A World Too Near (50 page)

Once inside the watch, she moved down the halls, wide enough to permit troop movement, devoid of cloaking shadows. Everything the Tarig built sparkled with light, a quality she had grown to despise. She strode purposefully toward her destination: the door where she had sent Morhab to his death. Encountering two small groups of soldiers, she nodded at them as she passed, walking as regally as she knew how. The lord didn’t forbid her to come to the watch. It would be remarked upon that Johanna had come here, but by then it would be too late.

Titus, wait for me. She clutched the needles in her hand: one for the sere, three for the engine. Lord Oventroe had drilled her well. The lord was gone now, departed in a brightship, so that he could be far from the scene when Ahnenhoon fell.

Whatever the outcome, Johanna dreaded having to face Inweer. In her imagination, she heard him saying,
We gave you your forest and days and nights.
Was it not enough?
Her swift answer:
No, my love, it wasn’t. I wanted the real thing.

She came to the door in the wall of the great watch. In a nearby room she took up her post at the window, the same one through which she had projected her image onto the sere the day that Morhab and Pai died. Here she watched for Titus.

From down the corridor came voices. She heard the four-footed clangor of Hirrin moving by, chattering. Their voices moved off.

Johanna hoisted her gown and unpinned the extra garments, laying the clothes out on the floor. Then, hurrying to the window, she identified the door where Lord Oventroe predicted Titus would emerge from the terminus on the other side of the sere.

An hour passed. She worried that soldiers might spy the signal of the burning dirigible and determine it to be false. It might be enough to put the fortress on alert. Then too, Johanna had been seen entering the watch alone; when she left in company with someone, note might be taken, and an officer informed. Worst of all, Inweer might wake up, and remember that she had been in his room. Leaning into the window, she watched for Titus with feral intensity.

Quinn stood before the door to the sere, the bud case in his open hand, an act that brought the wasp to him. It crawled inside the chrysalis. When the case formed around the wasp once more, he squeezed it, activating a diffraction of light that would confuse his image to any watchers. A blurring light curled around him, conferring, he hoped, a measure of invisibility. With that, he stepped outside the door.

Something caught Johanna’s attention on the other side of the sere. It was a blur, like light viewed through a smeared lens. This blur stood in a doorway across the sere, pausing. At this particular door, it must be Titus. He knew to wait for her signal.

Johanna had been holding one needle in her sweating hand, and now, when she pricked the stone with it, it dropped from her slippery fingers. She fell to her knees searching frantically. She patted the floor as she bent close to find the thin spine of metal. With another sweep of her gaze she found it. Standing once more and clutching the needle, she inserted it in the window ledge. Twisting the pin to achieve the proper angle, she let the needle guide her by its warmth. She found that angle. The needle contained instructions to suppress certain defenses, among them, the response of the sere to pressure of any kind.
Once satisfied that the needle was placed correctly, she rushed from the room, moving to the great door leading outside.

She opened it enough to show herself to the figure who stood on the other side of the sere. Then, she touched one foot onto the blackened soil in front her. Then both feet, doubting, with sudden misgivings, the strength of one needle against the burning ground. But it lay quiet and cold. The sere was disarmed.

Across the yard, Quinn saw her. She raised an arm, signaling him. Johanna. It hit him hard to see her, even at this distance, a small figure in blue, his wife. She beckoned him.

Quinn stepped onto the expanse of the sere. He walked slowly toward the watch, a curving wall of seemingly limitless span. The garrison billeted behind this wall, keeping watch for a larger enemy. Deep-set cavities in the wall gave defenders a clear view of the sere; in some of these embrasures, he saw faces of soldiers.

Oventroe had told him that Johanna would disable the sere, and so she had. But she couldn’t disable the garrison. Behind him, he left faint footprints in the carbonized ground. With no wind today to blur them, his path was an arrow pointing straight at him. He passed a great burned area of the yard. Quinn wondered what unlucky traveler had been caught unawares. He neared the other side, where Johanna waited.

She opened the door a little wider as he approached. He slipped through, joining her in the cool of the watch. Once inside, he released his grip on the bud in his pocket, clearing the blur that had surrounded him.

She stood in front of him, dressed in a blue gown, looking no older, despite the time that had passed for her. “Johanna,” he whispered.

