Missing Elements (The Lament Book 3) (23 page)

Which it did. He waved to Pran,
as if suggesting that she go and get things started. No one else moved, and
every Bard knew not to act
too
reluctant to be on stage. You could feign
being disinterested, but even if you were, when called you
did
it. The
job was to keep people entertained, after all.

In this case however, she didn't
have anything ready, in particular. They didn't want a song, she didn't think.

"Thank you all for coming.
I'm Bard Pran, as most of you know. Just in case anyone hasn't been told about
what's going on, I'll cover things quickly." That was going to be a
challenge, she thought, but didn't want to take all day on it, if it could be helped.
"We... have people here from the past. They live in a different part of
the world, called the System. It seems that in that place they have minds but
no bodies. We can go into how that works later, if anyone is interested. For
the last hundred years or so they've been coming here, to the surface, and
taking bodies, trying to help improve the wealth and lives of the people here.
We're... Basically their great grandchildren?" She looked over at Doctor
Millis, who was near the center of the collection of body thieves.

"With a few extra 'greats'
added, but yes, that's about right." He made his voice sound professional,
but he had a strong accent suddenly. It wasn't the slightly prissy sound she
was used to hearing in his voice. That probably meant it was how he really
sounded.

"So, they have a stake in
getting along with us. I told them they have to stop stealing bodies, but if
they help shut down the Grange and Camp Wallace, they can use some of those
people. They have to ensure a better life for them, in their System, which is
something that they claim can be done pretty easily. That will need to be
checked out, of course, and verified. That's allowable?"

She waited watching the people
from the past, not the High Councilors. No one disagreed at least.

Going on, she wanted to shrug,
but didn't, since this wasn't a comedy bit. It just looked like one, or
should
.

A mostly bald girl dressed like a
too skinny Apprentice Guardian, telling them about a magic land they could put
all their criminally insane people. It didn't sound real to her, at any rate.

"To make this all work, the
people from the past, the ones here, are agreeing to let the Guardians pass
judgment on everything they do. They'll present new technologies and sciences,
and not build or make anything that can't meet our rules for energy use. Some
of the things might be better than what we have even. Judge Brown will speak
for them today. Is everyone caught up?" She grinned, but no one else did.
It was wild, and sounded like a game, but there was just a sea of blank faces.

"Judge Brown, if you'll move
to the front? High Guardian Saran... High Judge Sims?" Then, as if those
people were the ones that should be in control of things like this, she went to
sit down. The job was introducing people, like a good narrator should. Once
done, she needed to get herself out of the way, which she did by moving to the
back of the room and sliding in next to Judge Clair.

The woman patted her hand, but
didn't speak, since the yelling was about to begin. Pran could feel it in the
room.

She wasn't wrong about that
either.

The first problem was that, while
most of the High Councilors knew about the people from the past, they didn't
trust them even a tiny bit. Even the Dyeing Councilor crossed her arms and kept
shaking her head at Saran, as if the old and hard
Guardian
would just
give them all over to the downloads without a fight? The people from the past
managed to hold their tongues remarkably well, given all the bickering earlier,
and Judge Brown advocated for them very aggressively, explaining what he'd
found so far, and that they didn't mean harm to the world.

He did clear his throat finally,
after making that point for the sixth or seventh time.

"That isn't the same as not
having their own goals. They don't mean to hurt anyone or anything, the people
that I have spoken too, but they do know that what they're suggesting is not
without risk. The feeling is that by going slow and trusting in the institution
of the Guardians, we can make this work. The aggregate feeling, that is. Some
have differing personal opinions, but are willing to go with that for the time
being."

Regardless of what was wanted, or
how lacking in trust some of them were of the others, they still managed to
agree that the basic goal, that of helping the children of the Grange, and even
the men and women of Camp Wallace, was admirable enough. None of the High
Council loved the idea of giving those people over to have their lives stolen,
which lead to a long discussion of the System.

Doctor Millis spoke then, after
introducing himself using his real name. That got the room to go silent. Not
everyone believed him at first, until the High Judge informed them that it was
true.

