats.’

I have a theory about those rats
, Everett M thought.
But I don’t want to tell you and you don’t want to know it
.

‘Not every piece of weird shit is connected to me,’ Everett M said. But this one was. He had been certain of it since the night the rats fled from the alley behind his home at the mere flicker of his Thryn power. The Battle of Abney Park
2 had been just that – a battle. The war against the Nahn was not over.

‘Um, are you dating with Noomi again after school?’ Ryun asked.

‘It’s homework.’

‘It’s so not.’

‘Well, I am.’

‘Have you, um?’

‘Snogged her yet?’

‘Yeah.’

‘This afternoon.’

‘Okay.’

He wouldn’t. There wouldn’t be a homework date at all, though the thought of not seeing her curled up on a coffee-shop sofa, comfortable and casual in a way he never could be, cutely weird, her hands dancing as she told him things things things, made him feel sick with wanting. This afternoon he would become once again Everett M Singh, cyborg agent of the Plenitude of Known Worlds, and go in search of a missing pest-control man.