“Dammit,” he said, stepping back. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”
A few limping steps brought him inside, into the gentler light projected from the ceiling. He stopped, stared up at the pale colors of the nebula, and forced himself to breathe slowly.
The door irised open at his approach. An alert and concerned‑looking guard met him, setting aside the datapad she was reading to rise from her bench. “Miss Katherinessen?”
“Why wasn’t I informed?” he snarled. She stepped back, arms crossed, and he sighed and modulated his tone. “I’m sorry,” he said, through the taste of gall. “I need to speak to Elder Pretoria immediately.”
“I’ll see what I can do. If you’ll return to your room…”
“No. I’m going with you.”
She stared, but he refused to glance down. She wasn’t wearing a weapon, unlike most women, and he was glad. Otherwise, he thought she might shoot him if he stepped any closer. At least he had height and age on her. He lifted his chin and folded his arms, feeling like the heroine in a Victorian drama.
Her arms dropped to her sides. “This way.”
He followed meekly, rubbing grit from the corners of his eyes. He was notlosing Michelangelo. Not with long‑elusive dreams about to settle on his hand like butterflies. War, revolution, treason–these seemed minor considerations now.
He almost didn’t recognize the emotion. It was hope. And it was also hope settling into his gut with a painful chill. He’d forgotten what it was like having something to lose. But apparently he hadn’t forgotten how much it hurt to lose it.
Along the walk, he learned that the guard’s name was Alys, and that she wasn’t a member of Elena’s family, but was raised in a less wealthy household and working in service until she could afford her own citizenship stake. She led him down stairs and along another curved corridor tiled in faux terra‑cotta, which combined with the thicketed landscape of the walls to suggest a jungle path. At least the movement eased the ache in a knee further strained in descending the stairs.
“Your culture believes in the beneficial power of walking,” he said as they paused for Alys to consult her datacart and locate Elder Pretoria.
“Saves on chemical antidepressants,” she quipped, and frowned slightly when he didn’t laugh.
“And I would have guessed the jungle was rich in useful pharmaceuticals.” He knew he should have bitten his tongue, and couldn’t be bothered. Michelangelo was still missing, he was being kept deliberately in the dark, and she had the nerve to look disappointed at his lack of attention to her jokes.
“I believe you should discuss that with Elder Singapore,” she said coolly. “Elder Pretoria is on the porch, Miss Katherinessen. She’ll see you.”
Her pique amused him, and it might have been impolitic to let her see it, but he was beyond caring. So he nodded and smiled as he walked past her down the short corridor to the veranda, through an open archway and into the still‑warm night.
Elena waited as promised. She placed a rough pottery cup in his hand before he spoke a word. The shape clung to his fingers, and the contents perfumed the air above with the fermented tang of alcohol. He set it down without tasting it, brushing garlands off the ledge to make room, and drummed his fingers beside it.
“Katya must have checked in, mustn’t she? Before she brought the khir in for medical treatment.”
“We didn’t want to distress you with imperfect data.”
“Of course not.” The ledge was very smooth, and lattice laced with flowers and sticks of incense stretched above it to the veranda’s overhanging roof, so he had to peer through the chinks as if through a veil to see the courtyard beyond. The khir had been brought inside. Neither Katya nor any of the household staff and family members who had descended to assist her were present. “I understand that you wouldn’t want to disturb my fragile emotional equilibrium.”
The finger drumming was unlikely to convince her that he was calm. With an effort, he smoothed his hands and curled them around the base of the cup. The pottery wasn’t cool, but compared to the sun‑retained warmth of the ledge, it seemed so.
“My apologies, Miss Katherinessen. It was thoughtless.”
He licked his lips, lifted the cup, and turned back. She stood as he had left her, hands folded around a similar cup–he couldn’t be sure of the color in the dark–and her face half shadowed, half picked out in pinpricks from nebula and courtyard light filtering through the lattice. “Tell me now,” he said.
“Katya found Walter in a street about six kilometers from here. In Cascade, which is not the best neighborhood. He was wounded, unconscious, and there were signs of a fight.”
Vincent realized the cup was at his lips only when it clicked against his teeth. “What signs?”
Elena rocked back on her heels. “Blood. A great deal of it. Marks of bullet ricochets and tangler fire.”
“Bodies?”
“None.”
He closed his eyes, breathed out, and breathed in across the liquor. The sting brought tears to his eyes. “What now?”
“There may be a ransom note,” she said. “Or an extortion demand. Security directorate is investigating. A house‑to‑house search has been authorized–”
“Unacceptable.”
“Miss Katherinessen,” she said, her dignity unmoderated by the interruption, “my daughter is missing as well.”
“Yes,” he said. “You haven’t even been able to find one ‘stud male’ in a city where he can’t legally walk the streets without a woman’s permission. And I’m supposed to take your efforts to ensure Angelo’s safety seriously?”
“It’s Carnival,Miss Katherinessen. You’ve seen what the streets are like this time of year.”
“And yet nobody witnessed anything? I want to see the scene.”
“And expose yourself further?”
“You had no qualms about exposing me when I was shot at–”
“Now we do,” she said. She looked down at the surface of her beverage. He wondered what she saw reflected. “Relax,” she said. “Not only is Elder Kyoto very interested in getting Miss Kusanagi‑Jones back, but Saide Austin has become involved. And she is verywell connected. If anybody in Penthesilea can find Lesa and your partner, it’s the pair of them.”
Of course Saide Austin wants him back,he thought. It’d be a crying shame if her time bomb died on New Amazonian soil, far from the people he was meant to infect.What he said was, “I wish to return to the government center. I will feel safer there, under proper security.”
“I’ll see to it tonight,” she said. “Go make your farewells to the house, if you have any.”
He went quietly. The guard Alys was not waiting in the hall. He glanced left and right, but saw no trace. She must have expected Elder Pretoria to send for her when she was required.
Or Elena had sent him out intentionally unescorted for some purpose of her own. He paused in the hall, recalling the route back to his borrowed rooms unerringly. He could retrace it…or he could do a little unofficial wandering under the guise of being lost.
Don’t be silly,he told himself, following the corridor back the way he’d come. You’re inventing busywork to keep your brain off Michelangelo. It’s as likely an oversight; she’s a crafty old creature, but not everything is conspiracy, not even on this planet, and not even everything in Pretoria household happens to Elena’s plan.
Lesa Pretoria was proof enough of that.
He paused at the foot of the stair, one hand raised to rub at his nose, and froze that way. Of course. Elena couldn’t arrange for him to visit the scene of the kidnapping, if it were a kidnapping and not a murder–and the Christ damn this outpost of hell for its archaic technology anyway. If they could manage an engineered retrovirus, they ought to be able to swing a twelve‑hour DNA type. But she could buy Vincent a sliver of time in which to speak to Katya in private about what she’d seen. And Katya would doubtless be with the injured khir.