Boats with black hulls and crudely painted eyes slunk down the border, each vessel thick with Guards. Dark, bulky overcoats and furred hats hid their features, but the men bristled with guns.
Adelaide sat in the stern of the speedboat, hunched over, gloved hands at her chin. She stared determinedly westward through the checkpoint. She had been out here for thirty minutes, watching; she could no longer feel the exposed parts of her face or her feet. Gulls flapped overhead, pale and sharp beaked against the overcast sky. Their raucous calls pierced the cold air. Adelaide did not move.
The boatman gave her an exasperated look.
“Miss, haven’t you seen enough?”
“No.”
He folded his arms, sighing loud enough for her to hear.
Every waterbus that came out of the west was stopped. Each time, the officer in charge boarded the waterbus and forced its passengers to form a line. He walked the length of the line, pausing in front of some passengers, barely glancing at others. The officer carried a stick with which he rapped the decking in time to his footsteps, and she could tell by the dull contact sound that it was made of metal.
Beyond the checkpoint and the border net, western pyramids and scrapers rose grim and sallow. Faded graffiti covered the towers, layer upon layer, angry slogans and figures like manga cartoons, frozen in action-mid-leap, mid-punch. Their oversized eyes followed her across the border.
Further in, she could make out more boats, or things that had been coaxed to float, rafts and metal basins, clustered around the bases of the towers. There were shapes inside the boats and propped up on the deckings. Their movements were slow and laboured. At first she did not realize they were people. They moved like another race, one long lost and forgotten.
This was it. The last place.
For the first time since that day, she allowed the execution scene to crystallise in her memory, looking at it without flinching. Looking at it from Vikram’s side.
“We’re going across,” she told the boatman. He stared at her as if she was crazy. Perhaps I am, she thought. Crazy like Axel. He’d have to be crazy to come here, and she knew suddenly that her instinct was right.
“I’m afraid I can’t go any further, Miss.”
“I’m ordering you to take the boat across.”
“Miss, with all due respect, I’m not going to. Your father would have a fit.”
“My father can go hang himself.”
“Your father’s orders come above your own, Miss Rechnov. There’s no way in Osiris I’m taking you into the west. Do you want to be shot?”
She wanted to hit him for the way he was looking at her, defiantly, insolently, but more than that-as though she was something to be contained, even pitied. She clenched her teeth.
“I have to cross the border, Foma.”
How long they might have argued for in the bitter cold, she would not find out, because another dispute, louder than theirs, carried over the water. A waterbus had stopped at the checkpoint. The shouting was between the officer and one of the passengers. Adelaide could see those not involved fidgeting, the other passengers anxiously, the Guards with a twitching impatience.
Uneasily now, she watched as the officer hauled the passenger out of the line and off the boat, onto the jetty. He jerked him along the decking and thrust him onto his knees.
“Miss, miss, we should really go now.”
Foma shook her shoulder gently, but she felt it with the force applied to the passenger.
“Miss, you don’t want to see this.”
The officer lifted his stick, high above his head. It cracked through the air. A scream was quickly muffled. The officer leaned over to wipe the weapon against the man’s coat. He stepped away, twisting his wrist.
At a sign, four of the Guards gathered around the man. Systematically, they delivered a series of kicks and blows until he shrivelled against the decking. At first there were no sounds other than that of impact. Then he began to shriek.
It took barely a minute, and his face was no longer recognizable as a face.
One of the women on the boat turned away with a moan of horror. A Guard marched her to the rail and pinched her chin, forcing her to watch. Adelaide saw the woman’s body convulse as she retched.
“Miss, come on. Let’s go.”
The boatman reached for the ignition, but Adelaide put her hand over it.
“Wait.”
The officer in charge raised a hand. The beating stopped. The man’s howls grew shakier. The officer stepped forward, put the muzzle of his gun against the man’s head, and pulled the trigger. Two Guards took the wrists and ankles, and slung the body into the sea.
The dead man floated, his ruined face to the clouds.
“Miss, can we go now?” Foma’s voice had lost all its anger; now it was pleading. Adelaide nodded, numbly. She felt the boat gear into life, knew there must be something she should do, but was incapable of finding words or means. As the speedboat whirred away, three or four seagulls began spiralling downwards. Knowing their intent, she clamped her hands over her mouth, suppressing a noise of horror and disgust that one reborn soul could do that to another.
