The Abyss Beyond Dreams (37 page)

‘She’s dead!’ Arnice cried. ‘I’m dead! I can’t live like this. I’m a monster. A monster without a face!’

‘Nurse!’ Slvasta bellowed.

The doctor came running down the aisle.

‘They hate us. Everybody hates us! Kill them. Kill them all. I’ve Fallen, Slvasta, I’ve Fallen! Kill me. Somebody, please!’

Arnice started to thrash about. Slvasta had to use his teekay to pin him down on the cot as the doctor fiddled with the mechanism on the bottom of the drip bottle. It took a few moments, then
Arnice subsided. Slvasta looked on in anguish as his friend began to sob.

‘Slvasta. Don’t leave me! Don’t . . .’ Arnice sank back, unconscious.

The doctor patted Slvasta on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. It’s the drugs talking. I’ve seen it a hundred times. He won’t even remember in the morning.’

‘Of course. Thank you, doctor.’

‘They’re taking him to the Hewlitt Hospital now. I know some of the surgeons there, good chaps. They’ll fix up what we can of his face. Damn savages, doing that to
him.’

‘Yes, quite.’

*

Slvasta watched Arnice’s unconscious body loaded onto the canvas-covered ambulance wagon. The driver was an ordinary cabby, volunteering to help out. ‘Don’t
you worry, gov, I’ll get the major there okay,’ he assured Slvasta. ‘I haven’t lost one today.’

‘Thank you.’ Slvasta hadn’t realized his shell was so flimsy that it was allowing his worry to show.

Keturah hurried across the rear courtyard. ‘Captain?’

‘Why are you still here?’ he asked in surprise.

‘Because you are,’ she said.

‘Oh, Giu, Keturah, you should have gone home hours ago. I’ll get a trooper to escort you.’

‘That’s very kind, sir. But there’s someone here to see you. Says she’s a friend. She was very insistent. The building guards are holding her in the main
entrance.’

Slvasta sent his ex-sight out into the building’s main entrance hallway. It was Bethaneve sitting on the bench between two suspicious and tired guards.

‘It’s fine,’ Slvasta told the guards as he walked across the marble floor to her. ‘I know her. Well done for being vigilant. Dismissed.’

Bethaneve hugged him as the guards went back to the front door. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sniffing and clinging tightly, ‘but I didn’t know where else to
go.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m okay, yes. I managed to dodge the Meor troopers when they were beating the crowd.’

Slvasta gave Keturah an awkward look. The woman’s surprised gaze darted between him and Bethaneve.

‘Ah, right,’ he answered, then cursed himself for his own cowardice. ‘Come on up to my office.’

‘There’s no time. They’ve arrested Javier, Slvasta. The sheriffs beat him terribly and threw him into one of their jail wagons.’

‘Crudding Uracus. When was this?’

‘About five o’clock. They took him to the Ganuzi Street Station. There’s a judge gone there already. They say the judge is using suspension powers to pass sentence.’

‘What’s suspension?’ he asked.

‘The Captain can order suspension of civil laws in an emergency,’ Keturah said. ‘The order came through from the Captain’s Palace this morning. It allows the Meor to use
armed force against whoever the local commander believes is threatening the state.’

‘What?’

‘There’s a copy on your desk. I put it there.’

Slvasta just stood there. Too much was happening. He didn’t know what to do or say.

‘They’ll sentence him to the Pidrui mines,’ Bethaneve said. ‘And there’ll be no appeal allowed because the sentence was issued during suspension. Slvasta,
he’ll never get out of there. They won’t even admit he’s been taken there. Uracus, they won’t admit they’ve even arrested him.’

Slvasta wanted to ask what the Pidrui mines were; he didn’t like the way there were so many things he was ignorant of. ‘All right, can we get a lawyer? A civil rights one?’

‘There are no civil rights under suspension,’ Keturah said. ‘That’s the whole point of it.’

He gave Bethaneve a desperate look. ‘Then what can we do?’

‘I don’t know. I thought you . . .’ She struggled against her tears. ‘You’re an officer.’

Slvasta tried to think. One thing he knew for certain: Javier wasn’t going to be freed using any legal means. He turned to Keturah. ‘This suspension order, it allows any Meor officer
to do what he wants?’

‘More or less, yes.’

‘Can you find that copy for me?’

She took a moment. Her shell flickered, allowing him to sense her thoughts, how much she hated the day’s events, her contempt for the organization she worked for, the haughtiness of the
officers. ‘Yes.’

