2
Gadfium left the traumparlour. The door clunked shut and she heard bolts snick home, locking it.
– Left.
She turned left and started walking.
–
She walked faster.
Gadfium couldn't stop shaking. It was so bad it was affecting her eyesight and she could not believe other people weren't able to see her quivering from fifty or more metres away.
– You're breathing too quickly and too shallowly. Calm down. Take longer, deeper breaths.
– Am I this bossy with other people? she asked, taking a long, deep breath.
– Yes, you are. Turn right, here; take the lift. It'll arrive in twelve seconds.
– Where are you taking me?
– Away from here; out of the Palace.
– After that?
– Don't ask.
– Oh, grief! I'm too old to be on the lam.
– No you're not. You're only too old when you're dead, and you aren't that either, not yet.
– Yet. Oh, thanks.
– Here's the lift. Ignore the display; I've told it where to go.
– Oh, grief!
– Will you calm down? And wipe your eyes; I can hardly see when I look out of them.
She wiped her eyes while the lift zoomed. They were heading for the ceiling level.
— I know; I'm already dead, there is a hell and you're my punishment.
— Stop gibbering. I'm your guardian angel, Gadfium.
The elevator stopped at a luxuriously appointed tube station.
– Straight ahead. And try to look arrogant, and cruel, like nobody'd better interfere with you. We're taking a Security service carriage.
– Oh, grief!
– Head
– If I get out of this I swear I'll never order anybody about ever again.
– Arrogant! Cruel!
She marched to the carriage with her nose in the air and a sneer on her lips, passing between potted palms standing on gleaming marble beneath a ceiling of polished hardwood. She sensed a few other people around but nobody challenged her. The carriage opened its doors, she stepped aboard and it rolled away immediately, through some points, across other tracks and into a tunnel where it accelerated quickly. She sat down on a leather couch, shaking again.
– We're out of the Palace.
Gadfium put her head between her knees.
– I feel faint.
– Yes, you do, don't you?
– That was awful, awful, awful.
– You did fine.
– I meant in the shop; those women. The man.
– Oh. Of course. I'm sorry. But you didn't have to watch it in slow motion.
– I suppose it was a long time ago, for you.
– Quite. I've been through the process.
Gadfium straightened. She sniffed and took the gun, ammunition and knife out of her pockets, holding them in shaking hands. The gun was a long, thick black flexible tube. It was weighty; it felt like metal covered by some tough, almost sticky foam. It straightened into a cosh or curved into a comfortable hand-gun shape with a finger- sculpted grip, depending on how she held it.
– Here; allow me.
Her hands and fingers moved without her willing them to; she stopped them without difficulty, making them pause poised above the gun, then let her other self — a sighing, finger-tapping presence somewhere at the back of her mind — control her again.
– It has a homing mechanism built in but I've switched it off, the construct said as she used Gadfium's fingers to click the gun open, put some of the fresh ammunition in, closed the stock again, checked the weapon's action, briefly switched on a laser-dot sight, then gave her back control.
– I very much doubt I can use this again, Gadfium told her other self, before repocketing the gun.
– So do I.
– Perhaps I ought to throw it away.
– Don't be silly. You only throw away weapons when they might get you into trouble.
– You don't say.
– And you're already in deep trouble. So deep it can't get any deeper.
– Wow. It's a good job you're here to keep my spirits up.
– Keep the gun, Gadfium.
– What about this knife? she asked, taking it from her pocket. It was flat; the blade was as long and broad as two of her fingers. It was wickedly sharp; slots in the centre of the flat of the blade guided it into the hard plastic sheath, keeping the edges away from the sides.
– Keep that, too.
Gadfium shook her head as she slid the knife back into its sheath and carefully put it in her pocket.
– I don't suppose you can tell me any more about what's going on, can you? she asked.
– Still investigating. Though I think I may now know who betrayed you.
-Who?
-… I'm not yet certain. Let me check.
– Oh, check away, Gadfium thought, and sat back, sighing. She held her hands up. They had almost stopped shaking.
The carriage hurtled through the tunnels, swaying and rattling as it took turns and crossed points. Lights flashed sporadically through the shaded windows. Air whistled.
– Where are you taking me?
– I suppose it can't do any harm to tell you now, her other self said crisply. The carriage started to slow down. — You'll be getting on one of Security's secret intramural microclifters very soon and descending four levels. You're going to the castle core, Gadfium; the deep dark inner rooms.
– Oh, grief! Where the outlaws are?
– That's right. The carriage drew to a halt and the nearest door hissed open to darkness; a wave of cold, damp-smelling air flowed in over Gadfium. — Where the outlaws are.
3
Sessine wandered the face of the world beyond Serehfa, journeying through its version of Xtremadur to the distant Uitland, travelling across its prairies and plains and deserts and lakes of salt, through its rolling hills, broad valleys and narrow ravines, between its tall mountains and its rolling rivers and its dark seas, amongst its scrub, grassland, forests and jungles.
He soon grew used to the perverse negativity of this world, where the empty aridity of the semi-desert
