Osiris (20 page)

Adelaide looked ceiling-ward. There was no dust here, no places for small creatures to hide. “Are you trying to scare me, Linus?”

He sighed. “Maybe I am. But there’s an even bigger issue at stake. Even you must know what it is.”

She fell quiet. The Neptune hummed. The angelfish still swivelled around the flashing envelope. She could not resist a glance at the window, where misty rain sheened the glass.

“You mean this idea that the weather’s changing,” she said finally.

“So you have noticed something.” There was a shift in his voice—surprise? Satisfaction?

“People talk. I’m not convinced. Anyway, grandfather hasn’t said anything and he’s been here longer than anyone. He’d know.”

Linus rapped the wall graph behind him. “Facts, Adelaide. This proves it. We’ve been experimenting—making forecasts. Not far ahead—but it’s often accurate. That’s a sign that the atmosphere is settling.”

“Is that what they’re doing above my apartment? Weather telling?” She looked away. “Doesn’t seem right.”

“Right or wrong, it’s going to happen. It has to, for what must follow. What I was telling you before, at your Rose affair—no, don’t sigh, it’s not a joke. Osiris has a very real problem. There are many things in this city we can make—we can grow foods and medicines and bioplastics, our Makers produce complex parts—but there are crucial things we can’t. Like bufferglass. Solar skin. Those are Afrikan technologies, and we’ve used up our reserves. Now there’re reports that the water turbines are breaking down. Next time a hyperstorm hits, it could do terrible damage, not to mention making a serious dent in our energy capacity. Our only option to repair this damage would be to leave the City.”

She turned back, shocked.

“Leave the City! Are you insane?”

Linus looked pleased with himself. Perhaps he was just trying to rattle her.

“On the contrary,” he said. “I have never been more serious. We will have to renew expeditions.”

“What about the storms?” she countered. “Even if you designed this amazing weather teller, how would a tiny expedition boat escape the storms? It would be ripped to pieces.”

“As I said before, Adelaide, the climate is adjusting. It’s a natural process. Besides, Teller portents favour journeys. The political time is right, and the necessity is there. Sooner or later, the Council must acknowledge it.”

“But there’s nothing out there. There’s nothing to find.”

“You’ve taken Osiris doctrine too much to heart. This is my contention with Council policy. Education should be about stimulus, about questions, not rote. We shouldn’t stop asking. Or hoping.”

“Hope is a fool’s errand, Linus. You’ll only alienate people when you can’t deliver what they want.”

His lips curved. “You sound like Father.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I couldn’t be less like him.”

She was thinking of the last communications ever recorded before the Great Silence. They had arrived by boat. A refugee had carried the images all the way from the northern hemisphere, on a Neon Age hologram that now sat in the Museum. It might be upsetting, the teacher had warned them. But every pupil has to see. Otherwise you will never understand.

It wasn’t the images of destruction so much as the last radio broadcast that Adelaide always thought of: the voice, quietly desperate, speaking knowingly to people that would never come. Everyone in the class cried. The teacher was crying. Even Axel, if he wasn’t a boy, would have been crying. Everyone except Adelaide. She had suspected then that something was wrong with her. She couldn’t cry; she could only watch the images of those doomed people unfold one by one and feel hollow inside. Something had died in her that day. Maybe Linus was right—it was hope.

“Adelaide? You must see my point.”

“You’re deluding yourself, Linus. Everyone loves the idea of land. But it’s only an idea. It’s—what did Second Grandmother used to say—over the rainbow.”

He looked at her sympathetically, and she knew they were chasing different shadows.

“We have to find out,” Linus said. “It’s imperative that we know what is left. We must think ahead.”

“No-one will listen to you.”

“They will. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but eventually. Because unlike you, a lot of people share my hope.”

“Poor fools.”

He laughed. “You’d fight me all day. I wish you’d understand how influential you could be. If you only converted that cynicism, people would follow you.”

“You want me to lie.”

“No.” Now he sounded troubled. “No, I don’t want that.”

Idly, Adelaide tapped the desk. “It wouldn’t be a problem. Technically I’m a very convincing liar.”

“Incorrigible.” Linus fell silent, as though he had reached the end of his persuasions, and yet they had not quite achieved the conclusion he had sought. For a moment Adelaide felt sorry for him. She had never considered his belief in an outside world to be quite so integral to his character, but there it was, in blunt appeal, inextricably woven into the fabric of his political career. It struck her as odd that he might spend years campaigning for something so dreamily insubstantial.

