The GoldenCity

But Gabriel had shown her a different way to look at reality. What was supposed to be logical was not always what was fair, right or inevitable. Fighting the Tabula was not particularly logical, and yet people all over the world were joining the Resistance. And what about this child growing within her? Was there anything logical about bringing a new life into this chaotic world? She shouldn’t keep it, wouldn’t keep it, absolutely can’t keep it. But yes, she thought. Yes. I’m going to do it anyway.

With the sword case hanging from her shoulder, she strolled over to the drum shop in Camden Market. Her first objective was to get Linden ’s permission. That wasn’t going to be easy.

The French Harlequin was sitting in the kitchen of the secret apartment when she came through the door. The room smelled of spilled wine and the sugary odor of the French Harlequin’s handmade cigarettes.

“How is the Traveler?”

“No change.”

“I’ll check on the body.”

Maya walked to the room where Gabriel’s body lay on a narrow bed. She closed the door so that Linden wouldn’t surprise her and then touched Gabriel’s face with the palm of her hand. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “What do you think of that?”

The Light had left his body, and Maya knew Gabriel couldn’t hear her. She leaned forward, kissed his forehead, and then returned to the kitchen. “Still alive,” she told Linden. Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact, as if they were talking about an article in the newspaper.

Linden got up from the table and turned on the gas burner. “Coffee?”

“Yes.” Maya took the sword carrier off her shoulder and hung it on the back of her chair. “I got a call from Simon this morning. The Free Runners know where the Tabula took Alice Chen.”

“I’m sure that she’s already dead.”

“We don’t know that.”

“It’s the logical conclusion.”

“I think we need to consider every possibility.”

Linden opened up a tin and began scooping out teaspoons of ground coffee. “If she’s dead, there’s nothing to be done. If she’s alive, we’re not going to waste our resources finding her.”

“When I was growing up, my father lectured me about the tensions between Travelers and Harlequins. They don’t like us. Not really.”

“I do not give a damn what they think,” Linden said. “Soldiers go to war even though they may disagree with certain political parties within their country. We Harlequins defend a difficult group of people. But we have accepted that obligation.”

“If we do nothing to help Alice and she dies, Gabriel will walk away from our protection. You know him, Linden. You know that’s true. If we don’t save the child, we lose the Traveler.”

The kettle started whistling and Linden poured boiling water into a French press. He waited a minute, then pushed the plunger down. “You might be right.”

“I’ll handle the problem,” Maya said, and tried not to smile.

Linden gave her a cup filled with a coffee so thick that it reminded her of chocolate cake frosting. Maya resisted the temptation to add sugar and took a sip of the black sludge.

“Too strong?” Linden asked.

“Just right.”

***

She left Camden Market, waved down a taxi, and told the driver to take her to suburban Chiswick. During the journey, she counted every surveillance camera the taxi passed on the street. Some of them simply recorded images, but others used sophisticated face-scanning programs. A few of the citizens noticed there were more cameras-yes, they just put up that new one in the square-but the walls of the new prison were invisible. In Britain, the plan to centralize all databases was called Transformational Government, an innocuous phrase that implied that this sort of change was both positive and necessary. These changes were being made For Your Protection, For Efficiency and Modernization. They were Styrofoam words-light and unsubstantial, packing materials to blunt the sharp edges.

When the taxi reached Chiswick, she got out near a school, and then walked three blocks to a street lined with tidy row houses. There was a faded Harlequin lute chalked on the pavement in front of the second house from the corner. The Free Runners had been living in the ground floor flat for the last few months.

Simon Lumbroso had already arrived and was sitting gingerly on a saggy couch in the living room. He seemed out-of-place amidst the cast-off furniture and the rubbish bins overflowing with crushed beer cans and fast-food cartons.