“Dream? I guess that works. If that works for you, then yes, dream it is. Though I prefer to couch it in more heuristic terms, the map is the least dreamish part of the whole place. For some, a dream, for others an education.” Cadell tapped a finger against the northernmost extremity of the map, where the great tower rose, fringed in its mountains. “Tearwin Meet is waiting for you. The Engine is waiting to greet you in its grand hall of mirrors, beyond the steel door.”
“I’m stuck here,” David said. “Things are complicated. Buchan and Whig, they’re doing their best, but-”
“I’m sure they are. But other options approach you.” Cadell tapped the map again: a small Aerokin slid into the airspace of the city. Even from above, David could see how easily she evaded the city’s defensive airships. She hid comfortably in the clouds, found the darkest routes. “You really need to learn how to get out of your head, or you would have seen it earlier. Another avenue might be opening up for you. Drift has decided to play now.”
“And if it does…”
“Be careful, the Mothers of the Sky are not your friends. Nor will they ever be.”
“They were your friends once,” David said. “I remember that much.” And he did, flashes of a past, all gleaming metals and hope.
“Yes, before things became a bit mythical, a bit driven by the curse of a mad machine. You know they once tried to rescue us, in fact, they did. It didn’t work. But the past is a meagre ghost, you can’t count on it, it's less satisfying than chewing on bones.”
“So do I take this other avenue, or not?”
“That is up to you,” Cadell said. “I am but another one of those ghosts, haunting the long hallways of your blood.”
“So, I’ve a choice of ghosts?”
“We all do. What’s the present but the moans of ghosts past and future? All those possibilities and hope, certainties, and failures, you just have access to a larger store than most. If you let me in.” Cadell’s face grew cunning. “The sooner the better. You will need me to do what must be done.”
David’s stomach rumbled, even in his sleep it rumbled, and he looked up, embarrassed at the broad smile of Cadell. “Why am I always hungry?”
“You’re hungry because you’re growing, and the kind of growth that you are experiencing requires a considerable amount of energy. David, you’re going to have to bring that cold to bear on an entire world. You’ve not even scratched the surface of your abilities, and they are rising in you.”
“I’m tired,” David said. “I’m always so tired.”
“That’s because sleep leads you to me. You shouldn’t fight it as much. In sleep you can focus on all the things that you need to be, and you can become them.”
“I don’t know if I want to.”
Cadell sighed. “Then wake up. But remember the one possibility that is a certainty.” He pointed to the map, south again, where the seven Old Men walked. They stopped, seemed to look up, point at the sky. “They will hunt you until you die, or you kill them. Seven Old Men. Do you think you could manage such slaughter?”
David’s eyes opened.
Another tapping at the window.
Not Cadell, his point of entry was different now. David hurried to the window, his hands hesitated at the latch. His body ached. He wanted to sleep again, to find that this was nothing more than a dream. That his parents still lived, and that the Roil existed only in the pulp stories of the Shadow Council — leave all this madness to Travis the Grave.
He peered out and saw nothing, heard another quick tapping; David caught a flash of movement, tendrils whipping back into the sky. He swung the window open, and looked up. Something hovered there, above the street.
A juvenile Aerokin, far smaller than the Roslyn Dawn. She lowered a single tendril through the opening. Rough flesh, tipped with multi-jointed segments analogous to fingers, gripped an envelope. An envelope with David’s name, written with flourishes and curlicues, on it. He recognised the writing of Kara Jade. She'd written him a note apologising for her absence that had managed to be part accusatory — why in the Roil's name wouldn't he wake — and rueful — would have loved to see the north.
He pulled the envelope from the Aerokin’s grasp, the finger-things tapped his arm once and the tendril flicked back outside. The Aerokin lifted a little higher and drifted over the flat roof of the pub. David wondered if she was waiting there in the sky, or simply a messenger.
David looked down at the envelope in his hand. The paper was still warm. He opened it cautiously. His eyes flicked to the end, saw Kara’s name there, as he'd expected, then he looked back over it more carefully.
Well, I’m sure you weren’t expecting this. It seems I am in trouble. There have been some political reckonings in my city, of the sort that sees a person in prison — if they're lucky, and dead if they're not. And yes, I am lucky. A man of your particular skills may be exactly what I need. If you could see your way clear to helping me, I would be in your debt — and that's a hard thing for me to say. The Aerokin that delivered this message is waiting for you, she answers to the name Pinch. She will not wait long, an hour or two, no more. Should you decide to help out a dear friend, well, a friend at least, please go to the roof. Pinch will accommodate three people, or two if one of them possesses more weapons than is sensible. I would not have contacted you if I did not think that my life was indeed in peril. Pinch contains more information. I have allies in the city — but I guess you’d get that, because Aerokin (not even little ones) don’t just bend to my will — and they will help you get to me. I am glad you are still alive. You scared us all, even the Warrior Princess (though it’s hard to tell). Yours, Kara Jade Dawn
David let the paper drop, picked it up, and read it again, looking for some sort of clue, some deeper meaning.
He held it to the light, in case there were some secret script, some warning; he singed the corner, and no revelation came. Here was a way out, a quick escape from Hardacre, which was starting to feel less of a way station, and more a prison.
He took a deep breath, plus a half nail of Carnival, and sought out Margaret.
CHAPTER 14
In many ways both Buchan and Whig were naive. But it is hard to blame them. The world wasn't what it was. Ironically, so close to its ending events were not speeding up, but slowing down, as though everyone refused to acknowledge the cliff they were about hurtle off, or they were desperately trying to apply the brakes.
Buchan and Whig hadn't adjusted yet.
I still feel bad about what we did to them.
THE CITY OF HARDACRE 964 MILES NORTH OF THE ROIL EDGE
There was a knock on the door at ten past six. Margaret opened it. “You’re late.”
“Hardly by any real margin,” Buchan said, a sheen of sweat marking his brow. Whig followed him into the room, and oddly enough David walked through after them, that smug grin on his face. With all four of them in her room, things were a little squashed. Buchan smelt of beer, Whig smelt like honey. David possessed no odour at all.
“We were delayed,” Whig said. “Another meeting with yet another pilot.” “And, once again, no success,” Margaret said.
“We will find our path into the north, believe me.”
“Horses, why not those?”
“Horses are too slow, the terrain terrible.”
“We’d be halfway there by now.”
“We’d most probably be dead,” Buchan said.