Winterstrike (39 page)

‘No,’ I said. I wasn’t sure why it hadn’t used its illusory powers on me when we were on the tower: perhaps it was simply a matter of overconfidence. It had thought it
had the whip hand, after all. Literally.

But the demothea was still unmoving. Evishu had put it back in the holding cell and I watched it as we took off and the platform fell away, watched it as we sailed into night over the chop and
froth of the Ukrainean Ocean and islands appeared and vanished again, a scatter of lights against the shadows. The orthocopter flew on and still the demothea did not stir. Nor was there any sign of
the Library. Gradually, we caught up with the sun again and it broke over a range of mountains as high as those of the Crater Plain, except Olympus herself. In its cell, the demothea gave a
convulsive twitch and Evishu reached forward and touched the gun to its whorled head once more.

‘Too much of that, and it could die,’ Rubirosa said from the pilot’s seat.

‘I won’t take the risk of it breaking out again. A dead one’s better than nothing at all.’

‘A dead one’s better than a live one, if you ask me,’ I said. I didn’t like this change of heart within myself: I’d always tried to support the rights of the
Changed, even if I hadn’t contributed greatly to the various political efforts on their behalf. And it wasn’t just that the demothea had personally attacked me – people had tried
to kill me before, out on the Crater Plains, and I hadn’t come to detest other humans because of it. It was the level of difference that had caused the change in me, and I didn’t like
that, either. Rights for demotheas? Yes, in theory. I didn’t want to have the mad insularity of Caud, their paranoia about other peoples. It wasn’t the demotheas fault that they’d
been made as they had, but here they were, and with my destruction as one of their admittedly more minor aims. If I’d been the kappa or her mistresses, I’d have left the demothea to
their marshlands.

I passed the watch over to Evishu, who had been sleeping, and went to the cockpit to see the Thibetan islands rising up out of the water. The cliff sides were sheer, with only a tiny fringe of
shore around them, and as we flew over the first islands in the chain I saw that their summits were rosy with snow. Strange to think that these must once have been landlocked mountains.

‘Where’s the landing pad?’ Rubirosa shouted.

‘In the second chain.’ Evishu briefly abandoned our captive to point over her shoulder. ‘There, do you see it? Halfway up the mountainside.’

There was a settlement there, too: a series of long, low, white buildings with scarlet and purple flags snapping in the breeze. We flew over a forest of poles and banners.

‘It’s the religion here,’ Evishu said, but did not explain further. And when we landed and walked out into a cold that was close to Martian, I saw that they were also men. Once
you got over the shock, the difference wasn’t so marked: they were bundled up in layers of wool, their hair covered up by tasselled hats. Doe-eyed faces peered out and they smiled when they
saw the kappa. One of them greeted her by name and took her webbed hands in his own. I thought of my cousin Shorn, imprisoned for so much less, and reminded myself that this was a different
world.

The kappa, generously, insisted that Rubirosa and I eat while she kept watch on the demothea. We went into the hall of what was apparently a monastery and were given bowls of meat broth. I was
conscious of sidelong glances as we took our seats at a window with a spectacular view of the coast. They might not have known we were Martian, but we were certainly foreigners and that would
attract attention. We were hardly unmemorable, after all. I told myself that it might not matter, but I preferred unobtrusiveness.

‘We’re surrounded by males,’ Rubirosa murmured. It was the first time I’d seen her truly unsettled.

‘Just ignore them.’ In their colourful woollens, they could almost have been women. I didn’t want to pay too much attention to them, in case we attracted more of it ourselves.
I concentrated on my broth, wondering how the kappa was faring. We did not linger, but went straight back out to the landing pad. The orthocopter was waiting. I turned up the collar of my coat as
we walked to it; the banners rattled in the wind. We took off in a rising gale as Earth’s uncertain climate drew the winds over the islands.

‘How long till Malay?’ It would be Rubirosa’s turn to rest soon, while I took over the controls.

‘Six hours or so.’

I found the orthocopter easy enough to fly and fell into a rhythm as the seas rose and retreated below, the high spines of islands occasionally rising up. Even though I’d seen images of
Earth, and maps, it startled me how little land there was. Or maybe it was simply that I was used to Mars and its lack of seas.

