Suited (34 page)

Who do you trust
?

Alternatively, this was all one elaborate lie, just another part of the deception, an addendum to his betrayal. And as I sat there, in the detritus of his life, torn and unsure, he was manipulating me further. To what end? What more could Devich and his veche hope to do to me?

How would I ever know the truth? What I wanted to believe and what I feared to believe pulled within me like the suit tugging at my bones, and I didn’t know what to do, what to think.

Except that sitting here for too long would be very foolish indeed. No matter what had happened.

I stood, and brushing the feathers from the back of my coat gave me an idea. As quickly as I could I stripped myself of my dirty, torn, stinking clothes. They disappeared among the heap of torn bedding like they did not exist, like I had not even been here. A moment’s hesitation in which I told myself that I did not have to worry about what Kichlan thought of me any longer, then I removed the bottom half of my uniform too. The touch of that heavy air on my bare flesh, and the freedom of movement in my legs and waist, felt strange. I had grown so accustomed to my hardened, boned second skin.

I hunted through Devich’s belongings. He was taller than me, but that would work well. The shapelessness of oversized clothes, the way I could pull myself in and hunker down in a jacket that did not fit or a hat that consumed my head, could only help me. In these, I could even hide the scars on my face. And that felt safer.

I found long woollen pants and rolled up the bottom. Without the uniform to tuck the waist into I was forced to resort to a belt. A quick jab with a sharpened suit finger made an extra hole so I could tighten the leather to fit. A singlet, a long-sleeved woollen shirt with a collar and a jacket over that, and while I couldn’t move quite as easily as I would have liked, at least I was warm. Even in Devich’s abandoned, unheated house. I tried his gloves; they were so big they slipped off my hands so I gave up on them. His jacket had pockets enough. A thick scarf dyed dark grey, and a leather cap that must have been tight on his head, but was padded with so much wool it stayed on mine.

I peered at myself in the fragments of his broken mirrors. Shapeless, swamped in wool. Just like I had hoped.

Then something moved below, the sound of a door being pushed open, careful footsteps on wood. It caught the breath in my throat. I ran from Devich’s bedroom, near-launched myself to the railing around his stairwell and looked down into darkness and heavy air, hoping beyond what I should have hoped, heart thrumming strong against its metallic parts, that Devich would be there. Shocked, looking up at me. Then relieved, and running up the stairs to greet me. Alive, whole. Trustworthy.

But the downstairs hallway was empty, save for a kind of haze that caught like blue mist in my light. And in that light, for a brief and terrible moment, I thought I saw faces in the glass of the broken mirror. Wan skin, eyes dark, ill-fitting grins stitched on with invisible thread.

Impossible, then gone. As though I had imagined them.

It was time to leave Devich’s house. I should not have returned at all.

None of his boots would fit me, so I resorted to my own, no matter how stained and torn they were. I hurried back into the street and headed again for the Tear River. Hunched in my stolen clothes I waited, another bell, maybe even two, for the next near-empty ferry. Only when I flicked my rublie to the ferry master did I realise I had taken Devich’s as well.

For an instant I considered returning it. But what good would that do? Only put me at more risk than I had already put myself in. If Devich had been taken by the veche, then he certainly did not need it. If the state of his house was all an elaborate ruse, then he could rot in the Other’s lowest hell without his rublie. So I kept it in my pocket and wondered if I could work out how many kopacks I had just stolen from him.

How many kopacks did it take to create a new life?

I was asking myself that question too often.

I turned my back to the Keeper’s Tear Bridge, with its barricades and Shielders, as the ferry took us down river. I did not look for the domes of my gallery peeking out muted and blue among the inner-city buildings. I did not respond to the pressure at the back of my neck, the weight of impossible faces in mirror shards and the heavy, stalking haze. I watched the river. I leaned into the spray, placed feet on the first rail and tipped my head back, one hand holding Devich’s hat in place.