She backed up. “You aren’t Titus,” she spat. “Who are you?”

“It’s me, Johanna.”

“No!” She glanced down the hall, ready to bolt.

“My features,” he said. “Altered, Johanna. Listen to my voice. It’s me.”

She calmed somewhat, then. Still eyeing him, she nodded to one side. “Over here.” She led him to a small room nearby, then turned to him. Her face, lit from the bright that fell through the window, retained its dark beauty. She was still nervous. “Prove that you’re Titus.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Figure it out.” She spun away. “God, how could you come to me with the wrong face! I need to trust you, and now I can’t.”

“Won’t.”

They faced off. Her eyes slashed a look at him, familiar and fierce. “That sounds like you. You’ll take no blame. Not the fine Titus I knew.”

Her words wounded. This wasn’t how he ever would have met her—with recriminations.

She jerked her head to listen to something, and moved swiftly to the chamber door. Looking out into the corridor, she satisfied herself there was nothing amiss. Then she turned back.

He was about to speak when she said, “Sydney . . . you’ve seen her? Found her?”

She was accepting him. But the moment when he could have embraced her had passed. He shook his head. “No. The Inyx have her. Still.” There was so much to say, but they had little time, and every moment increased their danger. He felt the chain firing a welt into his ankle.

Still, there were things he had to say. “I tried to find you, Johanna. All these years. God knows I tried. And Sydney.” He fell silent, hearing how pathetic that sounded.

She came closer. “Don’t blame yourself. We were in hell. Hell is a strong place.”

He reached out for her, and she came to him. He held her for a while, overcome. He would take her out of hell. She still wore her wedding ring, he had noticed. Did she think them still married? If she did, then they would be.

At last she pushed away, taking his hands in hers. She looked down, turning his hands over and examining them, as though trying to find the old Titus. “Have you remarried, Titus?”

“No.”

“I’ve moved on,” she said with perfect equanimity. “Past our old life. I had to.”

Each word stung, though he had expected them. “Come home with me, Johanna.” She deserved to be asked. He had promised himself he would say it. “Remember what we had?” For these last few minutes he had been remembering.

She shook her head. “No, Titus. I don’t remember. I’m sorry.” She turned away, looking out the window, checking for pursuers, then turned back to him, her voice steady. “The bright does that. It bleaches your mind of things. I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait for you. Too long, my sweet.” She gestured toward some garments that lay on the floor. “Now put these things on; we have work to do.”

He didn’t budge. “You could come home,” he said. “Away from hell, if that’s what this is. I won’t hold you to anything. But I’ll bring you home.”

Her smile was tender. “Do you expect to survive what we’re going to do?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Always optimistic, my Titus.” She helped him undress, to don the clothes of a man she referred to as her overseer of forest grounds.

In the midst of changing clothes, Quinn inspected the chain, pushing at it. Without doubt, it had grown into his skin.

“Is that what you brought?” Johanna asked, kneeling down to take a closer look.

“I’ll have to rip it off. It’s stuck.” The leakage itself was invisible. How many reservoirs were leaking? How much nan would it take to kill him? It was a good sign that he still had an ankle. This was no nano storm, not yet.

He stood, now dressed in the overseer’s tunic and pants. They should set out, but he still had one more question. “Johanna,” he said, “do you love this Tarig lord?”

There wasn’t much of a pause. “Yes.” She snapped a look at him, searching for blame. “Don’t judge me. Don’t you dare.”

She hadn’t heard about his own betrayals, then. He whispered. “I don’t, Johanna, believe me.” He turned to the window, gathering his thoughts.

She grabbed his arm. “The windowsill. Stay away from it. I’m control- ling the sere. You can cross over it again when you leave, if you are able to leave. But don’t touch the window.”

In his peripheral vision, Quinn saw a figure out in the yard. Turning, he saw with astonishment that it was Anzi. She stood in the doorway where he had been a moment before.

“What?” Johanna cried, noting his gaze. She joined him at the window.

“It’s Anzi,” he said. “She followed me.”

“A friend?” When he nodded, she said, “Send her back. She’ll expose us.”

Anzi had never intended to let him come here alone. He should have suspected. She stood there, looking up at the wall of the watch, no doubt seeing that it was patrolled.

