Runner (18 page)

That left Norr with little choice but to turn her back on the soldier, remove the pullover, and replace it with a bra. Then, having attempted to shake the wrinkles out of her only black dress, the sensitive stepped into it and pulled the garment up the length of her body. In the meantime her mind was racing. When she awoke to find men standing next to her bed the sensitive's first thought had been for Lee. Then, once it became obvious that they were after her rather than the boy, Norr had assumed that the intruders worked for Lysander's Techno Society. But now, as she straightened her dress, the sensitive realized that theory was wrong, too. Assuming that what the noncom said was true, and Prince Palo wanted to see her. The question was why? “Don't just stand there,” Norr said pointing back over her shoulder. “Zip me up.”

The noncom considered the order for a moment, decided that he could handle the spook if necessary, and took two steps forward. The zipper rose smoothly, Norr said, “Thank you,” and turned to face him. “So,” the sensitive said suggestively, “how do I look? Good enough for an audience with the Shah's son?”

The answer was that the variant looked a lot better than she had any right to given the circumstances, but the noncom wasn't about to say that. “It wouldn't be for me to say, ma'am. Please exit the elevator. The captain is waiting.”

Having been unable to learn anything from the noncom, Norr stepped into a pair of seldom-used evening slippers, wished they were black instead of dark blue, and was herded out into the lobby. The soldiers gave her admiring glances, wondered what the noncom had seen, and hoped he would share.

It was late, so with the exception of the street people huddled outside, no one was present to witness the sensitive's departure. A ragged-looking beggar, one of only three metal men in the city, noticed that the female was a 92.5 percent match with a person he had been ordered to watch for and snapped a series of digital photos via his “eyes” as the sensitive walked past him. The photos would be down-loaded to a tiny disk, which would be secured to one of the birds that constantly flew back and forth between Gos and Tra, and sent on its way the moment the sun rose.

The vehicle that waited curbside had once been equipped with an engine, but it had long since been removed to clear out a space where the coachman could sit. The conveyance was shaped like an elongated teardrop, boasted permanently darkened windows, and crouched on six tires—two in front and four in back. Running boards and handgrips had been
added so that a contingent of bodyguards could cling to the vehicle's sides. The sensitive noticed that six perfectly matched angens waited to pull the carriage and that each of them sported a black, red, and silver hood, the same colors favored by the Shah and members of his immediate family.

One of the soldiers opened a gleaming metal door and motioned for Norr to enter. The sensitive looked back over her shoulder, half-expecting to see Rebo come charging out through the lobby, and realized how absurd that was. In spite of the fact that he had been kind enough to take an interest in her problems, the runner had Lee's safety to consider, not to mention needs of his own. And that was fine she assured herself. After all, she'd been on her own for a long time and was perfectly capable of solving her own problems. So why did she feel disappointed? Because she was being silly, that's why—an indulgence she couldn't afford.

Norr turned back, hiked her skirt a tiny bit higher, and slid into the coach. The interior was lit by candles concealed inside cleverly designed wall sconces. A man in fancy-looking uniform sat waiting for her. He nodded his head. “Captain Rik Tovar at your service. Please make yourself comfortable. We're late.”

The candles flickered as the door closed, and the driver shouted an order to his team. The vehicle jerked into motion as the sensitive raised a well-plucked eyebrow. “Late? Late for what?”

“I thought that would be obvious,” Tovar replied. “You are a sensitive. Individuals having your, ah, talents are rare hereabouts. Prince Palo would like to avail himself of your services.”

Norr frowned. “Couldn't he ask? And schedule something during the day?”

“His highness has no need to
ask,
” Tovar replied dryly. “And the summons was by way of an impulse. I apologize if we frightened you.”

“Oh, no,” the sensitive said caustically. “People barge into my room, point guns at me, and haul me off nearly every night. What exactly does he want?”

Tovar was relatively young, extremely well groomed, and possessed of a black mustache that he smoothed with a knuckle. “The prince has brothers, both of whom want more power, while his father seeks ways to keep all three of them at each other's throats. That makes for a great deal of uncertainty, which is one of the reasons why his highness tries to get an edge on his siblings by taking counsel from all manner of psychics, oracles, and fortune-tellers. So, once an informer reported that a sensitive had entered the city, the prince was eager to hear whatever nonsense you might choose to spout. I recommend that you take care however . . . The more obvious frauds end up working in the mines.”

The officer was a skeptic, the kind of person who assumed that all sensitives were frauds, a breed that Norr had encountered many times before. She sat silent for a moment, cocked her head as if listening to someone, and nodded. “A woman is here to greet you . . . But she was a little girl when you last saw her. She says that she liked the name you gave her so much that she still goes by it even though there have been hundreds over the course of many incarnations.”

All the blood seemed to drain out of Tovar's face. “A little girl? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am,” the sensitive replied. “Her name is Kia.”

“My God,” Tovar said, as tears ran down his cheeks. “It's true! My daughter is alive! Thank you.”

“You're very welcome,” Norr replied sincerely. “Listen,
I'm sorry to press you, especially at a moment like this. But what can you tell me about what I'm going to encounter? It could make a difference.”

The officer used a crimson sleeve to dry his cheeks. His demeanor had changed. Now, in place of the cool skepticism that characterized his earlier comments, he seemed genuinely concerned for her safety. “You already know about Prince Palo and the situation within the family, so the only other counsel I can offer you has to do with his temper. Avoid it if you can.”

Norr heard the driver shout a muffled order, felt the carriage start to slow, and saw lights through the darkened windows. The officer had regained his composure by then—as well as some of the smugness that went with it. He caught the sensitive's eye. “I trust that our conversation will remain confidential?”

