The Book of Water (42 page)

—
That’s assuming it was Fire who threatened her, but
 . . .

—
Who would know to seek a dragon’s help but another dragon?

—
Sister, listen! I recognize this Presence from my companion’s report, this Voice that is not a voice. It’s the One who’s been calling me since I awoke!

—
But, brother, you don’t think it odd that our sister Air has not been heard from?

N’Doch has learned a thing about dragons: They love to argue. Particularly in ways that seem to lead the debate away from the obvious solution, like they wouldn’t want all the fun to be over too quickly. N’Doch has no patience for this. He figures they should be doing it on their own time.

“Why can’t it be both?” he demands loudly. He’s glad to have the fourth dragon brought into the mix, ’cause then he won’t have to be waiting for any more of ’em to turn up.

Both dragon heads swivel to stare at him. The girl, bless her, actually giggles. N’Doch guesses she’d prefer answer to argument also. So then it’s another one of those APC-sized silences, during which N’Doch notices for the first time that he hasn’t been hearing the sirens or gunfire from outside, even though, looking through the trees toward the house, he can see torn shreds of smoke rising from the streets beyond the compound wall.

He gets up. “You guys just give it some thought, eh?” He turns away and walks into the first row of trees. The air around him feels very . . . well,
blue
. He still hears nothing, but then, as he moves farther in, faint sounds come to him, more like cap pistols and mosquitoes than gunfire and copters, even though the house is no more than two hundred yards away. He backs up a few steps into silence, moves forward back into the zone of sound. He grunts and returns to the clearing. Everyone there is in exactly the same position they were in when he walked away. “You know,” he says, “there’s something weird about
this
wood, too.”

*   *   *

The suddenness with which the debate was stilled told Erde that N’Doch had hit upon a true understanding. He did have a gift for cutting to the simplest explanation. It was not a gift the dragons appreciated, as fascinated as they were with the subtle and the complex and the ambiguous. But this time, his answer was so compelling, he got no argument.

Earth’s inner rumble was hopeful.

—
Could it be? Our sister Air is the Summoner?

—
There is logic to it. She is the eldest.

Water fastened onto the idea as if it had been her own.

—
But who could hold her prisoner?

—
I think why is the only unanswered question, brother.

“If you go into the wood, maybe she can tell you,” Erde offered. “Maybe she just couldn’t speak to me.”

“We oughta go back and check it out.” N’Doch wandered restlessly, obviously ready for action. “We’ll have to really work on Lealé to get her to let us in again.” He paused. “But first . . . are you ready to hear why that might be even harder than it should be?”

Erde thought she might have sensed reluctance in him,
but told herself he was just pausing for effect, the way Cronke the bard used to do at a particularly critical point in a story. “Of course,” she said, to hurry him along.

N’Doch smiled, but not his usual easy smile. It was something much more complicated. “Most times, this’d be about the worst thing that could happen. But now I’m not so sure. I got an idea that might turn it in our favor. Guess who Lealé’s rich boyfriend is . . . ?”

*   *   *

It would have been safer and more sensible to stay behind in the grove with Earth, as N’Doch suggested, but Erde felt that Duty refused her such luxuries. Besides, if she stayed behind, she’d have nothing to distract her from the disturbing thoughts that N’Doch had put into her mind about Baron Köthen. To think she might be in love with him was one thing—young girls did that sort of thing all the time. It was perfectly proper. But the possibility that she might be having . . . lustful thoughts? The very idea shamed her. Surely she was better brought up than that. Yet N’Doch seemed to think such thoughts were natural, as he put it, “no big deal.”

So the strange noises and tension outside the grove seemed preferable to the strangeness inside her head, even though N’Doch did warn her that it might be getting dangerous out there. She understood that a battle was being waged, not with crossbows and lances but with the terrible weapons called guns. N’Doch described their magic to her: They shot many arrows without shafts and they could kill at a very great distance.

Water would come with them of course, so once again, N’Doch sang the song about his lost youngest brother that enabled the dragon’s transformation. Erde thought he sang it even more poignantly than before, and she was delighted to see little Wasser again.

