The Book of Water (40 page)

But the catch is, he’s got nothing to sell but his talent, and that ain’t worth anything until Baraga gives him a chance and an audition, which he’s not gonna bother with unless he knows it’ll be worth his very valuable time. N’Doch sees opportunity slipping away already.

He takes a gingerly look at the blackmail angle. He’s done it before once or twice, mostly for food, real small-time stuff, when he was really desperate. Trying to blackmail Kenzo Baraga would be raising the stakes into the stratosphere. But if his information is good and he can hold on to his nerve . . .

He knows the dream-reader angle is nothing. All the big business types check in with their tarot lady or astrologer or feng shui master before making the big decisions. But,
for instance, N’Doch knows—the whole world knows—that Baraga is married to the vid mega-star Francinetta Legata. Does the spectacular Francie know that her husband hangs out with the Mahatma Glory Magdalena for reasons other than sound business advice? Does he care if she knows? What would she give for the information? N’Doch sighs. He’d probably be fool enough to just let her take him to bed. None of this is sounding like much so far, he’s gotta admit.

And then, because all along he’s been listening with at least half an ear to the conversation at the far end of the room, his brain’s autopilot registers a word that drops out of the sky like his next shipment of manna.

“. . . dragons . . .”

The desirable Francie is backburnered in an instant. N’Doch switches over to full manual and listens with all his instruments.

“. . . or something that looked like dragons. I saw ’em on the tapes myself when they rolled it back for me. And two kids with ’em. Ask Nikko, he was there. And six of my crack beach patrol. Can you believe it? Some asshole’s managed to gengineer dragons, and he’s keeping it a secret!”

Again, Lealé’s throaty, sexy laugh. “You mean, he’s not telling
you
about it.”

Wait a minute
, N’Doch realizes. This isn’t his dream anymore. This is us. He’s talking about
us
!

“I had all the labs checked. Only a handful of people left who could pull off that kind of work since the university closed down, and I own most of ’em. Or did. I fired ’em all this morning. Dragons! Can you imagine the market share for real live dragons? Nikko! Get in here!”

“Yessir, Mr. B.”

“I’m telling her about the dragons.”

Nikko clears his throat. “Saw ’em with my own eyes.”

“Well, where are they?” Lealé laughs.

“Lost ’em,” says Nikko.

“But were they big? Really dragon-sized? How ever did they manage to elude the beach patrol? And those terrible dogs!”

Baraga pauses, and N’Doch knows exactly why. He’s just at the part that’s gonna be real hard to explain. “Well, that’s the thing. They just disappeared.”

“Oh, into the water?”

“No. On the spot. Right out from under the noses of six sober, tough-minded men. And the damned dogs. Two dragons, two kids. They were there and then they weren’t. I got that on tape, too.”

He’s got us on tape
. N’Doch realizes he’s chewing his knuckle to shreds.
I can’t put the touch on him—he’ll know me for sure
. At first he feels exposed, trapped, but then in a little breathless moment, it occurs to him that he’s just been handed the tools he most needs and was sure he did not possess: something to sell and the status necessary to get the Media King to listen.

The grin comes shooting up out of the depths of him, fastens itself onto his face as if of its own accord. He has no control over it. He has a hard enough time choking back the laughter that wants to rise up with it. Terrified, exultant laughter, filling him until he’s sure he’ll burst if he can’t let it out somehow. But he can’t. Not right now. ’cause, of course,
this could be it
. Right now could be that chance in a million he’d just finished convincing himself he wasn’t ever gonna get. That’s the exultant part. The terror part is, if in dealing with Kenzo Baraga, he doesn’t play his cards just right, he could end up even worse than he was before. He could end up dead.

First thing is, he’s got to talk to the dragons. A few special appearances? Shoot a few vids? Maybe even a series. What’s the big deal? He’s sure they’ll go for it. And if they don’t, well . . . he’ll just have to cross that bridge when he comes to it.

B
araga takes up his dream narrative again, and doesn’t seem ready to end it any time soon. Eager now but still bound into the enforced idleness of his hiding place, N’Doch starts plotting out a dragon-based miniseries in his head. All he has to do is tell the story of his own adventures with the dragons, right? Featuring his shape-shifting blue beauty, of course—that’ll really wow ’em—and then he’ll write songs to go with it. A musical miniseries: a brand new concept! The Media King’ll love it!

He’s distracted as the intermittent sniper fire out in the market square changes abruptly to the chatter of automatic weapons. At the other end of the room, Baraga breaks off his recitation to listen, then grunts pensively and calls in his bodyguard.

“Nikko, send someone to check with ground security, make sure the place is fully sealed off. Sasha, get Amahl on the line, see what you can find out about this.”

“You might want to think about wrapping it up here, Mr. B.,” remarks Nikko.

“Nah. We’ll wait till we know there’s . . .”

The floor shudders, twice, like a cough. Two dull thuds sound in the distance.

“Huh,” says Baraga. “How far, you think?”

“Coupla miles,” Nikko replies smoothly. “Southwest.”

“The Presidential Palace?”

“Could be.”

“Well. That’ll teach the old bastard. Security, Nikko. The gates.”

“I’m on it, Mr. B.”

N’Doch hears the tinkle and rustle of Lealé’s robes. Her
cheery bells and beads sound more anxious than seductive now. “What is it, Kenzo? What’s happening?”

