Ninth City Burning (19 page)

I
remained there, glaring at the empty wall, and counted to one thousand in my head to be sure the man in black was really gone before I allowed myself to collapse into bed. I do not know how long I slept, but when I woke, my only company was a new bowl of orange gruel. When that was emptied, there was nothing to do but look at the ceiling and wonder about my coda, and when I did that, my cell would start to shrink; all the air went out of it, and I had the impulse to throw myself at the walls, screaming to be set free. Which, I reasoned, was just what the man in black wanted: for me to know I could just sit here and rot for all he cared. So, instead of thinking, I did push-ups and knee bends until I was too tired to stand, then I ate more gruel and slept. When I couldn't sleep any more, I reprised my exercise routine, adding in jumping jacks.

Sometime later—I wasn't sure how much later, days at the least—I was lying on the floor, working myself up for another round of knee tucks, when a low hum sounded above my head. It was the same variety of sound as the water drip that heralded my food or the shrieking whistle that announced the man in black, and I waited for something to happen, but the hum only came again, and a few seconds after, once more.

Finally, someone said, “Hello? Are you awake in there?” It was a real voice—no menacing rumble but a man's low, rich tones. “You just have to touch the wall there,” it said.

I got up and did as the voice asked, partly curious, partly annoyed that its owner believed I hadn't worked out this simple trick.

This new man was taller than the first but slimmer and not so martial in appearance, which made him seem younger, though I suspected the two
were around the same age. He had on a suit much like that of his predecessor, black and neatly cut, with a silver-trimmed collar. The low light lent his brown skin a dim luster, his handsome features set in a questioning frown. “Is this a bad time?” he said. “I thought we might have a little chat, but I can come back later if you're busy.”

The faint grin he mustered then led me to believe this was meant as humor. I had assumed a look of steely defiance in preparation for the first man in black and decided it would serve just as well for this second visitor. I was determined to give up nothing about myself or my people, but I knew if this fellow wanted to talk, there was nothing I could do to stop him. I went and sat on my bench to wait him out.

Apparently taking my actions as an invitation, he summoned up a chair from the empty floor and sat, as if we were engaged in a pleasant social call. “I hope you'll forgive our accommodations,” he said. “We're somewhat overextended at present, and to be honest, people around here aren't terribly concerned with your comfort, since they believe you're a tribal shaman or warrior priestess intent on conquering our city.”

As he was speaking, he produced a small package from his pocket, which he now unwrapped to reveal a sandwich. The ordinariness of it took me by surprise. I had expected some new manner of infernal device. “Would you like to share?” he asked, when he saw me staring. “I doubt I'll finish more than half. It's fluffernutter,” he added, plainly considering this nonsense word compelling enticement.

Mama's old lessons in etiquette rose up to betray me, and quite automatically I said, “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” He took a bite, chewed. “You're not, are you? A shaman or priestess, or planning to overthrow our city? It would help if we could straighten that out right away.”

“No, I am not.”

“Good, great,” he said, smiling as if this were indeed good and great. “For the record, I never thought you were, but you've got quite a few people convinced you're a rather serious threat.” He bit again into his sandwich, using his food as a rhetorical pause while he watched for my reaction.

“We've been having some trouble lately, you see,” he went on, when he had finished chewing. “The valley where you and I are now is quite isolated from the rest of the world. The mountain range surrounding us on all sides typically discourages any visitors. Some time ago, however, a number of
uninvited guests found a way through. Initially, they were considered a mere nuisance, nothing worth worrying over, but it has recently come to our attention that they may have access to a very dangerous sort of power and, well, people around here are concerned.”

Again he bit and chewed contemplatively at his sandwich, and this time I took the chance to speak up. “And what does any of that have to do with me?”

“You,” he said, after chewing rather longer than seemed necessary, “are in a unique position to tell us how worried we ought to be about this power, since you were observed actually using it.”

As I was thinking about that, he took a pocket watch from his coat. “I've got to go,” he said, folding up the remainder of his sandwich, “but let's talk again soon. You'll have questions. And you'll probably want a bath. I see you've been exercising.”

My white clothes had become stiff and yellowed with sweat, and I assumed he meant impoliteness until he pointed to one of my walls and said, “You just have to touch that part there to get the tub. Run your finger along the side to adjust the water. I'm sure you'll figure it out.”

“So,” I said as he turned to leave, “you must be Good Cop, then.” He regarded me quizzically, brows furrowed. “It's a saying we have,” I explained. “Good Cop, Bad Cop. One person comes at you acting the part of marauder and bully, then another turns up friendly as you please, so you'll start trusting and spilling all your darkest secrets.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Vinneas will do,” he said. “Bad Cop's name is Imway.”

Only after he was gone did I notice my food had arrived; beside my usual bowl was the other half of his sandwich.

The bath worked exactly as promised, and I spent rather more time than necessary soaking, to make up for lost opportunity and also to test my theory that, no matter how long you sat, the water never got cold. Sure enough, my fingers and toes were prunes before I marked the slightest drop in temperature. A new set of clothes and a towel were waiting when I got up, my old wardrobe having likely walked off on its own.

The fluffernutter was better than I expected.

Vinneas returned a day later, as I judged the time required for two more meals, one long nap, and another very extended bath. For this visit he neglected to bring a lunch.

“You know,” he said, taking his seat outside my cell, “you never told me your name.”