‘Thank you. Please bring it to the back courtyard.’

Keturah gave Bethaneve a quick timid smile. ‘Good luck.’

‘Where’s Coulan?’ Slvasta asked. ‘Did he get arrested as well?’

‘No. He’s outside, fuzzed. We thought I had more chance of getting in here.’

‘Good call. Now, listen: he has to get us a cab. Do either of you know a driver who’ll be sympathetic?’

‘Probably. Coulan knows a lot of people.’

‘Good. Now go and tell him to arrange it, fast. And tell him I’ll meet him on the corner of Enuie Alley and Conought Square in fifteen minutes.’

‘Okay. What are you going to do?’

He gestured down at his filthy uniform. ‘Get spruced up.’

*

In the end, it was so much easier than Slvasta had expected. The mildly fuzzed cab, driven by Coulan, pulled up outside the Ganuzi Street Sheriff Station – a strictly
functional four-storey building with three underground levels containing cells. Set back from the road, it was built from a dark brick, with narrow barred windows. The sheriffs inside maintained a
constant fuzz, adding to the forbidding atmosphere.

There were five sheriffs standing guard outside, watching keenly when Slvasta’s cab drew up. He didn’t get out, simply stuck his arm out of the door window and beckoned.

One of the sheriffs went over. ‘What in Uracus do you want?’

Slvasta leaned forward so the pale light from the streetlamps revealed he was wearing the uniform of a major from the Meor regiment. Arnice wasn’t quite the same size, but the fit was good
enough for tonight, with little illumination and some strategic fuzzing. The sheriff couldn’t even tell he only had one arm – that would have been a complete give-away.

‘Tell your station commander I want to see him.’

‘Uh . . . sir?’

‘You heard. Get him out here now.’

‘But—’

‘Now!’

The sheriff wasn’t going to argue. Not today. He hurried into the station.

A few minutes later the station commander came out.

‘He looks happy,’ Coulan ’pathed privately to Slvasta.

‘What is this?’ the commander demanded. It had been a long bad day, and it was far from over. He clearly didn’t need any further complications.

Slvasta still didn’t come out of the cab. He simply held up the copy of the suspension order. ‘You are familiar with this order and the authority it gives me?’

The commander barely read the first few lines. ‘Aye.’

‘Good. You have a Javier in your custody. Big man, arrested on Walton Boulevard around five o’clock. I’ll take charge of him now.’

‘You’ve got to be joking. The judge has already sentenced him. We’re about to ship a whole bunch of these rebel bastards out to Pidrui.’

Slvasta hardened his voice, exactly the way so many officers in the Joint Council did, lifting himself up an entire social class. ‘This is not a joke, commander. My uncle believes him to
be one of the ring leaders. He will be questioned quite firmly on that matter.’

‘Your uncle?’ a tone of uncertainty had crept into the commander’s voice.

‘Trevene. I trust you’re familiar with the name?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good man.’ Slvasta waited until the station commander had turned round. ‘Oh, and, commander?’

‘Sir?’

‘This never happened. Understand?’

‘Completely.’

Two minutes later, a pair of sheriffs dragged a limp Javier out of the station. Coulan hopped down and opened the cab’s door. All three of them bundled the big man onto the floor at
Slvasta’s feet.

Only when the station was out of any reasonable ex-sight range did Slvasta let out a cry of disbelief. ‘Oh my crudding Giu, we did it! We crudding did it.’

‘You were brilliant,’ Coulan replied. ‘You’ve got to have balls the size of melons.’

‘Interesting compliment. Thanks.’

‘How is he?’

Slvasta’s ex-scan swept along Javier. There was plenty of bruising, both eyes were almost swollen shut. A multitude of cuts and grazes had clotted and scabbed, leaving a lot of dried blood
on his skin and clothing. Several ribs were cracked, and one knee was badly wrenched with fluid building round the joint. ‘Alive.’

The sub-basement was a long way underground, and old, a maze of corridors and small cells whose original stone walls were frequently patched with crude bricks and crumbling
mortar. Slicks of blue-green algae ran down from oozing cracks, while spiky clumps of small pale stalactites protruded from arching ceilings like petrified fungal blooms. The air was cold, rancid
and stale from being unable to escape; just to breathe it in was immediately dispiriting to anyone who was brought down here, sapping all hope.

