The Children of the Sky (77 page)

The neo-Flenserist just smiled. “That’s okay with me.”

Wenda, Sr., took her two youngsters back along the alley. When they were out of sight, Wretchly led Johanna and Benky along a winding path behind garbage bins and down passages that were barely more than cracks between buildings. They passed through a well-concealed door and down steep stairs. The darkness was total.

“Keep bent down, Johanna. This isn’t made for two-legs.”

“I guessed that,” said Johanna. Her fingers traced along the stone just ahead. In Tinish structures, you never trusted for headroom. “How come no lights?”

Wretchly said, “Oh, you want a light? I brought one.” A glow appeared ahead, silhouetting a couple of members. Wretchly didn’t try to turn around. He just set the lamp on the ground and continued on.

“Thanks.” Johanna picked it up. The glow made it a little easier to avoid the irregular ceiling, though now her main view was the hindmost of Wretchly’s rear member.

They walked for some minutes, long enough that the inconvenience of being bent over grew toward intolerable soreness. Wretchly merrily chatted away, claiming that he could hear the water shushing by overhead. He seemed totally confident that no intruders were lurking ahead. “Hei, I can hear all the way to the other side.” By the time they reached the mainland stairway, Benky was talking too, curious as to how Flenser and company managed to keep the tunnel from getting flooded. Johanna ached too much to pay much attention.

“Ta da!” Wretchly’s voice came back to her. “The front of me has reached the mainland. Another few steps and: “See? You can stand up straight now.”

Glory!
Johanna stretched tall, reaching as far as she could into the empty air.

“Now we just have a little climb up the nice stairs.” That would be more than five hundred meters.

The stairs zigzagged irregularly, following natural drainage faults. Some flights were thirty or forty meters, with the spring runoff almost a waterfall down the side gutters. She did better on the stairs than either of the packs. Both Benky and Wretchly had to accommodate ageing members. Very soon, those were huffing and puffing.

It took almost an hour to reach the top. In that time, Johanna got a rather complete summary of all the crap that had happened in her absence. And she had the information from what were probably the top lieutenants of Woodcarver and Flenser.

“Woodcarver and Nevil have been teetering on the edge of a civil war for more than a tenday,” said Benky, speaking over the wheezing of his members. “There have been rumors of your fleet, sightings when you passed the old capital.”

“The Tropicals are just bringing trade goods.”

“That’s what Nevil claims … officially. Unofficially, the Deniers are saying, ‘what if it’s all guns?’ They’re claiming that Tycoon has boosted our world into the bottom end of technology, that if we don’t make peace with him, we’ll be swept away.”

“It’s Vendacious, not Tycoon! I
saw
Vendacious down South. Pilgrim and I searched for years for Tycoon and never found him. I’m thinking he’s just another Vendacious lie.”

“Yeah,” said Benky.

“
Someone
has made a miracle out of the Tropics,” said Wretchly. “You really think that’s Vendacious? My boss doesn’t.”

“So has Flenser ever met Tycoon?”

“Well, um, no.” Wretchly seemed a little embarrassed that his boss, the great Traitor-to-All, might not be totally in the know. “He should be waiting for us at the top, though. You can ask him yourself.”

There was a four-kherhog carriage parked in the warehouse at the top of the climb. Flenser-Tyrathect was inside, dressed for a party. The crippled one’s wheelbarrow was gilded.

Johanna climbed in among him. Outside, Wretchly latched the door and ran forward to look after the kherhogs. Jo leaned close to the open window and gave Benky a wave. He was mostly still lying on his bellies and panting from the climb. He gave her a little wave back and then staggered to his feet.

“I’ll tell Woodcarver you’re here,” he said, and stiffly walked out of Johanna’s view.

Flenser stuck a head out the window to watch Benky’s departure. The pack spoke musingly: “I can’t tell you how nervous it makes me that outsiders—Woodcarver’s top agent, for heaven’s sake—have been inside my secret tunnels. I worked so long to make those passages, and keep them out of her view. Ah, well.”

Flenser latched a quilted shutter across the window. All of him settled back as the carriage lurched into motion. Johanna heard various gobbling outside and then the sound of heavy doors being slid aside. As they rolled out of the warehouse, the interior of the carriage was lit via baffles mounted in the roof and sides. Flenser’s voice continued, but soft, “We can talk for now, but be very quiet. Vendacious trusts me about as much as Woodcarver used to. If he or Nevil finds you, there’s nothing I can do to save you. Hm. I might not even be able to save myself. Perhaps I could say you have kidnapped me.”