"The virtual system is an
interior space. It looks and feels real, but anything is possible in there. You
feel like you have a body, taste food and hear with your own ears. In most ways
it's superior to the real world in which you all live. We aren't coming here to
improve
our
lot in life, since we already have good lives of our own.
No, we come to improve yours. If we can. It's the major project of our world,
in the System. Coming up with ways to help you. Now,
how
we should do
that is a matter of opinion! We even have those that think we shouldn't help
you at all, and that leaving you to your own devices is enough. There's also
the matter of a military buildup."

That, it turned out, was mainly
thanks to a splinter group of the Firmament. Not the coalition as she'd
thought. It took a while to explain it all, but it really helped having several
Judges in the room, calling out that what he said was true. Especially when he
pointed out that most of his people didn't believe in violence even in the
smallest measure.

"We will however, aid you in
any way you wish, to stop these people. Including killing them, if that's what
you require. As a culture the System is far less monolithic than the current
world, but we
will
protect you from harm, if we're the source of
it."

It seemed like a plan to her, but
that didn't mean it wouldn't take weeks to hammer everything out. Finally, when
it seemed like nothing was going to really happen that day, she rolled her
eyes. Then, against her own better judgment, she stood up. Some things were too
important to leave to idiots, which meant drawing attention to herself, this
time.

"So, what we have on the
table at the moment is this; we all agree to allow the people of the System to
help shut down Camp Wallace and the Grange, with oversight from the Guardians.
We also agree to allow them to use some of those bodies, if the best thing for
the person needing help is to go into their world for aid. To that end, we can
also agree on a peace treaty? No one
needs
to fight, or anything, do
they?" She looked at the room and copying what High Councilor Sims had
done earlier, she raised her right hand. "All agreed?"

Most of the room said,
"Aye". It made for a decently loud spectacle.

"All apposed?"

"Nay." This came from
one of Councilors that Pran hadn't met, and surprisingly three of the
downloads. The rest of the people stared at them like they were imbeciles.

Bard Clarice smiled though and
stood.

"The ayes have it! Ladies
and gentlemen, for the first time since the founding, we have an accord! We should
get that in writing. Does anyone have any paper?"

Several people did, and Pran
found herself given over to the task of writing up the document itself. It let
her use her calligraphy skills, which weren't too bad. It took less than two
thirds of a single page, and at the bottom she signed it, forgetting for a
moment that it wasn't a school assignment. She winced, but before she could
cover the mark, Doctor Millis moved in beside her and leaned over the little
table that Apprentice Roy and Second Mate Bill had brought in.

"Quite fitting, Bard Pran. I
too, will sign, if that's allowed? I think we all should."

They did. Everyone there in fact.
The last two names on the paper were Tuvin and Royce, but even the cook, who
turned out to be named Mary Ridgest, put her name to it. The more important
people were all at the top, except of course her name. Right there,
before
Michael Morse.

Pran.

Just that. Not Pran Grange, or
even Bard Pran. Just the one word. It looked lonely, and weak, with all of
those more proper names below it. Everyone else had more than she did that way.
Fancy titles, big three, or even four, part monikers. Grand things that should
have put her to shame, or left her feeling awkward. She didn't though.

It came down to one thing,
really. Right there, written in her own hand, was an agreement of the High
Council and even Michael Morse himself, to shut down the Grange. It was a thing
that she'd never thought could happen, much less in her own life time. It
wasn't done yet, but it
might
be now.

That had never been her life's
goal, of course. It wasn't even a dream, because until that moment, the ink on
the paper still damp, meaning it could be rubbed into illegibility on a whim,
Pran had never thought anyone else would care enough to
try
.

Better, right there, on the very
top, was her name. Pran the victim. Pran the murderer. Pran the student. The
Bard. The fool.

The
winner
.

Smiling, she realized that it was
just the case. It might not be the next day, and a week or two later it
probably wouldn't count for anything good, but in that moment, she was on the
right
side. A tear came to her eye, and looking around, she saw that she wasn't the
only one. True, none of the Guardians did that, or the Judges, but
all
of the downloads did. Even Doctor Millis. Even the ones that had voted against
it that day.

It was Soros that walked over to
her however, the middle aged man giving her a quick hug, even if they didn't
have that kind of a relationship.

"So, Bard Pran... Do you
have those songs ready for me?"

