including those ruined ones of yours, are drenched with blood.”
“I do not,” Medicine said. “All that I can say is that I am surprised that you didn’t find me until now. My arrival was hardly a secret.”
“I found you,” Veronica said. “Who was it that nursed you to health when you were sick with the northern fever? I made sure that you breathed. I changed your sheets… now, that was pleasant.”
“And you didn’t stay to confront me then?”
“No, I couldn’t stand to see your face.”
“What’s changed?”
“Grappel’s deciding your future,” Veronica said..”
“He’s going to kill me, too?”
Veronica shook her head. “He needs a second in command. What you did, taking those people up from Mirrlees, recapturing the steam engine from the Cuttlefolk.” Medicine could hardly take credit for that; it had been more seizing an opportunity and fleeing for his life.
She said, “It impressed him. He’s going to ask you to join him. I thought I’d let you know first.”
“What? I don’t want authority. I don’t need it. I’m back doing what I should have been doing all along.”
Veronica smiled at him. “We both know that’s a lie,” she said.
The infirmary was always busy. Medicine worked until he was exhausted. This was what he had trained for all those years ago; and now, listening to people, helping them as best he could, he’d found a new joy and a new way of escape from the troubles that beset him. Here he was helping people, even if it was only easing suffering, keeping them alive.
When he was done, still thinking about Veronica’s words, he took the lift back down to his room, sat on his bed and unstoppered the bottle of whisky that Grappel had given him.
When the knock at the door came, he was expecting it.
Grappel’s messenger entered. “He wants to speak to you now,” he said.
Medicine nodded. He knew what he was going to say.
CHAPTER 24
Drift kept itself apart, because it was easy to. But that did not make it an easy city in which to live. It had never unshackled itself from its dependence on Shale for food, nor the sheer cost of moving items to and from the city. It was a state with no resources, but one. And that it ruled ruthlessly.
THE CITY OF DRIFT 1401 MILES NORTH OF THE ROIL
Margaret sat in her room in the single wooden chair, staring across at the bed and her guns. David had almost immediately gone to sleep — after polishing off several plates of something the Drifters called night-meat, and which David declared was delicious — despite Kara’s warnings. He could take care of himself.
She stood up, stretched, and walked for the door.
Margaret had to get out of there, just for a while, and she wanted to know if she could, if they would let her. There were few people getting about and those that were seemed busy, giving her a glance (they all did that), but hurrying on. She found her way to the entrance; Kara had explained the system of lights that signalled the way, and once you knew to follow the amber globes, it wasn’t difficult at all. The Caress was built into the ground: the hallways and floors ran through it all in a network, more like a circulatory system than a building. Oddly enough, the way out was different from the way in. She passed empty halls, dimly lit, and bustling kitchens filled with heat. There was even a hallway of statues, stern-faced things that Margaret suspected depicted the Mothers of the Sky, though why there were so many she couldn’t fathom.
Finally, down a wide stairwell, she came to a pair of steel doors that swung open at her approach, and she walked out into the late afternoon. Everything sloped gently away from the stone finger of the Caress. Already behind her she could see lights coming on. It would be dark soon, and the Stars of Mourning would rise to the east. She well knew the contours of the dark; it held no fear for her. Not even this curious and wonderful dark she had been thrust into over the past few weeks with its stars and its moons. Tate's sky had only ever been the dark of the Roil and the fumes of the Steaming Vents, and lights reflected off the wireway.
Near the Caress were a handful of bookstores selling the usual array of histories, personal and serious. She saw plenty of Deighton in there, Molck and many others that she did not recognise. There were maps and map powder, too, and a children's book about the creatures of the Roil — the illustrations all a little too cute for her. She even found a couple of Night Council novels and considered getting one for David, though she hadn't seen him read in days. The boy was changing again, growing even more serious.
She left the last bookstore after a few minutes’ desultory poking through its stock, the shopkeeper leaving her alone. The city was already cooling down, a mist sliding out from the lake to the east of the city, she could see the mist coasting slowing towards her. The familiar smell of coal smoke greeted her. Fires were being lit on street corners. She stopped at one of them, stretched her hands out over the burning coals, felt her flesh warm a little and turned to stare at the men following her.
They did a double take that was almost funny. Margaret cracked her neck.
Time to deal with this now, she thought.
There were two of them, both big men for Drifters, broad across the chest, guns at their belts. The men were doing their best to appear interested in a shop window filled with flowers.
“You two,” she shouted, “what do you think you’re doing? Buying me a bouquet, I expect.”
They actually seemed to wilt.
“We don’t want any trouble,” said the tallest one of them.
“You found trouble the moment you started following me, whether you wanted it or not. Perhaps you would like to tell me who you are?”
The two men approached her, hands out, smiling. One said, “It’s quite simple, really.”
Margaret didn’t take any chances. “Yes, it really is,” she said. She kicked the first one in the head, and punched the other in the stomach.
They went down far too easily. She yanked free her rime blade, activated the device and pressed it point first against the throat of the man nearest to her. She pulled the blade back when he looked like he might faint
“Who are you working for?” she snarled.
“We’re here to protect you,” he moaned.
She snorted. “And you thought that would be best achieved by sneaking around behind me?”
“We were told you wouldn’t like it.”
Margaret let him get up. “You really are terrible at following a person,” Margaret said. “I knew you were there almost from the moment I left the Caress.”
“It wasn’t our intent to scare you. We’re Mother Graine’s guards, not spies,” he said. “We’re not employed for stealth.”
“Obviously not,” she said, and wondered where were the ones that had hidden, which shop had they ducked into, which rooftop did they crouch upon. “And why is Mother Graine so interested in me?”
“The Mothers of the Sky are interested in the welfare of all their guests.”
“We would prefer it if you returned to your room,” the big man said, rubbing his bloody nose. “For your own safety.”
“For my own safety then,” Margaret said. “You wouldn’t prefer to accompany me around the city. I doubt that I will ever return here.”
“No… I… we… your reception begins in an hour.”
“Then you had better be quick about showing me this place.”
Margaret banged on David’s door. He opened it, a towel around his waist. The boy had put on some muscle, not that that meant anything. Muscle could slow you down as much as it could speed you up: she'd proven that half
