City on Fire

then…” There is a look of fear in the yellow eyes. “And then something came. It didn’t come through the door, it just… it was just there.”

“What sort of thing was it?” Aiah asks.

“Unnatural. A presence… a creature of some sort.” His head bobs, turns away from Aiah’s glance. “I would have to invoke myth to describe it. A demon, an evil angel. A force. It was terror without form. My only instinct was to flee.” A trace of anger enters his voice. “I don’t understand how it got there. The secure room is fully shielded! It was—” Words fail him for a moment, and when they return, they grow increasingly dogmatic. “An impossibility. It should not have happened at all. It violates every law of—”

“Tell me what happened,” Aiah interrupts.

Romus’s head sways in agitation. “The thing spoke to the triumvir. It made demands of some sort… I could not quite understand what it wanted. The triumvir said that he was doing his best, that he was—I believe the word he used was searching. The demon was arrogant, threatening. It said that the triumvir was late. I began to understand that it was demanding… people. As if the triumvir was to sacrifice to it, as to an evil god. And then the triumvir said, Very well, these will do, but you must come to my suite, I can’t do it here. And then the creature left… just faded away.

“When the triumvir left a few moments later, he called the clerk back and checked out a file. After a few hours, Martinus returned the file, and it was checked in.” Romus rapidly licks his lips.

“I do not know if these things are usual. I do not know if I am permitted to speak of them. I come to you more for advice and—” He looks away again. “I wish to know if I am in danger for seeing this thing.”

Aiah clasps her hands to keep them from trembling. Too many people know, she thinks… It only requires them to start talking to each other for the secret to be revealed. And once word gets out, Constantine will be ruined…

Consorting with a demon. What would Parq and the Dalavans make of that?

“Have you told anyone else?” Aiah asks.

“No. I couldn’t make up my mind what to do. In the end I just came to you.”

His head sways toward her on the end of his long neck. Aiah starts back, then catches herself. She presses her hands to the cool top of the desk.

“Firstly,” Aiah says, “you must tell no one else. That will put you in danger.”

Romus’s head bobs. “I understand.”

“Secondly,” taking a breath, “please believe I am aware of the existence of this thing, and that I know it is very dangerous. The problem is capable of resolution, and steps are being taken. I can’t reveal what steps exactly, but I implore you to understand that this will take time. The nature of this creature is such that we cannot afford any mistake—if the strike against him misses, there will be no chance for another.”

A grimace passes across Romus’s homunculus face. “I have had the strangest notions since I saw this thing. Now I wonder how many of these creatures exist in the world, if they all attach themselves to powerful men, and how much of the evil in the world might be explained this way…”

For a moment Aiah considers this notion, the thought of a secret evil behind the veils of the world, Taikoen and his kin feeding forever on the weakness of the great.

Romus continues, the reedy voice thoughtful. “I concluded, however, that there cannot be very many of these things, because otherwise they would not hide, they would move openly and prey on whomever they wished.”

“There is only one that I know of,” Aiah says. She tries to put confidence in her voice. “And this one will be destroyed. But in the meantime…”

“Silence.” Romus’s head bows. “I understand.”

She has made Romus her passu, Aiah thinks. She has given him a version of the truth that may serve to keep him silent, at least for now, and perhaps given him a confidence that all this may be dealt with, that Aiah will see Taikoen destroyed.

Perhaps, Aiah thinks, she has made a passu of herself, convinced herself that there is a solution to this problem, and that it is within her grasp.

Taikoen, she thinks bleakly, might have made a passu out of everyone, from Constantine on down.

GOLDEN LADY CHROMOPLAY ANNOUNCED PRODUCER OF METRO FLIGHT ACQUIRES RIGHTS OLLI PLANS CHROMO OF “EPIC SCOPE”

And now, to Aiah’s strange, heterogeneous Caraqui family comes her real family— some of them anyway: her sister Henley and her cousins Esmon and Spano—riding the pneuma to Caraqui for Esmon’s marriage to Khorsa.

Khorsa’s sister Dhival performs the rites, linking the couple to the Three Horses and spreading the Yellow Paper Umbrella, with its vermilion symbols, above their heads. As they share the marriage cup, drums roll, the audience breaks out in shouts of joy and congratulation, and a rolling barrage of firecrackers fills the room with its pungent scent.

The Barkazil Division provides musicians for the reception, and the eerie sound of the vertical Barkazil fiddle floats above the throng. General Ceison takes his turn dancing with the bride. Rohder watches from the corner with an expression of amiable bemusement.

Constantine stands tall amid the crowd, splendid in his black velvet jacket, brilliant white lace, and a glittering diamond stickpin in the shape of the fabled sea horse. He moves as easily amid the Barkazil throng as he does anywhere else.

Aiah holds his arm, pleased that on a private occasion such as this there is no necessity of maintaining in public the formal relationship of the minister and his subordinate: they can be together as conspicuously as they like.

“Esmon looks splendid.” Constantine nods toward Aiah’s cousin, who stands in a jacket of glittering jet beadwork that contrasts with both his billowing lace and the foolish grin on his face.

Aiah smiles. “He’s always had a highly distinctive style sense.”

Especially since he’s been seeing Khorsa, who almost certainly bought this coat and any other fine clothes Esmon may have brought with him.

“He will take up residence here in Caraqui?”

“He already has.”

“Does he have a job yet?”

Aiah cocks an eyebrow at him. “Do you have a vacancy?”

“I don’t have one in mind, no. I don’t know what your cousin can do,” amusement invading his face, “unless it’s to model new uniforms for the military.”

“I’m sure he’d do that very well,” Aiah says. “But until that opportunity arises, I’m sending him around to various government departments, along with my letter of recommendation.”

“I’m sure that will obtain him a position.”

The fact is, Aiah knows, that though Esmon is one of her favorite relatives, and a perfectly charming man, he isn’t suited to do anything in particular; his last job, before he was laid off almost a year ago, was as a janitor in a home for the elderly.

Aiah waits for a few seconds to see if Constantine will make a point of offering Esmon a job, but he doesn’t; and she long ago promised herself not to ask Constantine for special favors for friends or relatives.

Alfeg approaches and asks her to dance, and she steps onto the floor with him. He is technically a fine dancer, but the spirit is not quite there; he thinks about it too much. At one point she catches the look he gives her—awed, worshipful—and it makes her cheeks flame.

He really believes, she realizes, what Charduq the Hermit has been saying. He truly believes she is an incarnation of Karlo or some other immortal, one of the Old Oelphil guardians of her people. It isn’t just a game; it isn’t just a notion he’s been playing with—Alfeg really believes it.

No wonder the dance doesn’t feel quite right. He’s almost afraid to touch her.

At the end of the dance, Alfeg returns Aiah to Constantine, who she finds chatting with her sister Henley. Henley is gesturing with her hands—lovely hands, long and graceful, once crippled by an Operation street lieutenant and then made even worse by arthritis, hands which Aiah, over the last months, arranged to have repaired.

Henley catches Aiah looking at her hands. She flushes, smiles, breathes the words, “Thank you.”

Aiah takes one of Henley’s hands and presses it. “I’m happy I was able to help,” she says.