Read Principles of Angels Online
Authors: Jaine Fenn
Principles of Angels (16 page)
Her first song, a relatively modern hymn in a still-used dialect, was barely technically competent, but with the first polite ripple of applause her nerves disappeared and she began to actually enjoy performing in public.
The climax, the most technically difficult piece, consisted of fragments of a Requiem whose full score had been lost long before the Sidhe Protectorate; it was widely believed to be from Old Earth itself. She sang it with full accompaniment, her voice leading an invisible choir and as she sang she felt not as if she were making the music, but as though the music were making
her
, giving her substance. By the end she found her gaze locked with Salik Vidoran’s, as though this music were a sacrament they alone shared.
her
, giving her substance. By the end she found her gaze locked with Salik Vidoran’s, as though this music were a sacrament they alone shared.
The final applause was far more enthusiastic and some of the audience - the Consul included - rose to their feet. She sang two encores in a strange daze, detached, yet joyously alive.
It was only when she took her final bow and retreated back-stage that all the emotion of the past few days caught up with her and she swayed, her legs threatening to collapse under her. She accepted a drink from Medame Mier and composed herself before the various important persons started filing in to give their compliments. Finally she was alone except for Medame Binu and her last visitor; Consul Vidoran had hung back, but now he came forward and took both her hands in his. ‘Magnificent,’ he breathed.
‘Thank you, Consul,’ she said, her voice low.
‘Salik, please.’
‘Of course. Salik.’ She liked the way his name tasted in her mouth. ‘And you must call me Elarn.’
He led her back out to the main room, where the chairs were being put away. His bodyguard, standing attentive beside a plinth, fell into step behind them. Seeing Elarn’s nervous glance at their shadow, Salik whispered, ‘Don’t mind Scarrion. He takes his duties rather seriously - for which I have cause to be grateful.’
The bodyguard rode in a pedicab behind theirs and, when they reached their destination, a small restaurant at the rimwards end of the Street, stationed himself at the bar while the Consul led Elarn into the main dining area.
Like many of the more up-market establishments, this one was themed, but whatever part of Confed history or culture it represented was largely incomprehensible to outsiders. The small tables were made of woven reeds, and stands of ornamental grasses in ceramic pots gave an illusion of privacy. A band of musicians dressed in real animal skins played low-toned pipes and soft percussion.
‘I know, I know,’ whispered Salik as a waiter dressed in a homespun robe showed them to their table, ‘no one comes here for the décor - unless they like tacky ersatz nomad as a style - but the food is excellent. It’s entirely fresh, and cooked on that great hotplate over by the wall.’
‘Fresh’ meant imported, and that would mean expensive, but there were no prices displayed, and no menus; instead the waiter brought round a tray of artfully arranged raw vegetables and meats to choose from.
Elarn was still on a high from the concert, and the first glass of fizzy pale wine went straight to her head; she decided not to worry about the price, or who was paying, or anything else, at least for a while.
Salik chatted comfortably about music and history and the City, giving her the opportunity to join in or to listen, as she chose. Mainly she listened, lulled by the wine and his presence. She had been concerned, amongst everything else, that this meeting, her first ‘date’ in many years, would be tense and difficult. She was out of practice at this sort of social interaction. But she needn’t have worried; Salik was polite, witty and attentive.
The food was as good as he had promised but, despite not having had anything since lunch, she found herself more interested in her companion than her meal.
She probably should have eaten more; when they stood up to go her legs wobbled before locking into place and the room jumped in and out of focus.
Salik put a hand out to steady her. ‘You look exhausted. Are you all right?’
She nodded. Exhausted, in a comedown from an adrenalin high, and yes, quite drunk.
Oh dear.
Oh dear.
‘I think we need to get you back to your hotel,’ he said with a smile, and took her arm. Outside the restaurant he guided her rimwards. ‘We’re not going to take a pedicab,’ he explained. ‘I’ll pay for a quicker ride.’
‘But you’ve paid for everything tonight,’ she said, feeling a little guilty. ‘I feel I should contribute.’
‘Not at all, I invited you, if you recall,’ the Consul said firmly. ‘But if you do insist, you can buy me lunch tomorrow, assuming that fits in with your plans - I happen to have a few hours free in the afternoon.’
‘I’d be delighted to buy you lunch,’ she said, thankful her obvious lack of social graces had not put him off. He wanted to see her again.
At the end of the Street, they started up the steps to the circle-car. Elarn was momentarily concerned: the circle-car was a very public form of transport, open to anyone with a City ID, and not as safe as a pedicab. Still, she should be fine with the Consul and the ever-present bodyguard trailing silently behind them. But he turned off before they reached the main platform and, after another sweep of his cred-bracelet, led her to a small, four-seater aircar on its own platform. Without a word being said Scarrion climbed in the front with the driver and Salik helped Elarn into the back. The driver wished them both a good evening and as Salik gave their destination, Elarn settled back into the padded seat and sniffed the faint smell of artificial flowers. Her hip and knee just touched Salik’s; she could feel his warmth next to her.
They took off so smoothly that Elarn had to blink to get her sluggish vision to follow. Suddenly the entire City was laid out below her like a dish of jewels, the lines of the Streets like great neon spokes.
As the air-taxi passed the spine, Elarn had a sudden sense of just how immense, and how impressive, Khesh City truly was. It was a spectacular example of hubris, humanity showing off its cleverness and ingenuity. She couldn’t help wondering if humans had ever really been clever enough to create this alone.
‘This City,’ she asked, ‘is there any Sidhe influence here?’
Salik laughed, and she realised how thoughtlessly she had spoken. ‘Well no,’ he said, ‘given that the Sidhe have been dead for a thousand years.’