She felt the same, nudging impulse that had brought her here.

“I’ll meet Vikram,” she said. “But I make you no promises.”

“Don’t underestimate what you’re embarking on.”

Adelaide stood and sent the chair wheeling under the desk with a backward kick of her heel. “Brother dear. When have you ever seen me in over my head? We may have different methods, but I’m quite as capable as you. If not more so.”

He gave her a crooked smile. She saw a flash of Axel in his face. Something in the way the eyes creased. She was so accustomed to warring with Linus, she tended to forget they shared a genetic code.

“As always, that alarms me more than anything else,” he said.

“I’ll send you an invite to the next soirée. I don’t expect to see you there.”

“I’ll ensure that my schedule is full.”

She nodded. Linus, at least, understood that collaboration was not reconciliation. At the door she paused.

“One thing, Linus. If you’re so worried that we’re running out of bufferglass, why would you support repairing towers in the west?”

He smiled. “Think about it. The thinner our resources are spread, the sooner the crisis looms...”

“And the sooner you can push for your expeditions.” She thought about it. “Yes. Clever. But it won’t work, you know.” It had been a successful whim, she thought. Linus thought she was doing something worthwhile, so he would keep quiet about her affair with Tyr. Neither had he guessed Adelaide’s agenda. What with Lao’s refusal and her abortive meeting with Hanif, she had realized it was impossible to get into Axel’s apartment. Impossible without help, that was, and if necessary, someone who could take the fall.

She checked her watch. If she hurried, she’d only be forty-five minutes late for Vikram.

16 ¦ VIKRAM

“G
ood afternoon, sir. Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes, it’s under Adelaide Mystik—or Rechnov, it could be Rechnov.”

“Ah, Miss Mystik,” said the waiter, drawing out the syllables as if there were many things he could impart about Adelaide. “Yes, she’s reserved for two o’clock. She isn’t here yet, but if you’d like to come through?”

If Vikram’s dishevelled appearance perturbed the waiter, there was no trace of it in his face. It had taken all of Vikram’s nerve to walk into the changing room of the watersports centre, and walk out again wearing a mishmash of stolen clothes, expecting at any moment to hear a shout of discovery at his back. He checked his watch, looked back once at the entrance to
The Stingray
. No sign of Adelaide.

“Sure.”

He followed the waiter through a stone archway. Inside, the restaurant opened out into a glittering cave. The tables were scattered a discreet distance apart, round with turquoise cloths and almost all of them occupied. A female pianist was playing something light and fluid. The waiter led him to an empty table with a single rose laid at each of the two places. He pulled out a chair and took Vikram’s coat. Vikram sat awkwardly.

In this place he felt every minor injury with ten times the intensity he would have anywhere else. The previous night was a blur of fire and drums and the distant rumble of engines which he had woken to in the tunnels. His head ached. He was covered in bruises whose origins he could not recall; even his face was scratched.

“Is this the first time you have visited us, sir?”

“Yes.”

“I trust you will find everything to your satisfaction.”

“Thank you.”

Was he supposed to say anything else? The waiter bore his stolen coat away. Vikram looked about him. The walls and ceiling of the restaurant were covered with mosaics depicting fish of every imaginable size and shape. The mosaic was beautiful but he barely saw it because in between the tiles were large portholes with external lights that revealed the real ocean.

The hairs rose on the back of his neck. His nerves were so frayed he almost jumped up and fled; he had to press his hands against his knees to stay put. He reminded himself that Adelaide had never been in prison. She could not have known about the portholes. Even if she did, she did not know what they meant to Vikram.

The waiter returned with a menu and a glass of something green, which he said was complimentary.

“While you’re waiting, sir. We always look after Miss Mystik’s guests.”

“Is she usually late?”

“I’m sure you know better than I do, sir.”

There was no answer to this, so he perused the menu in silence. It was, as the decor suggested, primarily a seafood restaurant, but Vikram hadn’t heard of most of the dishes listed. He tasted the green drink. It tingled, hard and bright down his gullet; he imagined he was swallowing diamonds.

He glanced at the other diners under pretence of studying the menu. He didn’t recognize anyone from the Rose Night, but his time there had been limited. The clientele seemed less effusive than Adelaide’s set. Conversation was quiet and intimate. Vikram felt like an impostor. He touched the gleaming set of cutlery before him. It left a smeary fingerprint. He put his hands beneath the table, feeling guilty for ruining the aesthetic perfection, and then guilty for feeling guilty.