Norr nodded. “Of course.”

A servant opened the door, and Norr exited the carriage to find herself in what felt like a fantasyland. The roughly three-story-tall building clearly predated the skyscrapers around it and was bathed in artificial light. The structure's roof consisted of a dome that was very reminiscent of the temple in Hyber Pass, except that this one was in perfect condition and gleamed with fresh paint. Norr had the impression of a peaked pediment, horizontal entablature, and sturdy columns before being led around the side of the structure toward what she assumed was a service entrance.

Meanwhile, the manner in which the sparsely lit high-rise buildings encircled the area, plus the gardens around the palace, conveyed the impression of a park. And that was when the sensitive realized that the structure had once been open to the public. A museum, gallery, or library created for the enjoyment of regular citizens rather than a single family.

But that line of thought was subsumed by a tidal wave of emotion as Lysander's distinctive personality flooded in around her. She hadn't felt his presence since the session in the pass, and it came as a shock. His words seemed to reverberate inside her head. “Listen to me! It's important.”

The sensitive shook her head. “No! Not now! Go away!”

Tovar paused in front of an open door and turned to look at her. “What did you say?”

Norr, who had been unaware that she had spoken out loud, shook her head. “It wasn't important. Please lead the way.”

The officer took the young woman at her word and led her inside. The service entrance opened into storage area and the kitchen beyond. In spite of the fact that breakfast was still many hours away, the staff was already hard at work preparing the wide assortment of fresh-baked flatbread, butter rolls, and sweet cakes that would be served to the prince and his family should they decide to make an appearance before noon.

Having exited the kitchen, Norr was led through a maze of hallways and ushered into a small but formal room. She was the only person present, but judging from the benches and chairs, up to a dozen people were required to wait there at times.

Norr had no more than sat down and heard the lock click, when Lysander took another run at her. The discarnate entity seemed very agitated, even for him, but the sensitive had no intention of allowing him through. What if the guards came for her only to discover that she was busy channeling the lunatic who had once been her father? No, that wouldn't do at all.

So Lysander pushed, Norr pushed back, and the two of them were at what amounted to a psychic impasse when the lock clicked and the door swung open. In place of Captain Tovar, who the sensitive expected to see, was a long-faced
majordomo. He was dressed in a loose-fitting high-collared black tunic that fell well below his hips, trousers to match, and a pair of pointed slippers. He introduced himself as Simms and produced a bow so modest it was little more than a slight inclination of his torso. “The prince will receive you now.”

A heavy weight rode the pit of Norr's stomach as she forced a smile, stood, and followed the servant out into the hall. Two members of the palace guard followed as the sensitive was led out into the formal passageway that circled the building and from there into the chamber where Prince Palo and his family preferred to receive unofficial guests.

Unlike the throne room that Norr had imagined, it was furnished with comfortable-looking furniture, and the walls were lined with thousands of leather-bound books. A large pair of double doors fronted what the sensitive imagined to be a terrace and stood slightly ajar. Her arrival went almost entirely unnoticed as the prince threw both doors open and stood between them. His voice was angry. “What's going on out there? Who's making that noise?”

Norr had been so focused on her own situation up till that point that she hadn't noticed the insistent
thump! thump! thump!
of drums interspersed with the occasional almost discordant blare of distant trumpets. It was a strange sound—yet oddly familiar at the same time. The majordomo looked unperturbed. “The red hats have entered the public gardens, sire. They are staging some sort of religious celebration—or so I am told.”

“Well, they can damned well celebrate somewhere else,” the prince fumed, as he closed the doors. “Inform Captain Tovar . . . Tell him to chase the beggars away.”

Simms nodded gravely. “Do you want them arrested, sire? The captain will want to know.”

The nobleman shook his head. “No, let them go. We can rely on the black hats to keep them in check. If only my father and brothers were so easy to deal with.”

Norr felt her pulse beat a little faster. The red hats! Was that a matter of coincidence? Or, were Rebo and Lee connected to the commotion somehow? And if so, to what end? There was no way to know.

“So,” Prince Palo said as he turned his back to the doors. Except for his nose, which was a little too large, he was a handsome man and well aware of it. He was dressed in a white jacket, red sash, and black pants. His back was ramrod straight, and his voice was stern. “We have a visitor . . . What's your name?”

“Norr, sire,” the sensitive responded. “Lanni Norr.”

“Thank you for coming,” the princess said, speaking for the first time. “I know it's late.”

Norr turned to look at the other woman. They were approximately the same age, or so it seemed, although Princess Sema was prettier. She wore a lime green headdress, a filmy half veil, and a dress that fell gracefully around her. She was seated on a couch. Two children, both young, played at her feet. The noblewoman's words made it sound as if Norr had merely been inconvenienced rather than snatched from her bed. Was that intentional? A device calculated to make Norr feel more like a guest than a prisoner? Or was the princess so insulated from reality that she thought it was true? The sensitive decided that it didn't make much difference. She dropped a curtsy. “You're welcome, highness.”

The prince dropped into a chair. Neither he nor his wife invited Norr to sit. “We have consulted all manner of psychics,” Palo observed coldly. “But none were variants.
Perhaps you would be so kind as to elaborate on the nature of your paranormal abilities.”

“Some sensitives can see those who have departed this plane of existence for the next,” Norr responded carefully. “Others have the ability to sample past lives, or view events from a distance. Still others can hear discarnate entities speak, cause small items to fly through the air, or heal by the laying on of hands.

“As for my particular talents I am clairaudient, clairvoyant, and have the ability to leave my body for short periods of time, thereby allowing spirit entities to occupy it.”