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Authors: Jaine Fenn

Principles of Angels (21 page)

BOOK: Principles of Angels
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‘You’ve found Lia?’ She tried not to let her expression change.
 
‘Not by name. But I’ve found what my software states is a ninety-eight point nine per cent match to the image you provided. It was in a private gallery, one of the last I looked at. There are several sad individuals out there who devote their time to collecting images of the—well, it’s not exactly illegal to record these people, of course, but it is discouraged.’ He was actually squirming.
 
‘What people?’ she asked, curious despite herself. ‘What are you on about?’
 
‘It might be simpler if I send you the file and you can decide for yourself whether it’s her. Do you authorise payment of the amount on the bottom of the screen and a data transfer to your com?’
 
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She thumbed the control pad to confirm her ID. His discomfort might be a good sign: it probably wasn’t Lia at all. And while she had him on the line, she should utilise his service for her other concern. ‘Sirrah Meraint, there’s something else you might be able to help me with.’
 
‘Of course, medame.’ He did not look particularly happy at the prospect of more paid work.
 
‘How complete are the public records on politicians’ financial and business activities?’
 
He looked surprised. ‘Very, medame. The Concord relies on it.’
 
‘I would like you to check something for me, concerning Consul Salik Vidoran.’
 
An odd look passed over his face. ‘Consul Vidoran? I should think there’s more than enough on him on the public com.’
 
‘There is,’ Elarn agreed, ‘but I believe he was out of the City when things came to a head regarding his recent political mistake. I would like to know where he was.’
 
‘Where he was?’ The infobroker echoed.
 
‘Yes. When he left Vellern.’ Salik had mentioned over lunch that he had been attending to business matters on one of the Kheshi habitats, but according to the records she had checked that morning, he had no business interests outside Vellern. ‘I need to know where he went and what he did. Is that something you could find out for me?’
 
He paused, then said, ‘I should think so. I may have to access files outside the Three Cities; can I get back to you on the cost?’
 
‘Of course.’
 
He looked unenthusiastic at taking this job, but, thought Elarn a little bitterly, he could always charge her extra if it inconvenienced him. It could simply be an omission, or perhaps she had misheard what Salik had said; whatever, she wanted to be certain she could trust him before she let herself fall any further. After all, he was a politician.
 
She started to get up, then sat again. A
file received
message flashed at the bottom of the com: the file that might prove Lia was here. She found herself tempted, for a moment, to pray, but made do with hoping fervently the image was not her missing ward.
 
She hit play.
 
The file was untitled, save for a date, just under ten weeks ago. So if it was Lia, she was probably still here. The clip was a flatscreen recording no more than ten seconds long. From the quality and angle, it looked to have been shot from a cheap stealth-recorder, probably eye-ware. There was no soundtrack but a line of text scrolled across the bottom of the image as it played out.
 
It showed an outdoor café in early evening, the white plastic chairs and tables filled with tired, happy shoppers with bags piled round their feet. The image lost focus slightly as it zoomed in on a figure sitting by herself. At first her face was visible only as a pale crescent. She wore a black coat or cloak and her dark hair was worn in a long plait. The woman shifted slightly in her chair, then reached out and lifted something to her lips - a glass in a silver holder. She turned, perhaps looking for a waiter, so that she was in three-quarters profile. Elarn’s throat closed as she recognised those fine, delicate features, those luminous eyes. Then the woman shifted all the way round, her brows drawing together in a frown. She stared directly at the camera and started to open her mouth.
 
The recording ended.
 
Elarn ordered the com to play the sequence again. This time she watched the text. Statistics, names, lots of question marks. But one name hooked her and, as she watched the turn of the pale cheek and saw the depth of the dark eyes, Elarn’s alarm blossomed into fear. For the first time since she had come to this awful City she realised how hopeless her mission was.
 
That was Lia. And Lia was an Angel.
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
 
Taro closed his eyes, let his head loll back and listened to the wind. He dreamed he was a child again, cradled in his line-mother’s arms as she flew across the Undertow for medicine to cure his fever.
 
Except this wasn’t Malia. Malia was dead.
 
He opened his eyes. They were nearing the edge of the City.
 
Nual murmured, ‘Hold tight. Topside gravity will kick in as soon as we fly over the disc.’ He adjusted his grip and pressed himself closer to her. He didn’t want this flight to end, but she was already spiralling upwards in a long lazy arc. When the maze of sidestreets swung into view below, she dropped sharply. The wind whipped Taro’s braids back from his face. Gravity clutched at him, trying to pull him from her arms. As they became heavier she had to work harder to keep their flight steady. He felt her breathing speed up. Then she swung to one side and they were over Chance Street, the ground coming up way too fast. At the last moment she slowed their descent and they touched down gently, though the impact still curdled Taro’s belly and bruised his knees.
 
When he kept his arms round her neck she whispered, firmly but not unkindly, ‘You need to let me go now.’
 
He unclasped his hands and stumbled back.
 
‘I only came topside to make sure you got here safely. I have to return below,’ she said, and kicked off, flying back up into the glaring orange sky. Taro forced himself not to stare after her.
 
Chance Street was still quiet, though holos of dice, gaming wheels and statistics played over some of the bars and casinos. At the sight of a downsider being dropped from the sky by an Angel, the few rollers who were on the Street had scurried into the safety of the nearest buildings.
 
Fine. They wouldn’t be bothering him then. He staggered forward.
 
