Arrows of Time (41 page)

‘If that’s the case, why are you keeping so many bodies on ice?’

‘They’re for organ donation, mostly. They’re nearing their use-by dates, though, which is a problem.’

‘Use-by dates?’

‘Most of those bodies have been in deep cryo for the last ten decades or more.’

‘What about recent deaths? What do you do with them?’

Everett put out his hand to stop him crossing the street. A high-speed motorcycle whizzed by. It didn’t make a sound. ‘There hasn’t been a death this century, except for your Rosette.’ Everett’s face lit up. ‘We’ve beaten it.’

Grayson stood at the edge of the concrete walkway, letting his eyes wander. Monoliths towered above his head. He could see no stars in the glare, only a haze-brown between the cracks of the skyscrapers. The buildings stood like sentinels, lit up to their knees by burnt orange streetlights, an unnatural colour that neither attracted bugs nor created shadows. Their barred windows obscured any activity inside, if indeed the rooms were occupied. A breath of wind pushed rubbish along the gutter, a plastic bag catching on the base of a nearby lamp pole. It struggled for a while, fluttering in panic before it was suddenly whisked away in another direction.

A peel of thunder cracked overhead, the lightning flash turning everything a blue-white, making the buildings appear double their height. Among the refuse piled in black bags under a public transport sign, a man slept, his face hidden, his hands gnarled and twisted like old tree branches. Cockroaches crawled out of his cuffs.

‘You’ve beaten death?’ Grayson asked.

‘We have,’ Everett smiled.

Grayson shook his head. ‘Amazing.’ He followed him onto the monorail, sitting in the seat behind him. ‘I need to take Rosette home,’ he whispered. ‘You’ve got your ways here, and I am grateful you’ve kept her body in suspension, but I can’t let you keep her like that any longer. She will not be a donor, in any case. Her DNA won’t match. Hasn’t your pathology department picked up on that yet?’

‘Rosette.’ Everett said the name as if it were the only word Grayson had uttered. He sounded like a man who had been starved his whole life for it, and had only just realised.

‘I’m going to need your help,’ Grayson went on, leaning forward. ‘Are you listening to me? I have to get her out.’

‘What does it mean?’ Everett asked, his eyes soft.

‘It means I need you to…’

‘Not that. What does the word
Rosette
mean?’

Grayson gripped the back of the seat. ‘Rose. It means rose.’

Everett shook his head. ‘I’ve heard of it but never seen one, of course.’

Grayson relaxed his hands. ‘It’s a plant. The blooms have many petals. Deep crimson. Incredible scent.’

‘I’m no historical botanist. What are the medicinal qualities?’

Grayson looked down. ‘The rose, it’s said, alleviates pain of the heart.’

‘An anodyne?’

‘Similar.’

When the monorail stopped, Everett was already at the door. Grayson didn’t understand the rush until he saw a flood of people coming on board behind him. They swarmed inside, all wearing grey coats, collars
turned up, hair slicked back. It was difficult to distinguish the sexes. No one smiled, or frowned or yawned or laughed. They simply poured in—straight backs, straight faces. He got off the train as quickly as he could.

‘Where to now?’ Grayson asked, keeping close track of Everett as they squeezed through the crowd waiting on the platform. It was like pushing upstream; his shoulders were knocked and buffeted, but not a face turned towards him, not a word was spoken. No one talked. Some coughed, or cleared their throats as if swallowing blades of grass.

Everett didn’t seem to notice the eeriness of it all. ‘I’ve got to sedate Canie again and get back to work. You can’t stay here. You’ll be seen.’

‘By whom?’ Grayson looked at the sea of people ignoring him. He felt invisible.

‘Security,’ Everett whispered.

‘Security?’ Grayson followed him into the elevator and Everett nodded his head towards a camera in the corner. When they entered the man’s apartment, Grayson spotted another camera in the main living area.

‘Audio?’ Grayson mouthed the question.

‘Not with my advanced student rank.’

Grayson’s eyebrows went up. He was careful not to step into range of the camera.

‘I have an idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll take Canie back to the park and wait for your shift to end. You can’t keep doping the dog. It’ll kill him.’

‘I can’t let him be seen.’ Everett nodded towards the camera.

‘Is that the only room wired?’

‘That, and the bedroom.’