She laughed, since it was clear
that
he'd
thought she'd forgotten about him. Tears moving down both of
their faces, she waved to Bard Ben.

"Can I borrow your guitar
for a moment?" She really only had the one thing to sing, but it was good
enough for a first showing, she thought.

"Apprentice Roy; Hero of
Hilden."

He was in the room, but everyone,
including the High Councilors, stopped what they were doing to listen about him
bravely fighting through a blizzard to go and instruct the town in fighting
diseases with cleanliness. The melody was simple, but driving, since the best
songs were, and the words were catchy enough that most people didn't get that
it was about not being a slob or fearing a good washing up, even as it hammered
the idea home over and again.

Roy blushed, and buried his head
shyly, but by the end of it people clapped, and Mara walked over to pound the
boy on the back several times.

"That's even pretty close to
what really happened. We should all be proud of our Apprentice Shipman
here."

There was an odd sense to it all,
but Pran realized that she really was. Even leaving herself out of the song, it
was a good one, and Doctor Soros waved Millis over, pointing at the guitar with
an old finger.

"What do you think,
Mike?"

There was silence for a moment,
but then a large smile from her old friend.

"I think... That this is a
very good place to start on making a better world. A
fine
beginning."

From behind the men Guardian
Saran laughed.

"Well, if
that's
the
first thing you want to try, I think we can get behind it! Why, I'll even learn
the words myself and sing it in the streets!"

That was high humor it seemed,
but Pran nodded. It was, after all, a very good place to start.

The next days were exactly what
Pran had figured they would be, with a few telling differences. For one thing,
a major one in her own personal world, was that Bard Clarice
wasn't
removed from office. No one even suggested it, which was weird, since everyone
knew that she was in a stolen body now. That of a girl who had run away from
her mother as a teen and then come back to be her Apprentice. Which, of course,
only worked if Bard Gina was a download, too.

It was so obvious that she didn't
even ask about it. The only question was if the women had been traded out at
the same time or not. It was creepier, but she didn't think that was the case
and that Bard Gina had put her real daughter inside the System, away from her,
all those years ago.

At least the girl, the real Clarice,
had grown up knowing that she
had
a mother and was, if not loved, at
least cared for.

Maybe.

The rest of the events were
pretty much exactly what she thought they would be. Everyone went away, and no
one bothered to keep her in the loop. Even The Lament itself had to get back to
work, the wedding being over for Paul. Pran didn't let that bother her though.
She was a Bard, not some kind of statesman, so while Clarice worked at doing
things with the other members of the council and her own people, there were
things for her to do, too.

Pran had to fight for time to
create anything. Her first project, the statue of Judge Brown, suddenly had
real historical meaning, since
he
was the Judge that stood for those
that wanted peace, and to help them all. That part was new, but an announcement
had gone out, and people at least knew the story of the people from the System.
The Treaty of The Lament, too. Even if it was hard for a lot of them to believe,
yet.

Most of the work she had to
handle was the kind done in writing, on paper. Like the new Apprentice
schedule. That
every
student leaving art school had their name move
across Bard Clarice's desk was a bit of a shock, honestly. It had never really
occurred to her that one person was responsible for placing each and every new
Apprentice with a master.

That normally worked pretty well,
most likely, since there were recommendations that came along with each student
package, including their school records, advisements from Bards that might have
heard or seen the work that the student had done and in some cases samples.
Those were mainly drawings and a few paintings, but also some written works.

It was shocking to Pran that
Clarice simply asked her to do it one day. Especially since there was only one
file on the desk, which she pointed at, before moving to work on the other,
more important, things that had come in. Or possibly not. Clarice normally did
those herself, and had been, even if it meant staying late at the office each
night. Making sure herself that the kids got placed with the best master for
each of their skills and talents. Pran had seen the woman skip meals to work on
it, even as she was trying to hold society together and calm the nerves of the
High Council, some of whom were suddenly afraid that they'd made the wrong
decision completely.

Not with this file, however.

On opening, Pran got the idea. It
was for Ricard Trombly.

His family had been responsible
for having her kicked out of art school and dispossessed totally. All to give
him a chance at being Bard Clarice's new Apprentice. It hadn't even been
likely, they just wanted to thin the applicant field a bit. She'd been minutes
away from having to whore herself for food because of them. She'd also ended up
nearly dying, thanks to what they set in motion, several times.

