she’d held back this information until now. Either it wasn’t true, or she was metering out what she knew in order to keep a tight leash on him and his men.
“Who are you to forbid us from going about the town?” he asked. “Are we your prisoners?”
“It’s not me who’s likely to imprison you,” she shot back.
“Thank you for your concern but my mind is made up,” he said. “Anyway, people already know we’re here; don’t you think it’s just as suspicious if we’re not seen on the street?”
She made a face. “All right.”
Chaison picked up one of the mysterious bills and waggled it. “Ergez’s men can introduce us around, to build some trust with the locals. We can do some odd jobs. And while we do we will keep an eye out for more of these. Deal?”
She smiled slyly, taking back the bill. “Deal. But don’t stick your heads out too far. I’d hate to have to rescue you again.”
After she left Chaison smiled at the others. “Let’s hope the weather doesn’t clear in the next few days.”
6
ANTAEA SLUMPED AGAINST the town’s railing. She was impossibly weary, but wouldn’t let herself rest yet. Memory and nightmares were lurking in the corners of her mind, ready to pounce the instant she stopped moving. Better to collapse than rest.
Her official task for the guard was to investigate the rights currency. So, she’d been dividing her time between that and attempts to pry information out of Chaison Fanning. She had to admit she wasn’t very good at that sort of thing; her attempts to make the Slipstreamers trust her came across as false, and she had nothing credible to threaten them with. She’d look weak if she just hung around, so she had been spending more and more time out of Ergez’s. It was intensely frustrating that she was getting nowhere with him, and that just added to her exhaustion.
The skies reminded her of home today. Pacquaea was a winter nation and its airs were frosty; warm fronts regularly sailed in from places like Meridian, and as they cooled they condensed. The droplets got bigger and bigger until they were gigantic. Unlike here, the water balls back home often developed a crust of ice on them, making them doubly dangerous. When these crystalline orbs drifted too close to the town they were dynamited—a bang, the puff of spray like black fireworks against the inky sky. But they were never as numerous as the torrent of drops, big and small, that filled Antaea’s sight now.
Pacquaea’s weather was just a hint of what you’d experience if you followed the slow drift of cooling air to the wall of the world. As she leaned against the wooden rail, the calm, the turning air, and her own exhaustion made Antaea’s mind drift. Unbidden, memories came to her of half the sky paved with jagged white fangs—millions upon millions of icebergs, stretching from the infinite dark below to the infinity above and equally to each side. Luckily dark, for they would be blinding in the light of a sun, and might drive you mad if you understood the sheer scale of the sight.
“It’s been six hours.” Antaea started; the memory of Gonlin’s voice was so vivid he might have been standing next to her. But no, that vast wall of ice had been his backdrop. They had clustered in a rough star pattern in the weightless air, Antaea and sixty others, listening with growing apprehension to Gonlin’s report.
“Six hours. All across Virga, ancient devices that’ve been dormant for millennia are waking up. The field that suppresses transcendent technologies has collapsed. Something’s happened to Candesce.”
“Has it gone out?” someone asked, voicing the nightmarish thought on everyone’s minds. If the sun of suns died, the heat it supplied to the entire world would stop flowing. It would get much colder out here—cold enough to freeze the air itself—and that cold would soon begin to work its way inward. Without Candesce, all Virga would die.
Gonlin had shrugged. Antaea could
“Who are you to forbid us from going about the town?” he asked. “Are we your prisoners?”
“It’s not me who’s likely to imprison you,” she shot back.
“Thank you for your concern but my mind is made up,” he said. “Anyway, people already know we’re here; don’t you think it’s just as suspicious if we’re not seen on the street?”
She made a face. “All right.”
Chaison picked up one of the mysterious bills and waggled it. “Ergez’s men can introduce us around, to build some trust with the locals. We can do some odd jobs. And while we do we will keep an eye out for more of these. Deal?”
She smiled slyly, taking back the bill. “Deal. But don’t stick your heads out too far. I’d hate to have to rescue you again.”
After she left Chaison smiled at the others. “Let’s hope the weather doesn’t clear in the next few days.”
6
ANTAEA SLUMPED AGAINST the town’s railing. She was impossibly weary, but wouldn’t let herself rest yet. Memory and nightmares were lurking in the corners of her mind, ready to pounce the instant she stopped moving. Better to collapse than rest.
Her official task for the guard was to investigate the rights currency. So, she’d been dividing her time between that and attempts to pry information out of Chaison Fanning. She had to admit she wasn’t very good at that sort of thing; her attempts to make the Slipstreamers trust her came across as false, and she had nothing credible to threaten them with. She’d look weak if she just hung around, so she had been spending more and more time out of Ergez’s. It was intensely frustrating that she was getting nowhere with him, and that just added to her exhaustion.
The skies reminded her of home today. Pacquaea was a winter nation and its airs were frosty; warm fronts regularly sailed in from places like Meridian, and as they cooled they condensed. The droplets got bigger and bigger until they were gigantic. Unlike here, the water balls back home often developed a crust of ice on them, making them doubly dangerous. When these crystalline orbs drifted too close to the town they were dynamited—a bang, the puff of spray like black fireworks against the inky sky. But they were never as numerous as the torrent of drops, big and small, that filled Antaea’s sight now.
Pacquaea’s weather was just a hint of what you’d experience if you followed the slow drift of cooling air to the wall of the world. As she leaned against the wooden rail, the calm, the turning air, and her own exhaustion made Antaea’s mind drift. Unbidden, memories came to her of half the sky paved with jagged white fangs—millions upon millions of icebergs, stretching from the infinite dark below to the infinity above and equally to each side. Luckily dark, for they would be blinding in the light of a sun, and might drive you mad if you understood the sheer scale of the sight.
“It’s been six hours.” Antaea started; the memory of Gonlin’s voice was so vivid he might have been standing next to her. But no, that vast wall of ice had been his backdrop. They had clustered in a rough star pattern in the weightless air, Antaea and sixty others, listening with growing apprehension to Gonlin’s report.
“Six hours. All across Virga, ancient devices that’ve been dormant for millennia are waking up. The field that suppresses transcendent technologies has collapsed. Something’s happened to Candesce.”
“Has it gone out?” someone asked, voicing the nightmarish thought on everyone’s minds. If the sun of suns died, the heat it supplied to the entire world would stop flowing. It would get much colder out here—cold enough to freeze the air itself—and that cold would soon begin to work its way inward. Without Candesce, all Virga would die.
Gonlin had shrugged. Antaea could
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