Ventus, Karl Schroeder [books to read in your 30s .txt] 📗

no longer frightened him, but they made it hard to concentrate on the here and now.

Then, in the very middle of the market, he was stopped in his tracks by another voice that rang sudden and clear in his mind:

“Go to the woman with the brown knapsack. Tell me what’s inside it.”

“What?” He looked around, blinking.

“I didn’t say anything,” said Tamsin. “Oh, look. A magician.”

There he was—a lean, well-groomed man standing on a little stage at the back of a short alley. A large audience stood in silence, listening as he recited something. His eyes were closed, and he had one hand touched dramatically to his forehead.

A young woman in peasant’s garb emerged from the audience. She went hesitantly up to stand beside the magician, and at his urging, opened the pack she’d been carrying. As she displayed each of the items inside, murmurs then applause ran through the audience. Shortly thereafter a small rain of coins landed at the magician’s feet.

Jordan and Tamsin watched for a while. The magician was guessing the contents of people’s bags, pockets or just what they held in their clenched fists. He was always right. The crowd was amazed, and all too willing to pay to watch the performance continue.

Every time the magician was presented with a puzzle, Jordan heard something no one else seemed to hear. This man had the same power Turcaret had possessed, a limited power to speak with the Winds—or at least with mecha. When Jordan concentrated he could see, almost as if he were imagining it, something like a diaphanous butterfly hovering above the crowd. When the magician commanded it, the invisible thing wafted over to the satchel, bag, case or box, and penetrated its surface with fine hairlike antennae. Almost like a mosquito, he thought.

Jordan’s heart was pounding with an excitement he had not felt since he had sat by the lakeshore and learned how the waves spoke. There was no trick to what this man was doing; Jordan could do it. What was amazing was that the little mechal thing allowed itself to be commanded—and the Winds did not rain fury on the magician for commanding it.

“Come on, let’s go,” said Tamsin.

“Wait. I want to try something.”

“Oh, forget it, Jordan, you’ll lose your shirt. He’s got the game rigged somehow.”

“Yes, and I know how.”

“Go to the jewelbox held by the man in green and tell me its contents,” commanded the magician.

Jordan closed his eyes and, in his mind, said, “Come here.”

The butterfly was clearly visible now, like a living flame over the dark absences of the crowd. It was like no mechal beast he had ever seen; it was more like a spirit. It hesitated now over the man the magician had ordered it to, then drifted in Jordan’s direction. It circled his head, as though inspecting him.

“Return.” It was the magician, calling his servant.

Who was the stronger here? Jordan smiled, and said, “Stay.”

“Return! Return now!”

The crowd was beginning to mutter.

“Ka! Return to me at once!”

“What are you?” Jordan asked the fluttering thing.

“I am Ka. I am test probe of the Ventus terraforming infrastructure. I am a nano-fibre chassis with distributed processing and solar-powered electrostatic lift wires. I am—”

Jordan had been wondering for days what he should ask the next thing he spoke to. “Do you speak to the Heaven hooks?”

“No. I report to desal 463.”

Faintly, he heard the magician announcing that today’s performance was over. The crowd broke into guffaws and jeers. Someone demanded their money back.

“Jordan,” hissed Tamsin. “What are you doing? Let’s go?”

“Wait.” Then, to Ka, he said, “Will you tell desal 463 that you spoke to me?”

“Yes.”

“No, don’t do that!”

“Okay.”

Jordan opened his eyes. Okay?

“The show’s over,” said Tamsin. “Let’s go.”

“I’m doing something.”

“No you’re not. You’re standing there like a slackjawed idiot. Now come on.” She pulled on his arm.

“Ka, where are you! Please Ka, come back!”

“You are not empty,” said Ka.

It took Jordan a moment to figure out what it meant. When Jordan closed his eyes, he could see the mecha all around him, a ghostly landscape of light. The crowd, the magician and even Tamsin were visible only as shadows, holes in the matrix.

“Am I mecha?” he asked Ka.

“You have mecha in you,” it said.

“Ka!” cried the magician, aloud this time. He stood alone in the alley, hands clasped at his sides. He seemed on the verge of tears.

Jordan wanted to know more, but Tamsin was pulling at him, and he felt pity for the poor magician, who did not know what was happening. “Return to your magician,” Jordan told Ka.

Ka fluttered away. A moment later Jordan opened his eyes to see the man raise one hand into the air as if caressing something. His shoulders slumped in relief, then he began swearing and looking around.

The magician’s gaze fell on Jordan, and stopped. What could he do? Jordan met his eye, smiled ironically, and shrugged.

The magician recoiled as if Jordan had slapped him. Then he backed away and raised one finger to point at Jordan. “You get away from me!” he shouted. “Get away, you hear?”

“Jordan!” Tamsin shook him. “Come on!”

They ran together into the crowd, Tamsin worried, Jordan stunned with new possibilities. He wanted to ask the magician where he’d found Ka, how he had discovered he could command the thing, why the desal tolerated his manipulations of a minor Wind. Above all, Jordan wanted to know why the Winds would speak to him and this man, and no one else here.

Ah, but that’s just the question Armiger came here to answer, he reminded himself. Armiger himself can’t speak to the Winds.

