The Children of the Sky

After a moment, Nevil found his voice again and continued, as if struggling against tears. “I was very close to Johanna all my life. Infatuated, I see now. But I loved her, and as much as she was capable of it, I think she loved me. Now … well, the proof that Tycoon has provided and her own unguarded words to me … It means I was wrong in my love and my trust. I’m sorry.” He paused, turned toward Tycoon, whose pyramid still topped his own height. When Nevil continued, his voice was firm and statesmanlike. “Sir, however just your demands, they stand moot. Johanna Olsndot has been missing for some tendays.”

“You lie! Give her over!” roared the eightsome.

Nevil damped his audio so low that Ravna could barely hear it: “Are you crazy?” he hissed. “Look, she’s dead. I can get you the body. Just—”

Jefri lunged at Nevil. “You murdering—” Nevil’s friends tackled him before he could do Storherte harm. Tycoon dropped down and lumbered around the fray, gobbling at the gunpack. That pack backed off, shifting its firearms so they weren’t pointing at Jefri.

As Jefri was bundled off down the stairs, there was a momentary clear area around Ravna, and an unrecognizable voice whispered in her ear: “Watch the wall beside me.” Ravna’s head jerked up. Woodcarver? Maybe. Flenser!

Tycoon’s heads came up too. He walked across the stage, heads questing toward Flenser and Woodcarver. Had he heard Flenser?

Now what Ravna heard was the sound of splintering wood. Part of the wall popped a centimeter out. There was a crash and another and another.

Tycoon flinched back. The wooden panel fell to the stage and … Johanna stepped into the sunlight, carrying a sturdy timber. She was out of breath, her violet eyes wild—and she was very much alive. She dropped the timber and spoke to the eightsome, who stood jaws agape before her. “Hei, sir. I am Johanna Olsndot.”

Now that he had his hate’s desire, Tycoon hesitated. He stepped back, milled around almost like some of the newbies Ravna had met in the circus. Or a killer savoring the moment.

Jo dropped to the deck before him and tilted her head back, imitating a submissive singleton about as well as a human could.

Jaws snapped on either side of her throat. Tycoon jostled himself as members at the rear tried to get at her. Two of him grabbed Johanna’s arms and began dragging her toward the vacant right end of the stage. “We talk before you die,” he said.

“But—” Nevil started after them, then stopped, apparently realizing that unless he wanted to start shooting, things were totally beyond his control.

As Johanna was dragged across the stage, Woodcarver’s puppies jumped down and pushed something across the deck to Flenser. Two of Flenser slid it toward Tycoon.

Maybe it was reflex, maybe it was curiosity, but Tycoon grabbed the object. It was some kind of book, the style that Tines had “hand” printed before the Children landed. It was very old, or it had been through a fire. The pages were black and curling, held together by metal hoops. Ravna got just a glimpse before Tycoon surged around the book. He was completely motionless for a moment, then resumed his march to the far end of the stage.

Zek had watched all this silently, nervously moving out of the way when necessary. Now he stood still for a second, as if listening. Then he gobbled something desperate and negative and ran across the stage toward Tycoon. Ritl followed a second later.

Tycoon was having none of it. He swiped claws at Ritl and hissed at Zek, “Back! This is my vengeance.”

No matter how determined Vendacious might be to spy on Jo’s last words, poor Zek was in no position to enforce that will. Both singletons backed off.

The confrontation between Johanna and her would-be executioner might be short, but it was not going to be private. The two were in full daylight at the far end of the stage, visible to most of the audience and everyone on the stage. Øvin Verring and the Linden boys rushed the front stairs, backed by several others. Nevil’s friends had been drilling; they used their staffs to knock the kids down the stairs. Wilm was helped up by his brother; their group tried again. Now the crowd was mixing together, fighting in places. Others just stood, watching in horror.

Nevil was watching in horrified fascination, too. But he was also mumbling to … Oobii? Ravna edged closer to him. Nevil’s audio was not fully damped. He glanced at Vendacious’ airship and his voice raised a fraction, though still barely audible. “So is this worst case or not?”

His eyes flickered sideways, noticed Ravna’s approach.

Nevil’s goons were over by the stairs; there was something she could do! “It’s coming apart, Nevil,” she said. “Tell Vendacious that—”

Nevil’s mouth twisted in contempt. “Shut up. I have ship’s admin authority, remember? I can burn you down where you stand.”

Maybe. Ravna found the presence of mind not to correct him—at least, not with the truth. Instead: “Burn me in front of all these people? I think not.”