Aothori accompanied Trevene down the interminable spiral stairs, making sure the hem of his natty embroidered evening cloak didn’t drag along the worn steps. He rather enjoyed the smell of
bussalore shit and human sweat; it always accompanied a sense of fear. The central chamber into which they emerged had three small oil lamps on iron brackets high on the wall. Their meagre light
left the apex of the chamber in shadow, but did manage to illuminate the figures shackled to the wall with iron manacles, their mouths filled with wooden gag balls held in place by leather straps.
He counted seventeen, of which seven were female. As soon as they recognized him, their already apprehensive thoughts became panicky.

He smiled in acknowledgement of just how weighty his reputation was these days, and began a circuit. His shell was tight, not that he was in any real danger from a teekay strike. They had all
been fitted with a collar of etor vine. The vine, which was as strong as leather, had a peculiar property: when soaked in water a cut length expanded to nearly twice its original size. In that
state a braided collar could easily be slipped over a human head. After that it began to dry out, and shrink. If you were wearing one, it took a vast amount of teekay to hold the savagely
constricting braids off your throat. Any lapse in concentration, any teekay diverted somewhere else meant the collar would tighten fast and choke the wearer. It left the prisoner without any
ability to spin out a shell, their body was devoid of protection, their thoughts unscreened.

‘Students,’ Aothori concluded, allowing his contempt to show. The clothes, the age, the outrage that mirrored their fright, the broken arrogance. He knew the type well enough –
all from the university.

‘Indeed, sir,’ Trevene said.

‘Radicals?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Are these the same ones who wanted to kick up a fuss over the Jasmine Avenue anniversary?’

‘We know two of them have been outspoken about the Jasmine rebellion on occasion.’

‘Disgraceful. We provide a wealth of opportunity for them, and this is how they thank us. Were they all plotting today’s pitiful demonstrations? Are they the ringleaders?’

‘This group was acting together, certainly. The sheriffs arrested them all in Bromwell Park after my people pointed them out.’

‘So this was planned? I’m curious. How? Nobody knew about Wurzen until a couple of days ago.’

‘“Plan” might be too strong a concept here. I prefer to think they were primed ready to react to a scandal. Wurzen simply came along; if not this, it would have been something
else.’

‘Really? So they were being prepared for general rebellion? That speaks of serious organization.’ Aothori walked over to one of the girls. Her green dress was torn and filthy, her
ebony skin grazed along one arm and leg – presumably where she’d been dragged. She began to shake as he stared at her; tears welled up in her eyes.

‘Your name?’ Aothori asked.

‘Oeleen,’ she ’pathed. ‘Please, the collar’s so tight.’

‘I know.’ He studied the thoughts spewing out of her frantic mind, the images, her deep terrors. ‘My, my, what an imaginative little thing you are. So are you the ringleader of
this wretched band?’

‘No, no, there is no ringleader. It’s not like that. We were just protesting about Wurzen, that’s all. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

‘Ah, so many people are always sorry after the event. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help anyone. So who is “we”? All your friends here?’

‘Yes. Yes.’

He grinned at Trevene. ‘Well, how’s that for camaraderie? Everyone here! I can’t say I’m terribly worried about the Captaincy being overthrown if this is the best
radicals can do.’

‘We’ll get lists of everyone they’ve ’pathed and received political ’paths from, and when,’ Trevene said. ‘It will take time, but my clerks will draw up
a register, then we can cross-reference and analyse it, see if we can find a pattern, some kind of hierarchy.’

‘Sounds terribly dreary.’

‘Please,’ Oeleen ’pathed. ‘The collar. Please. It’s been on for hours. I can’t . . . I can’t hold it back much longer.’

Aothori studied her face, savouring the way her pretty youthful features were distorted by strain and panic. ‘Then we’d better not waste any time, had we?’ He turned back to
Trevene, whose lenses were reflecting the flickering orange oil lamps, occluding his eyes. ‘I’ll take her, and this one, and this one,’ he indicated two other girls.

‘As you wish.’

‘You’re not going to go running to father? That’s refreshing.’

‘They aren’t ringleaders, and frankly there are too many for us to process properly. However, there can be no public knowledge of the outcome. Everyone is focused on Haranne right
now. I don’t want that attention diverted.’

‘A good point.’ He stroked Oeleen’s cheek tenderly. ‘Not that I would ever send anyone as special as this to the Pidrui mines. I’ll ’path the professor when
I’ve finished with them.’