Adelaide opened the balcony door and shut it quickly behind her before the rush of cold could change her mind. Clouds hung low in the darkening sky, their bellies distended with unfallen snow. She sensed the City holding its breath, and held hers with it.
It was unusual for Tyr to want a meeting this early in the evening-Jannike’s birthday celebrations had barely begun-but she was glad of the opportunity. She had made a decision: she was going to tell Tyr everything. About Lao, about the airlift and the vault, about Operation Whitefly. It was a relief. She had to tell someone, and she had alienated Vikram. But she didn’t want to think about that.
Once she had told Tyr, they could work out what to do next.
The balcony door opened and shut again behind Tyr. He did not have a coat either.
“We’ll catch our death,” she said with a smile.
Tyr walked slowly across the balcony and stopped a metre away from her. They were both shivering. Adelaide took a step toward him.
“You’re sleeping with Vikram, aren’t you?”
The question caught her off-guard. She had assumed he knew; she had not thought he would ask.
“Yes.”
“How long have you been seeing him for?”
His grey eyes watched hers. She tried to mirror their blankness. He knew her face so well. They had learned one another like books by rote; a dip of the head, a blink, could act as code.
“Oh, I don’t know-”
“How long?”
“Couple of weeks.”
“You’re lying.”
She lowered her eyes strategically.
“It’s just a diversion. It’s over.”
“He stays here. You stay with him.”
She felt her way carefully around this iceberg.
“He’s a westerner. It annoys Feodor more.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think-”
“No. I get it.”
A tiny snowflake whirled out of the sky. Another chased it, then another, and another, and all at once they were surrounded by a maze of swirling shapes. They landed cold darts on Adelaide’s face. They blew onto Tyr’s scarf and the sleeves of his jacket.
“I can’t keep doing this, Adelaide.”
She saw his lips moving, but they did not seem to match the words that came out. It was not really Tyr talking. The person who replied was not really Adelaide.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and me.” He sounded almost gentle now, and that made him more distant because the Tyr that she knew had no need for softness.
“We have to stop,” he said.
“But there’s no need,” she said. “Tyr, why-”
“Adelaide-” His voice broke her name. “The terms of our agreement-I can’t stand by them any longer.”
He looked away. Now the flakes were coming thick and fast, a sheet, then a quilt of snow, and there was nothing to see, only her and Tyr at the centre of a shaken paperweight. She reached out and touched his sleeve. It was thin and wet and reminded her of blood. She thought of the western man dumped off the jetty, felt herself caught in that same hopeless motion.
“Why not?”
He moved his arm away.
“Because-I love you, Adie.”
She tried to read his face, to unearth some aggression there, anger or blame, something strong that she could grasp with both hands and fight. She found only sadness.
“But you can’t,” she said. “I’m not that person.”
“Then I am. And I can stand the pretence, I can stand the lies-I’ve enjoyed that game, I don’t deny it. But seeing you let someone else into your life-I won’t do that.”
“What, you think he means something to me? He doesn’t. None of them do. Only maybe-he reminds me a little of Axel. That’s it. That’s all.”
You mean something to me. The thought, dormant at the back of her mind, suddenly clarified. But she could not say it.
Tyr sighed. “Let’s face it, Adie. We can’t be together. Even if you wanted it, we couldn’t.”
“Don’t say that. We can do what we like.”
He gave a helpless smile.
“I’d lose my position. Feodor would disinherit you. I’m his spy Adie-you know that. You’ve always known. Every month I write him a report. What you’re doing, who you’re seeing. Lies, years and years of lies. He finds that out and what then?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. Then nothing. You want to get a job, run away to the west? We’re creatures of habit, you and I. We like our lifestyles. We’re both too selfish to give them up, and anyway, what compensation would there be for you.”
There was an ache in her teeth and in her ribs where her lungs constricted. It was the cold. It was the cold.
“I can’t care about anyone,” she whispered.
“That’s right. You can’t care about anyone.”
