Kingdom of Cages(174)

“I’m Nan Elle.” She took the letter and saw her initials written in Farin’s dramatic hand. “Can I get you something to drink, rower?” Elle stood aside to invite him in.

The boatman glanced over his shoulder down toward the village. “I’d like to, but them hothousers we brought up probably got all kinds of plans for us.”

“Hothousers?” Elle asked sharply, sleep’s last cobwebs dropping from her mind.

“Eight of ’em.” The rower shook his head at such excess. “They’re in with the constable now.”

“But you don’t know what for?” Elle tapped one finger on the handle of her stick. Possibilities flitted through her head, but none of them felt more likely than any of the others.

Could Chena have caused this? Sudden fear chilled her worse than the morning damp. No. If Chena had been caught, you would be hearing from Tam now, not Farin.

“Hothousers.” The man made a gesture that managed to be lazy and rude at the same time. “What’s any of ’em got to say to us? Up the river, down the river. That’s all there is.”

Of course, and why would you pay attention to what’s going on around you? “I thank you for my letter, rower.” She saluted him, and when he turned to go, she let the door swing shut behind her.

Elle sat in her good chair, slowly and carefully. Her bones ached with the cold, and she hadn’t stoked up the fire yet. The room’s only light was the blue-gray glow that crept through the slit windows and made the black ink gleam as she unfolded the letter.

Nan, she read:


Bad news, and more bad news. I saw Chena on the boardwalk yesterday. The cops were right behind her. I don’t think they’ve caught her yet, but I can’t find her either.

Nan Elle leaned her head against her hand and for a moment wished hard she had been a better teacher, a better parent. Then those girls would have known that the world was as it was. They would have known the difference between what was possible and what was necessary.

She had believed Chena would be content with a village to care for, with people who needed her to run risks for them.

Wrong, wrong, as wrong as you’ve ever been, old woman.

And now there were eight hothousers down there. What were they looking for? Chena? Teal? Too late for them to find either here. Herself? Elle laughed silently. She had been so eclipsed by her charges, she was probably not registering on even Regan’s scope anymore.

But if they were here about Chena, then Chena was not in their custody yet. Free somewhere, possibly still in Stem.

Elle stared out the window. Chena was in hiding somewhere, and decidedly in trouble.

You have a whole village to take care of, she told herself. The hothousers will be everywhere, and you are known to be the girl’s caretaker. They will follow you in an instant. Regan will be up here in a moment to question you.

If they catch you this time, there will be no out. Not anymore. She sighed, picked up her letter, and shuffled over to the stove. A whole village to take care of. Three babies on the way, and the fever only just beginning to dissipate. She dropped the letter into the flames and watched it blacken and curl. The peppery scent of burning paper filled the room.

A whole village to take care of. Cannot go haring off in broad daylight after a child who should have known better. All the long years of fights, nagging, bragging, and anger. So much anger. So much need for revenge. Her own troubled daughter had been an angel by comparison, and Farin one of the earthly blessed. And yet, Elle remembered the way Chena cried when she came home to find her sister gone. They will catch me and then I will be no good to anyone. Even at my age, I imagine they will find a use for me in the involuntary wing.

A fist hammered on the door. Elle stayed where she was, watching the last of the letter fall apart into ashes.

I will have to leave after dark.


Beleraja stood in the docking bay, unsure of what to feel.

Shontio had called her the minute the ships were spotted, a great phalanx of silver lights spread across the black sky, growing slowly closer over the next twelve hours, until they resolved themselves into the blunt, scarred wedges of a shipper fleet. The lead vessel had been painted the bright green and gold of Menasha’s family. Menasha stood beside her now, the wait clearly straining her nerves. Beleraja sympathized. Menasha’s husband and son were on the other side of that hatch. Beleraja, however, found her own thoughts much more focused on the other fifty ships that were currently spread out in a ragged chain curving around Pandora, taking part in a careful dance to stay out of sight of Pandora’s loose network of communication satellites. Those ships held the first five thousand colonists for the invasion. Barely enough, but they would hold the ground until the next wave could arrive in eight months’ time. Especially when they were landed all in a clump, fully briefed and prepared. They were here to begin the Pandoran invasion, and to bring the Diversity Crisis, and so much else, to an end.