"And you named him?"
How does she know that's not his real name? Peer thought, but she nodded.
"Why those names?"
Peer told her. Nadielle smiled.
"What does this mean?" Malia said. "After what we discussed last time we were here and-"
"Malia," Nadielle said, "calm. I've sent out my eyes and ears. I've seen and heard. And that's why I'm busy, because what you brought me last time is all true. It's been a long time coming, but I'm able to help at last."
"What's in the womb vats right now?" Gorham asked.
"More eyes," she said. "More ears. Better ones, and they'll be ready soon."
"So quickly?"
She shrugged, putting a slice of cheese into her mouth. "Some processes have been accelerated, yes, but they'll work fine." She looked at Rufus again, watching him take tentative bites from a chunk of bread, a slice of cheese. He was looking around cautiously, and every few beats his eyes would flicker back to the Baker.
"What's wrong, Rufus?" Peer asked.
"That's not her," he said again. The small group fell silent, but Peer saw no sign of confusion on Nadielle's face. She knew exactly what Rufus meant.
"He's been having dreams," Peer said. "Waking from them upset, disconnected. It's as if he's been here before."
"Of course," Nadielle said.
"And your Pseran called him chopped."
Nadielle smiled and nodded, waving a chunk of cheese at the air while she chewed. "I made them perfectly, for sure."
"Then tell us what you know," Gorham said. And in that plea, Peer saw the landscape of the bond between these two, and it pleased her. Gorham and Nadielle were lovers, yet she held him in the palm of her hand. Perhaps she welcomed him into her bed purely for the physical gratification, or maybe there was even a trace of affection or love about her for the Watcher. But the Baker was a woman removed from Echo City and in complete control of her own life. She was superior here, and she held the reins wherever their relationship went.
Nadielle finished the cheese and rubbed her hands. None of them had sat down, and an expectant air hung heavy. "I'll tell you," she said, nodding at Peer. "You seem to be his friend, and that's what he needs right now."
"What about-" Gorham began.
"Eat," Nadielle said, and she headed for a spread of tall bookcases against the far wall.
Peer glanced at where Gorham and Malia stood bristling, then she touched Rufus's arm lightly and guided him after Nadielle.
The Baker slipped a book from the case, plucked a key hidden in its pages, and went to a darkened corner of the room, behind her bed and hidden from view.
"We won't wait for long!" Gorham called, and Nadielle chuckled softly.
"Yes, you will," she muttered, and Peer realized that Nadielle didn't care whether Gorham heard or not. She and Rufus followed the Baker through a low doorway, waiting as she closed and locked the door behind her and lit several oil lamps. It was a small room, rarely used, musty and rich in cobwebs. Pushed against the far wall was a table, and on the table sat two bulky old books and a spread of large paper sheets. At first they looked like maps, but as the three of them stood around the table, Peer realized that they were schematic drawings of some vast… thing. She saw legs and arms, a head and a heart, but nothing else made sense.
"Oh," Rufus said.
"You weren't supposed to remember at all," Nadielle said softly. "It's not like my mother to make mistakes."
Peer closed her eyes, absorbing what had been said and realizing that it all made sense. Perhaps she'd even known it for a while now but had been unable to come to terms with what it meant.
"Maybe it was no mistake," Rufus said.
"You remember her?" Nadielle asked, with a passion and need that she obviously rarely displayed.
"Yes," Rufus said.
"Your mother made Rufus," Peer whispered.
"The previous Baker, yes. Who chopped me when she knew she was being hunted, using essence from her own body, growing me in a hidden womb vat, nurturing me with as much care as if I was in her own womb."
"So how did she…?" Peer asked, looking at Rufus. His eyes were wide, but she also sensed a growing anger about him. Where is that from? she thought. What is it for?
"The same way," the Baker said. "Which makes us, Rufus Kyuss, brother and sister."
Rufus did not react. He moved one of the books aside and traced his fingers over the images on the large sheets. He's seen those shapes before, Peer thought, and she wondered where and when.
"She sent me out."
"Yes," Nadielle said. "She left me many books, and these are the ones I've always kept hidden away. No one can see them, in case…"
"In case?" Peer prompted.
"In case he comes back."
"She sent me out, in this. Made me drink something to… forget. But I'm remembering now."
"I should be writing this down," Nadielle said. She reached for a pencil and a sheaf of paper, starting making notes, but Rufus went on as if neither woman was there. His dreams were coalescing into memories, and Peer began to fear the reaction this seemed to be engendering. He was becoming more animated, though not with joy at the revelation of his genesis but with anger at something different.
"She abandoned me."
"No, Rufus," Nadielle said, setting down her pencil. She reached for him and he waved her back, raising his arm to fend off her touch. How quick he was with that venom weapon, Peer thought, looking at the bag still hanging from his shoulder. Gorham had returned the weapon to him, and now she wondered why. It was clumsy of someone so used to secrecy and caution.
"Sent me into the desert… a place where people die… in this thing."
"What is it?" Peer asked, but neither answered her. She watched Rufus's fingers tracing the lines and shapes on the paper, heard the grit of dust beneath his fingertips, and felt the temperature of that place rising.
"You were a hope she always had," Nadielle said. "The hope every Baker has. The city changes and grows-a living thing-and, like all living things, Echo City's time will come to die. We have always known that."
"How have you always known?" Peer asked. "What have you-"
"Because the Bakers have always lived one step back from the city," she said. "Isn't it obvious? So many believe so many different things, but if you consider things from a distance, you can see all the foolishness and lies. They stink like rotten things, those lies, and people lap them up and live by them."
"The Watchers don't."
"Not all of them, no. But even they live life under a cloud of superstitious prophesies and predictions. I see the fault in this, as did every Baker. Nothing lasts forever, the city least of all."
"What did you bring us back here to show us?" Peer asked.
"This," Nadielle said. "Her charts, her books. These designs. She chopped a construct to take Rufus out into the Bonelands. She knew he'd survive out there-"
"She can't have known for sure," Peer said softly, because Rufus's anger was a palpable thing now. She tried to hold his hand, but he pulled away.
"Well… no, she wasn't sure. That's why she built this thing to carry him as far as possible, toward whatever must be out there. And she hoped he'd return in her lifetime."
"She made me to return?" he asked.
"Of course. And whatever she did to ease your memories, perhaps she designed it to fade as soon as you came home."
"Rufus is not my name," he said. "This is not my home. What did she name me? Sister-Mother-what did she name me?" And in that Mother, Peer realized another staggering truth: Nadielle, chopped from the old Baker when death was stalking her, was as much a mother to Rufus as she was a sister.
"She…" Nadielle said. She touched a book, stroking dust from its surface. They had not been touched for a very long time.
"Nadielle?" Peer asked.
"She did not name you," Nadielle said.
"But I grew into a young boy. With her. My mother. She must have given me a name."
"She made you that age." Nadielle kept her eyes averted, though her voice held little emotion. "You were with her for perhaps thirty days. The Dragarians provided material from Dragar's remains, and she chopped you as a commission for them. But she never intended to hand you back. They wanted the Dragar of their prophesies, and she wanted the truth about that name."