Burning Bright

“Jesus,” the woman said. “The current’s murder there. You were lucky.” She shifted her grip, taking more of Lioe’s weight, said firmly, “Come on. You’ll want to talk to the Lockwardens.”

“Lockwardens?” Lioe echoed, and then remembered. They were the local police, responsible for the locks and storm barriers as well as the usual laws.

“Our police,” the woman answered. “You’re an off-worlder, then?”

Lioe nodded.

“The bastards will pick on strangers,” the woman said, with a kind of dour satisfaction. “Come on, it’s not far.”

Lioe let the stranger half lead, half carry her across the courtyard, suddenly too tired, too drained to care if she were part of the group. The woman paused by her tree, stooped with surprising grace to collect her mask, and Lioe realized with a sudden pang that she had lost the mask Gelsomina had given her. It was a strange thing to bother her, but her eyes filled with tears, and she stood shivering for a moment, mouth trembling painfully.

“Easy now,” the big woman said. “Not far.”

The nearest Lockwardens’ station wasn’t far, barely forty meters along a narrow side street. It occupied the corner of one of the larger buildings, and all its windows blazed with light. The door stood open, men and women in uniforms that Lioe didn’t recognize hurrying in and out, clutching workboards and datablocks and even sheafs of paper. Someone exclaimed, seeing their approach, but Lioe was too tired and too cold to care. She let herself be led into the station, and then into a side room, unable to focus on the questioning voices that surrounded her. Someone eased her into a chair—a warm, well-padded chair—and then wrapped her hands around something warm, held it to her lips. She sipped obediently, and recognized the flat, bitter taste of antishock drugs beneath the sweet tea. In the distance, she heard the soft chirping of a medical scanner, and looked up in confusion.

“Finish the tea,” a new voice said, and she did as she was told. Someone else—she was aware of him only as a pair of long-fingered, rather beautiful hands—wrapped the edges of a heated cocoon blanket closed around her. She had been sitting in it, she realized, and she huddled into its stiff embrace, letting its creeping warmth seep into her, drying her clothes. The tea was starting to work; she looked up, feeling more alert than she had before, and saw a spare, greyhaired woman sitting on the edge of a table opposite her. She herself was sitting in the only chair.

Even as she realized that, a male voice said, “Let me take a look at your face.”

She turned her head obediently, winced as the long fingers probed the cuts on her cheek and jaw. The man—he wore a medic’s snake-and-staff earring—winced in sympathy, and reached for the supply box that lay open at his feet.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and laid a delicate mist of disinfectant over the entire side of her face. The stuff stung for a moment, and then a sensation of coolness seemed to spread across her jaw. She felt an applicator dab quickly at each of the cuts—it hurt, but remotely, the pain reaching her from a distance—and then the medic said, “All right, you can look now.”

Lioe opened her eyes, to see that the woman was still staring at her. Lioe’s identification disks and the contents of her belt purse were spread out on the tabletop beside her.

“So, can you tell me what happened, Na Lioe?” The hard-boned face was not unfriendly, but Lioe found herself choosing her words with care.

“A bunch of guys tried to kidnap me, pulled a gun on me—this was on the little street that runs away from Betani Square, where the Mad Monkey is. I ended up jumping into the canal to escape, and I got kind of banged up.”

“Kidnap?” The woman’s voice sharpened. “The woman who brought you in said you’d been mugged. Why would someone want to kidnap you?”

“Because—” Lioe stopped abruptly. I’m not fully sure why, but it’s bound to have something to do with Ransome, and Damian Chrestil and the cargo that I helped bring in, and the hsai, or at least hsai politics. And even if I did know what was going on, I don’t know how much I can afford to tell you: Ransome’s in this up to his neck, and he’s a Burning Brighter working for the hsai. She shrugged, feeling more bruises on her arm and shoulder. “I don’t know. It was what they said—”

“Why don’t you tell me about this from the beginning?” the woman said, not ungently. “My name’s Telanin. I’m the chief of the station.” She looked at the medic, who nodded.

“Let me just get you another cup of tea,” he said. “And then I want to look at your knee.”