Burning Bright

Lioe woke to the noise of distant traffic and the easy motion of the boat against the sluggish current. She turned her head away from the bars of sunlight that crept in through the gaps in the shutters, lay still for a moment, remembering where she was. She was meanly glad that Roscha was nowhere in sight. Not that it hadn’t been fun—and after Roscha’s performance in the session, especially; it was one of the best character readings Lioe had seen—but in the cold light of morning, she found herself wondering exactly why she’d done it. She shook the thought away—it was a little late for regrets, and anyway, it hadbeen fun—and crawled out of the low bunk. The bathroom was tiny, and smelled of aggressive cleaning; she washed quickly, the water tasting flatly of chemicals, and found her clothes hanging on the bulkhead beside the low stairs that led up onto the deck. She pulled on shirt and trousers and the loose vest, slung the mask that Gelsomina had given her around her neck, and pushed open the double doors. She had left her hat somewhere, she realized, either at Shadows or at Ransome’s loft, and she made a mental note to look for it later.

The sunlight on the deck had an odd cast to it, a sickly, uncertain tone, and Lioe glanced toward the sky. It was almost white, hazed with clouds as it had been for the past two days, but when she looked south, toward the mouth of the Inland Water, darker clouds showed between the housetops. An erratic little wind was blowing fitfully, sending bits of trash skittering along the embankment above the boat, and Lioe felt the hairs rising on the back of her neck.

“Oh, there you are,” Roscha said. She made her way forward, stepping easily over the solar panels set into the decking. “I was just coming to wake you. It looks like that storm’s going to hit us after all, and I’ve got a call from the wharfinger to report at once to the main dock.”

“That’s too bad,” Lioe said.

“I don’t see why I couldn’t make it to Roche’Ambroise for the puppet shows,” Roscha went on. “That is, if you still want to go.”

One of the local artists’ cooperatives was giving its annual free show that afternoon. It was supposed to be a spectacular event, a combination of athletics, mime, and robotics, and Lioe had said she would like to see it. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” she began, and Roscha frowned.

“Look, if you don’t want to go, no problem.” Her tone implied the opposite.

“It’s not that,” Lioe said, impatiently. “Yes, I want to see the show, but you’ve got this call—”

“It shouldn’t be anything serious,” Roscha said, and gave a fleeting grin. “I haven’t done anything. They probably just need help securing the barges. I should be able to make the show.”

“Fine,” Lioe said. If you don’t, I can enjoy it by myself. “Where do you want to meet?”

“They do the show in Betani Square, right off the Hartzer Canal,” Roscha answered. “Why don’t we just meet there, midafternoon? By the fountain.”

“Fine,” Lioe said again. The sunlight faded, and she glanced up, to see a thicker strand of cloud turning the sun to a disk of bronze. “How bad is this storm going to be?”

Roscha shrugged. “Not bad, I’d say. The street brokers are saying a category two at most. That’s not anything to worry about.”

By whose standards? Lioe wondered, squinting again at the sky. The sun was back, but the clouds looked darker than before. Still, Roscha was the native; if she said it wasn’t that bad, it shouldn’t be. “I’ll see you at the fountain in Betani Square at fifteenth hour,” she said aloud, and reached for the rope ladder that led up to the embankment.

Roscha nodded. “Will you help me cast off?”

“Sure.” Lioe climbed easily up onto the broad stones, unhooked the ladder, and let it drop. Roscha caught it as it fell, folded it neatly into a well on the deck.

“Ready for the cables?” Lioe asked, and Roscha nodded again.

“I’ve already switched over.”

Lioe unhooked the double-headed cables from the power nodes at the base of the bollard. Roscha caught those as well, guiding them back into their housings, and took her place in the steering well. Lioe released the bow and stern lines, tossed them onto the deck, and stood watching while Roscha shoved the boat away from the embankment, and fed power to the engine. She was out of earshot before Lioe realized she hadn’t asked how to get to Roche’Ambroise. She laughed, and started back toward Shadows, where food and her mail would be waiting.