Freedom? Was this it, a ferry ride beyond Movoc’s walls? And then what? Perhaps Devich’s rublie contained enough kopacks to secure a coach, or join a caravan. Or I could walk. What did I have to fear from the open skies and empty fields between townships, between cities? I doubted the suit that worked so hard to keep me alive would let me freeze to death, or fall to the dirty blade of some unhoused pauper. So, on foot to the Varsnian border – though not the border with Hon Ji – and across it. Of course, I did not know the way. The furthest I’d travelled out of Movoc-under-Keeper was a midsummer day-trip to the Weeping Lake. But surely, there were signs and surely, people to ask.

Away from the veche. From the puppet men. From Kichlan and Fedor. And Devich, if he lived, or cared.

That was freedom, wasn’t it?

The river wind whipped Devich’s jacket like the unfurling of leather wings. It pried at my layered, tucked, folded clothing. I stepped down, wrapped arms around myself. It was cold.

And I could fall.

I closed my eyes, risked bare fingers long enough to tug my hat down tight over my ears. Lad was not here to keep me in this city. He did not need my scant protection, my poor stories, my dubious comfort. He did not need me to warn him about falling in the Tear River, and hold his hand when I had coaxed him down from the railing.

A distant bell rang. I could not hear what it was tolling. The river carried us quickly, like Movoc’s final, parting gift.

As the city’s wall came into view a shiver ran through me and I felt something like a large, warm hand on my shoulder.

“I have to run,” I whispered. Thankfully, the deck was empty, the wind and the spray kept most passengers at bay. “Others will die if I stay. More tests, more sacrifices. I can’t do that to anyone else. I won’t let that happen again.” But still, the hand was heavy. Silence and water-rush made me ache. “How can I look at Kichlan now, and know that I took you away?”

The wind whipped those words from my mouth, if someone had been standing next to me they could not have heard. It didn’t matter.

“I brought this on you both. I should not have let you look after me. I should not have been so vain to believe I could look after you. I am not your brother. So how can I stay there and look at him and know this is all my fault? How?”

Tears traced icy patterns down my cheeks. The wind slapped them stinging back into my eyes.

“You’re right. I know. That’s all a lie. I’m not leaving for anyone else; I’m not trying to save anyone. With doors opening and the Keeper failing, there won’t be much left here to save. I’m leaving because of me. I’m leaving because it hurts too much to look at his face and know this is all broken – you, us – and it is all my fault!”

Through my tears the river and the boat and the cold hard sky merged into a single mess of colour. I gripped the slick railing and held on as I shook. As a soft voice murmured somewhere deep inside me that I had to be careful. That I could fall.

“Of course this won’t work. I know it won’t. The veche will never leave me alone. I don’t know the first thing about fleeing the country, about surviving out there, on the other side of that wall. Without a circle. Without a team. But I have to do it. Don’t you understand? It hurts too much to stay.”

The ferry’s horn blared, rolling over me like a wave.

“It’s selfish. It’s weak. But I can’t, I can’t.”

The ferry was pulling into the last dock this side of the city walls. I smudged freezing tears across my face with hands I couldn’t really feel.

The weight on my shoulder hadn’t lifted. Shivering, fingers turning blue, I reached back and found warmth. Warmth that sent the blood back to my nails, warmth that started my palm tingling. Warmth I hadn’t imagined.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to an impossible, guilt-born ghost. “I’m so sorry I could not stop Aleksey. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

The ferry bumped water-worn wood with enough force to send me stumbling. I gripped the railing again, with both hands this time. “I love you, Lad.” I blinked clarity back to my vision. “And I love your brother too.”

The weight lifted from my shoulder. The chill of the river wind and the empty sky settled back into my body like it had never left.

What did I think I was doing?

I rubbed thickening, aching eyes. Freedom? Was I really so desperate, or so foolish, to believe there was any such thing? Lad had needed me, and I had failed him. Kichlan needed me now whether he believed it or not, but I would probably fail him too. He was just going to have to put up with it, because it was the best I could do.

