“See!” Âziz crowed. Nike adjusted her cape, holding out her hands to catch the moisture. “Nothing to fear from the weather, nothing at all!”
One of the Aviators stepped forward and raised her hands in salute. Rain caught in her silver hair and glittered like sun on steel. “Margravine—”
Âziz turned to her. “I want them in the holding area on Archangels. The prison by the Lahatiel Gate. They’re to speak to no one.”
“Yes, Margravine.” The Aviator gestured; the others followed her. But before they could reach the prisoners a tremor shook the room. Nike cried out and grabbed a chair. Glass tapers rattled in their sconces and one shattered as it struck the wall. For an instant the rain ceased; then there was a gurgling from overhead and it poured down heavier than before. Âziz’s mouth was set in a grim line as she pulled her cape about her shoulders. Only the Aviators seemed not to notice, their booted feet steady upon the marble floor, their eyes fixed on the margravines.
“Take them,” whispered Âziz.
Ceryl whimpered. Rudyard Planck’s ruddy face went white, and he struggled as the first Aviator lifted him in her arms like a child.
“No! Margravine, please, Sajur Panggang will tell you—”
Only Reive remained impassive, her smile gone, her dark lashes trembling above pale green eyes. “It is coming,” she whispered. She lifted her head to stare at Nike. The margravine clutched the edges of her cape and shivered in the chilly artificial rain. “There is nothing you can do now to stop it, it is—”
“ Now! ” shouted Âziz. “Have them shriven in preparation for their meeting with the Compassionate. Redeemer.”
“As you wish, Margravine.”
The leader of the Aviators stared at the dwarf still struggling in her arms, then with her head motioned to her followers. They stepped forward and not ungently took hold of Ceryl and Reive. “Please don’t fight,” one said. Ceryl collapsed against his chest. In her captor’s arms Reive turned to gaze at Âziz. The rain glistened against her breasts, where the ward against Ucalegon gleamed brilliant yellow and blue against her white skin.
“The Wave will take you all,” she said. Then they bore her from the Four Hundredth Room.
Silence for several minutes. “That’s it, then,” Âziz said at last. The door remained open; rain pattered against the walls and ran down through the little diamond-shaped grates set into the floor. Nike nodded, still steaming in her cape. Her sister began to pace, finally paused and tripped another hidden switch. The ocean-smelling rain tapped against the floor, then stopped. Warm air blew up through the grates. Sandalwood essence oozed down through ventricles in the ceiling. “There: all done.”
“What did she mean, ‘She’s one of them’?” Nike’s voice was still husky with morpha, but her eyes were brooding. She crossed the room to her sister and took her arm. “Âziz? What did she mean?”
Âziz turned away. “Nothing. They’re desperate, they were just talking.”
Nike shook her head. “No. I heard them. That morphodite—she looks like Shiyung. And Nasrani—she looks like both of them. She’s their child, isn’t she, the morphodite they were supposed to have killed—”
“What would you have done?” Âziz shook her arm free and glared at her sister. “I didn’t know, I had no more idea than you did, until today. She’s a bastard, and a monster—you saw her, a hermaphrodite! They would say it was an evil thing— if they knew. It’s best we do this, Nike, she should die before anyone else has a chance to learn about her.”
Nike hissed softly. “It is an evil thing, Âziz! That was a tremor just now, it’s as she said… She has the Sight, she scryed your dream—even if she did kill Shiyung—”
“She’s a scheming little morph, that’s all! How could she kill Shiyung?” Âziz laughed coldly. “You saw her, a skinny thing like that—”
Nike’s eyes widened. “Then who did?” Her cape squeaked as she hugged it close to her and suddenly her eyes widened. “Margalis! He did it—you knew it and—”
“ I will take care of Margalis. Shiyung was spending far too much time on the lower levels, Nike, you saw that. They were starting to think she belonged to them, and she was starting to believe it. It was time for a change, Nike. She’d been turning us against Nasrani. We need to speak with him now, it’s been too long. We can’t have these squabbles go on forever.” Âziz tossed her head, the black hood of her cape falling back onto her shoulders. “And Sajur, I want to see him as well, I think we should ask him about—”
“About what, Margravine?”
The two sisters whirled. In the doorway stood the Architect Imperator. He wore a morning suit of striped gray wool with a high white collar. The black turban of his office drooped over his forehead, but the Orsinate’s heraldic eye had been ripped away. In its place gleamed a brooch of Angelika’s, a glittering piece of ancient computer circuitry in clear plastic, set with zircons and emerald glass.
“Greetings, Nike.” He stumbled as he walked into the room. There was a small gash at the corner of his mouth where he had cut himself shaving, and blood spotted his white collar.
“Sajur!” Âziz frowned. Then she composed herself and walked to meet him. Behind her Nike stepped gingerly. A cloying steam rose about their feet, where the cold rain had pooled and was now heated by the vents. “I was going to call you—we need to discuss a few things. Tomorrow’s opening ceremony, for one—”
Sajur waved her away. Nike gasped: his white shirt-cuffs were soaked with blood, and blood dripped from his wrists to the slick floor. “No need, Margravine, no need at all. It doesn’t hurt, Nike, I drank quite a bit first, did a bit of morpha—”
He grinned, straightened himself unsteadily to face them. When he raised his hand to straighten his turban a long red smear marred the soft fine cotton. “I am performing my final duty to you, Âziz.” He covered his mouth as he coughed. There was more blood. “I have sabotaged the Architects. There is a chasm beneath us now, on Angels—a fissure the length of the Undercity. The domes are already starting to buckle under the stress. Tomorrow, when the Lahatiel Gate opens—”
He smiled and flicked his fingers, ffffttt! A fine spray of blood spattered the margravines’ black rubber capes. “You shouldn’t have killed Angelika, Âziz. It was ungrateful of you, after all I’ve done.”
His voice almost sounded pleading. “And she won’t let me sleep, Âziz, I see her at night, she comes to me…”
He choked. Blood splattered his trousers. “Don’t bother calling your damn Aviator watchdogs, I—” Shuddering, he crumpled to his knees. “—dying anyway.”
“The domes! The domes!” Nike shrieked. Âziz slapped her and turned back to the man slumped on the floor.
“How do we stop them, Sajur?” she shouted. “Dammit, tell me! The program, how do we revert the program?”
The Architect Imperator smiled and gazed at the ceiling. “Nothing to be done,” he murmured. “Set them and left them… strange things, uncontrollable—ideas of their own, now.”
His voice faded to a soft gurgle. The bloodstained turban slid from his forehead to the marble floor, and he rested his cheek upon it. For one last instant he stared up at them, his dark eyes glazing over. He whispered, “But you’ll see lots of weather, Âziz… bring an umbrella.” He closed his eyes and was still.
The two margravines stood staring at the corpse of the Architect Imperator. Then, “We’ll die! I told you, she was right, it’s all going to come down!” Nike screamed and whirled to run from the room. Before she reached the door her sister grabbed her.
“Don’t be an idiot! He’s lying, he was drunk and half-mad, Nike, listen to me, there is nothing to worry about! ”