The Summer Queen (150 page)

“I want you to stop it!” he shouted, gesturing at the storm’s
elemental madness behind her.

She stared at him, feeling the attention of the guards
around her suddenly riveted on the two of them. “What—?” she cried.

“Make it stop!” He pulled her back to the watchroom’s door;
she felt the full force of the storm tease her, caress her, trying to coax her
body out into the arms of its rage. She tried to turn back, but he held her
there, letting the storm half-drown and abuse them both. “You heard me! Do it
now!”

She twisted her head, trying to see his face clearly. “I can’t!”

“Don’t lie to me!” he said furiously. “You control the city’s
power supply at will! You turned Gundhalinu into a traitor! They even say you’re
the old queen reincarnated—And now you’ve turned the storm, to keep me away
from the mers! You’ve ruined your own people’s livelihood. Damn you, the city
will be in chaos when the tribunal arrives! They’re in orbit now, but they can’t
even land. What are you, some kind of witch? How do you do it? Where does it
come from?”

She shook her head, shaking back her sodden hair, and took a
deep, sobbing breath as the wind sucked the air from her lungs. She would have
laughed, her disbelief was so utter; except that she knew he meant every word.
Oh, Lady, she thought, Lady, Lady ... But there was no response inside her. “No
one can stop the storm!” she cried. “It has to run its course!”

“Then you admit you caused it?”

“No!” she shouted.

He gripped her arms again, hard enough to bruise her. “Stop
the storm, or I’ll order an orbital strike on the city!”

You can’t! She choked back the words that came to her lips,
seeing something like panic in his face. “You can’t—” she said, and it was not
a protest, but a threat.

His own angry response died in his throat. “What do you
mean?” he shouted, his hands still bruising her arms. He shook her; the city
shuddered beneath them, cold water climbed their legs and withdrew, leaving a
trail of flotsam.

“Your weapons won’t function,” she said, holding his gaze
with sudden ferocity. “Their aim will be off. If you try to fire on Carbuncle,
you might miss. You might hit the starport complex instead, or one of your own
ships, or—”

He swore. His hand came at her out of nowhere, striking her
across the face, knocking her to the pavement in the wind and rain.

She struggled to get her feet under her and rise, without
hands to help her; stunned with pain, battered down again by the storm. Behind
her she heard unintelligible voices exchanging angry words. Two of the
patrolmen were suddenly beside her, dragging her back again into the relative
shelter of the watch station.

She gasped for breath, tasting blood in her mouth as she was
supported between the two men. Two others held Vhanu away from her. The city
trembled under another blow. An officer spoke urgently to Vhanu, in their own
tongue; she could not hear what he said. But slowly the fury went out of Vhanu’s
straining body. The two guards let him go and stood back. He glared at her,
immolating her with his eyes as he tugged at the soaked, unyielding cloth of
his uniform sleeves. “Take her away,” he said tonelessly. “Lock her up.”

The three patrolmen led her to the hovercraft, and it
carried them back up the street to Police headquarters. They did not speak to
her, but their treatment of her was cautious, almost apologetic. She leaned
against the window at the corner of her seat, dazed and strengthless, avoiding
their eyes. The streets were almost deserted. She wondered whether it was
martial law or the terrifying presence of the storm rattling the transparent
walls at the end of every alley that kept her people indoors. She wondered,
wearily, what their reaction would have been to see her like this ... could not
carry the thought any further. She was invisible to the few people who did
venture out, hidden behind the reflective windows of the Police craft.

They reached Blue Alley at last. She was led through the station
house, past half a hundred uncomprehending stares, and into a cell somewhere
deep in its heart. There were other cells around hers; she searched them,
looking for Jerusha. But the other cells were all empty. The guards removed the
binders from her aching wrists and left her alone, sealed in by a clear wall
that gave off sparks when she touched it.

