For a moment no one spoke, and the Halcyon ’s engines droned louder through the open windows. Bits of glass tinkled and crackled as they tore free of the shattered edges of the canopy. Finally, the major straightened up and said, “Can you at least take us up at a safe distance so we can see the Upper City?”
Ghanima shrugged. “Sure thing. Going up.”
The ponderous ascent gave them time to move farther away from the western ridge, and as the pale line of the Royal Road disappeared amidst the trees, the Lower City resolved into a tiny patchwork of crooked squares, bright gray roofs, and dark green fields. The view to port slid downward as the tiny airship floated higher until the stark rectilinear shapes of the Upper City of Orossa suddenly appeared, jutting from the wild crags of the ancient Atlas mount. At its base, the city sat upon a wide ledge carved into the living rock by human hands and etched by howling winds. Atop the ledge the city sprawled like a collection of toy buildings in the distance, a profusion of palaces and temples and towers, all impossibly straight and tall, sweeping and arching, elegant and imposing. The entire city glowed a faint shade of crimson gold in the bright morning light.
“There.” The major pointed half-heartedly. “The airfield. That green circle there, toward the northern end. And those little black things around the edge must be your guns.”
Taziri nodded. “Some around the field, others around the edge of the city. Look there, you can see the queen’s skybarge on the field. That’s the Star of Orossa. Huge old thing. Commissioned by the queen’s mother. It must be almost fifty years old now. They have to overhaul it completely every three or four years just to keep it in service.”
“Hey, it almost looks like they’re getting ready to lift off.” Ghanima reached over and yanked the binoculars off Taziri’s rack. “They are, they’re about to leave. There’s a bunch of people on the field.”
“What?” The major grabbed the binoculars and pressed them to his eyes. “But if the queen is leaving now, then Sade will have to kill her now, or else wait for the queen to get back. Ohana, it’s happening right now! We can’t wait for the guards to arrest her. We need to get down there now!”
Chapter 42. Sade
Everyone was waiting. They were all sitting and standing and staring at her, waiting for her to tell them what to do. Sade glared at their dumb stares. “We proceed.”
“How? The queen will be leaving on her airship at any moment, and she’s taking her children with her,” Fariza said. “Soon she’ll be in Arafez, cleaning up Barika’s mess and wondering what to do with you. With all of us.”
“You’re certain she knows I’m here? She doesn’t want to see me before she goes?”
“Yes.” Fariza swallowed. “The page told me that the queen is going to deal with the riots herself, and then come back here and deal with you, herself.”
“Perfect.” Sade turned her cold eyes to Barika. “She’s going to deal with me. With us. Because of the riots, Barika. Because of your mess.” The ambassador slouched in the corner, her eyes lowered. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t wait. We’ll do it now. Quickly, go and fetch the Incan girl, but not her guard. Now, where’s the cat? Our cat, not the two monsters that the Espani brought. We’ll let the Incan girl present it to one of the princesses, right now, on the airfield. The little brat will fawn all over it and take it on the airship, and in half an hour it will all be over.”
Fariza sighed and shrugged. “As you wish.” She snapped her fingers and the maid in the corner scurried out to find Lady Qhora.
They all turned to the children sitting quietly in the corner and Sade felt her breath stop in her breast. “Where’s the cat? Where’s the damn cat?!”
Chapter 43. Kella
When she reached the end of the sewer pipe, Kella fell out onto the floor in a foul puddle of dark, oily liquids and decaying fleshy lumps that she tried not to look at too closely. Slowly, painfully, she rolled out of the puddle and crawled up out of the trench of waste water flowing out of the cellar. The chamber was cold and dark, filled with large shadowy shapes, many shrouded in dusty sheets and spider’s lace. With stiff, trembling hands, she pulled off her stinking coat and let it fall to the floor in a wet tangle.
Every tiny unhealed cut and every tiny fresh stitch was burning and aching, sending shivers through her skin and begging her muscles to shudder, fade, and fail. With heavy feet, she trudged up the cellar steps and crept out into an empty hallway. She paused to listen, but heard nothing. She sniffed and caught the scent of something that didn’t stink like a sewer, and she followed the smell down the hall to another deserted room. The laundry.
Moments later all of her clothing was rolled into a smelly ball and shoved under a barrel in the back corner, and Kella stepped back out into the hall wearing a light green dress and a pale gray cloak. She had no idea who or what she was dressed as, but as long as it wasn’t the costume of someone who had just invaded the queen’s private estate through a narrow sewer pipe, it was an improvement. Dunking her short hair into a steaming tub of soapy water masked what remained of her odor, and a broom stripped of its skirt replaced her cane. With the cloak’s hood covering her wet hair, she set out with an uneven gait.
As she wandered the lower level, the detective soon encountered other people. Young women and men were busy here and there, moving things about, calling to each other, all very focused on their chores of fetching and cleaning or just stealing a few moments alone in a doorway. Some ignored the woman with the makeshift cane, but most paused to smile and nod and wish her a good morning. One young man even interrupted her to ask whether he could help her. Kella only waved him away with a shudder and cough, and he disappeared into the quiet bustle around them. Groaning, she climbed the stairs to the next floor.
Stepping out onto the upper landing, the detective heard the light, rapid patter of footsteps. She began walking down the hall and passed several unadorned doors on her right, but on her left the corridor was illuminated by a series of long tinted windows that cast the inner passage in pastoral pinks and blues and yellows. A few dozen yards from the stairs, the left wall ended and the hall became a covered walkway along the edge of a small garden. Flowers of every color and size bloomed across the grounds and the vines twisting up over a lonely Nipponese maple in the center of the sward. A gold and black butterfly flitted past, gyrating through the warm, still air.
Suddenly the patter of footsteps grew louder and Kella whirled in time to intercept a small boy running toward her. He was crying and clutching a furry bundle in both arms, and he collided blindly with the woman in his path. Kella steadied herself as the child wrapped his arms around her legs.
“What’s wrong?” She tried to bend down, but his grip on her legs proved surprisingly strong.
“She’s hurt.” He sobbed and sniffled, and his little hands clawed at her legs, poking sharply into several raw wounds under her dress.
“Who’s hurt?”
He held up the wriggling mass of fur and she saw it was some sort of wild cat, not quite a kitten but not quite full grown, with tall tufted ears and wide whiskers around its mouth. The cat mewled and twisted and flailed in the boy’s hands. “I’m sure she’s fine. Just put her down and leave her alone for a little while.”
“She’s not fine. Look.” He held the cat under its front legs to reveal her belly and the freshly stitched cut running down the length of its body.
“It’s all right, honey. A doctor did that so she can’t have babies. That’s all. The stitches will help her heal and she’ll be good as new in no time.” Kella smiled at the boy, but a hint of doubt strayed through her mind. That’s an awfully long cut.