That... Wasn't actually Ricard's
fault
though, she didn't think. He was decently skilled, being a good solid player,
and funny on stage, when he wanted to be. His dramatic work was a little weak,
but that would probably improve with seasoning. That was, she knew, the real
point of being an Apprentice. Having enough time to improve in a safe
environment where someone else was responsible for what you did.

Like what Bard Clarice was doing
with
her
at that moment. Putting the future of a person that it seemed
like Pran would be holding a grudge against in her hands, to see what she'd
do
to him. That could be almost anything really, she knew. From placing him with a
poor and traveling master that could barely afford to feed himself, much less
some kid he didn't want around, to doing the same with one of the top
performers in the world.

Neither of those really fit the
boy, however. He was skilled enough, and could be good, if he got away from
thinking that having powerful relatives meant his place in the world was
assured
.
His
real
skill was in being funny, she thought. It was even in his file.
The Headmaster of her old school suggested that he'd do well with someone of
that sort, even.

Tapping the recommendation she
nodded.

"I think that The Great
Marin Lester would work well for him. Ricard is funny, but can play the
straight man, too. I think they'd fit well together. His musical ability is
good, but he'll never be much of a soloist. What he really needs is to be away
from Compton. His family could ruin his chances of really making his own way, I
think. You said that Marin is successful, didn't you? He can afford to have
someone around and train him well enough?" She made it a real question,
since she didn't know that man that well, having only spoken to him twice. He
wore nice clothing, but it was also patched, to give him a motley appearance.
He was always clean, however. Tidy too.

Looking up at her, Clarice smiled
hugely.

"That would be a very
good
fit, I think. I'd half thought you'd stick him on the western desert run, with
Mobley. It's the worst position on the continent, in case you're wondering.
Putting him with Marin Lester is actually...
Responsible
. Don't you want
him punished?"

Did she? That had never really
been her plan, had it? Ricard was just some boy to her. His family had hurt
her, a bit. They'd left her sad and alone, but she was always sad and alone. Or
had
been. Now she had friends. Clark and Mara, Doctor Millis, even
Clarice and Kabrin, though the man
did
keep hinting that he'd like to
spend the night with her. It was flattering, and only a little annoying. Still,
when it came down to it, she knew that he'd stand by her. Why? Well, that one
was harder to answer, but it seemed true, for now.

She shook her head a bit and
smiled.

"Not really. He's not
perfect, but I don't think he would have set his people on me, if they'd asked
him about it first. That reminds me, I still owe the school a statue of Michael
Morse. I should get Doctor Millis to come in and sit for it. He looks more
distinguished now, don't you think?"

It was a sudden change, but Pran
was going to need another large project soon. She was almost ready to cast the
bronze for her Judge Brown work, the mold being made and sitting in the other
room. Clarice had signed off on the metal for it and it was being paid for,
making it a real work, that would give her some actual coin. Enough for a new
coat, even.

For the last few days it had
gotten so cold that she'd had to borrow a blanket from Clarice's and walked to
work wrapped up in it, like a cloak. If she'd been an Apprentice in truth, then
the High Bard would have paid for things like that if she needed them, but she
wasn't
.
That meant making do, until she had a chance to get things going. It wouldn't
take too long, she didn't think. In the spring Pran would have the funds from
the shipments she'd arranged, for instance. There had been more of that too, in
the last days, since winter had set in early in most places.

The funny thing there was that
Clarice had assured her, many times, that it was closer to normal than not. The
early winter was just how the world would be, from then on.

Pran looked at the large window
to the left, and sighed. It was snowing. The white flakes were big and wet looking
too, which meant they were going to stick to the ground outside. That wasn't
too bad, really, but being cold was better than cold and wet. There would be
about three more hours of daylight however.

Given that she knew where The
Great Bard Marin Lester was staying, she figured that she should go and try to
sell him on the idea of taking Ricard on.

When she mentioned it to Clarice
the woman nodded, thoughtfully.

