The Abyss Beyond Dreams (25 page)

The cab pulled up in front of the Rasheeda Hotel, which itself was probably larger than the Council chamber in Boutzen. Kervarl frowned, angry with himself for falling into such a depreciative
mindset.

I’m here now. I’m making my own impact on this world. I’m as good as any capital merchant. Better, for I have more opportunity.

‘Relax,’ the man sitting opposite said, with a kindly smile. Kervarl forced a smile.

It had taken two weeks, and considerably more coins that he’d wanted to spend, but he’d finally won an appointment with the National Council’s First Speaker in his private
annex. The First Speaker had agreed to sponsor him with the palace. Again for more coinage than he’d planned on. But that was Varlan for you: everything was on a bigger scale.

It didn’t matter, he kept telling himself. Here he was in a cab with Larrial, the First Speaker’s chief aide, on his way to the palace to see the First Officer himself. The mining
licences were in sight.
Just keep your nerve.

He jumped when the cab door was pulled open.

‘Calm,’ Larrial urged.

Kervarl tightened his shell and looked out. A man and a teenage girl were standing on the pavement. The girl was pleasant enough, with broad features and a good figure outlined by the flimsy
white cotton dress she wore. Kervarl would have preferred a prettier one. His uncertainty must have leaked out.

‘She’s fine,’ Larrial said reassuringly. ‘Just what he likes.’

‘Okay.’

The man with the girl held his hand out. His face was fuzzed, but nonetheless Kervarl got the impression of bulk and malice. He dropped some coins into the waiting hand. It stayed there, open
with the coins glinting in the light radiating out of the hotel’s grand high windows. Kervarl resisted the urge to sigh, and produced yet more money. The hand finally closed, and the girl was
allowed to climb into the cab. She sat next to Kervarl.

Larrial ’pathed an order to the cab driver, and the mod-horse moved forward, back onto Walton Boulevard. ‘Couple of minutes to the palace from here. Perhaps a good time for your gift
. . .’ He gestured at the girl.

‘Right.’ This was where it got slightly different to the deals he was used to at home. Kervarl prided himself that he was a man of the world, that he understood how things worked.
After all, that was how he’d clawed his way up to his current status. This, however . . . He steeled himself against any doubts. This was the capital. Their rules. If you weren’t going
to play by them, there was no point in being here.

He produced a small phial from his jacket pocket and offered it to the girl. Her eyes widened in delight and surprise. He could sense the greed in her thoughts.

‘Take it now,’ Larrial said. There was an edge to his voice.

‘Thank you, sir,’ the girl said. She removed the sealed lid with a practised twist and stuck the phial’s long neck into a nostril, inhaling deeply. Switched nostrils, inhaled
once more.

‘I think there’s some left,’ Larrial said.

A sublime smile rose on the girl’s face. She inhaled again.

Kervarl watched anxiously as the narnik gripped her, for a moment it seemed she might swoon. She seemed barely conscious.

‘A much purer form than she’s used to, I expect,’ Larrial said, studying the girl’s lolling head. ‘She’ll thank us for that in the morning.’

Kervarl said nothing. He’d heard all the rumours about the First Officer.

Walton Boulevard led directly up to the Captain’s Palace. Kervarl tried not to be impressed, but the building was massive, like a whole town in one structure. An officer of the Palace
Guard came over as the cab drew up outside the huge iron gates. He clearly knew Larrial and gave permission to enter.

The cab went through a two-storey archway in the façade, and into a courtyard. A footman in emerald and gold livery was waiting. He led them through another smaller archway, and out into
the palace gardens.

‘Please refrain from using your ex-sight here, sir,’ the footman said in a deep, dignified voice.

The gardens were just as impressive as the palace itself. Long pathways webbed perfectly flat lawns. Topiary trees twice Kervarl’s height stood sentry along them. There were high hedges
curving round secluded grottoes. Ponds with fountains were outlined by exotic blooms. Dozens of sweet scents mingled in the night air. Lanterns flickered gracefully, forming their own nebula.
Kervarl hadn’t even known you could get oil that would burn in different coloured flames. The lights added the final touch, making the whole garden astonishingly beautiful.

He heard the sound of laughter as they walked. It seemed to be coming from one of the grottoes. There were the fainter rhythmic cries of sex. Cheering. Then came a yelp of pain. He focused on
watching the stoned girl, making sure she didn’t stumble.