Hurry
.

I ran the length of the ferry and leapt down the gangplank even as the master began to pull it up. Ignoring his protests, I hurried along Easttear, back north, against the river’s current. As I did so, I unclipped my rublie and connected the crutch to Devich’s. A moment, and legible lights flickered on. Fifty thousand kopacks.

Was that blood money, payment for betraying me? Or were technicians just highly paid? I unclipped his rublie, reclipped mine. Its fifteen thousand looking paltry now. I tucked them both into his jacket pocket. Then I stepped in front of the first coach I saw to secure a quick, expensive trip away from the wall and back into the city. To Lev’s shop, and the ancient Movoc-under-Keeper buried beneath it.

But I did not need to go so far.

Not all coach rides were comfortable, padded with cushions and curtains, especially when the coach relied on wheels. So I gripped the leather handle on the door, above a dirty window, and winced with every jolt. The driver seemed to be able to find every crack in the road, every patch of roughened concrete, every pothole. And they all transferred to me through poorly joined wood and rusty iron joints.

By the time we turned from Easttear toward the eighth Effluent I couldn’t feel much below my waist and my fingers were growing white from gripping the handle so hard. The discomfort, at least, offered me distraction. There were some things I was happy not to think about. Even if it cost me splinters.

Then, through the dirty window, I saw Natasha. She walked with a kind of exaggerated calm that caught my attention instantly. Because nothing, surely, could look as unnatural so soon after Lad’s death as her slight smile, her hands clasped loosely behind her back and the casual way she stopped only to glance down alleys and through open shop doors. I surged to my feet, fought the rocking of the coach to knock on the wall of the driver’s compartment. Then I kicked open the door, swung around, hurried him through the payment process and didn’t even argue about the price. I dropped to the ground, caught Devich’s hat as it made attempt at freedom, and called to Natasha as I rushed after her.

She turned to meet me and her smile spread. She did not seem at all surprised.

“There you are,” she said, as I caught my breath. “Finally.”

“I–” The bruising on her face stilled me. What was she doing here, smiling so calmly at me, after what I had done to her? “I’m sorry I hurt you, Natasha.” The words spilled from me. “I’m sorry I let the suit carry me away.” What a weak apology.

But she simply didn’t seem concerned. “I’m sure you are. There are, however, more important things to worry about now.” She brushed back her stray fringe to reveal deep grazing close to her hairline. “And I’ve had worse.”

“Yes, but–”

“Be quiet, Tanyana.” She took my hand, began dragging me back the way she had come. “For once, let someone else speak.”

I fell into step beside her. “Then speak.”

“I offered you a way out of this city before. The chance to join us. You did not take up my offer. Now, I hope, you have a good reason to reconsider.” Natasha turned a sudden corner and there, apparently waiting for us, were soldiers. Four Mob, at least. Others shifted in the shadows behind them – two Shielders and a single Striker. He was tall, too thin for his height, and bright in his white armour. His hood was pulled back to reveal eyes fused closed, the skin of his lashless lids sewn smoothly and without scarring to his pallid cheeks. Strikers could see clearly without their eyes. So closely connected to the pions were they that they could see over vast distances and in great detail through energy, through bonds and particles alone. And from far above the ground, borne on powerful currents and defended by dense bindings, they could manipulate those pions and strike.

That was what made them deadly.

I grabbed Natasha’s hand, wrapped my suit around both our wrists to secure the connection between us, and slid silver across my legs. But before I could haul her to freedom, the Shielder pounced. Energy buzzed between us, not strong enough to damage my suit but enough to send a shock through both of us.

“Stop it!” Natasha cursed, tugging against me as her body spasmed while the pion-shield that had been raised between us expended its energy through her muscles. I simply gritted my teeth, allowed the suit to absorb it, and endured. No Shielder was a threat to me. The Striker, however, I was not so sure of. “Take it down, Petr. Down!”