He sounded infinitely weary. It made her see them both standing there, the snow settling on their hair and faces, resting on her eyelashes, in the corners of her eyes, where new snow was being made in hot, brittle flakes. He was going to walk away. He was going to abandon her.
“I need you,” she managed. “There are things I have to tell you.”
She felt flooded with the weight of it, almost frantic.
“Tyr, please-for stars’ sake-”
“You’ve had years to tell me anything you wanted, Adie. What could there possibly be left to say? Listen, I’m sorry it’s early. I knew I had to talk to you, I wanted to be lucid when I did.”
On his right temple was a tiny scar; she knew it was from a childhood accident but she did not know what the accident was. She knew everything and nothing about him. She had run out of time.
“And what now? We both go back and-pretend?”
“Like we always have. You’re a good enough actress, Adie.”
“But you can’t-you can’t just walk away.”
“I can,” he said. “And I will. One of us always has.”
He lifted her chin gently. For a long time he gazed at her face. Then he pressed his lips lightly to her forehead. She closed her eyes.
“Goodbye, Adelaide,” he whispered.
She didn’t hear him go inside. Her head was full of the sound of snow. The City had never seemed so cold and unyielding, and all at once she hated it.
“Adelaide! Where were you? We’re about to leave!”
“I’m ready, Jan.”
“Come on, everyone, we’re moving out! Got a shuttle to catch and a pool to find!”
“Everyone follow the crazy woman.”
“Out everyone, out, out, you too Adie, OUT!”
This wasn’t meant to happen.
They went to the Strobe. The first liquid cascaded into her mouth like oxygen as the music bombed her skull. She kept it on her tongue. She wanted to burn. Then she swallowed and swallowed until the glass was empty. She lifted her glass and the server leaned over to refill it. She repeated the ritual twice. When she swam away from the bar, the world was the way it usually was-bright and shifting. A boy dressed as a puff-fish snorkelled past. The sight of the ruptured scales made her feel nauseous. She found Jannike on a pink plastic float. Jannike slid off the float and they water-danced. Two reeds. Her limbs weird in the water. The music was phenomenal. Someone gave them fin-shaped pills which they put on each other’s wrists and licked off. Her vision fizzled. The music grew louder. Quieter when she slipped underwater.
“Fu-u-ck.” Jannike’s voice filtered down, strangely elongated. “Magda Linn’s here.”
Adelaide opened her eyes underwater. Her hair swirled around her head. A girl’s legs scissored slowly in the neon blitzed water. Red lights. Green lights. White flashing lights that were not part of the club’s rigging but somehow lost in it.
“How-she-get-?” Jannike burbled. Adelaide surfaced.
Where there had been people there was space. The large pool bare and strip-lit, littered with the debris of the night-plastic glasses, stolen bikinis, deflated floats. Overhead, the multicoloured spotlights had swivelled to a halt, but the tower still rotated and lights from outside swept in bars over the pool. Jannike’s elbow hooked into Adelaide’s. The tug of Jan’s arm. Bouncers herded out the stragglers. Voices echoed in the open space.
“Where to, Jan?”
“The late lounge, Adie.”
An ankle twisted. Not sure if it was hers or Jan’s but they almost fell. She felt the pain for both of them. Flashing lights, right in their faces. Look this way, girls! Lovely!
The waterbeds engulfed them like a dream. A woman brought two pipes. The smoke made haloes of their heads. Jannike’s lips struggled through the crusts of their lipstick.
“What’s the matter, Adie? I know something’s the matter.”
Adelaide knew Jannike would forget this night. She would forget it too. Part of her already had.
“My family are murderers,” she said. “A boat came and they killed everyone on it.”
“Yeah?”
“And I biked into a ship. I don’t know what I was doing-I had this idea that Axel might be hiding there, and if he saw-he’d have to come find me-but he didn’t so he couldn’t be there, he’s got to be in the west, it’s the only place left-”
“I’m old, Adie. I’m twenty-two. I’m ancient.”
“That’s half a life, in the west.”