So everyone thinks
, she didn’t say. Instead she said, ‘No, what I meant was, it was built during the Sidhe Protectorate, wasn’t it, or just after? Did they . . . help?’
, she didn’t say. Instead she said, ‘No, what I meant was, it was built during the Sidhe Protectorate, wasn’t it, or just after? Did they . . . help?’
‘I couldn’t say. There’s a legend that says a renegade Sidhe faction who sided with humanity lived here, even at the height of the Protectorate, so it’s quite possible there is Sidhe technology in the City.’
And that would support her theory that they had sent her, rather than deal with their renegade personally, because they did not want to risk running into ancient traps created by the rebel Sidhe who had wanted humanity to be free.
The thought made her feel a lot more sober and a lot less comfortable. ‘And it’s still here, this technology, whatever it is?’
The thought made her feel a lot more sober and a lot less comfortable. ‘And it’s still here, this technology, whatever it is?’
Salik shrugged. ‘Who knows? To be honest, the detailed workings of the Three Cities are something of a mystery, even to their inhabitants. They have worked perfectly for more than a thousand years, and we assume - hopefully correctly! - that they’ll continue to do so for the next thousand years.’
His tone was indulgent, but he probably thought this an odd topic of conversation for this time of the evening. And he was right.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘this place just keeps taking me by surprise.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’ve lived here all my life and it still surprises me sometimes. I can hardly blame you for suffering from cultural vertigo.’
He put a hand on her knee, just a reassuring touch, quickly withdrawn. She wanted to return the touch, now, while the wine still gave her the courage, but they were already descending, coming in to land at the end of Lily Street.
Walking down to Street level, Elarn wondered where the evening would go now. Part of her wanted to invite him to come back with her; another part was appalled that she would even consider it, so soon in their acquaintance.
At the bottom of the steps he hailed a pedicab and helped her in, but made no move to follow. ‘I have a few things to do in the morning,’ he told her. ‘Would it be all right if I called you some time after midday tomorrow?’
‘Of course.’ She smiled down at him.
He reached up to kiss her cheek, a light, gentle kiss, neither forward nor presumptive. She leaned into it and closed her eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Where the fuck d’ya go, anyway?’
Taro jerked his head up to find Keron staring down at him, a couple of the other tarts watching from behind the pimp’s back.
When Taro had got back from the Exquisite Corpse, the sleeping room had been half-empty, with the night shift still out. Though he was tired, he’d played his flute softly for a short while. People seemed to like it, especially the girl who’d been standing next to him on Soft Street. When the lamps began to burn low and the day shift whores had curled up to rest, he’d put the flute away and dropped off to sleep almost at once.
‘I went—’ he started but Keron, eyes big and shining, didn’t have time for him to wake up. He pulled Taro’s arm and Taro let the pimp haul him to his feet.
Keron was speaking again. ‘Boss wants to see ya. ’Spect he wants to check how yer getting on.’
Taro coughed to clear his throat. ‘Sure, Keron.’
‘Came to find ya earlier, when the first shift came in. Ya weren’t back. But yer ’ere now. C’mon.’ Keron turned to go, then turned back to him and hissed, ‘No need to tell him ya got off early, eh?’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ murmured Taro, letting Keron drag him out the door. He could really use another six hours’ sleep, or at least a wash and a change of clothes. He wasn’t going to get either, of course. They headed straight for Limnel’s lair and when Keron pushed him through the bead curtain Taro found the party in full swing, the gang-boss lounging on his couch with a dozen cronies sprawled on the cushions around him, smoking, drinking and laughing. Taro wondered if he was the floorshow. He didn’t feel particularly entertaining.
‘Ah,’ Limnel gestured at him, ‘there ya are. Come in, come in. No, I din’t say sit, jus’ come in. Come in an’ tell us all jus’ where the fuck ya went off to. We’d love t’know. I mean, I know I said ya could report to the Minister on wossname, that Angel—’ He snapped his fingers. ‘What was ’er name, Taro?’
‘Nual.’
‘Right, Nual. Report on her, aye. Piss off fer a day lookin’ fer ’er, no. That’s not part o’ the deal. Not at all. I assume ya
was
lookin’ fer her?’
was
lookin’ fer her?’
‘That’s right. I’m sorry, I—’
‘Shut up.’ Limnel’s obvious pleasure at having Taro at his mercy went up a notch in company. ‘So where ya been?’
‘The Exquisite Corpse.’ Seeing Limnel’s blank look, Taro added, ‘It’s a bar, fer Angels, under the Merchant Quarter.’
‘That’s a ways from ’ere. D’ya find yer Angel?
Taro tried to keep a level head, but he was still half-asleep, the smoke was making his eyes sting and he kept finding himself staring at the carved box on the cabinet beside Limnel. If they were all wrecked and he’d been called in here to be the fool, he’d best play along. Maybe Limnel might give him a little something from that box, if he reckoned that’d make things more fun. ‘Nope, jus’ some weird-shit alien with wings who wouldn’t tell me where she lives.’
This earned him some scattered laughter from Limnel’s gang, but the boss looked unimpressed at his feeble attempt at humour. He leaned forward. ‘Then I’d say ya wasted yer day, an’ a wasted day means no wasted night, neh?’ He looked meaningfully at the box by his elbow, which got more laughs.
Limnel eased himself back into his seat and looked round the room. ‘Whaddya reckon, boys an’ girls? Should we let our newest troupe member join the party, or just leave ’im danglin’?’
That got a variety of responses, from stoned and clueless smiles to friendly gestures for Taro sit down. Resh, sitting by the door with a bottle of burnt mash by his side, muttered
it weren’t worth wasting quality gear on that fucker
.
it weren’t worth wasting quality gear on that fucker
.
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