Convergence (14 page)

"Oh, good grief, some fool turned down all the lamps," the man holding the door behind her said in annoyance. "If you'll just step forward one more pace, I'll be able to reach this lamp right by the door."

Jowi didn't like the idea of moving forward into all that pitch darkness, but the promise of immediate lamplight helped her to do it. "Just stand still now," she heard the man say, but instead of producing more light she suddenly had less. Rather than light a lamp he had closed the door, and now even the feeble light from the hall was gone!

"Oh, no!"
Jowi tried to scream out, but the terrified protest turned into a whisper. She had been left in the dark with who-knew-what, and couldn't even bring herself to try to retrace her steps to the door. Darkness like that had always terrified her, and it was so bad that she couldn't even begin to think of anything to do!

It seemed like forever that she stood trembling mindlessly there in the dark, but then she heard a noise from somewhere above her. It sounded like a scraping of some sort, but she was distracted from it by the sudden brightening of lamps being turned up. She saw the lamps as soon as they began to glow, and it didn't matter that they sat behind windows of clear resin higher in the walls of that place. They were providing the light she needed so badly, which soothed her terror—until she was able to look around.

"That's right, you're perfectly safe as long as you stay on the walkway," the man who'd led her there said over her horrified gasp. That's who it was who had opened a small doorway in the wall above the lamps, a place she was now afraid to look up toward. "The drop to either side of the walkway is very deep and very deadly, but you'll be fine as long as you don't fall off."

Jowi wanted to scream that she was
about
to fall off that very narrow walkway, but she wouldn't have been able to get the words out even if they'd been true. Even as terrified as she was, she would no
t
let herself do anything stupid like fainting, which would certainly have plunged her off into the unlit depths to either side of where she stood. Only the four-foot-wide walkway stretched across the abyss, providing footing between the door she'd come in by and another door at the far end.

"In order to leave that room, you have to reach the doorway you can see at the other end of the walkway," the man above her continued. "The door behind you can't be opened from your side, but the other one can be. All you have to do to reach it is exercise your talent. If you do it properly you'll survive to reach the other side, but if you don't you'll die. The choice is yours, and I certainly hope you'll make the right one. Good luck or goodbye."

Jowi heard the sound of the small door closing again, but still couldn't make
herself
look up. And even beyond that, she was confused by what the man had said. Walking that four-foot-wide stretch would be nerve-wracking for her, but she wouldn't need her talent to do it. She'd simply get herself moving, and before she knew it she'd be on the other side. She took a slow breath, getting herself ready to start, and that was when
it
began.

Jowi had served men of every aspect there was, and suddenly it felt as if the room were filled with every one of them—and all of them were either angry or upset. All those people were probably hidden somewhere below, but it did feel as though they were right there in the room. The heavy feelings battered at her where she stood, almost knocking her over, as palpable and real as if someone stood
beside
her pushing at her. Jowi knew then she'd been wrong. She
would
have to use her ability, or she'd never be able to stand up under the assault.

And "standing up" had taken on a very special, very important meaning. Jowi could feel the sweat begin to bead her forehead as the mass of projected feelings grew even stronger, threatening to knock her around like some invisible wind. When she almost staggered under the load her terror increased; staggering now could mean falling off the walkway, into the depths and certain death.

Jowi had been frightened many times in her life, and each of those times she had reached out blindly with her skill, learning the best ways to keep herself safe. Now she no longer reached out blindly, but with the experience of practice and a certain maturity. It was her place to soothe all those raging feelings, to calm them to a proper balance that would let her maintain her own balance. She had no more than about twenty-five or thirty feet to walk before she reached safety, but she needed to be steady on her feet to do it.

So she pushed her fear aside and reached out with that very special part of herself, knowing she first had to calm the storm before she might escape. There were women as well as men raging about, she could tell that easily, but reaching and calming them all wasn't quite the same. Bringing one or two or three to balance took no more effort than it ever had, but when she released them to touch the others they immediately went back to raging. It was like trying to gather up a bunch of frightened chickens without using an enclosure to hold them. As soon as she took her attention from the ones she'd caught to catch the others, the first bunch scattered again.

"But how am I supposed to catch them all at the same time?" she whispered, feeling like whimpering. "They're all running in a different direction . . ."

Which wasn't precisely what was happening, but the analogy was close enough. She had to touch and soothe and balance all those minds at the same time, something she'd never tried before.

And something she wasn't sure she could do. Her body had begun to tremble from being held so rigidly, but she didn't dare relax. And the storm felt as if it were growing stronger again, which would make it all that much harder to do. But if she didn't find a way to succeed she would die, and she didn't
want
to die. She wanted to live, but how was she supposed to accomplish that? How . . . ?

E
ight

Clarion stepped out of the coach in a part of Gan Garee he'd never seen before, but that wasn't surprising. He'd never been the sort to frequent that kind of neighborhood, and especially not by public transportation. He turned for a final look at the coach, knowing he'd never forget the experience of traveling in it—and would do his best never to repeat it-He couldn't remember ever being so uncomfortable in his entire life.