“Stars, Adie.” Jannike drew deeply on the pipe and halfway through exhaling, yawned deeply. “I tell you I’m old, ancient old, and you come out with… you know what’s weird, I can’t work out… how Magda Linn managed to get in…”
Her eyes turned upwards in her head. Adelaide did not understand at first that her friend was unconscious. Then Jannike’s pipe clattered to the floor and she knew she should pick it up, but she could only stare at it, the pipe lying useless on the crisscross matting, until the proprietress came to retrieve it and gave Jannike a glance, and then lay the pipe, extinguished, on a round wooden dish beside her. Adelaide inhaled and somewhere in that one breath time unfolded and dissolved.
Hours later she walked home. She climbed over the barrier and walked along the double snail trails of the Pharaoh shuttle line, from the south quarter to the east quarter, where she walked twenty flights upstairs to jump the barrier to the Sphinx line. Her sandals made blisters on her feet. She took the shoes off and walked barefoot. The silver tracks were cool. Her fingers stretched out to touch the convex, translucent wall.
Once a night shuttle streaked past, blind and pilotless, and she pressed her spine to the bufferglass and cringed her stomach inward in the slipstream blast.
She passed a siding where a group of shuttle pods were lodged. Lights were on in the repair stations behind and she heard the sounds of machinery. A man in overalls carrying a tool kit came around a shuttle. He stared at her. Grease darkened patches of his face. She gazed back at him, clutching her shoes tightly. Neither of them spoke. He passed an arm over his face and then he got to the ground and slid under the shuttle and his hand shot out and grabbed a tool and disappeared again.
Dawn began to crack the night’s rigid cocoon. The city was rousing. Maintenance men and cleaners collected behind the barriers of the stations, smoking a last cigarette before the day’s work began.
“Hey! Hey, miss! What you doing down there?”
She looked around, then up. A man stood on a platform. She squinted.
“You’re on the shuttle line,” he said.
Adelaide did not reply. He reached out a hand. She let him help her up onto the platform where he peered closer at her face but she turned her head away.
“What scraper is this?”
“S-one-nineteen,” came the reply, and Adelaide knew she was close, now, to her destination.
She padded out of the platform to where a vendor was setting up his stand, laying out energy bars and fruit. The newsreel ran across a screen attached to the stand. His eyes followed her as she climbed the stairs to the footpath that ran over the line. Stumbling now, her feet guided her along the last few stops.
The key was the wrong shape for the lock and it took her several tries to force it in. A shadow passed as the lift went up, past her floor to the meteorological facility. The door gave way at last. She fell forward into the hall of mirrors. Home.
Dream fragments chased one another through her head; Jannike, aged thirteen, arguing with Feodor. Lightning struck both of them and burned their faces but neither died, they kept arguing, and she realized it wasn’t Feodor but the man from the border with no face, the water parting to receive his body, and white horses were running on the sea, leaping one over the back of the other. Their hooves made a horrendous noise, drumming the ocean with a tattoo that called the world to arms.
Adelaide woke suddenly. She was in bed, face down. She had forgotten to darken the window-wall and the room was full of lancing sunbeams. She screwed up her eyes. The noise of galloping hooves resolved into a persistent banging. There was someone at the door. Someone insistent.
Turning her head, she saw how the night had ended. The decanter, empty, an arm’s length away. The glass knocked onto its side. A bottle of pills she hoped she hadn’t taken and the grey dune of the ashtray. The smell of stale ash was a physical assault.
Adelaide groaned. She sat up just before she thought of Tyr and then she reeled forward, head to knees, and thought she might be sick there and then. Her mouth tasted of sour milk. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror; make-up blackening her eyes, her hair latticed. She pulled on her kimono, scrubbed her teeth and splashed water into her face before going to the door. Every bang drove another nail into her skull.
Tyr? Vikram? Her heart squeezed.
She slid the bolt across and opened the door a crack. Disappointment barbed her.
“Linus?”
He barged through the gap. In one white knuckled hand he clutched his briefcase.
“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day.”
“I’ve been sleeping.” She followed him back into the apartment, massaging her temples.
“Your beeper’s off-”
“I never use that thing.”
“I’ve been calling since eight o’clock, you don’t answer, I only just managed to get out of the office. Father’s been fielding questions all afternoon. Even Mother came up here and knocked, nobody could get hold of you-”
His voice was bringing on her headache in full force, and with it, everything that sleep had let her forget. She tried to concentrate. She had to get rid of him.
