forth a thorn,’" he says,
looking at me and my uncomfortably clenched flower, "’ The humble sheep
a threat'ning horn.’"
My mouth has fallen open at this point, but he's looking at Jonas
now.
"’While the lily white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn,
nor a threat, stain her beauty bright.’"
Jonas is clearly ignoring him, his eyes scanning the marketplace.
Apollon glances at me. "William Blake."
I say nothing. I'm just looking at him in disbelief.
After a while he looks at me again. He smiles, touches his
chest, and says, "Apollon, god of poetry."
I already know the punch line. I say it with him.
"Among other things."
That earns me a grin. Thankfully, we've arrived at our
destination.
It doesn't take long to determine that something is wrong.
We stand in a group with two peddlers under an awning stretched on four metal
poles. Apollon and Jonas inform them that they’ll have three sets of
nightglasses, with compatible microthermogenors, and at least four, maybe five,
aether traps ready for delivery tomorrow. But the peddlers insist the
regular price is too high. Apollon and Jonas don't agree. The price
is fair. The parts cost money and they need to make a profit. They haggle
for a while, and then it comes out. The peddlers have had another
offer. Someone is underselling Miranda. Not only this, but they're
underselling by so much that there's no way we can match them and make any kind
of profit. Apollon is furious. Jonas takes him by the arm and pulls
him back, thanking the peddlers and saying we'll get back to them. But as
we move away, Apollon shakes Jonas off.
"This is ridiculous," he hisses, turning on his friend.
Jonas remains calm and measured, but I can see his anger beneath
the level exterior. He opens his mouth to reply, but Apollon talks over
him.
"You know what's happening, right? No one is
going to make a profit off prices like that. It's aimed directly at us.
At Miranda."
The idea makes me shiver. Donegan.
"We can't assume anything," Jonas begins.
"Don't be stupid," Apollon snaps. "You know
exactly who's doing this."
Jonas starts to shake his head, but Apollon is already walking
away.
"Apollon," Jonas calls after him, "don't you be stupid."
Apollon waves him off. We watch him go.
Jonas sighs. After a moment, he looks at me.
I sigh, too. I glance down at the lily still in my hand, and
hold it out to him. "Here," I say. "I really don't
want this."
He takes it from me passively, his eyes following after
Apollon. Switching it into his right hand with the other lily, he grips
the two stems in a fist, swinging at his side as we walk.
"How bad is this?" I finally ask, when we're about
halfway home.
His eyes dart to me, scan my face. "It's
bad."
I purse my lips. We march on. I try to mimic Jonas'
self-possessed awareness, scanning our surroundings, feigning confidence.
My eyes fall on a man mad-dogging us from the end of an alleyway. I scowl
at him rather than avoid his gaze. He scowls back. A wooden club
suddenly connects with the back of his head from the dark of the alley.
He goes down. Hands grab him by the shoulders, dragging him back.
His feet disappear.
My steps have faltered. "Wh--" I stammer.
Jonas grabs my arm. "Keep going," he mutters under
his breath.
"Did you see that?" I ask in disbelief. I'm
shaking with adrenaline.
"No," he says, releasing me. "And you didn't
either."
I swallow, and keep walking. Try to think of something
else. Anything else. After a while, I can't stand the
silence. "So, Apollon..." I say lightly, though it takes a good
deal of effort to manage it. "What's with the god complex,
anyway?"
Jonas laughs softly through his nose, not looking at me.
Finally, he says, "Erasure is harder on some than on others, I
guess. If you're not anything-- if you can be anything-- why not
decide to be a god?"
I consider this for a moment, ponder the choice of my
looking at me and my uncomfortably clenched flower, "’ The humble sheep
a threat'ning horn.’"
My mouth has fallen open at this point, but he's looking at Jonas
now.
"’While the lily white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn,
nor a threat, stain her beauty bright.’"
Jonas is clearly ignoring him, his eyes scanning the marketplace.
Apollon glances at me. "William Blake."
I say nothing. I'm just looking at him in disbelief.
After a while he looks at me again. He smiles, touches his
chest, and says, "Apollon, god of poetry."
I already know the punch line. I say it with him.
"Among other things."
That earns me a grin. Thankfully, we've arrived at our
destination.
It doesn't take long to determine that something is wrong.
We stand in a group with two peddlers under an awning stretched on four metal
poles. Apollon and Jonas inform them that they’ll have three sets of
nightglasses, with compatible microthermogenors, and at least four, maybe five,
aether traps ready for delivery tomorrow. But the peddlers insist the
regular price is too high. Apollon and Jonas don't agree. The price
is fair. The parts cost money and they need to make a profit. They haggle
for a while, and then it comes out. The peddlers have had another
offer. Someone is underselling Miranda. Not only this, but they're
underselling by so much that there's no way we can match them and make any kind
of profit. Apollon is furious. Jonas takes him by the arm and pulls
him back, thanking the peddlers and saying we'll get back to them. But as
we move away, Apollon shakes Jonas off.
"This is ridiculous," he hisses, turning on his friend.
Jonas remains calm and measured, but I can see his anger beneath
the level exterior. He opens his mouth to reply, but Apollon talks over
him.
"You know what's happening, right? No one is
going to make a profit off prices like that. It's aimed directly at us.
At Miranda."
The idea makes me shiver. Donegan.
"We can't assume anything," Jonas begins.
"Don't be stupid," Apollon snaps. "You know
exactly who's doing this."
Jonas starts to shake his head, but Apollon is already walking
away.
"Apollon," Jonas calls after him, "don't you be stupid."
Apollon waves him off. We watch him go.
Jonas sighs. After a moment, he looks at me.
I sigh, too. I glance down at the lily still in my hand, and
hold it out to him. "Here," I say. "I really don't
want this."
He takes it from me passively, his eyes following after
Apollon. Switching it into his right hand with the other lily, he grips
the two stems in a fist, swinging at his side as we walk.
"How bad is this?" I finally ask, when we're about
halfway home.
His eyes dart to me, scan my face. "It's
bad."
I purse my lips. We march on. I try to mimic Jonas'
self-possessed awareness, scanning our surroundings, feigning confidence.
My eyes fall on a man mad-dogging us from the end of an alleyway. I scowl
at him rather than avoid his gaze. He scowls back. A wooden club
suddenly connects with the back of his head from the dark of the alley.
He goes down. Hands grab him by the shoulders, dragging him back.
His feet disappear.
My steps have faltered. "Wh--" I stammer.
Jonas grabs my arm. "Keep going," he mutters under
his breath.
"Did you see that?" I ask in disbelief. I'm
shaking with adrenaline.
"No," he says, releasing me. "And you didn't
either."
I swallow, and keep walking. Try to think of something
else. Anything else. After a while, I can't stand the
silence. "So, Apollon..." I say lightly, though it takes a good
deal of effort to manage it. "What's with the god complex,
anyway?"
Jonas laughs softly through his nose, not looking at me.
Finally, he says, "Erasure is harder on some than on others, I
guess. If you're not anything-- if you can be anything-- why not
decide to be a god?"
I consider this for a moment, ponder the choice of my
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