“Wait here,” he told Johanna. Despite her protests, he left the room and made his way to the door leading onto the sere. Once more, he activated his chrysalis, generating a smear of light to obscure his passing. He walked across the sere toward Anzi, hoping she would stay in the relative obscurity of the terminus doorway for a few moments longer.

When he reached the other side of the sere, he took her arm. “It’s me, Anzi.” He wasted no time on rebukes. “Stay by my side. We can pass unnoticed, but stay close to me.” He pulled her onto the sere, none too gently, and they quickly crossed. No alarms—not that he could hear.

Johanna was waiting for them in the side room. She narrowed her eyes at the newcomer. “Who is this, Titus?”

“Someone who shouldn’t be here. Her name is Anzi.” He sighed, looking at Anzi, kicking
himself for not anticipating this.

“Well, then, Anzi,” Johanna said. “What do you want?”

“The same as you. To help him.”

“This isn’t helping,” Johanna muttered. “Now what, Titus?”

He answered, “She must have followed me through the terminus. I can’t send her back.”

“Leave her here,” Johanna whispered to him. “No one will find her in one of these many rooms.”

“I’m coming with you,” Anzi said. “Don’t waste time arguing.”

There was no persuading her to stay behind, of that he was sure. “All right,” he said, “you’re coming with us.”

Johanna eyed Anzi critically. “The hair will give you away. Not SuMing’s style.” She whipped off her belt and handed it to Anzi. “Bind your hair back.”

Anzi cinched back her hair, and Johanna led the way down the corridor, deeper into the watch.

At Titus Quinn’s side, Anzi was where she wanted to be. Even if she was in the Tarig fortress as an intruder, she was still where she wanted to be. Ahead, she looked at the brilliant blue of Johanna’s dress, and her long hair cascading down her back. She was shorter than Anzi, and this surprised her. She had pictured Johanna as tall and regal, and was relieved that she was only beautiful.

Anzi didn’t begrudge Johanna’s station as wife. She might have wished the station unfilled, but wishing for facts to be otherwise was useless. She’d tried it often enough, so she knew. Despite Johanna’s presence, Anzi felt a rush of joy. She was with Titus, and the sere—the defense she had most feared—was now behind her.

She followed Titus and Johanna, watching their backs, ready to fight if need be.

SuMing hurried to the wing of the centrum housing the brightship bays. Near the main stairs she found a hiding place behind an abandoned Gond carriage. From her vantage point she saw servants rushing about readying a reception of whatever lord came on the brightship. Heart sinking, she guessed that this arrival came at a very bad time for her mistress.

A delegation finally was descending the stairs. She noted with astonishment the presence of seven Tarig—as daunting a line of individuals as she had ever seen. Tarig did not often travel together. They looked grim, and in a hurry. Their long strides soon took them from view.

Flustered servants ran down the hall after the lords, murmuring a name she had heard before: Lord Nehoov. One of the Five, come from the Ascendancy. But why? As she mulled over this development, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Whipping around, she came face-to-face with a deeply frowning Jout.

“Hiding? What is this?”

“Many pardons, Excellency. I was nervous, seeing the lords, and hid in fright.”

He hauled her to her feet. “But what business brings you here to be frightened by lords?” When she didn’t answer, he gripped her harder and set out down the hall in the direction the lords had taken.

SuMing’s stomach had cramped into a small wad. He would take her to be questioned. She had no answers she was willing to give. Any that she was forced to give might doom her mistress. By the bright, she would not be the cause of Johanna’s downfall. Fear turned to conviction. Her hands were still free to seek the stone she kept in her pocket. Slipping her right hand into her jacket pouch, she found what she was looking for.

The Jout came to a halt just before the door of the captain’s chamber, pausing to knock.

Pretending to cough, SuMing brought the stone to her mouth and swallowed it.

Entering the door of the watch, Mo Ti stopped, uncertain what to do next. He had kept the girl in sight all through the terminus and across the sere, but now he had lost her. He loped down the corridor, wincing at the jolts to his ruined knee, lately a casualty of a fall off a rock bridge. He wasn’t sure how long he’d lain stunned, but when he came to his senses only a few bones were broken. None of them were in his sword arm.