The Children of the Sky

heads were bobbing, including little Sht’s.

•  •  •

Three hours later, Ravna was finally back at her town house on Starship Hill. More had happened this day than any day since the Battle on Starship Hill—and not a single person harmed in the process! Her mind was working overtime, a combination of triumph and planning and worries: Very shortly, there would be thousands of processor and video components available from the Cold Valley lab—far more than could be immediately wired up to the devices that Scrupilo was building. There would be several years of hard manual labor before the combination of integrated devices and Oobii’s software designs would make a difference, but then life for the Children and the Domain would be transformed. It would be such an enormous win for everyone. So maybe the question was: Just how evil was Nevil? If he was not a partner in the murders and the kidnappings, surely some real compromises would be possible, compromises that would not humiliate him but would still allow the projects Ravna wanted.

And if Nevil was a puppet of Vendacious or whoever? Maybe he could be persuaded to renounce the association. If not … perhaps it all came down to what Jo and Pilgrim discovered once they started looking in the right places. I wish I could talk to them now. That would have to wait, probably for a day or two, to keep this mission secret. But what could they really find in one overflight, even if that was of the heart of the Choir? Mostly likely, this was the beginning of a number of flights—and no way could those be kept secret.

Ravna roamed the town house as she cycled through the possibilities. Outside, she could see the new guards that Woodcarver had assigned. Nothing covert about these fellows. The Queen’s change of heart—or her success in controlling her heart—was almost as big a triumph as anything else that had happened this day. It was also one of the worries that nibbled around the edges of the day’s optimism. So much depended on Woodcarver’s favor and her stability. The Queen still had flashes of anger, failures of attention and memory. The battle to control Woodcarver’s paranoia wasn’t really over.

Ravna’s own thoughts were skittering off in all directions: new insights, new worries. If only she had access to Oobii from here. I should have gone there tonight. There were things that she was missing.

An hour passed. Two. Beyond her second-story windows, she could see that the drizzle had frozen to glassy ice, a veneer that glittered and gleamed beneath the occasional streetlight. Get some sleep. Tomorrow she’d chat with Oobii, maybe find a way to talk with Johanna and Pilgrim. Ravna finally dragged herself off to bed.

She lay in the darkness, listening to the house settle into the subfreezing cold of the night. All these houses were so noisy. In Ravna’s childhood, the indoors and outdoors had been indistinctly separated, and the only sounds one heard were deliberately engineered into the environment. Normally those were the sounds of living things, bats and birds and kittens prowling. Of course, you could make the sounds and the environment whatever you wanted. Her sister Lynne had been big on Silence, just another of the endlessly annoying things about Lynne as a youngster. The two had engaged in sound wars all the time.

Here in the wilderness—Ravna counted all of Tines World as wilderness—sound was the sometime domain of the Tines with their preternatural acoustics. Where the Tines were not involved, sound was a feral thing. Her first few tendays in this town house, before Pilgrim and Johanna arrived as housemates, Ravna could scarcely sleep. There were these thumps in the night. There were clicks and groans, and no matter how she rationalized them they seemed very threatening. Night after night they repeated. Some of them had come to be almost comforting.

Maybe she slept for a time.…

There was a new creaking. It almost sounded like someone was on the front stairs.

She quietly moved into the living room. Quietly? If it was a pack coming up the stairs, she would surely be heard! On the other hand, if she cried out, the guards on the street would be in here in a moment. She slipped close to the windows, being careful not to stand in silhouette. Outside was still and glittering—

—and no sign of even a single guard pack.

No more creaking on the front stairs. She turned her head a fraction; from here she could see partway down the stairwell. A pack might keep itself quiet to her ears—but human eyes could make up for human ears:

The walls were not utterly dark, and … she saw shadows that looked very much like the heads of two Tines. A pack was sneaking up the stairs.

Surely it can hear that I moved my head, hear the flat of my face. She turned and dove for the backstairs door.

There was a muted screech and the sound of paws pounding up the front stairs. Ravna pulled open the door, leaped through, and slammed it shut. Now the intruder’s hissing was loud. An instant later its bodies slammed into the door. She leaned against the panel; the door couldn’t be locked from this side. It was just her weight and strength that was keeping it shut. Somehow, she had to jam it closed. She flailed around, found the light switch. The stairs were just shoulder wide, and even though this was a house-for-humans, the ceiling was only one meter fifty high. The steps were piled deep with camping equipment and junk that Pilgrim and Johanna had brought back from their expeditions. They bragged about how they traveled light, but they always seemed to have souvenirs.

Just beyond her reach was a bundle of staves, each tipped with a short, wicked blade. She kicked at it, taking some of her weight off the door. The pack was ramming in unison now. The door sprang ajar and a paw full of claws extended through the opening. Ravna slammed back at the door. Something crunched. The member gave a sharp whistle of pain and the paw was withdrawn. There was an instant of peace, presumably while the other side had an “ow ow ow” moment. Ravna swiveled the staves around, jamming their butt ends into the stair railing. She stabbed two or three of the blades into the door. The rest of the bundle came loose in her hands. Okay! She sank all but one of the other staves into various points on the door. Now, when the pounding resumed, the door was jammed shut more securely than all her pushing had accomplished.

Then she scrambled down over the boxes and bags, sliding the remaining stave ahead of her. The pole was an awkward thing for a human to maneuver. The shoulder clasps were useless for a human, and the shaft had an awkward curve in its lower half. Still, it was long and there was something sharp at the end.

Her housemates’ junk was deepest at the bottom of the stairs: tents, equipment, harnesses, boots. Boots. Ravna slipped on Jo’s old boots and peeked out the tiny window on the outside door. She was looking into the field behind the house. Far away up the hill, she could see the scattered lights of Newcastle town. Deep shadows stood nearby, but she saw no sign of the rest of the gang.

Maybe they were all in the house. There was noise enough at the top of the stairs. Someone had axes. Woodchips flew from the shuddering topside door. She saw the glint of a metal blade breaking through.

Ravna turned back to the outside door. It was only one member wide, secured by a cross-timber. She lifted the bar and pushed. Jammed! She crouched down and pushed harder. The door creaked open. Ravna scrambled into the frigid cold. Behind her, the pack had broken through the upper door. Boxes and bags tumbled down ahead of the intruder, all but jamming the doorway.

Precious seconds. She stabbed the shoulder stave into the ice, using the staff to steady herself as she stepped off the stoop. The fresh-frozen ice felt as smooth as glass under Jo’s boots. She poled herself along, skiing more than running. Loud gobbling came from within the house.

If she could get to the road before they did, there might be witnesses, even defenders. Ravna bent her knees and pushed off with her staff. She coasted almost five meters on each push, keeping her balance by lightly raking the ice with her blade. She pushed again, sliding onwards. Should I be screaming for help? She was out of sight of her back door and the windows above. Maybe they didn’t even know where she was!

The Queen’s Road was directly below, empty beneath the glow of a street lamp. She pushed off—and discovered that the water hadn’t frozen into glassy smoothness on the slope. Pain blazed where her hip smashed into the ice. She slid, spinning, down the washboard surface.

Then she was out in the light, right under the streetlamp. She rolled over, came to her knees. Somehow, she had managed to hang on to the bladed staff. Up the road, lights were coming on in the nearest houses. Coming toward her from the other direction—it was Jefri and Amdi! They were actually running. Amdi’s claws glittered with ice, and two of him were steadying Jefri from below. The gang of nine slid to a stop all around her. Jefri reached down for her hand.