But that statistic was in danger of being topped by whatever his next experience would be. He turned to study the guard wall again as the coachmen struggled to remove his trunk from their vehicle, trying not to be incensed a second time over their refusal to take him anywhere near his and Mother's house there in the city. His ticket demanded that he be brought
here,
they'd insisted, and even an ordinary coach stop deeper in the city wouldn't do. He was supposed to "register" in this place, whatever that meant.

"Just follow us to
th
' guard post, boy," the coach driver said as he and his assistant carried the trunk past Clarion on his right. "They'll get you straightened out, or at least squared away."

The other man carrying the trunk guffawed at something he considered amusing, but Clarion couldn't see the joke. The commoners had been rude to him at every opportunity, usually in some indirect way that Clarion hadn't been able to protest, and he was heartily sick of it. They must have been related to his mother's house servants in some manner, but the time of indignity was finally over. At least that was one benefit in being here: he would never have to see those miserable commoners again. The thought of that let Clarion smile as he strolled after the two over to the guard post.

"This here one's yours," the driver said to one of the guardsmen before setting Clarion's trunk down just beyond the men and inside the gate. "You boys have yourselves a real nice day."

And then the men were heading back to their coach, depriving Clarion even of the pleasure of refusing to tip them! That entire situation had long since turned intolerable, but even the intolerable should have had limits.

"Let's see your ticket, friend," one of the guardsmen said, taking Clarion's attention. The hand he held out was large and meaty and blunt-fingered, clearly marking another member of the lower classes.

"Ticket?"
Clarion echoed, thoroughly confused.
"No one told me I needed a ticket to enter here. Are you trying to charge me for something I have no real
need
of, my good man? If so, then—"

"Your coach ticket," the guardsman interrupted with what looked suspiciously like a swallowed sigh. "I need to see the coach ticket you used to get here."

Clarion frowned in thought, trying to remember what he'd done with the remnants of the coach ticket. It wasn't his habit to collect keepsakes even of pleasant occasions, so there was an excellent chance that he'd thrown the useless stub away. Searching his coat pockets was proving fruitless, but just as he was about to say so, his fingers finally brushed the thing. It was something of a surprise that he
hadn't
thrown it away, but at least it saved him from having to order the guardsmen to overlook the stub's absence.

"Okay," the guardsman grunted after inspecting the stub, now offering the useless thing back. "Take this inside to the archway just to the left of the one directly behind this post. When you give it to them, they'll tell you what to do next."

"Who do you mean to have
carry
my trunk?" Clarion asked as he reluctantly took back the ticket stub. "Since there doesn't appear to be anyone else around, you and your companion will probably have to—"

"The trunk will be fine right where it is," the man interrupted again, now appearing fractionally more impatient. "We're not about to let anyone walk off with it, and you can reclaim it once you come out again. Dragging it along with you would be a waste of time and effort."

Clarion would have enjoyed arguing that opinion, but it had become obvious that he
would
have to drag the trunk if he took it with him. These two oafs were clearly refusing to carry it for him, so it was either leave the trunk here, or look a fool dragging it behind him. So Clarion swallowed what he would have said under other circumstances, nodded curtly,
then
took himself through the gate the two men guarded.

Inside was one of those would-be grand administrative buildings one could find in various parts of the city, but this one lacked the doors of the last one Clarion had seen. The structure had nothing but simple archways, and the one he'd been told to use was the next one to the left of the archway straight ahead. Clarion had the urge to pick an archway at random and use that instead, but being frivolous would only delay his reaching Mother's house and some true comfort. He therefore strode to the proper entrance and walked inside.

Just to the right of the archway was a table with a man behind it, and when Clarion stopped in front of the table the man looked up.

"I'm told
you're
to be given this thing," Clarion said to him, handing over the ticket stub. "Once you've done whatever it is you do with it, I'll require two strong men to carry my trunk, and the summoning of a public carriage to take me to my house."

"What you'll require is putting on this identity tag as soon as I finish filling it out," the man countered dryly without looking up from the rectangle of heavy paper he wrote on. "After that you'll follow the guide provided you to the proper building, and then the people inside will tell you what you'll require next. Do you understand that?"

Clarion's jaws were clamped together in anger when the man glanced up at him, but apparently that was enough of an answer to satisfy the lout. He continued writing for another moment, attached a thin chain to the paper when he was through, then handed the whole thing over. Clarion disliked putting on the foolish thing, especially since he had to remove his hat to do it, but better that than dignifying the man's remarks with words. When the thing hung around Clarion's neck the man silently handed over a small sheaf of papers, then gestured to one of two people who had sat a short distance away.

"This is Fellar, and he'll take you to where you have to go," the man behind the table said. "Give them that
set of
papers when you get there, and they'll tell you what to do next."

"You're repeating yourself," Clarion commented in as offhand a manner as he could manage while turning away from the man. "That's one of the first signs of old age, I'm told. Do have a nice day."

And with that he walked off after the man Fellar, who was already heading for the far side of the building. Nothing in the way of a countering comment was shouted after him, which made Clarion feel inexplicably good. He'd never before found it possible to use that smooth but distant and superior tone he admired so much, but this time it had come flowing out as if he'd used it all his life. The general situation was still intolerable, but apparently even the intolerable had its bright side.