The Baba Yaga (15 page)

Gusev was ready. He had been ready for some time now, at least since his last meeting with Walker, and his subsequent realization of all that his opponents had done. He could not be suffered to live. But he had had a little time to plan: to take care of some of his legacy. Drowsiness began to overtake him, and he pressed his thumb against his handheld. He had written the message some hours earlier. It said:
Get out now.
As his eyes darkened he wondered,
Should I have said more? Warned more? Will it be enough?

It was too late now. Gusev’s days were over. His eyes closed and he knew no more. The people on his boat had not quite finished their task yet, but it was quickly done. Gusev’s body was weighted and cast over the side of his beloved boat, and with barely a ripple broke the surface of the water. And slowly it sank, swirling and twisting down through the depths of the green sea, while all around his senseless body the sharks and the minnows continued their eternal dance.

U
NDER
H
EYES’ MOCKING
eyes, Walker was beginning to feel extremely foolish. Now she registered the dark clothing, the silver crucifix on a chain around the other woman’s neck... “I didn’t know that the Catholic Church even allowed women to become priests.”

“Well, they do. Have done for the best part of a century, in fact.” Heyes gave a slight laugh. “Permitted since the Fourth Vatican Council. The Holy Mother Church is nothing if not capable of extending and continuing her life. Priests are her life blood. She wouldn’t allow that flow to dry up. The quakes don’t come often to the Church, but when they do they’re huge. They keep her going for another millennium. Now a female
pope
....” Heyes snorted. “Let’s say I’m not holding my breath.”

Walker was beginning to regroup. “If you’re Heyes—and I’ve no reason to doubt that you are—then I hope you’re going to be able to help me.”

“Are you sure you’re not in some trouble?”

“If I am,” said Walker, “that’s my own business.”

Heyes looked her up and down. Again, Walker had the uncomfortable feeling that the priest was somehow seeing more about her than she wanted revealed. Walker shook herself. Probably a trick they learned in seminary to get people to confess. She should be taking notes.

Suddenly Heyes shifted her weight forwards and with a great sigh heaved herself up from her seat. “Come into my office,” she said, and headed off, with a lumbering, swaying gait, towards a little door behind the statue of the woman in blue and white.

Walker nodded to Failt, and they followed Heyes through the door into the cramped room behind it. There were two old armchairs—beaten-up and disgorging stuffing—into one of which Heyes flopped with a comfortable
oof
. Walker lowered herself carefully into the other chair, not entirely trusting that it would survive the strain. Failt took up his station at her elbow, like a faithful dog.

There was a little wooden bureau at the far end of the room, into which it was surely not possible to stuff more paper. A battered old companel stood to one side. Standing on top of the bureau were various plaster of Paris statuettes of quite remarkable hideousness and garishness, including one of a man in a red robe whose heart was visible. Between the two chairs stood a low table. There were one or two books—one was a Bible, Walker assumed—and there were also a few objects that Walker didn’t recognise—tools of Heyes’ trade, presumably. There was a plastic bottle of water in the shape of a woman, with a blue screw top in the form of a crown. There was also a bottle of whisky—Walker recognised one of those when she saw them, and she recognised the quiver in Heyes’ hand, and the relish (and relief) with which the priest opened the bottle.

“Do you get much business here on Shuloma?” said Walker. She shook her head when Heyes offered the bottle.

“Enough to keep me in necessities.” Heyes gave a crooked smile and put the bottle down again.

“I didn’t think the Church’s reach came so far out from the Expansion.”

“The Church has always been first into new territories, for better or worse.” Heyes frowned. “Mostly worse. Yes, we Catholics get about. I believe there has been a mission to Vetch territory in recent years.”

“And how long have you been the Church’s representative here?”

“Well,” said Heyes, leaning back even more comfortably. “There’s a story. A long one. But the upshot is that my services are no longer retained by the one holy catholic and apostolic Church. But you know how it is. You can kick the girl out of church, but you can’t kick the church out of the girl.”

Walker frowned. “I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

“I was booted. Defrocked. Technically, I’m not a priest any longer.”

Walker glanced back over her shoulder at the little church. “Then what’s all that back there? Who’s footing the bill for that?”

“Local donations. Even somewhere like here, people like to know there’s something constant.
Especially
somewhere like here. There are always people in need of comfort. If they want the sacraments, I’m happy to help. When people are facing death, or want to confess—or both—they don’t really care whether I’m officially sanctioned by the Church or not.”

“And what does the Church think about that?”

“D’you know,” said Heyes, “I’ve never asked.” She filled her glass again. “Now you know about me. So who the hell are you?” She glanced past Walker to Failt. “And why are you travelling with such an interesting companion?”

“Live-in-peace-and-harmony,” said Failt, in his singsong voice. “We’re looking for the place where they live-in-peace-and-harmony.”

Walker did not miss the very sharp look that Heyes gave the Vetch. It would be a mistake, she thought, to dismiss this woman as nothing more than a drunk—as one of the Yershovs of this world, hapless and easy to control.

“Well,” said Heyes cheerfully. “That sounds like a very nice place. But I don’t know why you think I might know where it is. If I did, do you think I’d be here on Shuloma Station, rather than... What did you call it?”

“Live-in-peace-and harmony.”

“We’ve come from Shard’s World,” said Walker. “I was told that you ran an underground railroad there—”

Heyes whistled. “Well, that takes me back.”

“You helped people to escape from their owners, and you sent them on to a place where people could live peacefully and be free.”

Heyes stared into her glass and ran her finger around the rim. “That’s an interesting story,” she said. “I wonder what makes you think it’s true.”