Eventually the kappa came up front to tell me that we were close to the coast of Malay. I could see it now, a long string of lights, some rising high into the heavens, betokening cities.

‘Khul Pak,’ the kappa said, with satisfaction.

THIRTY-TWO

When I woke and switched on the little night lamp the shadows fled racing into the corners of the room, clustering and lingering like weir-wards. I looked at the clock. It was
just before dawn. There was no black oil seeping under the door, no hint of menace. Everything was as it should have been, but I’d woken with a start, all the same.

Going back to sleep was out of the question. I wrapped myself in a robe and went to the window, drawing the drapes aside. The lawn of Calmaretto was stark under the snow, a bare white blanket.
Further snowfall the day before had smoothed over any footprints that Leretui and I might have left. There was nothing hovering over the icy surface of Canal-the-Less.

I put on a skirt and blouse, and laced a jacket over it. When I opened the door, the hallway was peaceful. It was still too early for the servants to be up. We might be under invasion, but it
was very quiet: unnaturally so, it seemed to me. Shouldn’t I be hearing the sound of distant bombardment, shouts and cries? But what would they bombard? It was as though Calmaretto had been
removed to a different Winterstrike, some sidelong dimension.

Without the barbed presence of Alleghetta, the parlour was a pleasant room, lined with books, although my mother had only ever read the ones she thought she ought to. I clicked on the
anti-scribe. The rumour boards of the city were humming: stories of ghost soldiers in the streets, things that hadn’t been seen for hundreds of years walking arm in arm over the surface of
the frozen canals, people visited by long-dead grandmothers, and through it all the undercurrent of paranoia and fear. I shared it. I’d seen a demothea stroll through my home as if none of
the weir-wards had even been there. When all this was over, I thought – assuming there was anything left – Calmaretto wouldn’t be unusual any longer. Because vulpen had also been
seen: in broad daylight, skating along the arcs of the canals, disappearing under bridges in a swirl of robes, and they probably hadn’t been ghosts, either. The Changed were coming back to
Winterstrike in force.

Just as I thought that, a siren started to wail, making me jump out of my seat. Moments later, Calmaretto was awake. Alleghetta came striding down the hallway, shouting orders to anyone
who’d listen to make sure that the wards were working.

‘What’s going on?’ Thea was at Alleghetta’s heels.

‘I don’t know. There’s some kind of alarm. Mother?’

‘I’ve heard nothing from the Matriarchy.’ Alleghetta said. We raced upstairs to look out of the attic windows. There was a dull glow just beyond the Opera House: a pallid,
unnatural light.

‘What is it?’ Thea breathed.

‘Don’t ask me.’ There was no sign of fire or flame, just the glow. ‘Ire-palm?’ I speculated.

Alleghetta was looking at the ’scribe. ‘There’s nothing here.’ She sounded irritated, as though the Matriarchy had elected not to inform her.

Perhaps you’re not important enough to be told.

‘Perhaps they don’t know,’ I said.

‘How can they not know?’ Alleghetta snapped, and then I realized exactly where the glow was coming from.

Alleghetta, those are the Matriarchy buildings. Look – there’s the roof of the Opera and you can see those trees behind it.’

There was no colour in Alleghetta’s face to begin with, but her skin was the colour of wax. ‘It’s been hit,’ she breathed.

‘By what? I didn’t hear anything and we’re close enough, if it was a missile.’ But maybe it wasn’t. I didn’t understand this war, the nature of it. Invisible
weapons and ancient technology.

‘I have to find out,’ my mother muttered and started punching furious messages into the antiscribe. I opened the window onto a great blast of cold and leaned out, trying to see
across the city. There was another glow in the east and I felt even colder, then realized it was dawn.

‘I’m going up on the roof,’ I said, and was heading for the stairs before they had time to protest.

The glow was still there and I’d been wrong: it wasn’t the Matriarchy. I was high enough now to be able to see beyond the Opera roof and I’d snatched up a pair of binoculars as
I came up the stairs. The northern wing of the Opera was a melting mass of icy vitrification. It looked like a dripping cake.