“I was out, Linus. Then I was sleeping. My scarab’s probably run dry. What’s going on?”
Linus glared at her. A wisp of morning shadow on his upper lip and jaw. Linus was always clean shaven.
He propped his briefcase on the table and yanked it open. The contents spilled onto the floor. Linus grabbed a Surfboard and dangled it in front of her.
“You haven’t seen this, I take it?”
Adelaide peered at the screen. Her own face greeted her, eyes unfocused, mouth slurred. She looked a mess. Last night’s events reassembled themselves slowly. She remembered the pool. The pills.
“What have I done now?” she asked wearily.
Linus shoved the Surfboard towards her as if he was too disgusted to speak. She bent to pick it up. The words seemed jumbled; they did not make sense. They could not, because how could anyone possibly know? Shakily, letter by letter, her finger followed the newreel headline.
Adelaide Rechnov breaks investigation decree.
“Oh shit,” she whispered.
Below the initial hideous picture was a grainy but unmistakable image: herself and Vikram entering the penthouse.
“I think you’ll find that’s one of the better headlines,” said Linus. His face was steady now, nastily so, a gull about to skewer a fish.
Her legs stopped working. She had to sit down. She knelt where she was. Her kimono divided over her knees; mindlessly she smoothed out the silk. She flicked from one newsfeed to another. Adelaide and western lover Vikram flout committee… Adelaide uses criminal friend for break-in… Adelaide finds new vocation… Adelaide’s new love-shack?
It didn’t end there. Selecting the Daily Flotsam feed, she found full-colour evidence of last night. There were photos of her and Jan, naked on a pink float, entwined with two girls that Adelaide did not remember. She had a dim memory of Jannike shouting that she had seen Magda Linn, although her friend had not known then that Adelaide had betrayed her.
“How…” Her voice faltered. Linus’s shoes shifted angrily.
“You idiot, you bribed someone to cut the camera, didn’t you? Apparently Hanif had a feeling you’d try it on. He promised to match any bribe you might offer. The camera was recording the whole time.”
Words and pictures advanced and receded in front of her.
“But why now? It doesn’t make sense… If they had this-why wait until now, why would Hanif…?”
“Hanif’s in the middle of a Council-authorised investigation, it doesn’t help him to throw this information to the press. But you can guarantee that some lowlife scum in his team has just made a fat payload leaking this. And believe me, we will find out who it is.”
She went hot and cold. So Sanjay Hanif had been hoarding this information all along, waiting for the optimum moment to pounce. Only his thunder had been stolen before he had the chance. Sweat trickled between her breasts.
“Where’s Vikram?” He must have seen it already. She swallowed. “He’d better come over.”
“He’s not coming.”
“I have to speak to him.” The sunlight, skittering off polished surfaces, was blinding. She imagined reporters in the adjacent towers, their cameras trained on her windows whilst they scanned the feeds, rereading, joking amongst themselves, relishing her humiliation.
“Vikram will be safest here,” she said. She spotted her scarab in the bowl on the table. “Then we can work out what to do.”
“Has it not occurred to you that this fiasco ran first thing this morning? It’s fifteen o’clock. Vikram’s on his way to jail, if he isn’t there already. Father’s pulling strings like a marionette to keep the police away from you. Congratulations, Adelaide! Not content with wrecking your own life, you have to drag everyone else down with you.”
Linus touched a finger to his earpiece. His expression changed: settled and ironed out, before he spoke again. “Father, hello.”
“Jail,” she repeated. She remembered Vikram locking up the penthouse door. We’re in it together. Vikram had not said that, but it was true now. They would take him back underwater, to the green cell and the eye of the porthole, unless she stopped them. The kimono stuck to her clammy skin. Her muscles felt weak, useless. Ignore it.
She needed a plan. She needed Linus gone so she could clear her head. Think, Adelaide, think.
Linus took a few steps towards the window. He was nodding to himself. “Right, yes. Did you get onto the Flotsam? Yes, I understand. Ten minutes? No problem, I’ll hang on.” The conversation ended abruptly.
“How’s Daddy?” she asked.
Linus folded his arms. “This isn’t the time for flippancy. Father’s not happy. He’s putting you under house arrest.”