Though they were now two streets away, he concentrated and said, “Ka, why are the Winds after me?”

The reply was faint, but he was sure Ka said, “You are not empty. So you may threaten Thalience.”

That was a new name. Or had he misheard it? “Ka, who is… Thalience?”

He heard a mutter, but could not decipher it. Tamsin had dragged him to the gates of the market.

“What was all that about?” she demanded as they stepped into the quiet street. Jordan laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m not quite sure,” he said. “Maybe we’d better get back to the wagon.”

She gave him a long look. “Maybe you’re right,” she said.

*

Suneil was waiting for them at the wagon. He looked upset. Tamsin ran up to him and embraced him.

“How did your meeting go?”

Suneil grimaced, and disengaged himself from her arms. “I had to make some… concessions,” he said. He wasn’t looking at her, but glanced at Jordan, then turned away. “In business and… power… you have to do what it takes to get what you want, sometimes.”

Tamsin cocked her head to one side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing that’s going to matter in the long run,” he said. “When you get older, Tam, you’ll understand why I made this decision. It’s in our best interests.”

“Tell me,” she said. Jordan stood back, arms crossed, and watched. Something was very wrong here.

“You know I was an important minister in the queen’s cabinet before the war,” said Suneil. “That’s why I had to run. Why we had to run. You were all I could salvage of the life Galas had given us—my favorite niece. Parliament went on a witch hunt—hanging everyone who was involved in our work. I did what I had to do to make sure they didn’t come after us, but it was prudent to leave the country all the same. And certain men know what I did, and are willing to forget our life before—now that the queen is dead.”

“The queen is not dead,” said Jordan without thinking.

Suneil sat on the bottom step of the wagon’s hatch, and peered at him. “You know that for a fact, don’t you, young man?”

“Who cares?” said Tamsin. “What about your meeting?”

“Actually, it’s very important that Jordan Mason knows with absolute certainty that Galas is alive,” said Suneil. “Because my partners needed a guarantee of my loyalty to them, and if Jordan weren’t the man he’s pretending to be, the deal I made this afternoon wouldn’t go through.”

Jordan knew it in that instant. “You’ve sold me.”

Suneil looked him in the eye. “You are a wanted man, Jordan.”

“Wanted? Not by the law,” said Jordan. “Only by—”

“Me.”

Jordan turned. Brendan Sheia’s sword hovered centimeters from his throat. The square-headed Boros heir smiled grimly as four men emerged from behind Suneil’s wagon, their own blades drawn.

“Uncle!”

Suneil grabbed Tamsin by the wrist as she tried to run to Jordan. “I don’t like this any more than you do,” he said. “This is what we have to do to prove our worth to the new powers in Iapysia. Don’t you see? We can go home now.”

“Bastards! Let him go!” Tamsin struggled against her uncle.

Brendan Sheia ignored them. He was pacing around Jordan, inspecting him as one might a prize horse. “I remember you now,” he said. “You were with those foreign spies at the banquet. You were sick, if I recall. Nearly spoiled dinner.”

Jordan glared at him. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Sheia’s sword flashed up. “You brought the Heaven hooks against our house! You destroyed our ancestral home, incited the Hooks to kill my ally Turcaret, and when you were done you ran into the night, and the Hooks followed! We have it from our witnesses.”

His confrontation with Turcaret in the Boros courtyard had been seen, Jordan realized. But had Axel and Calandria been arrested as well? “What about—” Sheia hit Jordan across the jaw. He staggered, and was grabbed roughly by two men and hauled to his tiptoes.

“Stop it!” screamed Tamsin.

“Silence,” hissed her uncle.

Sheia bowed to Suneil. “Lucky thing you chanced on Mason, old man. You’ll get your honor and your title back. I can’t guarantee the money and lands, of course… but in this new age, what guarantee have we of anything?” He flipped a hand negligently at Jordan. “Take the boy.”

The two soldiers holding his arms yanked Jordan into a quick-march; then they were out in the streets, and he was being thrown over the side of a horse, hands and feet bound.

The good citizens of Rhiene watched and commented, but did nothing to help as Jordan was carried away.

22

“You’ll have to pardon me if I seem a bit out of sorts,” said Armiger as he sat down opposite General Matthias. “I was chatting with one of your men on the battlements when a rock from one of Parliament’s steam cannon took his head off.”

Matthias grimaced. “I heard about that. Happened this morning. Lavin’s a devil, a positive devil. And the queen admires him! That’s the damndest part. Listen, I’ve got a little beer here from our emergency stock. Care for a cup?”

Armiger nodded. He had talked briefly with Matthias twice, but the man was understandably busy—and, it seemed, wary. It was that wariness that had made Armiger ask for this meeting; he needed Matthias on his side.

They sat in Matthias’ tiny office in one of the palace’s outbuildings. Outside the single small window a dismal drizzle fell on the tents of the refugees. It was oppressively quiet today.

Matthias poured two pints of pale beer and they both tasted it. Armiger noticed that his hands were shaking slightly; the incident on the wall had shocked him more than he would have believed possible. It was only a man who had been destroyed,