The footman led them into one of the grottoes, surrounded by an impenetrable rubybirch hedge. Smaller ornamental trees were inside, bark gnarled with age, and chosen for their night-blossom.
Tiny pink and white petals snowed silently onto the spongy grass. Fountains played outside a pavilion of white cloth whose drapes fluttered softly in the warm breeze. Lamps inside made it glow with
a golden hue, as if it were some kind of giant ethereal lantern. A harpist was playing.

The party inside was exclusive. Kervarl recognized Aothori, the First Officer. The Captain’s eldest son was in his thirties, though his exceptionally handsome face made him appear a lot
younger. His fine features were framed by thick curly red-blond hair, with a neat goatee beard styled to emphasize the already-prominent cheekbones. A loose toga revealed a perfectly muscled torso
as he lounged on a couch behind the table. Despite that strong physical presence, Kervarl could only think of him as dandyish. His friends around the table, from the highest echelons of
Varlan’s aristocratic society, were equally youthful and vibrant. One couple in the corner of the pavilion were having sex on a mound of cushions, with several more standing over them,
sipping wine as they watched. All the serving girls wore long skirts, but were naked from the waist up, and just as beautiful as the female guests. The two serving boys wore loincloths, their oiled
skin glistening in the hazy lamplight.

All Kervarl’s inferiority came rushing back. He felt old, shabby, poor.

‘My dear chap,’ Aothori said. ‘Welcome.’

Some of the partygoers deigned to look at Kervarl, only to instantly dismiss him. That was when anger started to replace his timidity. Who the crud were they to look down on him? Aristos
who’d inherited everything. Who accomplished nothing.

Larrial made the slightest sound in his throat.

Kervarl bowed. ‘Thank you for receiving me, sir.’

‘Not at all. The First Speaker speaks very highly of you.’ He turned to the beauty lounging next to him. ‘You see what I did there?’

She grinned indolently, then fixed Kervarl with an icy stare.

‘I brought you a token of my appreciation, sir.’ Kervarl applied his teekay to the girl’s back and pressed her forward, praying she wouldn’t trip over. Narnik-glazed eyes
blinked heavily as she walked up to the table with its piles of rich food. Once again, Kervarl wished he’d brought a prettier girl.

‘How generous of you,’ Aothori said. ‘I’m sure she’ll be most entertaining.’

All Kervarl heard was the First Officer’s mocking tone.

Aothori clicked his fingers. ‘Get her ready,’ he told one of the serving boys. The girl was led away, still in a narnik stupor.

‘Now, I understand you have some kind of commercial proposition for me?’ Aothori said.

A couple of the guests laughed at that. Over on the cushions, the sex was getting louder. Another man shrugged out of his toga and joined in.

‘Indeed, sir. I have lands in the Sansone mountains. I would like a licence to mine there. The Captain controls mineral rights across the planet; I understand you can sign a licence for my
company.’

‘To mine what, exactly?’

‘Silver, sir.’

Aothori raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. ‘I didn’t know there was silver there.’

‘My surveyors have found it, sir,’ Kervarl said proudly. He wanted to explain how difficult it had been, how expensive, how much effort had gone into the venture. The risk. But here
in this ludicrously decadent setting his prepared speech was rendered utterly pointless. All he wanted now was the agreement, and to leave.

‘That’s very enterprising of you,’ Aothori murmured.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘And why exactly should I grant you a licence?’

‘I would like to propose a joint venture.’

‘Ah. Delightful. And very smart. I can see you and I will get along wonderfully. What sort of percentage did you see me taking?’

Kervarl hoped he wasn’t sweating. This was crucial: get the figure wrong . . . The First Speaker had advised fifteen. ‘Seventeen and a half, sir.’ He cursed himself all the way
to Uracus for being such a coward.

‘That’s a very generous offer,’ Aothori said. He poured some wine from a flagon and gave it to a serving girl. She carried it over to Kervarl.

Everyone round the table was waiting, watching. Several knowing, predatory smiles were growing. Over on the cushions the vigorous threesome were drowning out the sound of the harp.

Aothori raised his own glass. ‘I do believe we have a deal.’ He drank his wine. The guests applauded.

Kervarl fought against showing any relief.
Play it cool. Play his game.
‘Sir.’ He raised his glass to the First Officer and drank.

