Watcher's Web (37 page)

His cheeks
red, councillor Semisu snorted. “All right, you got me. If some of
you will show me the way through those blasted drains, I’ll get
Merilon and bring him to the Exchange so he can start it up.”

Daya said, “I
will fly to Damarq.”

*     *     *

Jessica
hurried down the corridor a little while later. The food had done
her good; she didn’t feel quite so sick any more. Now, while they
were waiting for the Pengali to bring the pearls, there was just
one thing left to do. If he wasn’t going to talk to her, she would
talk to him, whether he liked it or not. He could not go on
ignoring her. She entered the hall and stopped, staring at the
empty spot amongst the councillors.

“Daya?”

“Not here,”
one of the councillors said. “Maybe in one of the other rooms.”

The first room
she tried was empty. Her footsteps echoed hollow against the high
ceiling; every mattress on the floor lay abandoned.

Shit—did the
councillor mention going somewhere? He was going to get the
operator of the Exchange. Did Daya go with him? Was he avoiding
her?

“Daya?”

A giggle
sounded in the back of the second room. A light from outside cast a
greenish sheen over an outline of two Pengali on a mattress, the
spots on a male’s back, his tail curled around a female’s legs. A
painful stab went through her. The same mattress where she and Daya
. . . “Oh—I’m sorry.”

“Anmi.” The
young male pushed himself off his partner and crouched on the
floor, so that the light fell on the female. Maire. She, too,
scrambled up and knelt next to the male, her head bent, her
shoulders still heaving with deep breaths.

“Don’t be
silly,” Jessica said, trying to dispel memories of hungry lips on
her skin, and how a small spot of warmth had flowed from his lips
and caressed her in places no one had ever touched her.

Maire bent
deeper.

Jessica strode
across the floor and pushed up Maire’s chin. “Get up. I don’t like
it when you treat me this way. I am not some figure of worship. You
may have hope but nothing is going to change unless someone is
punished. If Miran is responsible, Miran should be made to pay the
price. So if you have nothing better to do than shagging each
other, go and help the others bring the pearls, or help me find
Daya.”

They both
nodded, with the same ridiculous reverence.

Where was he?
Why wouldn’t he talk to her?

Chapter
29

T
HE FRONT GATES
of the safe house opened with a creak, releasing many years of
built-up rust. Silent figures streamed into the yard, pushing the
caterpillar-like structure over the uneven pavement. Thick wooden
wheels rumbled, each set of two with forked beams holding up a
section of the cloth or hide that formed the tray of the vehicle.
Flowers spilled over the edge of the cloth.

Ikay stood
knee-deep in them, waving instructions. Her body sinewy and muscles
corded, she wore nothing except a wreath of flowers on her head.
Her tail waved free and snapped when things didn’t go to her
satisfaction.

Energy hummed
from within the tray of the cart. All night, a line of porters had
streamed in carrying bags. They had come in through the back door,
through the Pengali-known maze of alleys, drains, walls and doors,
bringing the precious load that would revive the Exchange.

Jessica stood
on the porch, her gaze straying to that small part of the street
visible between the foliage. Where the hell was Daya?

She, Ikay and
a few others couldn’t do this on their own. Yes, more females with
avya had come in, and Jessica had spent most of the night teaching
them how to blow up the glass beads, but Daya was the only one with
any kind of real strength and he simply had to be there for the
plan to succeed. However, he and Councillor Semisu had left to get
the operator of the Exchange and had not come back.

They
had not come back.
The thought gnawed at her like so many rats. Now it was
time was to go. Soon it would be light and the reason to continue
with the parade would be gone: this night would be the last of the
Bachelors festival.

The
caterpillar stopped. Ikay called out. “Anmi, come.”

“But Daya
isn’t here.”

“We find him
. . . in street.”

Jessica met
Ikay’s eyes. What did she mean by that?

A shout
sounded from the other side of the gate. Alla, waving her hands and
snapping her tail.
Hurry up.

