between the ship and the router, with traffic flowing back and forth—
She blinks back to her body and reaches for the zoku jewel. A q-dot bubble seizes it and pulls it away from her grasp.
The butterfly face gives her a grin that is not entirely human, more like a snout with fangs.
‘You lie badly,’ it says.
Mieli ? whispers Perhonen in Mieli’s head. Her heart beats faster with sudden relief. But then she hears the pain in the ship’s thought-voice. It got me. Help .
‘Who are you and what have you done to my ship?’ she hisses.
‘I am Sumanguru, eighth generation, Battle-of-Jupiter-that-was branch, a warmind and a Founder of Sobornost,’ the butterfly beast says. ‘And as for your ship, I am eating it.’
I push tree branches aside, and they whip my face and back painfully. My feet are thankfully numb. My breath feels ragged: it feels like I’m breathing in the tiny cogs, and they are tearing the soft tissues of my lungs. It is darker now, and the stark contrast of the white and the black is blended into twilight greys and blues.
The prints lead to another clearing. There are roughly hewn stone statues in the middle: squat animals that could represent a bear and a fox, although I’m not sure. At their feet, where the tracks end, is a dark puddle, with something glittering in it. I approach carefully and squat down to have a closer look. Blood, and a piece of jewellery: a glass hairpin, shaped like a butterfly. Perhonen . My guts tie themselves into a knot. Bile burns my throat, and I have to take a deep, shuddering breath.
A whisper. A gust of wind. Something goes past me. A light touch on my back, like a teasing finger. The sound of fabric tearing. Then, a whiplash of blinding pain. The force of the blow hurls me against the bear statue and leaves me sprawling on the ground. More red stuff spatters on the ground, and this time it’s mine. The Realmspace sword flies from my hand. I try to get up but my legs give way, and I end up on all fours.
That’s when I see the tiger, watching me.
It is half-hidden by the trees, back arched. Its stripes blend with the shadows of the branches. It is a monochrome creature, absences of colour and dashes of darkness, except for the blood on its muzzle. Its eyes are mismatched, one golden, one black and dead.
It lifts one paw and licks it with a pink tongue.
‘You . . . taste . . . different,’ the tiger says. Its voice is a deep, halting rumble, like an engine starting. It pads softly into the clearing, tail swaying back and forth. I edge my way ever so slightly towards the fallen sword, but stop when the tiger lets out a growl.
‘You taste younger. Smaller. Weaker,’ it purrs. As it speaks, its voice becomes more human, familiar. ‘And you taste of her.’
I blink and sit up slowly, brushing tiny cogs from my jacket lapels. My back is on fire and warm blood trickles from the wound, but I force myself to smile.
‘If you are talking about Joséphine Pellegrini,’ I say slowly, ‘I can assure you that our relationship is merely . . . professional.’
The tiger looms over me and pushes its muzzle close to my face. Its hot breath washes over me, a mixed stench of carrion and metal.
‘Traitors like you and her belong together,’ it says.
‘I’m not sure I know what you are talking about.’
This time I can feel the growl as well as hear it: it is so deep that it echoes in my chest.
‘You broke your promise,’ the tiger roars. ‘You left me here. For a thousand years.’
I curse my past self again for his blatant disregard for his own future.
‘I admit it’s not a very attractive setting,’ I say.
‘Torture,’ the tiger whispers. ‘This was a place of torture. The same things, happening over and over again. Foxes, bears, monkeys. Tricks and plots and follies. Stories for children. Even when I killed them, they would come back. Until things started breaking down. I suppose I should thank you for that as well, le Flambeur.’ Its good eye
She blinks back to her body and reaches for the zoku jewel. A q-dot bubble seizes it and pulls it away from her grasp.
The butterfly face gives her a grin that is not entirely human, more like a snout with fangs.
‘You lie badly,’ it says.
Mieli ? whispers Perhonen in Mieli’s head. Her heart beats faster with sudden relief. But then she hears the pain in the ship’s thought-voice. It got me. Help .
‘Who are you and what have you done to my ship?’ she hisses.
‘I am Sumanguru, eighth generation, Battle-of-Jupiter-that-was branch, a warmind and a Founder of Sobornost,’ the butterfly beast says. ‘And as for your ship, I am eating it.’
I push tree branches aside, and they whip my face and back painfully. My feet are thankfully numb. My breath feels ragged: it feels like I’m breathing in the tiny cogs, and they are tearing the soft tissues of my lungs. It is darker now, and the stark contrast of the white and the black is blended into twilight greys and blues.
The prints lead to another clearing. There are roughly hewn stone statues in the middle: squat animals that could represent a bear and a fox, although I’m not sure. At their feet, where the tracks end, is a dark puddle, with something glittering in it. I approach carefully and squat down to have a closer look. Blood, and a piece of jewellery: a glass hairpin, shaped like a butterfly. Perhonen . My guts tie themselves into a knot. Bile burns my throat, and I have to take a deep, shuddering breath.
A whisper. A gust of wind. Something goes past me. A light touch on my back, like a teasing finger. The sound of fabric tearing. Then, a whiplash of blinding pain. The force of the blow hurls me against the bear statue and leaves me sprawling on the ground. More red stuff spatters on the ground, and this time it’s mine. The Realmspace sword flies from my hand. I try to get up but my legs give way, and I end up on all fours.
That’s when I see the tiger, watching me.
It is half-hidden by the trees, back arched. Its stripes blend with the shadows of the branches. It is a monochrome creature, absences of colour and dashes of darkness, except for the blood on its muzzle. Its eyes are mismatched, one golden, one black and dead.
It lifts one paw and licks it with a pink tongue.
‘You . . . taste . . . different,’ the tiger says. Its voice is a deep, halting rumble, like an engine starting. It pads softly into the clearing, tail swaying back and forth. I edge my way ever so slightly towards the fallen sword, but stop when the tiger lets out a growl.
‘You taste younger. Smaller. Weaker,’ it purrs. As it speaks, its voice becomes more human, familiar. ‘And you taste of her.’
I blink and sit up slowly, brushing tiny cogs from my jacket lapels. My back is on fire and warm blood trickles from the wound, but I force myself to smile.
‘If you are talking about Joséphine Pellegrini,’ I say slowly, ‘I can assure you that our relationship is merely . . . professional.’
The tiger looms over me and pushes its muzzle close to my face. Its hot breath washes over me, a mixed stench of carrion and metal.
‘Traitors like you and her belong together,’ it says.
‘I’m not sure I know what you are talking about.’
This time I can feel the growl as well as hear it: it is so deep that it echoes in my chest.
‘You broke your promise,’ the tiger roars. ‘You left me here. For a thousand years.’
I curse my past self again for his blatant disregard for his own future.
‘I admit it’s not a very attractive setting,’ I say.
‘Torture,’ the tiger whispers. ‘This was a place of torture. The same things, happening over and over again. Foxes, bears, monkeys. Tricks and plots and follies. Stories for children. Even when I killed them, they would come back. Until things started breaking down. I suppose I should thank you for that as well, le Flambeur.’ Its good eye
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