SHAKESPEARE, King John
Finding a car at Everun Port was not as difficult as it had been at the Residence. Any travelers at the port on this particular day wanted to leave by shuttle, not by car, and in a vertical direction. Tal was able to get hold of a vehicle easily, but it was still ground transport—those with aircars had taken them to try for other ports.
He drove down the Street of Dreams. There was no traffic, and he only passed three pedestrians in the entire long length of the Street. Shops were dark. The famous striped awnings of the Street hung over empty stands, and here and there were shards of broken glass from the colored lights.
And it had only been a day. Ocean Avenue was north up the coast from the port, about three-quarters length of the Rat. It took him half an hour to reach it. He parked in the shadow of a snack-food bar and took out the hand-corn.
He sent the greeting and got a transmit response. Then he said, “Keylinn?”
“Tal?” Her voice was clear and strong over the little transmitter, and it somehow depressed him. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Everun, of course. Where else would I be?”
“I wouldn’t know. You often don’t see fit to share the little details of these things with me.”
He paused. No adequate reply presented itself, so he said, “Is there anything I should know?”
“Yes. No more Diamond ships are going to be risked at the port, so if you want to come uphill again you’ll have to do it through Baret Station.”
“All right.”
“And Adrian wants to kill you.”
He paused again. “Metaphorically?”
“Yes.” He heard a trace of laughter in her voice. “But it’s serious, Tal. We got a message up here that the crown you brought back is a fake. Before you ask, we don’t know who sent it. We don’t know it’s true. But they addressed it to me, and they described the crown in exact detail.”
He took that in, “I suppose he’s upset because I’m not there to open the vault.”
“He was, just a trifle. Meanwhile, it’s good that we still have someone on the scene. The message also said that Hyram Det Arbrith had the real Sawyer Crown.”
Tal looked at the Street of Dreams, empty as far as he could see in both directions. It was ten minutes before the fourth hour. “How long do I have?”
“Adrian’s appointment with the Oracle is in three hours, City time. He said he would try to stall. I don’t know enough about this, Tal. Apparently the authority on Pearl claims that they have some way of testing whether the crown is the right one or not. And Adrian seems to feel if they say they can do it, they can do it. You’ve had more experience with these people that I have. Do you believe he’s right?”
“Ask me something I can answer. I don’t even know if Adrian really believes in Redemptionism or if he’s just going along with it to keep the Protectorship. Humans claim all sorts of things, Keylinn, am I supposed to judge? My personal policy is to believe nothing any of them say without evidence.”
This time the silence was on the other end. A quiet voice said, “You speak in the third person, Tal. I’m human, too.”
“Yes. I keep forgetting.” He opened the car door. “I’ll be in touch. You can tell Adrian you spoke to me. —Oh, Keylinn? Don’t try to force open the vault.”
“I know. ”
He smiled. “Out.”
He turned off the hand-com. The salt wind blew from the east, over the dunes at the edge of Ocean Avenue. Grains of sand had spilled into the street, and no one was here to sweep them up.
He walked around the car, his hand on his pistol. The edges of the striped awnings flapped in the breeze. No walkers, no cars, no air traffic. No one in any of the windows nearby. He got into the car again.
Thirty minutes later he powered up and drove away. He headed south and west this time, toward the villa of Hyram Det Arbrith and Elizabeth Mard.
The sun was on the shoulder of the mountain when he reached the edge of the grounds. There was a high wall and a gate, and sparklers atop the wall. Defenses to go through, an entire villa to search—almost a lost cause before it was begun—and then there was the time it would take to get to the port. Whatever happened, he wasn’t going to make the Oracle’s deadline. He hoped Adrian’s talents extended to a very long stalling effort.
He sat in the car and waited for full dark.
It was twilight on Will Stockton’s mountain when a voice said, “Well, stranger, where are we going?”
He froze. He’d been wandering through the woods for an entire day and night, he was hungry, he was faint, his arm pulsed like a bitch where he’d skidded on it, and he kept getting turned around. Every now and then he’d see part of Everun below, but when he tried to locate a path he found himself doubling back miles out of his way. He was painfully aware of time passing. The Cities were going to pull out of this place, he knew that; whatever was happening was violent and bad for business. He’d felt the Panic of the true Cities-born cut through him twice: The Fear of Being Left Behind. He’d read about it and seen it in plays and now he knew it was real. He’d run blindly through the woods, tripping over roots, falling down slides of pebbles, beating his hands in the dirt. Even now he could feel the Panic holding off, somewhere beyond where normal thought took place.
And he hadn’t heard anybody near him.
“You want to answer my question, friend?” Two shapes filtered out of the trees, both armed with light-rifles. He saw they wore camouflage pants and jackets, but the thorny rose of state security was embroidered in miniature on their
