Burning Bright

“Right,” Lioe said. She looked toward the concierge’s counter, where Laness was pretending to be absorbed in the tourist display-tapes. No harm in providing a little insurance, she thought, and walked over to join him. “Laness,” she said, and the man looked up in an unconvincing flurry of surprise.

“What can I do for you, Na Lioe? Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Lioe answered. So far. “I need you to do me a favor,” she went on. “I have to go out, but after what happened earlier, would you—if I’m not back here tonight, or if I don’t call you, would you give the Lockwardens a call?”

“Of course, Na Lioe,” Laness said. His eyes widened slightly, his whole being torn between enjoyment of the Game-like intrigue and concern for a guest. “But, Na Lioe, if there’s any chance—what I mean is, with the storm predicted for tonight, if anything happens to you, the Lockwardens are going to have enough to do.”

“That’s all right,” Lioe said. Or at least it can’t be helped. “I’m not really worried, not really expecting anything. But if I’m not back, and you don’t hear from me, I want you to call them.”

Laness nodded. “I’ll do that,” he said, and added, awkwardly, “Good luck.”

Roscha’s denki-bike was parked outside, under the shelter of a news kiosk’s awning instead of in the racks outside the hostel’s door. The wind—a warm wind, unpleasantly warm—sent dust and a few errant pieces of trash whipping along the pavement; across the road, a pair of women struggled with a storefront banner, fighting to fold the heavy cloth. Up and down the street, wooden shutters had been clamped into place across the larger windows, and there was a line out the door of the single grocer’s shop. “It looks bad,” Lioe said, involuntarily, and Roscha shrugged.

“It’s always like this when a storm’s coming. They say it’s only going to be a class two.” She reached into the bike’s security field, expertly touching the release codes. “Let’s get going before the rain starts.”

The streets were all but empty in the port district, most of the workers already heading home to secure their own property. Shutters covered most of the upper-floor windows, and there were storm bars across the warehouse doors. Lioe leaned close against Roscha’s back, felt the denki-bike shudder each time they turned a corner. A few drops of rain were falling as they turned the last corner and pulled into the alley beside Ransome’s loft. Lioe winced as the first huge drops hit her face, looked toward the building’s entrance. The red flag was still out, whipping frantically against its stays, and she wondered if its owner had just forgotten to take it in. Still, the stairs weren’t difficult, and at least she knew where they were. She reached into her pocket for the lockbox, and closed her fingers gratefully over its smoothly dented surface. At least I didn’t lose it in the canal. She started toward the stairwell, motioning for Roscha to follow. The other woman straightened from hooking her bike to the recharging bollard, gave the connector a last tug, and came to join her.

“Where away?”

“Upstairs,” Lioe answered, and laid the lockbox against the stairway door. It clicked open, and she stepped into the sudden darkness. It smelled odd, sour and rather yeasty, and Roscha made a small noise of disgust.

“Better watch your step.”

“What is it, anyway?” Lioe turned to secure the door behind them. A tiny light came on as she refastened the latch, casting a sickly glow over the landing.

“Someone’s been chewing strawn,” Roscha answered. “There’ll be a cud around here somewhere.”

“What’s strawn?” Lioe started up the stairs, avoiding the shadows.

“It comes out of hsai space, makes you feel very calm,” Roscha answered. Lioe could hear the sudden smile in her voice as she added, “Not something I indulge in much.”

“I guess not.” Lioe paused outside Ransome’s door, fumbling with the lockbox until she found the depressions that released the lock. The lights were out, just as she’d left it, the big window open to the city view. Dark clouds, almost purple, filled the left side of the window; the sky to the right was still only grey. “Ransome?”

There was no answer, and she hadn’t really expected one, but she called his name once more before crossing to the display space. Lights flashed along the base of the main console, signaling at least a dozen messages waiting. She frowned, puzzled now as well as worried, and touched keys to retrieve the latest. A secondary screen lit, displayed a string of hsai n-jaocharacters. Chauvelin? she wondered, and touched keys again to scroll back to the first message.

“He hasn’t even gotten the shutters down,” Roscha said, and Lioe looked back at her. “If you were looking for Ransome,” Roscha went on, “he hasn’t been here. He’d‘ve put storm shutters up, the way that sky is looking.”