Grayson frowned. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll look after the pup and keep him out of sight.’

‘And then?’

‘We get Rosette out of this place before she’s cannibalised.’

Everett sighed. ‘I told you. She’s been tagged. There’s no way.’

‘I’ll find one.’

‘I don’t see how.’

Grayson felt a finger tickling his spine. ‘I do.’

‘It’s not as easy as that,’ Everett said, grabbing Grayson’s arm and stopping him from pacing. ‘The security system is infallible.’

Grayson felt exhaustion creeping over him. They’d been arguing this point all evening. He looked towards the kitchen, where Canie was curled into a ball, deep in a natural sleep. At least one of them was getting some rest. ‘Nothing’s infallible,’ he said. ‘Nothing.’

‘Then neither is your plan.’

Grayson allowed himself to be guided back to his chair. Their discussion had become heated and he knew that wasn’t going to provide a solution. ‘The system’s in place to stop break-ins,’ Grayson persisted. ‘We’re going to break her out.’

‘In or out, I can’t see how we can get by it.’ Everett rubbed the back of his neck before pouring another drink.

Grayson picked up the hand-held computer screen and scanned the index page. ‘You have a map of the layout?’

‘All students do, but…’

‘Codes?’ Grayson punched in the numbers as Everett said them. They studied the screen together. ‘Are there any legitimate reasons for moving her?’

‘Only to the donor ward, or Labs, not out the front door.’

‘But we can get her out of Cryo and moving?’

‘Rolling a frozen body down the street would attract some attention, even in this disconnected city.’

Grayson looked up, his lip curling in a half smile. He didn’t think Everett had a sense of humour, but his eyes were twinkling now.

‘That’s the word you used for it, isn’t it? Disconnected?’

‘That’s one of them.’ Grayson tapped the edge of the monitor with his forefinger. ‘We need a first-class glamour.’

‘You haven’t used that word before.’

‘Glamour?’

‘What’s it mean?’

‘It’s a bewitchment,’ Grayson said. ‘A charm.’

‘A pendant.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s not literal. A glamour is a manipulation of ambient energy. It displaces the light waves reaching the visual cortex of onlookers so that the thing being looked at appears to be something else.’

‘An illusion?’

‘Close.’

‘Like a holograph?’

‘That’s a reasonable reference, yes.’

‘What generates it?’

‘Consciousness.’

Everett chuckled. ‘You’re in the Dark Ages with that kind of thinking, Grayson. We know consciousness has no such properties. Outside of a concept, it doesn’t exist at all. It can’t affect matter. We disproved that hocus-pocus long ago.’

‘I’m sure you did,’ Grayson said. ‘Nonetheless, we need a glamour. I wish Rosette was here to show you how it’s done. She’d change your mind on that subject lightning quick.’

‘I don’t doubt she could.’ Everett averted his eyes as he spoke.

‘If I can find Kreshkali, we’ll be able to pull it off.’

‘Kreshkali?’

‘Her mother.’

‘She knows who her mother is?’ Everett stood. ‘How’s that possible?’

Grayson shook his head. ‘And you think I’m in the Dark Ages…’

K
reshkali spotted Jarrod the moment she entered the temple. He was flanked by guards, as were she and An’ Lawrence. She could feel the Sword Master’s ire brushing across the back of her neck, making fine hairs stand out from her skin. She hoped he would control his temper. The man was like a powder keg. No doubt Scylla’s absence wasn’t doing anything to calm his nerves. If she could talk to his familiar, she might get her to settle him down.

Teg?
She let her thoughts drift up out to the temple valley until they found the Lupin’s mind. She blinked.
You’re having a picnic?

Kreshkali?
He swallowed quickly.
We stumbled on a herd of fat sheep. You were tracking back to Treeon with the guards so we
…
well, we couldn’t resist.

Kreshkali allowed him to hear her mental chuckle.
Good to know you’re getting along. Just make sure the locals don’t see you.

We’re staying hidden, top of the valley. Do you need me?

Kreshkali hesitated.
Not yet. How’s Scylla?

Impressed with my hunting skills, I’d say.

They’re sheep, Teg. Enclosed in a paddock and overfed. She’s probably more impressed with your audacity to pinch one than anything else.

Two.

What?

I said, ‘That’s true, Mistress’.

