Read Principles of Angels Online
Authors: Jaine Fenn
Principles of Angels (13 page)
So maybe Federin’s explanation was as good as hers. He looked back at the remembrancer. ‘You tell me the route to take, an’ I’ll stick to it.’
‘Oh no, you’re on City business, for the Minister. Can’t trust an important mission to a boy barely able to recite his own lineage.’ Federin said firmly, ‘I’ll take you to the Exquisite Corpse.’
CHAPTER TEN
Elarn needed a drink. She had spent the morning rehearsing some of her more difficult pieces; covering wide vocal ranges to convey sacred ecstasy in a dead language required considerable discipline. Such discipline instilled calm.
She had managed to retain some of that calm during her visit to the infobroker, but finding nothing at all on Lia had come as a shock. Much as she would have liked to take the absence of any records to mean that the girl had never been in the City, it was more likely Lia had somehow managed to get the information erased. Those Elarn was forced to serve were certain their renegade had been here; they had even specified which of the Three Cities to check. If Lia had enough influence to get official records altered, then she might well still be here. Until and unless Elarn could prove the girl was no longer on Vellern, she must assume she was, and act accordingly. And for the next part of her plan, Elarn would need more than plainsong to keep herself centred.
During the pedicab ride back from the Merchant Quarter Elarn had seen an Angel striding through the crowds. From behind, the assassin was an imposing figure, tall and slender, her waist-length white hair and dark red cloak billowing out behind her. People in her path made way without hesitation, but she ignored them. As the pedicab passed the Angel, Elarn had glanced back, hesitantly, not wanting to risk eye contact. But the Angel wasn’t looking at her. She wasn’t looking at anyone; she moved like a purposeful ghost, gliding through the citizens and tourists without noticing them, her expression distant, cold - and somehow sad. That was the point at which Elarn had decided to give in to the urge for mild intoxication. She had passed several establishments that would have served her, on Talisman Street - a mix of antique and curio shops, offices and licensed cafés - and back on Lily Street, where several hotels advertised bars or restaurants open to non-residents. But she felt uncomfortable being out alone, even though the hotel staff had assured her she should be safe enough, so she decided to get a glass or three of something over-priced and alcoholic in the small bar-restaurant at the Manor Park, where she had eaten alone last night.
She was making her way across the plant-filled foyer of her hotel when the receptionist - mercifully human, a touch Elarn appreciated - called out, ‘Medame Reen, I have an—um, a package for you.’
Elarn stopped, puzzled, then walked over. The receptionist bent down and picked up a huge bowl of red and yellow flowers which he deposited on the desk in front of him. Elarn recognised some of the blooms as classic roses; others were more exotic. The smell made her nostrils flare with pleasure.
The receptionist peered round the arrangement. ‘It arrived a few minutes ago. Shall I have it sent up to your room?’
‘Yes, thank you—Wait!’ Elarn had spotted an envelope addressed to her at the base of the arrangement. She bent over to extract it. ‘I’ll just take this.’
She sat down in one of the comfortable chairs in the bar area and ordered a glass of Eiswein, the only alcoholic beverage she recognised on the list. There were no other guests in at this time of the afternoon and the waiter brought her drink at once. She took a sip: a good vintage, if served a little colder than usual. Finally she turned to the mysterious envelope. Her name was handwritten. She opened the envelope carefully and withdrew a piece of thick, cream-coloured notepaper. She read:
Medame Reen,Please accept these flowers as a small gesture of welcome after a less than auspicious start to your stay in our City.I have managed to get a ticket for your performance at the Ares Rooms tonight, and I wondered if I might have the great pleasure of taking you to supper after the concert. No need to reply now, though if you need to contact me, my com tag is available on your room’s com unit - another presumption of mine, I fear.With kind regards,Salik Vidoran
Elarn read the note through twice, then took a large gulp of wine so she had something on which to blame the lightheadedness. She had been deeply affected by their encounter yesterday morning, and had been wondering whether he had meant what he said, about seeing her again - or even whether she should try to contact him. When the usual nightmare had awakened her in the night, the normal visceral terror amplified by recollections of the attempted mugging, she had clung to the memory of Salik Vidoran; when she awoke this morning she recalled more pleasant dreams featuring her chance encounter with the handsome Consul.
It looked like she had made an impression on him too.
The wisest course would be to keep a safe, polite distance . . . but Elarn was alone here, and out of her depth, and so far she’d been holding herself together using fear and willpower. If she found someone she could trust, an ally who knew the City’s ways, that might make the task ahead of her less daunting. She dared not let herself hope for too much, but the note had lifted her spirits.
It still took another glass of wine before she could bring herself to implement the next part of her plan.
She walked back to reception and asked, as casually as she could manage, if the receptionist could recommend somewhere to buy a gun.
She had mixed feelings of relief and disapproval when the receptionist answered completely normally, ‘The Manor Park Hotel recommends the Personal Protection Emporium in the atrium of the Hotel Splendide, which is a short walk rimwards from here. If medame is considering a visit to the Leisure Quarter, might we also recommend a guard service?’
She thanked him for the advice, but turned down the offer of a guard.
The Hotel Splendide, fabulously tasteless in purple and gold, contained a miniature shopping mall on its ground floor. The shop to which the receptionist had referred her had a window display of guns that looked more like fashion accessories than lethal weapons.
Inside, the bored shop assistant sat her at a projector table and showed her how to navigate the menus to display the forms of personal armament available. ‘We have everything you see in stock, medame, though if you choose the mimetic or colour coordination options it will take a little longer.’ As she bent over her, Elarn caught a whiff of the assistant’s perfume: rather pleasant, but of course it probably masked pheromones, another enhancement that was perfectly legal here.