“You didn't ask.”

“I'm asking now.”

“Rachel,” I said. “I go by Rae.”

He was silent a moment, as though testing my name for hidden weight and meaning.

“And now that we've been properly introduced,” I said, “I'd like to ask you a thing or two.”

“Of course,” he said. “I can't promise all the answers, but I'm a good enough guesser when the situation calls for it.”

“You said I was seen using some kind of power. What did you mean?” I knew I was revealing something merely by asking, but it seemed a fair trade against what there was to learn.

“We call it ‘thelemity,'” he said, “the power, that is. ‘Force' is probably a better word, like gravity or electromagnetism. It's exceedingly complex—we've been studying thelemity for centuries, and we're still only beginning to understand it. But what you should know is that it's a kind of potential, one certain people can use to affect reality, to use it like an extension of themselves.”

“What sort of people?”

“People like you.” He shrugged, as if this were a matter of the utmost simplicity. “Our word is ‘revenni.' It refers to people who can use thelemity to impose their will upon the world.”

“And you think I'm one of these—revenni?” I asked, slowly working over the unfamiliar vocabulary.

“Quite sure, yes. You demonstrated some very impressive talent with thelemity while our defense forces were trying to capture you. I'm sure you noticed your firearms were rather more potent than usual.”

I thought back to the woods, to the way my guns seemed to spew comets and stars rather than the bullets I had loaded. “A lot of good it did me.”

“You were still pretty thoroughly outgunned,” Vinneas said, “though from what I hear, you gave Imway quite a fight.”

“Wait,” I said, startled. “Are you telling me that thing was
him
?”

“Yes. Imway was in command of the detachment that brought you in. He's an eques. It's a type of warrior,” Vinneas added, reading my confusion
at yet another strange term. “The closest word in your language is probably ‘knight.'”

Knights appeared here and there in Papa's old stories, usually in opposition to all his monsters and dragons. The man in black was not so dissimilar in appearance from the knights I had imagined, though to continue the conceit any further would mean disregarding his character entirely.

“The closest thing in my language is probably ‘douche bag,'” I said. Now it was Vinneas's turn to puzzle over my wording. I explained, “It means someone who acts like a jackass because he knows there's no one to stop him from doing as he pleases.”

Vinneas's expression made me think I wasn't too far off, but he said, “Imway isn't proud of injuring you. If it makes you feel better, you rather embarrassed him on his first official mission. And you damaged some extremely costly equipment while you were at it.”

That did make me feel better, though I wasn't about to admit it. “So that thing was some suit of armor? He was
inside
of it?”

“Exactly. It's called an ‘equus.'”

“And your valley,” I said, my thoughts gathering speed, “the reason it's summer all the time—you change the weather with your thelemity?”

This question earned me another broad smile. I had become a prized student. “Our power typically doesn't extend far enough into the atmosphere to affect weather patterns, so we can't prevent rain, for example, but we can keep things warm at least.”

“Sounds like magic.”

“Yes, it does.”

“And it only works here, in the valley?”

“Most of the time that's true. We have some control over where our thelemity goes, but generally we keep it here. We built the mountain wall to prevent strangers from stumbling upon it accidentally.”

“Why? Anyone gets close, all you have to do is squash them or explode them.”

I didn't know how angry I was until the words came out, all harsh and snarling. Vinneas looked rather abashed, which was gratifying. “Of course, I should have started with that,” he said, like a man who has made a silly but pardonable mistake. “Not long after you entered the valley, there would
have been a strange smell, ozone or phosphorous or something similar, accompanied by a feeling of uneasiness or elation, perhaps both.”

“And a second later, I got exploded to kingdom come,” I finished for him, my fury returning.

“Exactly. It happens to all revenni the first time you encounter thelemity. How familiar are you with electricity?”

The way he asked made me wonder how much of a savage he thought I was. “I know it well enough.”

“Think of yourself as an electric lamp. Before you arrived here, you'd never been plugged in. But then, suddenly, you get a rush of power, and it shorts you out. A power surge. So really, we didn't explode you. You exploded yourself. You were never in any danger, though I expect it ruined your clothes. And it will only happen that one time.”

I remained quiet for a while, thinking on what he'd said. “And now I can use that power anytime I want?”

“As long as you have access to thelemity, you'll be able to do some remarkable things unless something happens to interfere with your ability. For example, if you weren't wearing that collar there, you'd have a fairly easy time breaking out of your cell and killing me.”

“Break out and kill you?” I said, all false innocence. “I'd never do that.”

“I should hope not. I've already written up my report on you for my superiors, and I spent a good three paragraphs describing how you pose no threat whatsoever to our city. It's all part of my recommendation for your release.”

“And do you think they'll let me out?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “I happen to be a remarkably influential person.”

By the time he left, I was balanced halfway between thanking him and giving him a good hard slap. He didn't treat me like a criminal, the way the man in black had, but he certainly wasn't about to apologize for my being locked up. I was still glad, though, when he appeared again, another day later as measured in meals and naps.

He dissolved my fourth wall with a touch, like popping a bubble. “Let's go outside,” he said.

We ended up in another stone bowl, this one a deal larger than my cell and turned up so that the open end allowed me a view of the tallest buildings I have ever seen, sleek stone shafts like pillars, holding up a sky I hadn't seen in I couldn't say how long.