“How old does he think I am, six?”
“Judging by your actions, yes. He’s sending Goran.”
Her mouth dropped in horror.
“ Goran? He can’t send Goran here…” She thought of the eye tattoo on the back of the bodyguard’s neck. His real eyes, dual toned, searching. Every nerve in her body twanged. “Linus, you cannot be serious!”
“Apparently Father is. You’ve overstepped the line, Adelaide. He’s fed up with it. We all are. The more licence we give you the more you throw it back in our faces.”
She lurched to her feet. Red and green dots speckled her vision.
“Licence for what?” she shouted. “Not to be like you? Well, sorry if I’m not interested in your political machinations. I have my own life. We both do. Me and Axel. We’re nothing like you.” She jabbed a finger an inch from his chest. Linus surveyed her, unconcernedly. When he spoke, every word was crisp with contempt.
“Spending our money getting high every night and flaunting yourself for the Daily Flotsam ’s pornographic photographers? Fucking our father’s employees? Frankly, Adelaide, it’s boring. Father has tried just about everything with you. He’s asked you to tone down the parties and cut back on the milaine. He’s appealed to you as a Rechnov, but you have no sense of familial duty. I’ve even tried giving you an outlet to do something useful with the aid schemes. Nothing seems to make a difference. Nothing makes you see. There’s a whole line-up of people out there who would love to see our family eating surf, Adelaide. You’ve jeopardized our position one too many times. Now you’ve forced Father to take drastic measures. Goran’s coming to housesit.”
“Like fuck he is! I won’t let him over the threshold.”
“You’ll do what we decide is best for you. You’re so selfish you can only think about yourself right now. But if you looked beyond this narcissistic paradise, you might realize that this- ” the Surfboard in Linus’s hand shook. His voice was rising opposite hers. “This has greater ramifications than you being grounded. This article questions the whole family’s integrity. You had a chance to prove yourself. You’ve thrown that away. You’ve pissed, Adelaide, on my fucking career.”
Adelaide was trembling with shock and fury.
“Selfish, Linus? Listen to yourself! You haven’t even asked what I was doing in the penthouse. Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know what happened to your brother?”
Linus hurled the Surfboard at a plant. It hit the pot and landed beside it. The screen went blank.
“I don’t give a shit what you were doing there,” he spat. “This is a containment issue. Bribing a member of a Council investigation- how the hell does that make Father look?”
Adelaide could not remember ever seeing Linus lose control. It was like a rock cracking and gushing forth water.
“Our father cares more about his reputation than he does about his own son.” She was shaking.
“Don’t bring Axel into it!”
“Why not? He’s what’s important!”
“He’s dead. Wake up, Adelaide! Stars above, it’s hard enough trying to mourn him without you raking these insane theories over our heads day in, day out-”
“How do you know unless Feodor had him murdered? Did Goran do it? Did he? And now he’s coming to sort me out?”
“Don’t be fucking stupid.”
“Then tell me the truth!”
Linus’s hands went to his head, kneading and clenching. An animal noise came out of his throat. “You just-don’t-get it.”
“I never did,” she said.
On the table, her scarab was flashing. An inbound call. Lao, she thought numbly. I know that’s Lao. Her fingers itched.
There was a knock at the door. Neither of them moved. A second knock. Finally Linus went. Goran strolled into the room, a holdall and a brown paper bag in one hand, a mango in the other. He wore the usual dark blue suit, specially tailored to fit his heavy, muscular frame. His head had been recently shaved. It was pale and shiny.
“Hi AD,” he said. “Long time no see.”
His neat white teeth bit into the mango, skin and all.
“Don’t you dare call me that,” she hissed. “Get him out of here, Linus, I’m not even dressed.”
“It never seems to bother you anywhere else.” Linus extended his hand. Goran juggled mango and bags until he could press his wrist to Linus’s.
Adelaide yanked the cord of her kimono taut. She could not miss anything they might say.
“Never was too polite, was she?” commented Goran. He did not seem to care whether he received an answer. He ambled around the room, sucking gently on the flesh of the mango, touching things with his tattooed fingers. Perspiration collected on Adelaide’s scalp. Her own sweat felt unclean.
