There were two separate cataracts, but the largest by far was the one coming into sight outside the coach's windows: Horseshoe Falls, a great pouring arc whose sheets of water were illuminated by searchlights mounted along the walls of the gorge. The lights were tinted (green, gold, blue), projecting through the perpetual mist to shine on the Falls themselves. Despite the chill of the evening, dozens of couples lined the rail along the gorge, gaping at the display as their clothes grew wet from spray.
I glanced at my companions and was glad to see them staring in wonder too-even Impervia, who tried to remain unmoved by anything others found impressive. The water, the light, the roar: it's easy to be cynical from a distance, but not when you're right there, peering through darkness at one of the marvels of our planet. There are taller falls in the world and wider ones, cascades that pour more water per second or glisten more brightly in the sunlight… but there's no other place where natural grandeur presents such a perfect view.
We passed in silence, craning our necks to keep the panorama in sight as long as possible-all along the road that rimmed the gorge, until we finally came level with the edge of the Falls and lost sight of the cataract at the point of maximum thunder and spray.
When we turned our heads back to the road, the generating station lay in front of us.
The station was old: covered with so many snarls of vines the concrete beneath was barely visible, even in leafless winter. Perhaps the vines held the building together; four hundred years of wind and snow had been shut out by tendrils that bulged like varicose veins. The Keepers of Holy Lightning made no effort to cut back the growth-crisscrossing strands of vegetation even covered the stone steps leading up to the front entrance. The only break was a bare patch down the middle. During my last visit to the Falls, I'd been told that the path was worn clear by the feet of the single acolyte who went out daily to deliver lightbulbs and other electrical goods to the citizens of Niagara.
I could see no other entrance… which was strange, given that OldTech safety regulations had demanded multiple exits in case of fire. Somewhere under all those vines, there'd be enough emergency doors to evacuate an immense building like this-three stories tall, a hundred meters long-but everything was roped shut by the wiry green strands woven tight through the centuries.
One way in, one way out: like a fortress. Which it was.
The OldTechs had built the station into the side of a hill overlooking the gorge. With its back underground and its front facing the Niagara River, the station could be approached only along the narrow strip of road running between the hill and the edge of the gorge. Even the OldTechs didn't want the plant easy to attack; this was, after all, the power source for millions of people, and it demanded appropriate security. When the Keepers took over, protective measures must have become even more important: the station would be an inviting target for thieves (trying to snatch expensive electric merchandise), extortionists (threatening to wreck the generators unless a ransom was paid), religious fanatics (raging that the last vestiges of OldTech society had to be destroyed or else God would never allow Earth to become a new Eden), and enemy saboteurs (looking to hit Feliss in the pocketbook by disrupting the profitable Niagara tourist trade).
For all these reasons, the Holy Lightning stayed locked behind fortified doors. The Keepers lived inside and seldom came out. I had no idea how they recruited new members; but I'd met numerous antisocial gadget-lovers at university who wouldn't mind a life of seclusion if they got to play with high-tech toys. Even now, as doom hovered over the station, the Keepers were probably fiddling with electric contraptions, following OldTech schematics or perhaps designing devices of their own…
Except: there were no lights on inside.
The building had plenty of windows, all partly covered by vines… but the tendrils couldn't encroach on slick glass the way they grew across rough concrete walls. If there'd been lights on anywhere within, some glimmer would have worked its way out. Yet the place was completely dark. Behind us, the streetlights still beamed their mercury blue and the garish hotels denied the night; but the power station didn't show so much as a candle.
The coach stopped and Bing leapt down from the driver's seat. "That's the place," he called. "But if you ask me, it's closed till morning."
"Looks that way," the Caryatid agreed. She opened the coach door and accepted Bing's hand for help getting out. "Then again, there may be plenty of people inside-just not on the main floors. Phil, aren't the generators underground?"
I nodded. If I understood the set-up, water was diverted above the Falls and sent through large sluice-pipes, tunneled down to rotate turbines in the guts of the station. After the water had given up its energy, it was released back into the river some distance below the Falls. For maximum power generation, the turbines had to sit at the bottom of the drop, where the plunging water had built up the most energy… so even though the entrance to the building was level with the top of the gorge, the machine-works were far below us.
Still, there should be somebody on watch up here. Even if the majority of the Keepers spent their time in the subterranean generator area, they'd post guards on the door.
Yet the entrance was pitch-dark.
"This has the whiff of an ambush," said Pelinor. "Lights off, nobody home, one door with a single obvious path leading to it… if this isn't a trap, I'll be disappointed."
"Meanwhile," the Caryatid muttered, "we're standing backlit by streetlamps on a narrow road with the gorge behind us. A golden opportunity for someone to start shooting."
"Shooting?" Bing said. "With guns? But that would scare the horses."
"Then you'd better go," Impervia said immediately. "Thanks for your help, but it's time you went home."
"You don't need a ride back to Crystal Bay?" He looked at Impervia with hurt in his eyes-as if he didn't want to be sent away just yet. "I mean… you'll have to head for the bay eventually. Your ship's still there."
Impervia dropped her gaze for an instant, then forced herself to look Bing in the eye. "Getting back to our ship is the least of our worries. Now you'd better leave before things turn dangerous. Otherwise…" She paused. "Otherwise, the horses might get hurt."
She'd found the right argument to get Bing to leave. He gave her a regretful look, then swung himself up to the driver's seat.
"I'll be spending the night at the Peacock," he said. "Tisn't good to drive country roads in the dark this time of year. If you're in need of transport, I'll still be around come morning."
"Let's hope we will be too," Impervia told him. "On your way now."
She reached up, and for a moment I thought she would pat Bing on the thigh… but she shifted her hand at the last moment and touched the seat instead: resting her fingertips lightly on the padded bench, letting them linger for a moment before drawing back. "Go," she said. "Thanks again."
"No trouble," Bing answered. "You have a good night."
"You too."
Bing gave the reins a flick and the horses started forward. Impervia stared after the coach until it disappeared around a bend in the road.
"At least it's quiet," the Caryatid said. "No sign that there's been a battle. I think we've got here before Sebastian."
The Caryatid's voice sounded unnaturally loud-as if she were shouting, though she was only speaking normally. Impervia must have sensed the same odd loudness because she answered in almost a whisper. "It's a pity we don't have Myoko. She could have given the door a telekinetic nudge, just to see what happens."