A woman at the table opposite was talking earnestly about the Colnat Foundation. Vikram hid a smile. He had never read Colnat’s report, but he knew that it described the standards of living in the west as poor (an understatement but a statement at least), and that it had sparked off a minor “save-the-west” movement in the City.

Eirik had spoken enthusiastically of Colnat. The Citizen was an idealistic man, a man Vikram had admired at the time. Colnat had had visions of redeveloping the west. He wanted to set up schools. For a year or so he was a common sight, crouched in the prow of a boat, scribbling notes with industrious fervour. He was accompanied everywhere by his dog, a great scruffy animal. The dog contracted a disease and died; it was said that Colnat never recovered from the loss. At any rate, he went back east not long before the riots and was not seen again.

The woman opposite was talking as though the initiative was still running.

“Of course schooling is the key to it,” she said. Her voice was low, urgent. “If Palenta could just be persuaded to support the motion, we might have a chance of pushing it through…”

“Under what clause?”

“I don’t know. The Aek Amendment. Even the Ibatoka.”

“Have you heard Palenta speak?”

“Oh, I don’t know him personally, darling. This looks delicious, doesn’t it?” The couple’s knives and forks clinked, and their conversation reverted to trivia.

Vikram didn’t have any education; it was Mikkeli who had taught him how to read and write. Now and then, those days adopted his thoughts like driftwood. Hazy recollections of Naala’s boat, with its fumes of alcohol and icy sweat. Keli hoarding books, her index finger running under the lines whilst the letters loomed large and slowly familiar.

A fish swam past the porthole. Where the hell was Adelaide? Was she even coming? His stomach was rumbling with hunger. He felt more and more ill at ease. He found himself checking for exits, wary of a trap.

The couple opposite had reached dessert. The woman was lingering over a concoction in a tall glass, dipping the spoon with delicate, precise movements.

“Loviisa wants gliding lessons, but I think water-skiing is more beneficial, don’t you? Gliding’s such a hassle. But she will go on.”

“I know. Toi’s been nagging me for a waterbike since last midsummer.” The man leaned over and tapped her hand. “But let’s not talk about them. It reminds me of her.”

They weren’t really a couple, Vikram realized. Not officially, the way people did things this side of town, where relationships were ratified by Tellers and salt. And something else: they were in love. He supposed guilt and grief were common luxuries here. He thought of the girl with the red bow in her hair. She was part of it. So was Adelaide Mystik. He could not condemn the City as false outright, but none of it seemed real to him. It was too brassy, too effusive. How could you trust the sadness of someone who had never seen that cold could kill? Who had never seen a gun fired, never been afraid to sleep?

He checked his watch. Adelaide was already twenty-five minutes late. Vikram drained the green drink, and as the waiter passed, held up his glass. He might be here for a while.

17 ¦ ADELAIDE

V
ikram was putting on his coat, about to depart. Adelaide congratulated herself on her timing.

“The waiter said you’d be late,” he said. “Personally, I’m amazed you showed up at all.”

She heard, subdued but not quite disguised, the note of contempt. She refused to be bothered by it.

“I wasn’t going to,” she said.

“What made you change your mind?”

“I have my reasons.”

A waiter appeared at their table. “Good afternoon, Miss Mystik. Will you be dining with us today?”

Adelaide scanned the menu. “Yes, I believe we will. I’ll have the rainbow-fish. With karengo squares on the side. Vikram? I’ve kept you waiting, I owe you lunch.”

“What do you recommend?” he asked the waiter.

“The chef’s special is excellent, sir. Marinated swordfish fillet.”

“That sounds great.”

“We’ll take a bottle of my usual,” said Adelaide. “But first, aperitifs.”

“Octopya, madam?”

“Exactly.”

With a slight bow he moved away, taking several empty glasses of Vikram’s with him. Adelaide placed one hand on top of the other.

“Now,” she said. “Business. I assume you can break into an apartment?”

“What makes you think that?”

“If I remember right you’ve been in jail.”

“Not for breaking and entering.”

“What for?”

“Assault,” Vikram said.

The waiter arrived with two conical glasses containing blue liquid and a metal appliance. Over each glass he balanced a slotted spoon with a sugar cube. Spigots from the metal appliance dripped water slowly through the sugar. Adelaide watched, silent, until the process was complete. She pushed one glass toward Vikram and sipped her own. It was the hit she needed. Fire and ice in one gulp.

“I love the first taste,” she said. “The doorway to possibility.”