“You’re not forgotten on Shard’s World,” said Walker. “Particularly by the people who ended up out of pocket.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across the priest’s round face. “Good,” she said. “Good.”

Walker leaned forwards. “I’m looking for a place like that,” she said. “I’ve heard that there is a colony world where humans are living...” She hesitated. Should she mention the Weird? She was used to holding her cards close to her chest—by temperament, training, and employment—but looking at Heyes she began to wonder whether this strategy would serve her best. The priest was old and tired, and more than a little drunk, but there was something honest about her. Something that made Walker believe she could be trusted.

Quietly, she began to explain her mission in full: the nature of the Weird threat; the rumour that had reached the Bureau of a world were humans lived in peace with the Weird without being assimilated; the attack on Braun’s World; her flight on the
Baba Yaga
, and the path she had followed here to Shuloma Station. “You’re my only lead,” she confessed. “If this world exists, I have to find it. Otherwise...” She sighed. “Who knows what the Weird can do? What the Bureau might do in response? There’s been terrible slaughter already. If you know anything—please, help me.”

Heyes had listened to her story attentively, but in silence. When Walker finished, the priest swirled round the last few drops of whisky in her glass, and then drained the contents. “I did run an underground railroad from Shard’s World,” she said. “A long time ago. I helped slaves escape from there and I sent them to a world on the very edge of the Reach.” She smiled at Failt. “So my reputation hangs around on Shard, eh? I suppose I should be glad about that.”

“Live-in-peace-and-harmony,” said the child. “That true too?”

“I don’t know,” said Heyes. “I never went there myself. I just sent people on their way.”

Walker said, “Is this the reason you were thrown out? Defrocked? Whatever it is that gets done to you?”

“Very perspicacious, Ms Walker. Yes, my activities were discovered by my superiors in my order, back in the Expansion. They weren’t particularly pleased. Part of their income came from donations that—I found out later—could be traced back to some powerful business interests operating on Shard’s World. My mission there was closed, and I was thrown out of the priesthood.”

“And the world you sent people to?” Walker urged. “Where is that? Can you send me there?”

Heyes shook her head. “I don’t think it’s the world you’re looking for.”

“But it might be—it’s my only lead!” Walker could hear desperation creeping into her voice. “I can make a donation—anything you want. I have money—local, or Expansion. Whatever you want—” She stopped speaking when she realised that Heyes had stopped listening. The priest had her eyes fixed on the door behind Walker, and her hand was half-raised.

“Viola,” she said. “Is that you?”

The door opened, and the gnarled old alien from the Crossed Keys came in. “Mother,” she said. “Came to warn you—someone’s been creeping round asking for you.”

Heyes gestured at Failt and Walker. “If you mean this fine young gentleman and his associate, they’ve found me, and they’re no trouble. In fact, I think they’re leaving.”

Walker opened her mouth to protest, but the alien spoke first. “Not them, Mother. Someone else. Someone coming looking for you. Don’t like the look of them. Kept them in the bar.”

“Well,” said Heyes. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

Walker stood up. “I’ll come with you,” she said. “I might be able to help. If you’re in trouble, that is.”

Heyes eyed her thoughtfully, then nodded. “All right. Let’s go and see who it is.”

A
MBER HAD ROOMS
on red level, section eight. She said that it was only a short walk, but Maria’s head was swimming—hunger, she thought, and the shock of their recent near miss, and, of course, grief. She gritted her teeth, and put one foot in front of the other, and hoped that soon she would be able to sit down. Jenny hung on her mother’s arm, and didn’t say a word the whole time they were walking. Every so often, Maria looked down at her daughter’s tired, pale, drawn face, and almost wished that her little girl was still complaining. But Jenny kept on walking, doggedly, showing something of her daddy’s grit and persistence.

“Nearly there,” Amber said. Her voice was low and mellifluous, but Maria still jumped at the sound. She realised she had fallen into a sort of doze while walking. Jenny was a solid weight at her side. “Do you hear that, sweetheart?” Maria said softly. “We’re nearly there. We’ll sit down soon and have something to eat and drink, and then we can rest. Amber is looking after us now.”

They went along one more walkway, then through a small but lively interchange, and then Amber led them down a narrow access passage lined with little hatches beyond which, Maria assumed, various residents of the station had their living quarters. She struggled to think of these odd gunmetal rooms without gardens or sunsets as ‘homes.’ But people did live here—lived out their lives—and some were even born here, she guessed, and thought of the station as home in the same way that she had thought of the little houses she and Kit and Jenny had shared on Fleet bases around the Expansion... And who was she to judge? Home was where you could be happy and at peace, with the people that you loved most. Whether she would ever find that again, she did not know. She and Kit and Jenny would never be together again.

“We’re here,” said Amber. She had stopped outside a little hatch, which clanked open when she pressed her hand against the door panel. They were greeted by a rush of warm air, perfumed heavily with roses. Maria took Jenny’s hand and followed Amber inside.

“Lights,” said their protector. “Low.”

An orange haze filled the room. Maria squinted through it, discerning a warm and comfortable room beyond. Her spirits rose, a little. Yes, she could rest here. She could close her eyes and they could both sleep and perhaps, even, forget for a while...

“Come in,” said Amber, leading them inside. She gestured to a low wide sofa which stood along one of the walls, as big as a bed. “Sit down. I’ll get you both something to drink.”

“I’m hungry,” said Jenny.

“Jenny!” Maria said, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said to Amber. “We’ve not really eaten for a few days.”

But Amber only smiled. “I’ll get you both something to eat too.”

She was as good as her word. Maria slumped back on the sofa, Jenny curled up under her arm. From a corner of the room, she heard the clank of dishes and the rush of water. Soon Amber returned with cups filled with a hot tea, and steaming bowls.