Johanna felt a laugh burbling up. She stifled it. “I doubt that even you could make that lie stick. Look, I got quite a briefing from Benky and Wretchly. I know about the big meeting this afternoon. You look so pretty, I figure you’re an honored guest. All I need is for you to get me to where I can jump onstage. Outside of Nevil’s inner circle, the Deniers are good kids. Most of them are my friends. In front of everyone, Nevil won’t dare kill me. I can finally say the truth.”

Flenser’s heads were bobbing in a smile. “Say your truth and not be Denied, eh?”

“Yes.”

The carriage bumped across badly-kept cobblestones. They must be near the edge of town, maybe at the edge of Murder Meadows. This might be a short trip.

“I could do what you suggest, Johanna, but there is a problem. Tycoon himself will be on that stage.”

“So he exists? Okay, but why should that be a problem?”

Flenser waved for Johanna to keep her voice down.

“You see, even if Nevil doesn’t dare act, Tycoon … well I very much fear he will tear you apart the moment he understands who you are.”

“
What?
Sorry.” She brought her voice down to a whisper. “Even Vendacious wouldn’t be that stupid.”

There were many voices all around them now, both the gobbling of packs and the speech of humans. Flenser raised a head the way a human might lift his hand, meaning to wait a moment on the answer. Outside, Johanna could hear somebody up above—Wretchly in the driver seats?—arguing. Something about whether kherhogs were allowed to proceed under the something-or-other. Under the stage?

The wagon turned and edged slowly up a slope. All of Flenser turned toward Johanna and his voice came soft and focused: “You’re right. Vendacious wouldn’t be that stupid.…” He paused again, listening to muttering from the top of the carriage. “You see, there’s something we didn’t know about Tycoon. He’s Scriber Jaqueramaphan’s brother.”

For a moment, Johanna couldn’t make sense of the statement; it connected such unrelated parts of her life.
Scriber?
… She knew he had a fission brother. Estranged. Scriber had told her the story the last night she saw him all alive. When she beat the crap out of that poor, innocent pack. She opened her mouth a couple of times. No need to worry about making sound, she couldn’t find her voice. She was just mouthing the words, “But, but…”

Flenser continued, his voice the tiniest butterfly touch on her ears, the sense of it pounding like hammers: “Honestly, I didn’t know until Tycoon was on his way here. Vendacious has worked very hard to keep me away from Tycoon. I do know that Tycoon is exactly the genius at organization we thought. He’s turned the Tropics into a magical surprise and given Vendacious the lever to overturn the world.”

Johanna remembered. Scriber had said his fission sibling was a dour business type. What had changed? And why did Tycoon want to kill
her
? “Why—?” she spoke the word too softly to hear her own voice.

Of course Flenser heard her—and more—he understood her real question. “Why do you think? Vendacious told him that
you
killed Scriber. Vendacious is at center of all this, and he’s sneakier than I was, even at my best. He has to be, because sneakiness is all he has going for him. He’s based his plan on Tycoon, and on making Tycoon hate humans, you in particular.” He sounded almost admiring.

Yeah, that was perfect Vendacious. Flenser might admire such perfection.

The carriage stopped, jerked forward a few centimeters, stopped again. She heard the scrabble of Wretchly bouncing down from the driver’s seats. There was an irregular tapping on the door, and when Flenser slid it open, one of Wretchly was looking in. “Here we are, Boss, right under the platform. Heh! Inside all Nevil’s fabulous security.”

Flenser was already streaming out the door. “You can be sure that if Vendacious was in charge, things would not be so easy. Nevil is so new to our primitive villainy.” Now all of him struggled to help his crippled member exit. White Tips was watching Johanna alertly, but as usual made no detectable contribution to the speech sounds.

“I’m supposed to be up onstage,” said Flenser. “This parking spot is to give me easier access. My handicapped condition, you see. I’m leaving Wretchly with you. If you don’t scream or shout, you should be safe.” Flenser wiggled a snout, gesturing Johanna to come to the opening.

