Burning Bright

“I’d appreciate it,” Lioe said. She rode the narrow lift up to the third floor—the first time she’d been back to her rented room in three days; most of her spare clothes were at Shadows—and let herself into the narrow room. It was small, but comfortable, and it had its own temperature controls. She turned up the heat to drive away the lingering damp of the canal, and stripped off her crumpled clothing. I need to call Ransome, find out what’s going on, she thought, but I want to be in shape to cope with him. She showered, not too quickly, letting the hot water wash away the fear and stiffness and the last faint green stains from the waterweed. The supply cart was waiting for her when she had finished, one of the covers pushed back slightly to release the steam. She dressed quickly, scrambling into her last spare pair of trousers and a loose, Reannan-knit pullover, and pushed back the lid of the cart. The food was good, standard local fare, fish cakes and rice and a quick-fry of vegetables, and Laness had included a bottle of the resinous local wine. She poured herself a glass, and wolfed a couple of the fish cakes straight from the cart, then turned her attention to the communications table. She seated herself in front of it, dragged the supply cart into easy reach. There were three messages from Kerestel waiting in storage. She hesitated, feeling guilty, but none of them were marked urgent. She ignored them, and called up the cheapest of the local communications nets. Its prompt flickered into view, and she punched in Ransome’s mailcode. There was a fractional hesitation, and then the familiar message: TERMINAL IN USE, PLEASE TRY LATER.

She smiled and reached for the cart again, one unacknowledged worry assuaged. At least Ransome was all right, and could probably explain what was going on, who had tried to kidnap her and why. And in the meantime, she thought, I think I’ll start carrying my work knife again. She pushed herself away from the terminal, went to rummage in her bag for the knife. It was meant to be used as a survival tool, and was classified as such when it passed through customs, but the longer of the two blades made an effective weapon. She slipped it into her pocket, turned back to the terminal. There was a repeat function; she found it after a moment’s search, and hit the codes. This time, the screen stayed dark, codes flickering across its base; after half a minute, a new message appeared: INTENDED RECEIVER NOT RESPONDING, CANCEL YES/NO. Lioe made a face, but hit YES. The screen flickered, and a moment later presented her with the list of charges. She ignored it, staring past the numbers. Someone was on the circuit only a few minutes ago, she thought, so where the hell did he go? Unless it was someone calling him? She hesitated, then tried again. There was no answer except the cancellation prompt.

She closed the system, wondering if she should wait and try again, or if she should go back to Ransome’s loft and see if there were any messages waiting there. That made the most sense, especially since she had Ransome’s key, but she had to admit that going back out on the streets didn’t particularly appeal to her. Which is silly. There’s no reason to think that these people—whoever they are—will try anything in the port district; more to the point, and more likely, there’s no reason to think the hostel is all that safe. She stood frowning for a moment, and the communications table buzzed, the screen displaying the intercom symbol. Her frown deepened, but she reached across to touch the flashing icon.

“Yes?”

“Na Lioe.” Laness sounded oddly hesitant. “There’s a woman to see you. She says her name is Roscha. Shall I send her up?”

Roscha? What the hell is she doing here? “Is she alone?” Lioe asked. And if she isn’t, she wondered suddenly, are you in a position to warn me?

“Yes, Na Lioe.”

“I’ll come down,” Lioe said, and cut the connection before anyone could protest. She made her way down the side stairs rather than the lift, and paused just inside the doorway to scan the lobby. Roscha was standing by the concierge’s counter, her beautiful face looking oddly forlorn as she watched the lift entrance. There was no one else in sight. Feeling rather foolish, Lioe took her hand off the button of the work knife, and stepped out into the lobby.