“A little more than somebody expected, I’d say.” Baraga moves around restlessly. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“I have Mr. Kemal on the line, Mr. B.”

Listening to the secretary’s breathy uninflected voice, N’Doch pictures him in slippers and long hair neatly tied back in a bun.

“You talk to him. Glory, get me an update from PrintNews. They better be on top of this, or they’re history tomorrow.”

“Mr. Kemal says he’s getting mixed reports from the copters,” the secretary murmurs. “But there does appear to be action in the area around the Palace.”

“Don’t give me appearances,” Baraga growls, “Give me facts! Tell him to get someone in there to find out what’s going on! Jesus! What do I pay these people for?”

N’Doch gets a tingle of anxiety himself. The energy is rising in the room as Baraga moves into gear. It’s like someone turned up the volume and it’s contagious. Normally, during military actions, N’Doch just heads for the deepest ground he can find. He’s not sure if being around Baraga when the bullets are flying makes him safer or more of a target.

“We’re as sealed off as we’re ever gonna be in this place,” reports Nikko from the door. “I still think you oughta consider getting out of here, Mr. B.”

“Taken under advisement.”

“Someone might have seen us come in, y’know . . .”

“Nikko, I hear you.”

“Yessir, Mr. B.”

“Mr. Baraga!” The secretary has finally been shoved off his even keel. “Shore Patrol just intercepted mortar fire!”

“What? They’re shelling my house? Get birds in the air and clean ’em out!”

“They’re already on it, sir.”

“Shelling my
house
? Who the hell do they think they are?”

Lealé hurried in rattling a sheaf of facsimile. “Here you are, darling. Not very good news, I’m afraid.”

Baraga grabbed the stack. A strained silence thickened the air while he read. “So that’s it,” he muttered finally. “Glory,
clear your people out of the office. I’m gonna be needing it. Right now. Nikko, Sasha, come with me.”

N’Doch waits for the silence to settle in again at the other end of the room before he peers around the back of his chair. Empty. Free at last. He hops up and goes straight for the PrintNews that Baraga’s scattered behind him as he left the room. PrintNews is expensive. He doesn’t get to see it very often. It’s also the only real source of straight news there is—all the vid news programs have evolved toward news as-you-want-it rather than news as it is. N’Doch doesn’t see any problem with this. Real news isn’t high on his priority list. Actual events in the world, or even in other parts of town, don’t affect his own life directly, and by the time they affect it
in
directly, it’s too late to do anything about it anyway. He gets his news on the street.

But suddenly it seems kind of important to know who’s bombing MediaRex Enterprises in the middle of an ordinary coup attempt, and why? He gathers up the printout and scans through it. Phew! So dry! Like reading an upgrade for software he’s never laid eyes on. Names he doesn’t know, factions he’s never heard of, like the whole thing is written in code. Only he knows it isn’t, not if you’re caught up on the basic information. It makes him feel insignificant, reading about all this plotting and politics he wasn’t aware of, and that makes him huffy. He tosses the papers aside. If Baraga ever needs the latest on street barter values and local gang infighting, N’Doch knows who he can turn to.

Someone’s turned on the bright lights out in the hallway. Anxious flappers shuttle this way and that, plus a couple of what have to be Baraga’s security guys. One or two glance at N’Doch through the open doorway, but since no one stops or comes in after him, he decides it’s safe to mingle and move about, as long as he keeps out of Baraga’s line of sight. Or maybe the bodyguard Nikko’s.

He goes out into the hall, eyes the crowd jammed in around the door to the office, and heads the other way, toward the dining room. If the girl is awake, she won’t have a clue what all the noise is about. And, holy shit, what about the dragons? When they went off to eat did they go back to Baraga’s beach? He knows they’re magical and all, but he doubts they’re immune to a well-placed mortar shell.

He slips into the dining room, snatches a few bites as he
cruises past the food table, and pushes through the drapes into the alcove. The girl is tucked away in the farthest corner, tossing and turning and gasping for breath as if she’s fighting with something in her sleep. He sits down beside her and nudges her gently.

“Wake up, girl. Easy now. You gotta wake up.”

She thrashes around, whimpering and panting, but she doesn’t wake. N’Doch remembers the first time she had this dream trouble. This time it looks like she’s losing her battle. He grabs her up in his arms and shakes her hard. She cries out and gulps in air. Her eyes pop open, and she stares at him mindlessly for a moment, then throws herself shuddering and heaving against his chest. Her arms tighten around his waist like she’s keeping from being pulled away from him.

N’Doch lets her hold on. He pats her back awkwardly. She’s talking at him in Kraut, long breathless murmurs broken by sobs. He keeps patting until finally she gets her breath back and quiets down. Meanwhile, he’s searching around his mind to see if the dragon’s come back on-line yet. Probably not, or he’d be understanding what’s all this the girl’s so unhinged about.

Suddenly . . . yes! There! In a rush, like doors and windows flying open, light flooding in. Connection, comprehension, all at once. N’Doch feels like he’s been plugged in direct to the socket.

—’
Bout time, girl. Where you been?

—
Are you safe?

—
For now, at least. Are you?

—
My brother had to fix a small wound in my side.

To N’Doch’s surprise, something like a fist tightens around his heart.

—
You got hurt?

—
On the beach, there was metal flying through the air. I’m fine now. But because the healing uses up his strength, we had to search for more food. But everywhere else, we found death in the water. All the fish are dying.