Sunlight splattered down through cracks in the construction. She smelled fresh-cut lumber. They were parked somewhere on the heather of Murder Meadows. Crisscrossed timber reinforcement beams were all around the wagon. Flenser was on the ground below her, turning White Tips’ little cart toward a path that led off into the dimness. “Hear the racket, Johanna?” he said.

In fact, she could. Tinish trumpeting. Flenser continued, “Somebody just landed their airship. They’ll be up top on the platform in another minute—and I’m late to greet them.” The slower parts of Flenser were already heading off. “If that’s Tycoon, it’s your death to go up there. You should stay down here where you’re safe.”

“If I decide to risk it, how can I get directly on stage?”

“Ah,” Flenser’s heads twisted around, searching for something in the cracks of light above. “Wretchly?”

Part of the henchpack looked up, studying the strutwork. “Okay. We had the contract on putting this thing together. It was all very hastily done, with lots of screwups. See over there,” Wretchly pointed to where reinforcement struts tilted together. “It may not look it, but that’s the start of an easy climb”—he gestured back and forth, upwards—“to a knockout panel that’s at the center of the main stage.”

Flenser was grinning, that joy-in-shadows posture that annoyed Woodcarver so much. “You could make a very dramatic entrance, very very short-lived, at least if Tycoon is nearby. Part of me would truly like to see…” He brought himself up short. Literally: The parts of him that were furthest along the path stopped, began pulling the wheelbarrow back. “Ahem. Seriously, Johanna. Don’t go up there unless you—and Wretchly—can hear that it’s safe. Even if it’s just Nevil, you should think twice. I took a chance once, going public in the Long Lakes—and look what became of me.”

Johanna brought her gaze down from the ceiling. “Yes. I understand.” In fact, Flenser’s advice was completely sensible—at least if you edited out the maniacal asides.

“Okay, then! I’d best be on my way.” He caught up with himself and soon all five were lost in the gloom.

The rest of Wretchly came over to the carriage steps. “No one’s near. You can come down from the carriage if you want. Be ready to hop back in if I say.”

Johanna descended the little steps, stood in the moist, ankle-deep sod. It was all very stamped down and shaded, but here and there the sunlight caught the color of a wilted flower. Murder Meadows. She seemed to end up here every time things got really really tough.

“So that’s Tycoon up there. Pack of Packs, it sounds like there’s eight of him, and they’re all big bruisers!” Wretchly was circled widely around their carriage, watching and listening in all directions. One of him stayed close to Johanna even now, as she walked over to the jumble of strutwork he had pointed out earlier.

Johanna looked up into the shadows and bright cracks above. “So what is he saying, Wretchly?”

“It’s still Nevil talking. What a noisemaker that guy is. ‘Peace, prosperity, our new friends, no more terrible attacks,… blah blah.’”

“You know he can talk for hours, Wretchly.”

“Yeah. Well, that would be stupid today. The audience doesn’t sound as patient as usual.” He waved a snout at the unseen fields. “And one particular guy is not patient at all.”

“Me,” said Johanna.

“Somebody else. The eight that I think are Tycoon is shifting around like he has bugs up his rears.” Wretchly paused. Looking around, Johanna could see several of Wretchly shifting, angling their shoulders and heads, building up a sonic image of what was going on above. “That’s strange,” said Wretchly. “I think Tycoon has humans with him. Ravna and Jefri it sounds like.”

Johanna restrained her desire to shout. “What? Then it must be safe!”

“… Not if they’re prisoners.”

“But Woodcarver and Flenser are up there.”

“Yes,” Wretchly pointed into the shadows in the direction that Flenser had departed minutes before. That would be stage left, if she was visualizing things properly. “They haven’t gone to meet Ravna. It sounds like Tycoon has a pack or two with him. Flunkies with weapons, I bet.”

A minute later, it sounded like a human child had shouted something.

Wretchly pulled back in startlement. “Huh! That’s Tycoon. He wants to talk.”

Various thumping-around noises came from above. Johanna might have laughed in other circumstances. She didn’t think Nevil had ever been upstaged at a public event.

The little girl voice from above was loud, but Johanna still couldn’t make out the words. The tones sounded frightened and lost and … angry?

Wretchly had grabbed her sleeve, was pulling her back to the carriage. “What?” said Johanna. “What is Tycoon saying?”

“He’s talking about peace, but he doesn’t sound happy about it. That’s not the point, Johanna. I hear packs coming back under the stands, some humans too.”