Kalimpura (Green Universe) (20 page)

In effect, at me.

How very strange,
I thought.

Ponce tugged at my arm. “Green,” he whispered over little Federo’s burbling breath. His voice was still, almost strangled.

I turned and looked abaft.

The harbor had risen up behind our ship. It stood quivering in a mountainous slope taller than
Prince Enero
’s bridge deck, a fist ready to slap down the vessel and everyone foolish enough to still be aboard her. Shivering and still, just like one of those swells from the midocean storm we’d escaped through my prayers. As if the ghost of that weather had come to haunt us now.

Foam raced down the slope, boiling lace straight from the deep waters of the ocean. Dark shapes moved within. Sharks. Monsters. Souls. I could not tell, and did not want to know.

My knees jellied and my bones chilled. This was about me. The sea did not come calling like this for any normal person in any normal moment of life.

Desire, or one of Her brothers Time and Oceanus, or some sending of the Saffron Tower—I could not say. But this thing was focused on me.

“We go,” I said roughly, breaking the spell that held everyone on the deck still as rabbits beneath the circling eagle.

The ladder was clear. I ignored the rushing noise that was now horribly audible. Like a waterfall over my shoulder. People below stared up—this riot had swept up everyone from gutter urchins to grandmothers to shopkeepers. Though we had meant only to create enough of a ruckus to mask our movements, the hatred of the smallfolk for Street Guild who enforced their own brand of false justice along the docks had brought people out in great numbers. All those folk were stilled with the same awe that had just captured me as well.

Little Marya in one arm, my short knife clenched in that same fist, I one-handed slowly down the ladder, dropping the last body length to land on the pier.

The others crept down behind me. It was as if we were afraid of awakening that foaming mountain of water to its duties with respect to gravity. I was sickeningly desperate to be away before that eldritch wave broke.

With any luck, we would be swiftly lost in the crowd. They were riveted by the standing wave, not by us. I slipped my short knife up my sleeve and turned to take one last look up at
Prince Ener
o. As I’d hoped and feared, Lalo stood at the rail, staring back at me.

His face twitched, and he offered me a slow salute, then shooed us on our way. I sketched a bow, then turned and led my little handle into the silent mess we’d made of the waterfront. For the first few steps, it was like weaving through a garden of warm statuary. At least this time, no one stood in my way.

*   *   *

The water remained poised over
Prince Enero
’s stern as we reached the Street of Ships. At the foot of the waterfront’s seawall the bottom muck was exposed as if at low tide. Which made sense, a logical part of me declared amid the incipient panic of such bizarre magic behind me. The wave had to be made of water.

Those stilled mountains of stormy rage had been one thing on a ship at sea, alone in the middle of the ocean. They’d had place and purpose and context, for all that it had been a bizarre experience. Here in Kalimpura’s harbor, one of their fellows seemed like a cosmic blunder. Or cosmic threat.

As we turned away from the Street of Ships onto Prince Suravati Street, I heard the water collapse with a thunderous rush. That was immediately followed by screaming. The slop from the wave was loud. It must have swamped Agina’s Pier badly, not to mention the waterfront around there.

I muttered a prayer to Desire and Her brother titanics—whether thanks or supplication, even I could not have said. I hoped that
Prince Enero
was not much damaged. The ship and its crew had served us better than we deserved.

Mother Argai led through the streets now as dirty seawater lapped at our heels. This was not by discussion, but simply because she pushed ahead. Three blocks inland, there was no sign of the riot or the ocean’s misplaced might. Such was Kalimpura, where the gods could stage the ending of the world on one street and the people thronging the next street over would never notice.

For my part, I felt wrung out. Decisions were beyond me right now. I clutched my child close, kept my head down, and hurried after her. We moved in a huddle. No eye contact, no rough play, just sliding through the crowds.

Eventually our way eased. I looked up—briefly confused, for I had not been attending to our route—and realized we were on Shalavana Avenue. One of the streets where the houses of the wealthy lay cheek by jowl, separated by mere rods of formal garden and modest but high walls.

Traffic was much sparser here, too, and I felt deeply conspicuous. My shoulders itched as if expecting a shot.