Vikram tried a mouthful and made a face of disagreement.

“You were saying about your conviction,” she prompted.

“I was involved in the riots three years ago,” Vikram said. His voice was chilly as a Tarctic wind. She had never met anyone so unforgiving. “I did a lot of things like a lot of other people and I hit one of the Guards.”

Adelaide nibbled on a crystallized apricot. “How did it feel?”

“Like the beginning,” he said.

“How long were you in jail for?”

“Two years.”

“That’s a long time underwater.”

He leaned forward. Shadows made his eyes dark. A nerve flickered in his throat. “Why does this matter to you?”

She smiled. “Just curious.”

“I don’t care for your curiosity. Where I come from there’s no place for it. Tell me where you need to get into.”

A thought occurred to her.

“You’re not an Osuwite, are you?”

He looked at her coldly.

Adelaide’s plate slid neatly in front of her. “The rainbow-fish, madam.” The fish, belying its name, was a warm rose colour. “And the swordfish.”

The waiter filled both their glasses with weqa and placed the bottle on a stand, withdrawing discreetly.

“It’s wild swordfish, by the way,” she said. “They catch their seafood fresh every morning. Probably confiscated from an illegal fishing boat.”

She prised a segment of rainbow-fish from the delicate spine.

“My grandfather told me that when Osiris was first built, these fish were all they ate. But they were vastly overfished. And now, they’re exceptionally rare… you have to stalk the shoals for hours. But you know how they catch them?” She waited, but Vikram did not offer a guess. His fork was poised over his plate. “Their tails glow in the dark,” she said.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Adelaide’s reaction had been the same the first time she heard the story. Now she shared some of her grandfather’s indignation. She took a bite.

“Delicious. Enjoy your swordfish.”

“I will.”

He cut into the fillet with quick, precise movements. Adelaide lingered over her fish, watching him surreptitiously. His dark hair was overlong. The ascetic planes of his face seemed inadequate for those whirlpool eyes. Haunted eyes? She wondered. Or just wary?

“So where is it?” Vikram asked.

“Top floor of three-zero-one-east.”

“Sounds expensive. Who lives there?”

“Nobody, at the moment. My brother used to,” she clarified. She sampled the weqa. It tasted saltier than usual and she pulled a face. Vikram sighed. He sat back and met her eyes squarely.

“Your twin brother, right? The one there’s a huge investigation about?”

“Axel. Yes.”

“A crime scene.”

“He’s not dead.”

“But you get my point. I’m guessing it’s somewhere secure.”

“Otherwise I wouldn’t need to break in, would I?” Adelaide squeezed a lime quarter over her fish. “Would you like a karengo square? They do them well here.”

“I’ll pass.”

“On the karengo, or the break-in?”

“The seaweed. As to the break-in, I think you’re fucking crazy. You know it’s instant jail time if we’re caught? Are there cameras?”

She nodded. “And a security bar. I can bribe someone for a swipe card and to cut the cameras, but I need you for the locks.”

Vikram shrugged. “Your money.”

“My family’s money,” she agreed.

“Fine. I’ll do it. In exchange, you’re going to get us a second address with the Council and persuade them to start a winter aid programme.” He paused. “I’m assuming you’ll want your part done first.”

“Of course,” she said serenely.

“In that case, I want your word that you’ll keep helping me until I’ve achieved my own ends.”

Adelaide speared her few last flakes of fish.

“Let’s be honest with one another, Vikram. My motivations are selfish, and I don’t care about your people. You certainly can’t trust me. On the other hand, I’m probably the best chance you’ve got.”

He was silent, but his fingers tightened around the stem of the weqa glass.

“There’s a song in the west about prison,” he said eventually. “They’ll put you underwater where the sun will never rise. And the mud will take your tongue because you’ve told too many lies. That’s how it starts. And in the end, you lose your head.”

She looked at the untreated cut on his right temple and thought,
what in hell’s tide am I getting myself into?

Vikram hadn’t finished.

“I could never explain what underwater’s like to someone like you,” he went on. “But I do promise you, if we get caught, I’ll drag you all the way with me. So do we have a deal?”

Adelaide met his eyes, those watchful eyes. Below the chink and chatter of the restaurant, the pianist spilled her rippling chords, notes like surf and jetsam. She thought of her grandfather’s piano, out of reach in the brocaded rooms of the Domain. Out of reach, like Axel. But the penthouse would hold the answers she so badly needed.

“I believe we do,” she said.

Vikram clinked his glass to hers. Neither of them blinked.