Despite her initial impression, Elarn soon saw that the selection was not particularly good; there were various dart and pellet guns using compressed air technology, and tasers and other electrical and chemical stun weapons, but there were no plasma or laser guns, and nothing firing explosive projectiles.
The assistant, sighing at the foreigner’s naïveté, told her that Khesh City might trade on its lawless reputation, but there were strict prohibitions on weaponry, an obvious precaution when you were in an enclosed City floating three kilometres above the ground. Those who lived in space habitats would barely notice the restrictions, being subject to such rules themselves, but life on an unspoiled planet meant Elarn had no idea about such things. She wondered what other assumptions about Khesh City she would find were completely wrong. She was used to living under obvious rules that bound, restricted and supported society like an exoskeleton; here it appeared the structure was more like an endoskeleton; it was hidden deep beneath the surface, but it was just as hard, just as unyielding.
After much deliberation, she selected a dart-gun rejoicing in the name of
Silversliver 75
: it was compact enough to fit in her bag but it had - so the assistant claimed - an impressive range and accuracy. It looked as good as any of them to Elarn.
Silversliver 75
: it was compact enough to fit in her bag but it had - so the assistant claimed - an impressive range and accuracy. It looked as good as any of them to Elarn.
‘Excellent choice, medame,’ said the assistant, without much sincerity. ‘Will medame be taking the standard package with it?’
‘What exactly is the standard package?’ Elarn asked, looking around for a display.
‘Tranq, delivered by needle. The target loses consciousness in one to three seconds, depending on bodyweight and metabolism. There are seventy-five rounds in a magazine, hence the name. We also do a forty-round option, with the same strength of tranq but a larger needle size - in case medame expects to encounter armoured opponents.’
Elarn resisted the temptation to make a sarcastic comment: this was a gun she was talking about, for God’s sake. Stress and alcohol were making her flippant. Instead she asked, ‘What are the other options?’
‘With the Silversliver range you can use everything from euphoric sedative to lethal rounds. Tranq is by far the most popular. ’
‘I’ll take that, then, but I’d like one box -
magazine
- of lethal too, if you would be so kind.’
magazine
- of lethal too, if you would be so kind.’
The girl raised an eyebrow and stated flatly, ‘I am required by my employer to make you aware that Vellern has extradition treaties with most major governments in this sector, which may result in your being placed under arrest by authorities representing those governments, should you kill any of their citizens. And although manslaughter of Confederacy citizens in proven self-defence is not illegal within the Three Cities, you may also be liable to lawsuits from the relatives of any citizen you kill.’
‘Including downsiders?’
The girl laughed snidely. ‘Downsiders aren’t citizens, medame. Except Angels, and I assume medame will not be picking a fight with an Angel.’
‘Of course not.’ Elarn tried not to sound shocked. ‘I won’t be “picking a fight” with anyone. Nonetheless, I wish to purchase lethal ammunition as well.’
‘As medame wishes. If medame would care to wait here.’ The girl keyed a stock number into the console and sauntered into the back room of the shop.
Away from the girl’s bored regard, Elarn swallowed hard, the sweet aftertaste of the Eiswein bitter as bile in the throat. She had been calmly discussing committing murder with a surly stranger.
The girl returned with a box containing a palm-sized silver weapon. Without being asked she explained the firing mechanism, showed Elarn the release for the ammunition clip, then dropped it back into the box. ‘Full instructions and warranty are coded into the box lid, so kindly remember to download them to your com before disposing of the packaging.’ Elarn half-expected her to ask whether she wanted the thing gift wrapped, but the girl just deducted the payment from Elarn’s bracelet and insincerely wished her a pleasant afternoon.
Back in her room, Elarn took the gun out of the box to practise changing the ammo clip. It was a light, elegant thing, more like a toy than a real gun. She could hardly imagine this little device taking a life . . . except it wouldn’t be the gun, it would be
her
, squeezing that trigger. She slid the weapon into her bag, suddenly repulsed by the touch of the thing.
her
, squeezing that trigger. She slid the weapon into her bag, suddenly repulsed by the touch of the thing.
She went straight into rehearsing that night’s repertoire, but found herself unable to engage with the music. Whatever calm her art might have given her this morning was long gone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Federin had Fenya pack him a bag, then he hitched up his robe - made from scraps of quality fabric given as payment for his services - and led Taro into the mazeways. Once they were out of familiar territory, the remembrancer navigated by the tags on walls, or by a kind of dead reckoning, stopping at junctions, closing his eyes and relying on memory. Feeling out the City, he called it. Remembrancers had a rep second only to Angels, so they had no worries about getting caught up in the feuds that often blew up between gangs and troupes. With Taro’s colours and the remembrancer’s robes, everyone they met gave way to them, some with respectful bows.
When they came into the mazeways under the Guest Quarter, Federin told Taro to check the view below. ‘My old body’s not up to hanging off ledges these days,’ he said.
Taro wasn’t sure his young one was just now, but he let the remembrancer slip a harness over his head and clip a tether to it. Federin attached the other end of the line to one of the support ropes that held up the mazeway. Taro went down onto all fours, then dropped onto his elbows, hands curled round the edge of the mazeway. He took a deep breath before leaning forward, pivoting himself around his hands to let his head hang off the mazeway. He knew better than to keep his eyes open - looking at the ground below could unbalance you sure as a kick up the arse - but as soon as he closed his eyes all his blood rushed to his head, with his stomach trying to follow it.
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