“Don’t touch that,” she said, as his fingers hovered over a photograph of the twins. Goran paused, as if he might obey, then picked it up.
“Interesting place.” He pulled back the red and orange curtain that hung from the mezzanine and peered into the space beneath. “Nice den. Guess I’ll be sleeping here.” He nudged the sofa with his leg. Adelaide froze.
Goran let the curtain drop and wandered towards the kitchen.
“Linus-” she said.
Her brother closed his briefcase and patted the left breast of his jacket. “What, Adelaide?”
“You can’t do this. That man-cannot stay in my apartment.” Linus shrugged and made for the hallway. She ran in front of the door. “You can’t leave him here! This is my home!”
“It’s Rechnov property, Adelaide.” Linus smiled. “And as you keep reminding us, you’ve got a different name now. Mystik, isn’t it?”
“You bastard.” Her voice shook. From the kitchen she heard the sounds of breaking glass and running water. “What the hell’s he doing?”
“Getting rid of your alcohol, I think. Move away from the door. Or shall I get Goran to remove you?”
Keep calm, Adelaide. She put her hands up. “Okay, okay. Joke’s over. Now let’s sit down and talk about this rationally.”
“Adelaide,” Linus hissed. “I have to things to do. Our father and I are attempting to clear up the enormous pile of shit you have landed us in. Now get out of my way.” He shouldered past her and wrenched open the door. She wrapped her fingers around the frame, only just removing them before he slammed it. A key turned in the lock. Her eyes darted to the bowl on the table. He had taken her scarab as well. The bowl was empty.
“Linus!” she screamed.
There was no answer. She pressed her ear to the door. Nothing.
“Linus!”
There was another smash. Her stomach lurched. For a second she thought she heard pots and pans clanging; it was not Goran in the kitchen, it was Axel.
It was Goran. He was emptying a crystal decanter of raqua down the sink. The warm amber fluid winked in the afternoon sunlight. Adelaide grabbed his arm. The smell of a dozen mingled alcohol fumes rose from the sink. Orange and blue liquids made rainbows with broken glass. Goran stopped pouring. With Adelaide clinging to his arm, he smashed the decanter quite deliberately against the sink. Crystal flew. The jagged edge glinted in his hand. She saw specks of his blood. Goran smiled at her.
“Don’t be naughty, now, AD. You know I can break you and it would be a real pleasure.”
He flung out his arm. She spun backwards and slammed against the wall. Her eyes watered with the impact.
“Did you kill my brother?”
“He didn’t need me for that, AD.”
“You’re evil.”
She staggered out of the kitchen. This was not happening, not to her. Her family were despots, but they were rational people.
Goran worked systematically through the apartment. He ripped the sheets off her bed and lifted the mattress. He rifled through her clothes, pulling dresses off hangers and trampling over them. He wrenched open the balcony door and chucked out the dragon teapot, a gift from Tyr. He emptied her sleeping pills down the sink.
Within half an hour, the apartment was strewn with her possessions. Satisfied, Goran reclined on the futon and put his feet up. He produced a bunch of grapes from the brown paper bag. One by one, the green ovals disappeared into the dark cavity of his mouth.
“Just you and me, AD,” he said conversationally. “Anything good on the o’vis?”
The shakes began in the centre of her head and they rippled to her muscles. Her legs, her arms, even her eyes twitched uncontrollably. She could not stop it, she could not think of anything but it. She became a living pulse.
The ceiling had grown a strange shape. It had wings and a segmented body. It was an insect, a fly, the colour of falling snow. It crawled inside the vault. It crawled on the collar of the man in the lift. Operation Whitefly lived upstairs; all along, it had lived in the facility upstairs.
They were not measuring the weather up there. They were watching for boats. Like the Siberian boat which had found the City, whose crew they had murdered, whose bones now rested on the ocean bed. And if a boat came, they would destroy it. This was her grandfather’s dark secret.
But it was too late for realizations. The gulls were descending. Their wings rustled sheerly. Her body and mind were riddled and the birds found hooks for their beaks, delved hard and deep. Their button eyes bore no pity. They were pulling her apart. She knew, when they had dismantled her completely, they would bear each piece of her in their mouths to some far flung corner of the ocean. The birds would feed her to their fledglings.