Quite soon, Mother Argai led us to a small servants’ gate at one corner of a walled property. She even had a key for the brass lock, to my considerable surprise. She must have been carrying that all the way to Copper Downs and back. The gate was jammed, but a moment with her shoulder and it creaked open. That in turn popped the lead and wax temple and Guild seals that showed this place enjoyed strong protection. We filed through into an overgrown garden where insects hummed and frogs peeped and no one had seemingly walked for years.

We are lying quiet in an empty house. I had not known there was such a thing here in Kalimpura, where every corner belongs to some beggar and her family. At least there is paper here, and ink stones with fine metal nibs for writing.

Though I am consecrated, and therefore a priestess in my own right, I have never been much for ritual. My relationship with the gods has been far more prosaic than hieratic.

Yet today a miracle happened. It was not the little magic of a heeded prayer or a quiet sacrifice. Some power, and I suspect several, made a show in front of half the city. Or at least all of the waterfront.

I do not understand it, and I am frightened. Has the ocean decided to follow me like a dog?

You do not have these answers, I know. But you are one of the few who might understand the questions.

I lay awake in the late afternoon light, naked, exhausted, and wondering that something as simple as a gun could make a man’s chest explode. To kill so carelessly from more than striking distance and at the speed of thought was a frightening power to hand anyone.

Yet I had seen it for myself.

We occupied a silent mansion. Much of the furniture was draped in coarse muslin, though that was grimy and in some places water-stained. Our footprints on the floor were the first in months or possibly even years, judging from the thickness of the dust there. Mother Argai had said very little once we’d gained entry to the house—which took some doing, given the little golden monkeys in the garden who’d pelted us with sticks and dung. Exhausted, she had lain down on a settee, not even bothering to remove the cover. She was still sleeping when I’d finally retreated with my children to an inner room with a strange, high bed of teak ornately carved in some style I did not recognize, the ceiling painted with frescoes out of Selistani myth and legend.

Marya and Federo were fed, and slept now as well. I had nibbled on fruit gathered by Ponce from the garden despite the threat of monkeys, but rest eluded me. Too much to do, too many questions to resolve. We were no closer to rescuing our missing than we had been on sailing into the harbor. All we’d gained thus far was the apparent safety of this refuge.

Those “arrangements” Mother Vajpai had mentioned must have included this house. I was suitably grateful for a quiet place that was not filled with knives other than my own.

*   *   *

I startled awake in the deepening shadows of evening. Federo nuzzled me, though Marya still slept until I began to move. Before I did anything else, I took my time feeding them. Once both my babies were sated, I wrapped myself in a section of furniture cover, bundled my bloodied, soiled leathers in another section, then gathered babies and gear to go searching for my companions.

They were all sitting in the dark of the kitchen. Not even a tiny fire was lit in the great cooking hearth. Such light as there was came from the moon’s rays slanting in through the slatted east-facing windows, and a bit of the city’s glow. Pans dangled overhead like threats. Long trestle tables loomed beneath more of the ubiquitous furniture covers. A series of huge wooden and copper tubs lined the far wall—laundry as well here in the kitchen? Unusual, but not unheard of, especially if there was only one boiler on the grounds.

“Well,” I said quietly.

Ilona raised her hands for one of the babies. I handed her Federo, and Marya to Ponce. My bundle I tossed on the floor. At least it wasn’t dripping blood.

I went and found a stool and carried it to a point between Mother Argai and Mother Vajpai, both of whom were seated in low wooden chairs scavenged from outside, by their look.

Looking around, I tasted the heavy silence among them all. Everyone was exhausted. Fair enough. So was I. Still, there was no need to sulk in the dark. We had much to do. “No fire, no light. We are not at home to the neighbors, I presume.”

“No,” said Mother Vajpai shortly. “Nor to the Street Guild.”

Mother Argai nodded. “I repaired the gate seals.”

They were all staring at me now. Four pairs of adult eyes glittered in the dimness of the kitchen.

Finally I asked the question implied by their careful expressions. “What troubles you?”

To my surprise, it was Ponce who finally spoke. “That … thing … in the harbor. What was it?”

“I do not know,” I said honestly. “Whatever force saved us at sea has followed us here.”