"Agreed. Normally we just
send a letter, but a Bard of his stature should be courted a little bit. He'll
treat the boy better if he knows that the recommendation is a personal one from
you, too. Not that he'd abuse him otherwise, but it won't harm anything either.
Hearing that he's a personal friend of yours, being given a top assignment like
this will please him to no end. Even if he
is
successful enough that he
shouldn't need his ego stroked that much. Bards... Well, you know how it is."

She went back to work, her made
up face rosy at the cheeks. The woman was older, but not ancient yet. Her face
had lines, but a lot of them showed that she spent a good bit of her time
smiling. In many ways, the woman, from the past or not, had been as kind to her
as anyone else ever had.

Her, Clark, Mara and Clair. That
was, as much as she really had anyone, her family, wasn't it? Oh, not
really
.
Pran knew better than to count on anyone in the world when things really came
down to it, but it was about all she'd ever had that way. Friends that
considered her to be that in return.

On that warm set of feelings,
Pran got up and recovered her blanket. Using that made her seem poor, but for
the time being, she simply
was
. If anyone thought less of her for it...
Well, they
would
, wouldn't they? Worse, it was still true. That wouldn't
last forever, she didn't think, but for the time being, she was just an
impoverished young Bard. So, fitting the tradition, if nothing else.

There was no sense in hiding what
she was doing, so she pulled the old and well worn grey thing over her
shoulders and tied it in place with a bit of rope that she'd found in the
workroom. It would hold it closed well enough, in case of wind. The little sap
was in the back of her trousers, under the rope, but she hardly noticed it
anymore. Carrying it daily had just become her habit after all. The new
pressure reminded her that it was there, but she didn't bother moving things
around. It was just different, not painful.

Bard Clarice might still have her
job, but Tims was gone from his, and had been for weeks. Why that was, she
didn't know personally. Then, as the second in command of a military service,
he might just have better things to do than run people meals and messages. Like
stop the Firmament forces. That part was going well, it seemed. Some of them
resisted, but most had simply been taken in, for reprocessing. That meant the
people who the bodies belonged to would get them back, unless they
wanted
to stay in the System. Some of them had left loved ones behind however, and
would want to see them again.

Robest was still on the first
floor, and when she looked in the chubby boy looked up guiltily from a plate
that was filled with cookies. Seasonal ones that held nuts and fruit. In a few
days everyone would close the offices down and head out for whatever their
family traditions required of them over the holidays. For a month. They hadn't
gotten that off from the art school, but most people in the city would be
shutting down for the whole time. Not everyone, since the plan only worked
thanks to about twenty percent of the people staying at work the whole time.
They'd take off the month after that, though.

High Councilors and their staff
got it off, and that meant floor boys and the cooks did too.

Even
Pran
did, which was
leaving her at a loss as to how to keep herself occupied. This was what she was
thinking as she walked out onto the gray stone of the street. The snow was, as
she'd suspected, starting to cling to everything, but it had just started,
which was changing the color of the normally brown stone. The ground was damp,
but not too slippery, yet.

Having been around for a while
now, Pran had picked up a few shortcuts, and moved between two buildings that
were set close together, her eyes peeled, looking for attackers. Not everyone
loved her, but she was pretty safe for the time being. She simply looked too
poor to have many coins, which was true. She also didn't look girlish enough
for most people to try and grab for sexual purposes, yet. That kind of thing
was rare anyway. Nearly unheard of in the capital, since the Guardians and
Judges would be all over anyone trying something like that. If you wanted that
kind of thing it was easier just to save up a few coins and hire it done for
you anyway. Prostitution was legal everywhere, but most small places didn't
have anyone like that. Lincoln was huge though, and had a good twenty women
that did that sort of work.

For a while though no one would
be confusing her for one of them, she didn't think.

It meant she felt a bit of a
shock when she saw an attack taking place after coming out from between the stone
buildings. At first she could hardly credit it, since the small, thin, rather
aged man that was being set upon was Donal. The dung cart man. He was dressed
warmly, but even though there were six people going after him, their faces all
covered with rags, he put up a better fight than she would have. Much better,
in fact. Two of the larger forms went down, before a third managed to get
behind him and use a choke hold. The man didn't go out easily, hammering elbows
into his assailant's middle over and again, but as she ran toward the
collection of people, Pran saw him slow down in his movements a lot.