‘Here’s to the two of us,’ Aothori announced loudly. ‘My new business partner.’ Everyone at the table raised their glasses in salute.

‘Well done,’ Larrial private ’pathed.

Kervarl smiled round and drank some more wine. It wasn’t as good as he’d expected. But that didn’t matter. Nothing else did.
I’ve got the licence!

‘My office will sort out the boring legal part with you tomorrow,’ Aothori said.

‘Yes, sir.’ Kervarl said. He didn’t quite know what to do now. The First Officer was giving him a mildly expectant gaze. ‘Do we stay?’ he private ’pathed
Larrial.

‘Great Giu, no. Say goodbye. The likes of us don’t get to socialize with the First Officer.’

Kervarl bowed again. ‘You’ve been most kind, sir. I don’t wish to take up any more of your time. My lawyers will contact your office, as you suggested.’

‘Indeed,’ Aothori gave a casual magnanimous wave of his hand.

Kervarl turned and left. It took a lot of willpower not to dance out of the grotto.

*

Aothori watched the southern landowner stride across the palace gardens. He shook his head in bemusement at all the contentment spilling out of the man’s relaxed
shell.

‘Amazing,’ he grunted.

‘That they found silver in the Sansones?’ Mirivia asked as she scraped her forefinger round a bowl of honeyed acral seeds.

He gave her a disappointed look. Mirivia was this week’s favourite, but not for being the sharpest thorn on the firepine. ‘That someone smart enough to find silver there could be so
stupid. It’s the southern mentality, of course. Their pride in their work ethic will be the death of them.’ He grinned. ‘See what I did there.’

She pouted, and made a show of sucking the gooey black seeds from her finger. ‘You’re so cruel.’

‘I try.’ His ex-sight observed Kervarl slow to a halt, and give Larrial a puzzled look. ‘If only he’d been one of us instead of having the stench of the Shanty on him. A
gentleman would have sent staff to deal with something as vulgar as a licence. But of course that involves spending money and having confidence in your command of others. It would seem Kervarl is
too cheap for that.’

Across the garden, Kervarl had dropped to his knees. His hands scrabbled desperately at his throat. Panic and fright poured out of his shell-less mind.

‘And as well as not being a gentleman, he’s ambitious,’ Aothori said as Kervarl pitched forwards, face down onto the neat path. ‘We really don’t want to encourage
that kind of thing; it’ll end up in another Jasmine Avenue.’

‘Well, nobody wants that,’ Mirivia agreed.

Larrial stood over the prone body, and turned to face the grotto. ‘He’s dead,’ the aide ’pathed.

‘Jolly good,’ Aothori ’pathed back. ‘Have the tax people overload the family with death duties. My office will purchase his estate. It looks like we’re in the
silver-mining business.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Aothori picked up the flagon of poisoned wine and handed it to one of the serving girls. ‘Get rid of this; we don’t want any accidents.’

‘Sir.’

‘And is Kervarl’s gift ready? Shame to waste her.’

The girl carefully avoided his gaze, keeping her shell impervious. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Jolly good.’ He kissed Mirivia. ‘I’m keen to see what you can do with her first. Then I’ll show you mine.’

When he reached the top of the hill, Slvasta was a good twenty-five metres ahead of anyone else. He hadn’t jogged, but he’d set a very fast pace. It had taken an
hour and a half to get to the summit. The first thing he’d done when he made lieutenant eight months ago was start his own training schedule for the seven squads he commanded. That training
included a ten-kilometre run twice a week, wearing a full deployment pack. His fellow officers – those who’d been oh so reasonable and supportive during the twenty months between the
Marines rescuing him and his promotion – hardly ever saw their troops on a day-to-day basis. It was considered bad form for people of their class to mix with the ranks; they left it to their
NCOs to implement orders. And they certainly didn’t take physical exercise with their men, not after the amount of food and drink they consumed in the mess. Slvasta thought that stupid. He
wanted his troopers to know he wasn’t some backroom oaf, appointed because of family wealth like most officers. They needed to see that he was just as capable as them when it came to sweeps.
They needed to have trust and confidence in him. He also wanted to know their strengths and weaknesses; that way he knew how to deploy them: who could be trusted with what tasks, what skills they
had. The only way to ascertain that was to observe them in action first hand.