Damn it. After
one look down the empty street, Jessica crossed the yard and
climbed on a massive wheel to heave herself into the cart.
Sheesh—they could have chosen less obnoxious-smelling flowers. She
sank through the thin layer onto a more solid footing. The pearls
were warm under her and released a scent of hot stone. Jessica lay
down and Ikay shovelled flowers over her. In amongst them, it was
hard to breathe.

“Anmi?” A soft
female voice.

Jessica lifted
her head, but saw nothing but flowers. “Who are you?”

“The
merchant’s daughter, Seleni.” The girl she had helped at the
dressmaker’s shop.

Jessica
reached out in her mind and sensed the girl not far from her,
similarly buried under a layer of flowers.

“My servant
told me what you are going to do. I think I can help.”

“Thanks.”
Jessica could say no more. She couldn’t bear if all was to fail
now, if Barresh were overrun, if she fell into the hands of Miran
and never saw her parents again, or if Daya was already in their
hands and never got to know she expected his child.

A shout and a
crack of a tail and the wagon started moving.

They rumbled
along slowly. The Pengali beat their drums, clapped and sang.
People yelled out in the houses they passed. Jessica didn’t dare
look up, but sensed people joining them. They had to be Pengali. It
was the middle of the night and everyone else would be asleep.

A harsh shout
interrupted the music. The drumbeats and the singing stopped,
leaving an eerie silence. Jessica pressed herself flat against the
pearls, holding her breath.

Hard heels
clacked on stone. “What is the point of this?” A Mirani voice, cold
and disdaining.

“This is the
Bachelors festival. We must finish the parade.” Jessica was
surprised at how well Sheida spoke Mirani.

“Do you have
an authorisation for that?”

“Pengali must
have the parade, or we will not have good harvests until the next
festival. We must bring this offering to the spirits—”

The harsh
voice cut him off. “So you don’t have authorisation?”

Jessica held
her breath, afraid Sheida would make some defiant comment, but he
said nothing.

“Where is this
parade going?”

“The harbour.
We have to float the flowers in the water.”

More footsteps
clacked on stone. Jessica wished she could see how many soldiers
there were and what they were doing. She cast out for Daya, but
sensed only the weak presence of Ikay, in front of the cart.

Someone rocked
the tray. “Flowers, eh? Seems pretty heavy duty for carrying
flowers.”

“We use these
for our harvest. No—please don’t get in. You will crush them.”

A hand
rummaged in the flowers. Jessica pressed herself more closely to
the layer of pearls. “I have orders to search everyone coming past
here.” Footsteps moved along the other side of the cart.

“You can
search us.”

Jessica bit
her lip, imagining Sheida standing up before the soldiers, wearing
nothing but a belt.

“I think we’ll
pass. Stick to the main street. Go straight to the harbour. No
diversions or we’ll shoot. Don’t think we’re not watching you.”

When the cart
jolted back into movement, Sheida blew out a long sigh. The
drumbeats started again, a sweeping five-beat rhythm. Three strong
beats, two weaker ones. Females sang and clapped.

Jessica lifted
her head so she could see between the flowers. The cart rumbled
past buildings. A shuttered-up shopfront, a tree, empty pavement.
“Are we almost there?”

“I can see the
square,” said Sheida, seated at the edge of the tray.

“Any sign of
Daya?”

“He would wait
for us here.”

“Can you see
anyone?”

A tense
silence.

“No.”

Damn, where
was Daya? Without him, and without the man who could operate the
Exchange, the plan would fail.

A sharp
whistle from Ikay brought the cart to a stop. The drummer broke
into a different rhythm while people sang and clapped. Jessica felt
sick.

On the map, it
hadn’t looked that far from the Exchange owner’s house to here.
Daya had been gone most of the night.

Jessica closed
her eyes and reached out in her mind. She had avoided doing this,
as it would use up precious energy, and she wasn’t sure Daya’s mind
was open to her.

Daya,
where are you?

A dark tunnel,
splashing footsteps, rasping breath. Men’s voices calling in the
distance.

Daya!

Warmth
flowed over her.
I’ve
been calling you. I’ve no idea where I am.

