think they would have killed you to get it.”
“They’re going to have to join the queue,” David said. “Why did you drag me here?”
“Because I can keep an eye on you,” Kara said. “If I’d not gotten you here, they would have sent assassins. And in Hardacre, they could have gotten to you easily. But now, now something’s changed.”
David thought of Mr Sheff. Had he been working for Drift rather than out of some sense of grievance?
Margaret shook her head. “That logic is utterly flawed. Here we are surrounded by those who would kill him, if by stupidity alone.”
Kara smiled, raised her hands in the air, though David thought she looked like she’d rather hit someone. “Here they’re relaxed, they don’t expect you to do anything. I’m not even sure Mother Graine wants you harmed. And Drift is on a path to the Deep North: every moment brings us closer.”
“But we can't stay here, you know what they want to do with me. If they want the Orbis, they’ll need to kill me,” David said.
Kara patted his arm. “You die, and everything starts over again. We're going to be waiting weeks, I suppose. And how tedious would that be? Besides, the Roil has started to move so much faster than before, it's picked up pace.”
“The Roil is like any storm, I guess,” David said. “Watch a storm and it hardly seems to move, it glowers and it boils, but it appears stationary. And then, all at once it is upon you. Fury and fire, and you realise the only one that wasn't moving was you. The Roil's moving now, and it's moving fast.”
“Been caught out in a few storms, have you?” Kara Jade said. “I know storms, the Dawn and I ride them. You won't be caught in that storm, David. Nor would I have Margaret and I suffer the inconvenience of your funeral.”
“Thank you for your sympathy,” David muttered. “Perhaps you could deliver the eulogy.”
Kara cleared her throat. “Here lies a man that was two men, and neither of them up to much. Couldn't hold his liquor for one.”
Margaret turned towards Kara. David sighed. “She is right, though.”
“Can we leave the joking until we are out of here?” Margaret said. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry,” David said.
Kara looked at Margaret, and nodded.
“Good, then tonight, after the reception we make a break for it.” “Why not now?” David asked.
Kara laughed. “Right now, I couldn’t get you out of here. It’s one thing for me to sneak through the guarding stations, another for you two. There are traps, patches of bad air, and odd gravities that won’t bother me, but will certainly have an effect on you two. I want us to escape, to finish what I know needs to be done, but I don’t want to kill either of you doing it. Look, you are safe enough now. Just be patient.”
“After the reception, then,” Margaret said.
Kara pressed the button again, and the keening stopped. “Now, I’ve things to attend to. I will see you tonight.”
CHAPTER 23
The Underground became the most sophisticated hub of industry in the world, outside of Tearwin Meet and the long-distant Breaching Spire, though to say anything about the sophistication of those regions is to offer little more than wild speculation; Tearwin had last admitted entry eight centuries before, and there are few — if any living — that have stood at the base of the Spire and wondered, just wondered, where it might take them. That is to say the Underground’s secrets were technological in nature, as far as politics was concerned, it was as unsophisticated a place as any where women and men chose to settle, united messily by common purpose, but divergent beliefs.
THE UNDERGROUND 865 MILES NORTH OF THE ROIL
The hallways of the Underground leading from one segment to the next were ill lit, in some places almost pitch black. Most of the energy required to keep the lighting running was being funnelled into the defences of the structure, and the construction process itself. Which meant that Medicine Paul didn’t see the fist that hit him in the face, or the next one that had him on his arse.
“What did you do with my nephew?” A light clicked on, and Medicine blinked at the woman holding the torch. He had been waiting for this confrontation for some time, which certainly didn’t mean he had been expecting it here. She was always such a surprising person to deal with.
“Hello, Veronica,” he said. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Where is my nephew?” she said.
“Safe, he is in Hardacre. Cadell took him from the city, there’s a ship called the Collard Green that has been sent to collect him.”
“You did what? That monster, he’s-”
“The only option I had,” Medicine said, getting up.
Another fist was driven into his chest, but he was ready for it, he stepped backwards, and it only clipped him gently.
“Ah, you infuriating bastard.”
He reached out a hand and closed it over her fist. “Trust me, it was all I had left. Your brother-”
“My brother could look after himself, he knew what he was doing.” “Exactly.”
“But he isn’t here, and neither is my nephew, all I have is you.” Medicine nodded. “I know, I know. I blame myself.”
“Are you going to the infirmary?” Veronica said.
“If I wasn’t, I think I might need to go now.”
“I didn’t hit you that hard.”
Medicine smiled. Patted dust from his shoulders, and took a deep breath of the hot, dry air — pungent in a way that had become less apparent as the days had passed. “No, you didn’t, and yes, I am going. I need to be useful.”
“Yes, we all do. It’s coming, isn’t it?”
“Has been for what’s felt like most of my life.”
Veronica nodded. “So Warwick is dead? Really dead?””Yes,” Medicine said. They stood in silence.
“I always told him that politics would be the death of him,” Veronica said.
“Not that I could ever avoid it myself. I’m sorry about what happened to your companions.”
“Thank you. Grappel should not have done what he did.”
“No, I think he made the right choice. Allow Stade’s poison in here, no matter how calm and well reasoned, and we all rot. We might as well open the doors to the Roil.”
He said, “I knew them, they were good people.”
“Good people that killed my brother, and that locked the gates of the city to the refugees, and drove them to Hardacre. You know, Medicine, the day that happened — that was my last day in Mirrlees; I could not breathe the same air as people that might think that was right. When short-sighted pragmatism overrules compassion, when it is lauded as wisdom. We would have struggled, but we could have built something new, something wonderful. Ah, it still burns.”
“That same pragmatism that says it is all right to kill in cold blood those of a different political persuasion.”
“That is different. They made their choices. We all do, I’d die for mine, and I know that you would die for yours.”
They reached the lift that led to the infirmary, Medicine jabbed the button.
“And do not pretend that you haven’t killed for yours,” Veronica said. “In these last days all our hands,