The cell was cold; she began to tremble, from reaction as
much as from the clammy embrace of her wet clothing. She wiped blood from the
corner of her mouth with her hand; stood staring at the sticky redness,
uncertain what to do with it. There was a narrow cot along the wall, with a
single blanket folded at its foot. She wrapped the blanket around her and lay
down, stupefied by exhaustion, her thoughts as empty as the space around her.
She closed her eyes, letting her mind and body escape into oblivion.

She woke from restless, nightmarish sleep, to push the
blanket away; woke again after more fever dreams to cover herself, shivering
with chills. Time passed in a measureless flow, and gradually her sleep became
deeper, more peaceful, less troubled by dreams.

At last she woke again, and her mind was clear. She sat up,
shaking off the covers, leaning back against the wall as her body’s sudden
weakness took her by surprise. Her mouth was parched and dry, and she realized
that her weakness was partly hunger and thirst. There was a plate of food on
the floor just inside the barrier at the front of the cell. She wondered how
long it had been waiting for her; she had nothing with her to tell her how much
time had passed.

She got up from the cot, managed to retrieve the plate and a
cup filled with some unfamiliar drink. She sat down with them again before
dizziness overwhelmed her, and waited, motionless, while her heart hammered
against the walls of her chest. And then she ate, slowly, savoring every bite
of the plainly prepared native food; delaying for that much longer the need to
think beyond the present moment.

By the time she had finished, her mind had begun to function
again. Her clothes were completely dry; she pulled them into something like
order. She drew back the tangled mass of her hair, braiding it again into a
long neat plait. She noticed that there were two blankets on her bed now, where
there had only been one before. Someone had been here, checking on her while
she slept.

She got up again and went to the front of the cell, calling
out. Only echoes answered. She suspected that she was being watched,
remembering Vhanu’s pathological fear of her; but there seemed to be no other
human being in the cell block. The isolation must be intentional. Vhanu would
want even her exact location kept from anyone who might try to find her.

She touched the bruise on her cheek where he had struck her,
and felt a coldness fill her that had nothing to do with the air. Why was she
here? What did he intend to do with her? Would he have her deported, without
anyone even knowing it, the way he had done to BZ? But if that was what he
intended, surely he would have done it already—

She went back to the cot and sat down, controlling the
sudden frustration and anger that overwhelmed her as she realized her helplessness.
She thought of Ariele ... tried not to, as pain blinded her. She wondered
whether Jerusha was still held prisoner here, somewhere; whether Vhanu had had
the palace searched, whether they had taken Reede away. Without Jerusha free,
there was no one who would be able to change anything, stop anything, help her
get free from here .... She rocked slowly back and forth, her fists clenched
over buried folds of cloth on her robe.

She thought suddenly of the tribunal that Vhanu had said was
coming to pass judgment on his version of the truth against her own. What was
it he had said, in the flood of his accusations, there in the storm—? They’re
here, but they can’t land.

Was he holding her to display to them as an enemy of the Hegemony,
the cause of Gundhalinu’s downfall? Or would she simply be kept here, locked
away—not even given a chance to speak, until they had come and gone again,
leaving him in charge? What would happen to her if he tried to force the truth
from her ...?  She let the thoughts come, every futile, fearful vision; let her
mind fill with possible scenarios. She fingered them like beads in a necklace,
trying to find some solution to each of them, because thought was the only
thing left over which she had any control.

At last she heard the echoes of voices and footsteps, and
knew that whichever way her fate was falling, she would know the outcome very
soon.

She stood up, pulling her rumpled clothing straight again,
as the guards came to take her out of her cell—different men this time, not the
ones who had seen their Commander strike a defenseless prisoner.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, keeping her voice even
as they locked her hands behind her.

“To the starport,” one of the guards said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Commander’s orders,” he said. They led her back through the
dreary corridors and out of the station without further explanation.