The bright light of the open Street hurt his already delicate head and his muscles felt weak as water. Looked like he would get the chance to kick his new habit soon enough: Limnel was likely to be well pissed that he hadn’t turned up for work this morning, so not much chance of a treat for him tonight. No point stressing about that now. He’d deal with it when it happened.
 
He shuffled to the com booths at the side of the Street, hugging himself and avoiding eye contact with the few people who risked looking in his direction.
 
In the booth he went through the usual routine, but he was barely connected when the Minister’s voice cut in and ordered, ‘Stay right where you are.’
 
Taro was happy to. He leaned against the cool plastic of the booth and waited. He’d just rest here for a while, then go out and find somewhere to wait for the Minister—
 
A loud rap sounded near his head. Taro jumped and looked down. The Minister lowered his hand. Taro ducked out and followed the Minister to a nearby bench. The leader of the Kheshi League produced a handkerchief and brushed the seat clean before sitting down. Taro stayed standing, crossing his arms and focusing on the Minister’s highly polished shoes, while trying not to sway too badly.
 
‘Oh, just sit down before you fall down,’ said the Minster.
 
Taro sat, though it felt freaky to be sitting side-by-side with his master.
 
‘Well?’ asked the Minister after a moment.
 
‘Sirrah, I found Nual.’
 
‘You
found
her? My instructions were to find out
about
her. But that is good news, under the circumstances.’
 
‘She said—’ Taro gulped. Agreeing to work for Nual was one thing, but conveying her words to the Minister was another thing. ‘Sirrah, she said if there’s anythin’ you want to tell her, you can tell me an’ I’ll make sure she hears it.’
 
‘Using my messenger against me? Typical!’ the Minister muttered. ‘That wretched girl is a law unto herself. I suppose I should be glad that she has decided to trust you even that far. Must be your innocent charm.’
 
‘I wouldn’t know, sirrah. But there’s somethin’ else.’
 
‘What else? You have, technically, completed the mission I gave you.’
 
‘I think Scarrion’s got Malia’s gun.’
 
The Minister turned to stare at Taro, and Taro edged back on the bench.
 
‘I think he stole Malia’s gun,’ he repeated.
 
‘And why am I only now hearing this?’
 
Taro recoiled from the Minister’s uncharacteristic anger. ‘I’m sorry, sirrah! When I asked you to call feud on the Screamer I wasn’t thinkin’ straight. I was too busy being upset that he’d killed me line-mother. I din’t wonder
why
he did it.’
 
‘You think he killed her for her weapon?’
 
‘I don’t know, but it’s possible, ain’t it?’
 
‘Oh yes, possible and logical. It would explain why he took the risk of entering the Undertow. I suspect that he might not even have planned to kill Malia; he just decided to take the chance when it was offered. That would be in character.’
 
‘He can’t use the gun, though, can he? I mean, the trigger-pad’ll zap ’im when he tries to fire it.’
 
‘In theory, yes, but no security is unbreakable. And if he has gone to all the effort of acquiring it, it is likely that he has the means to overcome its security, which could be very bad news for all of us. We can only hope that we are being unduly pessimistic.’ The Minister stared thoughtfully down the Street for a few seconds, then looked back at Taro and said, ‘However, dismaying as this news is, my original reason for coming to see you in person remains unchanged.’ He reached inside his immaculately tailored jacket and produced a rectangle of clear plastic about the size of Taro’s little finger. A thin sliver of black ran through the centre of the plastic. Taro felt a chill run down his spine. ‘I see from your expression that you know what this is.’
 
‘Aye, sirrah.’ He’d seen a few dataspikes, though he’d never used one. Usually the central core, where the data was stored, was dark grey. He’d only seen a black one once. Malia had left it on the floor of the common-room in their homespace. When she’d returned after carrying out the orders it contained, she’d flung it through the nets to the ground below. The ’spike contained formal orders, encrypted and readable only by the Angel they were intended for, to perform a removal.
 
‘Take this straight to Nual. Do not give it to anyone else, do not show it to anyone else, do not tell anyone else you have it. Understand?’
 
‘Aye, sirrah.’ Taro took the dataspike and, without looking at it, stashed it in the pocket inside his jacket. It felt heavier than he expected.
 
‘I think it should get her attention. But just in case she is still being uncooperative, you can tell her, from me, that my patience is all used up. No more excuses. This is her last chance. She will obey these orders, or she will come to tell me in person why not.
 
‘If she does neither, I will call feud on her.’
 
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
 
Ando Meraint marked off the flashing reminder to phone Elarn Reen and added a new entry -
Research recent whereabouts of Consul Vidoran
- then stared at the screen.
 
He wished he had never taken the job. There was stuff going on in that woman’s life that he would prefer not to find out about. Perhaps he should have just lied to her, told her he hadn’t found her lost daughter, refused any further work and passed on what he had to the wretched Screamer. But that would have gone against his personal code: he traded in information, not lies. Besides, he liked her. And if he refused this new job, she might go elsewhere. Leaving aside the loss of credit, if the Screamer was keeping tabs on her movements he would know Meraint had not co-operated. Of course, he should have already commed the Yaziler to tell him what he had found out, but that could wait. Meraint trusted the encryption routines on his com line, and the single bug the Screamer had left under a shelf in the alcove had been easy enough to find and disable by ‘accidentally’ banging the shelf. A more efficient operative might have left more, or hidden them better, but Meraint’s daily sweep had not turned up anything else. Like his encryption software, his bug sweepers were top of the range.
BOOK: Principles of Angels
10.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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