Blightcross: A Novel (18 page)

The little man said, “This man is looking for some quick work. I told him about the shipment... you know, the job to take the stuff to the armoury.”

“Yes, yes,” Yaz said. “You can go.”

The little man left, and Yaz gestured to the narrow flight of stairs. “The top deck is much better suited for entertaining.”

Yaz showed him to a deck that overlooked the harbour. There was a table already set with appetizers and a bottle of amber spirits. “I am sorry I cannot offer you plum liquor.” He paused for a moment. “You are still on your righteous kick, right? Still not mixing legumes with meats and all that lovely stuff?”

“I am not here to drink. What I am interested in is why, Yaztherew, you are captaining a yacht owned by a man who is the very antithesis of the Bhagovan Republic's ways. Have you defected? It seems to be in fashion these days.”

Yaz stretched and eased back in the chair. “Defected? Heavens, no. I am on a deep cover assignment.”

“Tired of the front lines?”

“My superiors pulled me out of Mizkov. Supporting your people's struggle is becoming something of a liability, given the ever increasing unity of the other governments against us.”

Dannac reached for a honey-covered pastry. “I am curious as to what you are doing here, but my predicament matters more. Perhaps you can help me. Of course, I am willing to perform your delivery, as the little twit said.”

“Forget about that. I could not care less about the pies Kervin Rawles is stuffing down his gullet. No, I am afraid I am only here to spy on Sevari's little paradise. Assess their industrial capacity, that sort of thing. Very boring. What about yourself, Dannac? You seem to have given up the fight as well.”

The honeyed pastry melted in his mouth, and the spirits Yaz was drinking suddenly looked appealing rather than blasphemous. But momentary pleasure was fleeting. “I became tired of running from Valoii death squads. I tired of fanaticism backed by incompetent action. I just left and went out on my own.”

“Just like your father, eh?”

Dannac scowled. “Without getting into three years of theft and bodyguard work, let's say that I have become stranded here. My... partner and I.”

“Stranded? I could offer you passage out of here, I suppose.”

Yes—he should have realized as soon as he saw Yaz that this could mean an end to their problem. “I would be grateful.”

Yaz stood and gazed at the field of dark water dotted by lights from the boats, like the night sky mirrored. “The Bhagovan Republic of Arnhas sympathizes with your people, Dannac. We wish to help in any way possible.” He faced Dannac. “Did you know that our researchers are tracing the Ehzeri back thousands of years? We believe that we are in fact quite related. Both our peoples date back to the Ildra culture.”

“Fascinating.”

“But to be completely honest, old friend... sometimes there is such a thing as doing too many favours. For example, your sight. We still have yet to see any returns on that investment.”

“You said it was a gift.”

“Of course. But, naturally, we had thought it would be beneficial to our cause as well.”

Dannac rose—just a small reminder of the discrepancy between his bulk and the other's. “I fought our mutual enemy.”

“Yes, yes. Now, what were you really doing in Blightcross?”

He told Yaz everything about his misfortune with Capra and their mission for Helverliss, right up to the pathetic trap Vasi had led them into, only to suffer from a sudden change of heart.

“Breaking into Sevari's prized collection?” Yaz rubbed his neat beard and hummed for a moment.

“So, you see how it would be much appreciated if my colleague and I could avoid such a problem. At this point, we do not even know where this collection is. I have a feeling it is in those vaults.”

Yaz came within biting distance of Dannac's face and touched the jewel embedded in his skull. Dannac did not flinch. “Here's the thing, Dannac.”

“I do not like that tone.”

“Listen, loyalty is a funny thing. It is not always convenient.”

“What are you saying?”

Yaz paced around the deck. “Dannac, I think this is a good opportunity for us to gain some valuable information about Blightcross. Your jewel, that thing that allows you to see, can also remember what you see. This is why we gave it to you, after all. You are an invisible eye for the Republic.”