Slowly, I let the binoculars fall. They’d been aiming at the Matriarchy, obviously. I didn’t know whether its personnel had been in night session – it seemed likely, under the
circumstances. In that case, given the proximity of the Opera, anyone around the vicinity of the building, outside the Matriarchy, might well be dead. I thought of Sulie Mar, Hestia’s mother
and my own aunt.

I shot back down the stairs, brushing through the pallid winter garden and hurtling headlong down the staircase. I found Alleghetta in the parlour, once more bending over the ’scribe.
Someone had lit a fire in the grate and it burned blue and comforting, an illusion of winter normality.

‘Alleghetta,’ I said. ‘Half the Opera has gone. They were aiming at the Matriarchy.’

‘I know.’ A whisper. ‘I spoke to Sulie.’

‘She’s all right?’

‘She left before the session ended. Stormed out, apparently.

Didn’t like what was being said, but that’s typical of Sulie, always taking offence.’

Even under the circumstances, I smiled. Hestia’s mother and mine were mirror images: one of the reasons there was such a connection between us. Alleghetta detested Sulie; it had always
been mutual. I was amazed they’d managed to bring themselves to speak to each other, even given what had just happened.

‘She’s lucky,’ I pointed out.

‘Well, of course she is.’ Alleghetta sounded as though Sulie had survived on purpose. ‘She was halfway down the street when there was a flash. She was thrown into a snowbank.
When she got up and could see again, half the Opera House was gone.’

‘That weapon Mantis was talking about—’ The Opera had looked
aged,
a ruin. Could a weapon that opened a gap into the Eldritch Realm be used to kill
buildings
? An
odd thought, but in this age of haunt-technology, where places were infested with ghosts . . . Could there be a weapon that slew spirits?

‘I should go down there—’ Alleghetta began.

‘Mother, don’t be stupid. You’ve no idea what’s happening out there. You might be killed. We need to stay indoors until we find out what the situation is.’

Rather to my surprise, Alleghetta followed my suggestion and remained at Calmaretto. The strike seemed to have reached her where the transformation of her own daughter had not: her face, always
taut, now looked old and she looked as though she had shrunk in upon herself. Once, this would not have alarmed me as much as it now did – a diminished Alleghetta would have been no bad
thing. But now we were all in this together and the collapse of one seemed to betoken the collapse of all.

When I went down to the kitchens, there was a suspicious silence. I checked the little rooms in the basement in which the servants slept and all of them were empty, with evidence of hastily
seized garments. It looked as though the staff had taken my advice to heart, and fled, even the loyal cook. I couldn’t blame them. I made the tea myself and carried it back upstairs. No use
telling Alleghetta right now – she was where I’d left her, sunk into a chair with a hand over her face. At some level, I thought, she was enjoying the drama.

THIRTY-THREE

First the arch of the Earth, dappled white and blue, then a silent fall through thick clouds. When we came out of them we were flying over ocean, long dreaming patches of
azure, dotted and patterned with islands green with jungle up to the summits, very different to the silvery Thibetan shamandoms.

The ship veered in low over the water, passing high-masted barques and solar-powered sailing vessels. I could see a bay ahead, rimmed with green. A great crimson-sailed ship was churning across
it, the circles of laser cannon ports clearly visible.

‘A war-junk,’ the kappa said.

‘One of yours?’

‘Yes. Otherwise we’d be flying higher.’

We were coming in directly above the junk now and I looked down to see the multicoloured dots of people thronging the decks. Beyond, low buildings covered the steep sides of the bay. I could
almost smell it: the lushness of alien plants. Beside me, Evishu straightened, as if paying respect. The ship left the bay behind and came in over a ridge. A small port lay there, sparsely
populated with landing craft. I didn’t know much, but these seemed old; their sides pockmarked and stained.

Then we were down, almost before I knew it. The copter whined to a halt and the kappa stepped down through the hatch. ‘Follow me.’

The road beyond was masked by trees, affairs like enormous ferns. A sticky strand brushed my face. Evishu took my arm and ushered me to a waiting vehicle. It was streamlined and spined and the
crowds gave it a wide berth. I thought I’d got used to it, but different gravity made me stumble in the dust, despite Evishu’s anchoring arm. Blood rose hot in my face.

‘What about the – the you-know?’