What
happened?

We came
out of the drain and someone had tipped off the soldiers. Jisson’s
been captured, Merilon, too, I think.

Where
are they now?
But
Jessica knew: the whole plan was falling to pieces. Without Merilon
Damaru, the Exchange wouldn’t work; without Daya, she wouldn’t have
the strength to disarm more than a few crossbows, and no one in the
Pengali party knew how to fly an aircraft anyway. She reached out.
“Sheida.”

The elder
started. “Be careful. The soldiers are watching.”

“Sheida, the
Mirani have stopped the other party. They’ve got Jisson. Daya’s
running around somewhere in the drains.”

Before he
could reply, a Mirani voice shouted. “Move on, the lot of you.
You’re disturbing the citizens’ sleep.”

Several voices
shouted protests.

“I tell you to
move on. I permitted you to tow this . . . donation to
the harbour, not to disturb the citizens’ lives. Move, or I’ll
order my men to move it for you.”

Creaking and
groaning, the cart jumped back into motion.

There was more
shouting further down the street. Jessica raised her head just
above the rim of the cart. Shadows ran across the street ahead.
There were shouts and people throwing things.

A tingle.

Daya?

Dark tunnels.
An open trapdoor. The flash of light on metal crossbows.

Daya!

Sheida pushed
her. “Get down!”

“But Daya’s
somewhere out there.”

All around the
cart, people shouted. Further away in the shadows, male voices
barked orders. The air chilled; crossbows discharged.

No,
no.

Jessica
shouted, “Ikay!”

The old female
stood amongst a group of females, all with closed eyes, focusing
their energy. A long strand of crackling light snaked out to the
crossbow in the nearest soldier’s hands. The bead flashed and
exploded. He yelled and dropped the mangled weapon, but two more
soldiers took his place.

Too slow;
there were too few of them.

Daya!

On her belly
in the flowers, Jessica pressed her hands together, but couldn’t
concentrate. Her ears roared too much; her heart beat too loudly.
This wasn’t working. Yes, they could take out the weapons one by
one, but there were too many soldiers. They
needed . . .

Holy
shit.

Energy,
focused energy, and she was sitting on top of it.

With both
hands, she grabbed an armful of pearls. About the size and weight
of a billiard ball, they were perfect—for throwing.

The first one
hit a soldier in the side. He yelped as the pearl fell to the
ground, crackling, releasing its charge, which went straight into
the bead in his crossbow. A net of blue lightning engulfed the
soldier. The bead exploded into fragments like fireworks.

Pengali
cheered. A couple of hands reached over the edge of the tray.
Jessica gave them pearls.

Within
moments, the street crackled with blue lightning. Soldiers yelled.
Some stumbled about, hands and face bleeding from glass cuts.
Besieged by Pengali fighters with knives, others reached for
sticks. A drain cover opened, spewing a tide of small bodies like
rats. Pengali knives glittered. Jessica passed pearls into questing
hands, and flung them into the seething mass of street fighting, as
the tide of white uniforms receded.

The
soldiers were retreating.
They were winning.

She passed
more pearls over the side, and more.

Under the
trees at the side of the street, a number of soldiers regrouped. A
commander shouted orders. One by one, the men turned to the wall,
testing their weapons. Some were so badly damaged the arrows jammed
in the slide. These, the soldiers flung aside, loosing batons from
their belts. Accompanied by hoarse shouts, the men charged back
into the crowd, swinging batons at the Pengali, knocking knives out
hands. When one soldier went down with a throwing knife in his
chest, two others sprang at the Pengali knife-thrower. Jessica
hurled a pearl across the heads of the crowd, but it fell short of
the mark. In the noise, she didn’t even hear the Pengali’s death
scream.

More soldiers
poured in from around the corner, outside the range of the
pearl-throwers. The first shot trailed through the air like a
firecracker. It hit the ground and brought down half a dozen
Pengali in an explosion of blue. The second one took the drummer in
the chest. Jessica screamed and turned away, but the spray of blood
hit her arms.