He opened his mouth to speak, yet said nothing. Had he been that naive? Had he really thought that the Republic field operative who had saved him and brought him to the Republic's advanced surgery was motivated by compassion?

But sight was sight, and because of this, he could see where he otherwise should be blind.

Still, he felt used. Now his sight would never feel like his own. He would forever be in the presence of this undefinable other, this abstract thing overlaid upon his own consciousness. The Republic.

Yaz continued, his slightly apologetic tone now replaced with a matter-of-fact coolness. “Sevari is much too paranoid to keep his precious things—especially things of a mystical bent—in some generic vault with the district's gold reserves and emergency grain supply.”

“You know where it is, then? Do you want it for yourself?”

“No, you misread me. I mean that if you can get to his collection of mystical nonsense and confiscated art, you will have penetrated his security. There will be any number of answers to questions my department has about this strange place.”

He crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow.

“You have a new mission: continue on your original plan to liberate the artwork.”

“If you want me to do this, what else can you offer me? I had thought you would help us avoid this very situation.”

“I do not enjoy doing things like this, Dannac. But I am afraid I can offer you nothing except your own continued existence for this favour. If not, I will just have to sign a termination order.”

Dannac grabbed the table and tossed it over. A cascade of pastries and liquor pelted Yaz's feet, yet the man remained still and composed. “The jewel in your head, stupid. Did you think it was a gift free of any controls or safeguards on our part? Yes, I can kill you with the flick of a switch. You are still my responsibility, after all. I have kept your control mechanism for these last few years because I knew you would return to us someday.”

“You son of a bitch—”

“If I die, the man who takes my position will see your file, and I have made several notes to terminate you if I am killed, as I doubt anyone else would have the patience to deal with such a rigid, old-fashioned man like yourself. So please do not kill me—if only for your own sake.

“Now, tonight I will set your eye to record all that you see from hereon in. You will find this collection, and get a good look at each piece. You will also capture in your vision any targets of opportunity, such as pieces of technology, documents, schematics. Do you understand?”

Dannac grunted and flexed his fingers and wished to tear off Yaz's arms and throw him overboard.

“Do you understand, Dannac?”

He grabbed Yaz by the collar of his coat, pulled him close. He saw a sudden change in colour in the man's head. With this type of vision, he could see fear flush a man's face even when the skin was too dark to show it under normal circumstances.

Yaz struggled and wheezed. “You... will not drink the finest whiskey, but you will threaten a man who gave back your sight? That is some moral imperative you have.”

He shoved Yaz into the upturned table and made to leave the yacht. As he approached the stairwell, he stopped at the sound of coins hitting the ground behind him. At his feet sat a pouch of Tamarck pistres, the drawstring slightly open so that the silvery glimmer of coins stared like misplaced eyes.

“Go buy yourself a good night's sleep and a decent woman.”

The void—a thing for which no words existed except words like “void” and “darkness”—all negatives, none really denoting any property other than the lack of something. The more Vasi tried to work out the various inversions of her thoughts, the less she understood
Akhli and the Shadows
and the disturbing way Helverliss had worked
vihs
into it.
Vihs
was power, it was
something
, yet he had used it to create absence and void.

She walked around the lab, hands pressed to the sides of her head. Who could think under this kind of pressure? It was impossible to work when she could not even convince herself that Rovan still lived. Where was he?

The moment she found him, they were going to leave.

He would kick, he would holler and call her names, but when he grew up to be a real man, he would thank her. It just was not worth it to stay.

And this, she realized, was probably why she could no longer even give the appearance of continuing Sevari's research without losing track.

There was a knock at the door. She shut her eyes and envisioned the small hole in the door. A tunnel of light bored through the blackness behind her eyes, and she saw Rovan standing at the entrance. She immediately willed the locks to unlatch, and the door to open.

“Rovan, you shit. Where have you been?”

“Working, just like you.”