N’Doch took the lead on the way out, cautioning them both to stay alert and move quickly. With shame, Erde recalled how she had once questioned his worthiness as a dragon guide. She hadn’t then understood how very different this new world would really be, how different would be the knowledge and skills required for survival in it.

He stopped as they emerged from the deepest part of the grove, just where the outside sounds became audible.
“Here’s where they start being able to see us again.” He hunkered down to survey the compound. Erde could feel that heat radiating toward her in waves. A few more steps forward and it would close around her again, making the sweat rise on her instantly and filling her lungs with dust.

N’Doch touched her arm suddenly and pointed. A thing shaped like a dragonfly sat on the grass at the far end of the grounds. As they watched, parts of it began to rumble and rotate.

“Someone’s leaving,” N’Doch murmured. “The Big Man himself?”

Several men sprinted from the side of the house toward the dragonfly thing. Wasser counted under his breath. Just as the men disappeared into the machine’s belly, a series of loud pops came from over the compound wall, like the noise of ice breaking up on a river in spring.

“Ha! Missed!” N’Doch’s wide mouth curved into a tight grimace that was almost a smile. “Hard to tell, but it looked like him to me. Damn!”

Erde glanced at him sideways. She would have thought he’d be relieved if his enemy Baraga was leaving. Now he wouldn’t have to employ the elaborate ruse he’d described, by which he could protect them all by turning this terrible man’s greed and self-interest to their own advantage. It had sounded like a very risky proposition to her, largely because it did involve putting themselves into Baraga’s hands. Earth had not liked this scheme overmuch. He remembered the dogs at Baraga’s beach. So Erde was glad that the man was leaving. Not having to deal with him at all seemed by far the most preferable situation.

But N’Doch was crestfallen. As the dragonfly lifted into the heat-shimmered air and glided away into the smoky yellow sky, he watched after it as if it had robbed him of some priceless treasure.

“Damn!” he said again.

“It will be easier to talk Mistress Lealé into helping us now,” Erde reminded him.

“Yeah. For sure.” But his tone was so dispirited, she couldn’t even ask him why. He waited until the dragonfly was out of sight, then waved them to their feet and forward. When they cleared the last of the trees, he made them speed up for a run across the open lawn to the house.
Again, Erde heard that odd, sharp crackle in the distance, like embers popping in a fire. Gravel sprayed up a few feet to her right.

“Keep low!” N’Doch hissed. “Head for the bushes!”

Gravel and dirt spattered Erde’s cheek, from the left this time. Wasser sped forward. N’Doch grabbed Erde’s hand, nearly yanking her off balance.

“Move! They’re shootin’ at us!”

He ran, she ran, then he shoved her hard down behind a thick row of bushes hugging the side of the house. Wasser was already there.

“From the south, I think.”

N’Doch nodded, catching his breath. “Didn’t expect this quite so soon.” Together they scanned the rear of the compound: the long low building that stabled the riding machines, the high wall behind it, and the crumbling facades of the buildings that crowded up against the wall and gazed down into the grounds, Erde imagined, with envy.

“The roof, over there?” N’Doch pointed.

“Likely.”

“We’ll go around the other side, then, out of their line of fire.”

“Why are they shooting at us?” Erde asked. “We are not their enemies.”

“They don’t know that,” N’Doch retorted. “They’re shootin’ at anything that moves. You ready? Let’s go.”

Erde crept after him in the shadow of the bushes until they reached the front corner of the house. N’Doch stopped to reconnoiter. Erde saw the “guests” all huddled up against the compound wall in groups, or crouching singly behind the wide stone bases of the planters.

“Good.” N’Doch chewed his lip nervously. “They’ve left the doors open a crack in case anyone’s brave enough to make a run for the house.”

Wasser said quietly, “Looks like someone already tried.”

Out on the little grass plot in the center of the gravel drive, a woman lay sprawled on her face, moaning. Blood leaked from her upper back. Erde moved instinctively to help her, but N’Doch caught her and yanked her back hard. “No!”

“But she’s down, she’s hurt. Surely they’ll let us retrieve the wounded?”

His look seemed to pity and envy her simultaneously. “What kinda wars you been fighting in, girl?”