Indeed. When you’re both sated, see if you can get her to soothe the Sword Master before he carves holes in the temple walls, please?

Will do.

Kreshkali turned her attention to the woman pacing in front of the Dragon Bone Chair, ignoring for the moment Jarrod and his companions. It didn’t look good. It wasn’t clear whose blood had soaked the High Priestess of Treeon Temple—Jarrod hadn’t mentioned any violence in his brief message into the corridors—but it appeared the woman thought Jarrod had something to do with it. Kreshkali relaxed her shoulders and smoothed her expression, holding her mind shield tight in place.

‘I’m High Priestess Le Saint,’ the blood-soaked woman said. ‘I understand you and your companion have been hunting in my woods.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘And pastures…’

Teg! Get out of there.
‘We’ve been celebrating Beltane,’ Kali said, extending her hand in the traditional greeting of equals—palm up. ‘Perhaps a little too enthusiastically? I do apologise.’ She allowed herself a quick smile at Jarrod and Shane. ‘I’m delighted you’ve found them. Saved me the trouble.’ She shook her head.

‘And you are?’

‘Kreshkali, High Priestess of Temple Los Loma.’

‘Temple Los Loma? I don’t know it. Are these your apprentices?’

‘They are.’ She nodded to Jarrod and Shane, making full eye contact with each. ‘The other is…’

‘Mine. I’m Sword Master Rowan An’ Lawrence.’ He took a step forward to stand next to Kali. ‘Has there been some trouble?’

‘There’s been a murder.’

Kali’s eyebrows went up.

‘My consort, Braxton Corvey, is dead.’

‘Witnesses?’

‘Hundreds.’

‘What was seen?’

Le Saint looked down at the blood on her dress, a white daisy falling from her hair as she did so. Her head came up fast and she locked eyes with Kali’s. ‘A witch—in their company.’ She pointed a finger at Jarrod. ‘Stabbed him in the liver before hawk-shifting. She escaped, leaving them behind.’

‘And?’

‘And I think you’re that witch, back here to set them free.’ She turned to the guards. ‘Lock them up.’

The men at either side stepped in and drew their swords, the ring sounding throughout the chamber. They bound her hands behind her back and did the same with the others, before leading them away.

‘Keep them separate,’ Le Saint called out.

Kreshkali’s guard forced her in a different direction, away from Rowan and the others.

Teg!
she called.

We’re in.

After the sun set, Teg crept down the western slope of the temple valley, past the training grounds and stables, following Scylla. They stuck to the shadows, not
making a sound. The feline knew the terrain and guided them flawlessly, keeping to dark corners and thick hedges, along paths overhung with trees swaying in the wind. The success of this venture would depend on stealth, both physical and mental. There were mind-travellers about, and other familiars. He wanted to consult with Kreshkali on their plan, let her know what he was doing, but neither he nor Scylla had risked a mental communiqué. It would be like clanging bells on a still morning. The place was alive with psychics. He shifted into his other form, directing the rippling shock wave skyward.

As a quadruped his instincts sharpened, sights, sounds and smells taking on an infrared glow. He could see the texture and nature of energy in a palpable way—as if perceiving them with a different part of his mind. He was drawn towards the temple courtyard as they crossed beneath the shadow of the guardian statues. He shivered, slinking past the smooth marble shapes, keeping to the darkness that lined the empty thoroughfares. The streets were littered with the day’s revelry, abandoned when the Beltane festivities had come to an abrupt halt.

When he came to a three-way crossing, Scylla went left without hesitation. An’ Lawrence was like a homing device to her, with or without mind communication. Teg’s link to Kreshkali was even more literal. In his current form, he could smell her blood as if it were his own.

On padded feet they trotted around to the rear of the main temple and found a door, closed but unguarded from the outside. Scylla tilted her head, staring at Teg, her dark eyes unblinking. He licked his chops, white teeth flashing when the moon appeared from behind a wisp of cloud. He raised his energy, calling it into his solar plexus, and shifted soundlessly
into bipedal form. Scylla braced against the wake, hooding her lids, the feathery tufts of her ears blowing back.

Teg lifted the door latch, slowly pushing it open wide enough to get his arm in. He knew what was on the other side. He could see it as clear as the moon. The guard was unaware, thinking the threat was inside, not out.