She touched his face and examined him for signs of damage, as one would a piece of fruit, until he shrugged away from her.

“I'm not a kid, Vasi. I make a lot of money now.”

“That does not mean you are any stronger, smarter, or wiser.”

He gave her a cocky grin and invited himself to tour her lab. He picked up an artifact, examined it, and put it down disinterestedly.

“Rovan, I have some news. We are going home.”

He went still, and Vasi sprinted to him and snatched the charged idol from him, set it back on its shelf. “What do you mean we're going home?”

“Have you not been paying attention? Young men are being killed here, for no good reason. These are not accidents, Rovan. They are just randomly killing Ehzeri males.”

“I work for Sevari now. On the fifth floor of the clock tower. Nobody will kill me. They all want to
be
me, not kill me.”

What was with this kid? Did he really think that nobody could be murdered in the tower? It was off limits to most people, sure, but that would not stop a killer from sneaking in to murder its inhabitants.

“What exactly do you do here, anyway? You have no power, Rovan.”

“You people are too arrogant to carry things, put things away, deliver things... I help out in ways you refuse to. Sevari doesn't judge. He has more in common with me than he does with you.” There was a strength in his voice and sparkle in his eyes, as if he'd found the ideal father. He reached into the satchel he carried and produced a sleek obsidian cylinder. “This is why I came. Sevari wanted you to have this.”

She took the cylinder and nearly dropped it. There was a familiar resonance within it, but she could not quite place it. “What is it?”

“He told me to tell you that Section Three had a breakthrough and that this would help you figure out how that painting really worked. He said you needed to use it for an experiment.”

She weighed it in her palm. Yes—just the other week, she had written in her progress report that without some kind of detached energy, she could not observe directly how the painting's energies affected a conscious being. At the moment, she was only relying on how it directly affected herself, and unless she submitted to the painting's weak, yet seductive pull into a very real darkness, her empirical observations would continue to be flawed.

“You mean they found... detached energy?” she asked.

Rovan shrugged. “You're the magician, not me. I just do the real work.”

She held it up to the gaslight. There was a slight glimmer inside, and again she could not shake the feeling of either having done this before, or having seen something like this before, or...

“So Section Three was able to synthesize it? From what? Raw
vihs
? A kind of artificial...”

“I have no idea, sister. Still want to leave?”

“Yes, I do.” But this changed it all.

“Well, I'm staying here. Only a fool would give this up.”

She stared at the cylinder, gazed at the glow inside. Finally, something to feed to the void, something to watch it devour. Again she closed her eyes and opened herself to the world of
vihs
reflections and flow.

She saw scenes—dry land, sagebrush. Any Ehzeri would feel homesick when faced with such landscape set in front of a mountain backdrop. Land not even their Valoii oppressors were allowed to inhabit. Ehzeri faces—emblems of a different family, since the knot was much different to hers and it was decorated with emeralds rather than sapphires. Someone talking to her—

No, not talking to her.

“Stop being so sensitive—my father does like you. You would not have married me if he did not approve.”

A woman, talking to someone—

The scene faded and in came another, this time a view from the flying boat. Now thoughts came into her mind:
It must have cost a fortune to purchase such a craft, and to give us free passage... how fortunate are we?
Below she saw where the ocean met the land, and the smokestacks of Blightcross smouldering in the distance, and the river delta.

The thoughts were not hers. She had come via sailing ship.

Another scene played in her, eclipsing the others.

She saw her laboratory door, that slab of security. She saw it open, and watched herself greet whoever this was, and take an envelope from these strange hands that were not her own.

Her eyes fluttered open, because she recognized the scene. Not only that, but the flavour of energy within the crystal.

“Rovan? Where did you go?”

The mail clerk. But how?

Section Three had not synthesized an energy that could mimic a human. They had just killed the mail clerk and stuffed his consciousness into a piece of obsidian so Vasi could feed it to the painting and watch what happened.