Just then, the front doors opened wide, and two of Lealé’s white clad acolytes raced out across the gravel and grass to haul the woman to safety.

“Now!” N’Doch grabbed Erde’s elbow, dragging her with him as he leaped up onto the columned porch and shoved through the open doorway. “In, woman, in!” he yelled at Lealé, who was standing beside the door. “You’re in range!” He bundled Erde and Wasser inside after her, then held the door as the acolytes retreated inside with their bloodied burden.

*   *   *

N’Doch is impressed with Lealé’s calm. No womanish fainting away at the sight of blood. For that matter, the girl’s not either, though she does look a little shell-shocked by the sudden violent turn of events, all blown up around her like a thunderstorm. Probably she’s not used to stuff happening this fast.

Lealé hovers over them briefly. “Children! Children! I looked and you were gone! Are you all right? I’m so glad you’re safe!” And then she’s off down the hall, directing the flapper rescue team into the dining room. “In here. Lay her on that other table! Quickly! Call Millet!”

“Stick close,” N’Doch warns the kid and the girl. He trails after Lealé, moving through milling knots of anxious flappers and guests who have fled inside. The cool perfumed indoor air is heating up with the rank smells of sweat and fear. He passes the doorway to the long parlor and shoots a glance inside. More guests, crowds of them, some talking in frightened whispers, most of them huddled around vid screens that were hidden before behind the fancy wood paneling.

For the second time in one day, N’Doch entertains the wild fantasy that what they’re so riveted to is the news of the coup, and once again, he’s proved wrong. The late afternoon series is playing on all screens. He studies the faces of the watchers for a moment. The Watchers. Their eyes stare like they’re drinking in the screen, like if they stared hard enough, they could be in there, a part of somebody else’s story instead of their own. Why aren’t they worried about what’s going on at home, whether their house is being ransacked,
whether their wives or husbands or children are being shot in the streets?
Probably they are
, N’Doch thinks, but it’s like they’ve forgotten how to do anything about it. All they know how to do is watch.

Suddenly he knows there’s something
he’s
gotta do, and he drags the kid and the girl back down the crowded hall to the office. The door is closed but not locked. He ducks inside, hauling the other two with him. “Close the door,” he whispers to the girl.

This seems to be the only room that hasn’t been invaded by “guests” and panic. The head flapper Jean-Pierre is there with a few others, all of them busily clicking away at various keypads, muttering figures and names at each other. They barely glance up as N’Doch comes in. A last-ditch effort, he imagines, to reroute Lealé’s business dealings around changes resulting from the coup. He sees there’s PrintNews scattered everywhere. It’s overflowed the output bin at the terminal. The service is working overtime, and here are a group of people who may actually read it. The business people. The money people. The people who know the real meaning of power. N’Doch is amazed he hasn’t understood this before.

He parks the girl by the door to keep watch, for what he’s not sure, but it makes him feel better as he ventures into this cool, white, alien space. The apparition shadows him as he goes straight to the PrintNews terminal and takes the latest sheet as it peels out of the slot. As he reads, the apparition reads over his shoulder.

What he sees shocks him. It makes denial rise up in him like the instinct to run, but he guesses he’s got to believe what he’s reading. If this ain’t the truth, the truth ain’t to be had. But it tears away the foundation of a notion he didn’t even know he’d relied upon until he sees it crumbling. He knows things are bad. It’s all around him, every day. But still, there’s this notion he’s buried inside himself, that things aren’t really as bad everywhere else in the world as they are where he is. That somewhere, even though he can’t get there, things are better, there’s still hope.

If PrintNews tells true, there isn’t. It’s just another fantasy like every other fantasy he’s been sold, ’cause there’s bad shit coming down
everywhere
. He’s got it right in front of him in black and white.

Half of Europe underwater, for instance, and the Amazon basin, and parts of Asia he’s never even heard of. Huge storms everywhere, and crop failures, item after item, a long list of national emergencies and requests for relief, desperate cries for help muffled by the dry news service prose. He sees stuff about countries moving their capitals to higher ground, about the tides of refugees rolling inland, about governments collapsing under the strain. Revolution, violence, repression, anarchy. The weight of this steady progression of disaster bears down on N’Doch until he has to look away.