“Followed
you,
Green.” Ilona sounded as if she’d been crying. That twisted my gut. I wanted more for her, from her.

With her.

I felt cold, my heart sinking. These were my friends, the people I trusted most. The people I trusted with my
children
. Everyone around me seemed to be receding.

“Followed me, yes.” I picked my words with care. “I cannot say what that was about. I suspect Desire’s brother Time, aiding Her to my benefit.”

“You speak of the titanics as if they lived down the hall from you,” said Mother Vajpai.

“You follow a goddess who is active in the world,” I blurted. Already I was losing my place in this conversation. “You have seen miracles.”

“Flower petals. Water falling from the indoor air. Words from the mouth of a woman in a trance.” She sounded as if she had swallowed a lemon. “Not miracles that can move oceans.”

“So much more,” Ilona added.

“A difference of degree!” I exploded, shouting so loudly, the babies startled and little Federo began to squall. “Nothing you have not seen. We are being of common purpose here, by the Wheel. What has changed?”

“Not just miracles.” Mother Argai finally spoke up as Ilona calmed the baby. “You fight differently now.”

“I fight for my life.” Petulantly, I added, “As I was taught. And besides, my babies were threatened.”

“We are not a death cult,” Mother Vajpai said mildly. “Lily Blades fight to win, not to kill.”

She was right. How many had I slain today? A dozen? A score? More? I could not lay them out, but at the least I could light candles for them in the garden and speak to their sins and virtues. Honor their deaths, if not their lives.

That thought in turn brought me back to Counselor Lampet and his foolish head. “They attack me with everything in their power. How can I do less? At least, do less and expect to survive?”

“There is no answer.” Ponce remained miserable, from his tone. “We are here for you, for the missing girls.”

“Samma.” I was angry now. Angry at them, angry at my enemies, angry at myself. We’d crossed an ocean to rescue both my first lover and Ilona’s daughter. “Corinthia Anastasia. Those missing girls have
names
. And we are here to make them whole.
All
of us. Or should I have left you back in Copper Downs?”

He found some courage to look me in the eye though my temper was aflame. “No. But you are becoming someone else, Green.”

“Someone who calls oceans to her, and rains death down upon her enemies?” I hated the screech in my voice, but I
hurt,
and I was frightened as much as I was angry.

“Yes.” Ponce’s voice was stark.

Mother Vajpai stood, stepped toward me on my stool, and tried to fold me into a hug. I shrugged her off, jabbing with my elbows, then wrapped my arms around myself to rock back and forth in the protecting darkness. “I must go wash out my leathers,” I muttered. “And I would light some candles for the dead.”

“I will find you tapers,” said Ilona. “A house such as this must have them laid by. And the pond in the back has water.” After a brief pause, she added, “Do you wish some help?”

“No!”

Gathering my bundle, I found the door leading into the pantry, and beyond that, the outside. There, at least, I would be among those who loved me. Which was right now precisely no one.

*   *   *

The pond was scummed, the water remarkably cool for Selistan, where everything seemed to be warm. I sat with my legs submerged up to the knees and scrubbed at the leather with a rag snipped from the edge of the furniture cover fallen down around my waist. The god-blooded short knife surely had its uses.

At least the monkeys were asleep for the night.

The grounds here gave the same impression as they had around the servants’ gate—a long and overwhelming lack of maintenance. Grasses and vines sprouted from gaps in the flagstones of the patio and walkways. A dozen species of trees were grown thick and crowded, in many cases their branches dipping unpruned to the ground. Ferns and more vines and thick bushes bunched beneath. Several animals of size watched my progress, their musky odor and rattling breath obvious to my senses, but they were not aggressive enough to stalk from shelter.

Or perhaps even animals knew death when she walked among them.

The house bulked behind me. It was built in multiple wings and layers, huge pillars and airy walkways connecting different sections. No Stone Coast architect would ever have designed such a residence. Winter snows would render the place useless. I suspected in daylight and with a good cleaning, the courtyards and walkways would be stunning. Even now, moonlight and decay painted the sweeping arcs of the rooflines and the brooding bulk of the pillars in a striking contrast.