House of Reeds

dumping radiation cleansers into her bloodstream and they made her skin itch. 'The crashing aircraft?'

'I did.' Malakar slumped forward. Her back scales flexed up on ridges of muscle beneath the integument, increasing her surface area and making the Jehanan look like a huge porcupine. 'This makes you give pause? Pricks your conscience?'

Gretchen shook her head. 'You've no stories of Arthava's Fire in communal memory? No tales of the heavens bleeding flame or cruel killing light stretching from horizon to horizon?'

'Hrrrr…' The Jehanan looked up, eyes searching the clouds. They continued to roll past, spitting rain over some neighborhoods, parted here and there by gusts in the upper air. 'I see no demons towering over the sky, flesh made of smoke, eyes roaring pits of fire…'

'No, not today. You're describing a citykiller cloud. This was an ECOM suppression blast at the edge of the Jaganite atmosphere.' She tapped her ear, trying to muster a wry smile. 'Every unshielded electronic device in this hemisphere will have just died. Every exposed comp will be scrambled.'

'And so, why do you – ah, your stolen data is no more.' Malakar trilled heartily. 'The grilled skomsh has fallen to the ground! Soiled! Inedible! All your clever tools and devices rendered useless…' She laughed again, bellowlike lungs heaving.

Anderssen grimaced, stung by the accusation of theft. Cheater! A voice from memory cried, sounding very much like little Isabelle. You took my share!

'I don't care about the data right now,' she said. 'My friends have fled that khus and they're in danger and I can't find them without my comm.'

The Jehanan looked up, nostrils wrinkling. 'Why would they flee a fine warm sleeping pit?'

Gretchen pointed across the rooftops towards the southeast. 'Someone is attacking Imperial citizens, remember? Our landlord will inform the authorities of our presence… Who else but the kujen could have attack craft likethose?'

'Hoooo… Some truth there.' Malakar swung her head from side to side. 'The kujen has a face of paper and ink, he does. He snuffles in the dirt before the asuchau and then spits on their tails as they turn away.' A claw scratched the side of her jaw. 'One wonders…Rumor has long legs among our people; often soft voices flutter about the lamps in the night, telling tales of secret excavations in the old cities and forgotten machines made whole again…'

'Like the kalpataru,' Anderssen said grimly, testing her knee and wincing a little. 'I need to find my friends. My apologies, but I must go.'

'Hooo now!' Malakar levered herself up, alarmed. 'Do not be rash! There is the matter of the divine tree…' Her voice trailed off abruptly.

Gretchen unsealed the pouch around her comp and removed the device. The screen was dull, showing no lights. 'You see? It's been fried like a skomsh. I'll need another undamaged comp to extract the data from this one. Then I'll need time to analyze the remains… I don't know ifI would be able to answer any of our questions. Please, let me go. My friends may be hurt, or taken prisoner or dead.'

'Then leave them behind!' The old Jehanan reached out a claw, beckoning for the comp. 'I know places to hide, perhaps we can even find a working one of…these things…from a merchant.'

'I'm sorry.' Gretchen placed the comp in Malakar's hand. 'Magdalena and Parker aren't quite my hatchlings, but they are my family. I won't abandon them.' She straightened her shoulders, gave Malakar a sharp look and turned away.

'Hoooo! You can't…come back here! Human! Where are you going?'

The sound of glass shattering and angry hooting gave Anderssen pause. She had been following a lane heading down towards the khus holding their rooms and now the narrow street had reached a boulevard. A steep flight of steps led down to the edge of the curving road. Pressing herself against a plastered wall, she peered around the corner.

The broad avenue was empty of runner-carts and wagons and the usual throng of busy citizens – but a large crowd of Jehanan youths were busily smashing windows and dragging merchandise out onto the sidewalks. One store was on fire, belching clouds of heavy white smoke. An angry, grumbling sound filled the air. Gretchen squinted, letting the goggles zoom in, and saw two short-horns then hurl an Imperial three-d set into the flames with a resounding crash. A hooting cheer rose at the burst of sparks.

'Well, that's just typical…' Anderssen looked the other direction. More gangs of youths in fancy scale-paint and masks prowled the avenue, smashing windows and throwing firebombs into the shops. Some of the short-horns had bags of loot hanging from their shoulders. A bitter, sharp smell of burning wood and plastic permeated the air. Thin, flat drifts of smoke coiled between the ancient trees lining the road.

There seemed to be no way to reach the khus without crossing into plain view.

Worried, Gretchen turned, wondering if she could find a way around on the rooftops. The walkways above had been completely deserted and she guessed the more sensible locals had gotten the hatchlings inside, locked their doors and were going to wait out the rioting with eyes closed. The tall shape of the apartment building seemed intact but she couldn't get close enough to see the lobby entrance.

Malakar was waiting, looming over her, the dead comp strapped to her chest bone beneath the usual Jehanan harness. Anderssen flinched and made a face, angry with herself for not hearing the creature creep up behind her.

'Hoooo! You jump like a skomsh fresh-caught in a net! I hear angry voices out there… They are not snuffling before the Empire today, no…but how will youfind your friends? They are far away if you cannot cross the boulevard!'

That is an excellent question, Gretchen thought. 'I made a mistake,' she snapped. 'I expected our comms to work – our first rendezvous is at the train station. But they might still be waiting -'

Malakar stiffened, raising a single clawed finger, head turning to one side. 'Wait, asuchau, I am hearing strange sounds…like a steam-loom of vast size…'

Anderssen peered out onto the street again and swallowed a curse. A huge tracked military vehicle – an armored personnel carrier? – rumbled down the avenue. At the sight of the apparition, the gangs of looters scattered, throwing down their prizes. Jehanan in body-armor loped alongside the clanking, rattling machine, and they held stubby rifles in their claws. Their eyes were in constant movement, yet they ignored the fleeing short-horns.

'The army,' she breathed, ducking back. She looked up at Malakar. 'The kujen's men are sweeping the streets. But not for looters! Is there somewhere I can hide until they pass?'

The old Jehanan's snout twisted in disgust. 'The kujen…he will let the paigim short-horns run wild, wrecking the livelihood of many a shopkeeper, and do nothing as long as they bite Imperial tails! But do you asuchau suffer? No! Only the meek who sought to turn over a single shatamanu in profit. So are the powerless ground fine between mill stones…' A rumbling and muttering followed. The growl of engines and the stamp of swift feet grew closer.

'Come on,' Gretchen said, seizing Malakar's arm, trying to drag her back down the lane. 'Up the stairs at least!'

'No, not that way.' The gardener wrenched her arm free and strode past the stone staircase. She ducked behind the out-thrust stone and down into a ramp cutting into the earth. 'This way, if you must cross the avenue…'

Anderssen followed, one eyebrow raised as they shuffled down the ramp, past one, and then two thick layers of rubble and into a vaulting hallway running at an angle to the lane above. Lamps hung from the vaults every ten meters, spilling a warm oil-glow through faces of colored glass. Her eyes flitted across other openings, recognizing doorways built to a different esthetic. The floor beneath her feet was uneven, but lined with irregular slabs. This is an old city, layer heaped upon layer over the millennia.

Gretchen hurried after the gardener, who had pressed on while she gawked at the archaeological evidence all around her. Other Jehanan passed in the opposite direction, glancing at her suspiciously as they passed. 'Malakar – do these tunnels run under the whole city? Are there more levels below this one?'

The passage reached an intersection, splitting into three branches, and light spilled from an open doorway. A squat dome – cracked in places and repaired with brick pylons – hung over the open space. Many lamps hung down