The sea lung had passed; she could see clear daylight
through the storm walls at the alley’s end. She wondered bleakly how her people
were coping with this disaster—how many had been caught outside the safety of
the city’s walls, injured or lost in the wild waters. She remembered the sight
of the moorage below the city, nothing left to see but the impossible storm
surge of the water, and swirling wreckage. She imagined that people would be
down there already, below the city and along the shore, searching through what
the sea had left them, sorting out their lives. She wondered what they would
make of her disappearance, in the middle of all this. People at the palace knew
she had been taken by the Police; the constabulary must know that Jerusha was
the Hegemony’s prisoner. Word would spread—

But the storm that had saved the mers and driven Vhanu to
this act of vengeance might work to his advantage after all, as recovery
diffused the energy of any protest the Tiamatans might make. She had no
illusions, either, that Vhanu would not move swiftly to put someone in her
place, probably a Winter. Kirard Set was gone to the Mother, but there were too
many of his old acquaintances still in the city, waiting for their opportunity
to regain Winter’s lost power. And there was no one left who had the authority
or influence to protect Summer’s interests against them ....

They were in the transit tunnel already, on a shuttle threading
rings of light like a needle through the darkness. She knew from experience
that they would be inside the starport in a matter of minutes. And then ... “Am
I being deported?” she asked, suddenly unable to endure the pressure of the
unknown any longer. “Am I going to disappear, like the Chief Justice? Where are
you taking me? I am the Queen. I have a right to know. I want to know where you’re
taking me!”

The squad of guards surrounding her in the otherwise empty
car looked at each other. “The Commander said bring you to the starport, Lady.
He didn’t say why.” The patrolman who had spoken to her before shrugged, and
glanced away. No one else spoke; they avoided looking at her.

The shuttle reached its terminus, and they took her up
through the starport’s interior, leading her finally to the reception hall in
which she had once met the Prime Minister and the Hegemonic Assembly. The wide
window-wall at the far side of the room showed her the glowing grids of the
landing field, below and beyond it.

She entered the room, surprised; saw Vhanu turn to stare at
her, across the expanse of deep blue carpet. He was surrounded by a small
cluster of government officials, most of whom she recognized. He kept watching
as she approached; his gaze lay somewhere between unease and satisfaction. The
other faces around him watched her too, wearing a mixture of expressions.

Her instinctive reaction, as she saw them there, was relief.
If Vhanu meant to deport her secretly, this was not how he would do it. But if
that was not what he intended, then she suddenly had no idea what her presence
here meant.

The guards halted her beside Vhanu, and he returned their salutes.
Looking away from his eyes, she stiffened as she saw someone enter the hall
from the other side.

Vhanu turned, seeing her stare. The others turned with him,
as the new arrivals were escorted into the room: a dozen more Kharemoughis, of
varying ages and both sexes, all of them with the aristocratic features and
unconsciously arrogant manner of Technicians. Some wore uniforms, others wore
the discreetly sophisticated, sexless clothing of highborn citizens. One, she
saw, wore a trefoil. She knew without being told that this was the tribunal
Vhanu had been waiting for.

They looked, in varying degrees, relieved and weary and glad
to find themselves finally at the end of their journey. They all looked
pleased, and somewhat curious, at the size of their welcoming committee.

Moon glanced again at Vhanu. She saw recognition and sudden
pleasure fill his face. “Pematte-sadhu!” he exclaimed, starting forward to
greet the leader of the group. The man he called out to smiled, and held up his
hand. Vhanu touched it in a greeting between equals. They spoke together in
rapid Sandhi; she heard them use the informal thou, and realized that they were
friends, possibly even related somehow.

She waited, understanding her function here at last; feeling
her hope gutter as Vhanu led the tribunal members forward. She had been brought
here to be displayed as a scapegoat. But Vhanu had not dared to have her
gagged; she could still speak for herself. She gathered her thoughts, watching
them come.

“—I say, Vhanu, couldn’t we perhaps delay these matters for
a bit? We’re all extremely fatigued,” Pernatte was protesting, his initial
animation fading rapidly.

“Forgive me for pressing thee,” Vhanu said. “But a series of
events have occurred since our last communication that have made it vital for
us talk now, before we enter the city.” He looked toward Moon, his face
hardening.