Empire of Bones Read online

  At the gate, she found Rakh arguing with someone in an uncharacteristic whisper. His back was turned, but there was an equally unfamiliar air of helplessness in the set of his shoulders. He appeared to be pleading. Jaya went to find out what all the fuss was about and saw that a woman had appeared at the gate. At first, Jaya thought she was young, but then she saw that the woman’s face had the betraying sheen of nanofilm, a flexible mask that moved as she spoke. From a distance, the effect was convincing; from close up, it was eerie. Carefully dressed hair fell to her waist and she was clad in a plain sari with a patterned hem that Jaya only belatedly realized was made up of the interlocking Chanel logo. A drift of swooningly opulent perfume greeted Jaya as she stepped into the gatehouse.

  “Shrimati Jahan,” Jaya said, recognizing her at last. Rajira was, after all, the most infamous courtesan in Varanasi. “What me you doing here?”

  First movie stars, now whores. Rajira Jahan’s presence was baffling: an overblown rose in a field full of thistles. Rajira stepped forward and clutched Jaya’s hands in a startlingly powerful grip.

  “Please… You have to help me. Where is he?”

  “Where is who?” Jaya asked, though she had the unsettled feeling that she already knew.

  “The—the visitor. The alien.” Rajira’s eyes met Jaya’s, and the courtesan flinched as she encountered what must have been a golden glare.

  “He’s inside. Why?” The last thing Jaya wanted now was another complication. She motioned to Rakh. “Make sure everything’s going as planned.” With a palpable air of relief, Rakh vanished in the direction of the cellars. Rajira whispered, “He came to see me. Last night. We—that is, he—”

  The courtesan may have thought this a becoming display of modesty, but Jaya was losing patience, not to mention belief. “What? Sirru’s one of your clients?” She found that she was more astounded than anything else, but beneath it all a swift jealous pang contracted her heart. She felt utterly and unreasonably betrayed. Men! God, it doesn’t matter where they come from…

  The suddenness of the feeling made her catch her breath, but the prospect of squabbling over the alien with Varanasi’s most legendary prostitute was too undignified to be borne. Besides, the look in Rajira’s eyes told her that the woman’s claim was not only true, but deserving of pity.

  “Well—I mean—what happened?” Jaya said, faintly. For once, she felt completely at a loss. Hesitantly, Rajira told her story. And to Jaya’s considerable surprise, she found herself inclined to believe her.

  “All right,” Jaya said. She leaned back against the wall. “But what are you doing here?”

  Rajira was still gripping Jaya’s wrist in a steely clasp. “I have to see him. I think I’m ill.”

  Jaya gaped at the courtesan.

  “Ill? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know what it is. I feel feverish, and I keep hearing—well, voices.”

  Where have I come across that particular set of symptoms before? Jaya thought with a further stab of shock.

  “And I’m afraid that, well, if I’ve given the illness to—to anyone, maybe to one of my clients, and then if they associate me with—with the alien…”

  “But why would anyone associate you with Sirru?” Jaya asked, then realized her naivete. “Oh.”

  “I told a few people.” Rajira had the grace to look downcast.

  “‘A few people’ being a few newspapers, I suppose.” Jaya rubbed a weary hand across her eyes. “Look, I’m really sorry, but this isn’t a good time. Sirru can’t see anyone at the moment.” But what are we going to do with her, then? If she’s already talked to the media… And what if she’s a spy? The decision was an easy one to make, but it was the kind of damage limitation that Jaya had grown to hate. She said, “Go in there and tell Rakh that you’re coming with us. But any trouble, any scenes, and I’m leaving you behind, do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “Well, all right, then.”

  Jaya followed her latest recruit hastily back into the courtyard. Rakh was crouched by the opposite wall, staring up into the glistening sky.

  “We’re ready to go.”

  “Good. What are you looking at?”

  “Helicopter. I don’t recognize the insignia.”

  Jaya could hear a distant pounding as the helicopter turned. A flock of sparrows fluttered up from the towers of the temple, alarmed by the intruder.

  “Where are the others?”

  “Waiting in the cellars. Including the alien.” Rakh frowned. “I found him in the kitchen—he was rummaging in the fridge; maybe he was hungry. I’ve contacted the boatman, too. He’s ready.”

  “Then we’re going,” Jaya said, but as she turned the helicopter rose up over the parapet of the temple, a dragonfly in the lamplight, and wheeled between the towers. Jaya seized the courtesan by the arm and pulled her toward the inner temple. Rakh was already running, keeping close to the temple wall. Jaya veered away, pulling Rajira with her, and sprinted back toward the doors of the temple. The helicopter was wheeling around. Pushing the courtesan ahead of her, Jaya ducked beneath the arch and ran for the cellars.

  The faces of her little troop and their guest were pale in the darkness. The sudden flare of torchlight brought other faces out of the walls: carvings of raksasas and apsaras, demons and gods. For a moment, all of them seemed real to Jaya, multiplied a thousandfold into life. Then, with a jolt of alarm, she saw that some of the faces were alive after all. They were small and pinched, and each black eye caught the light of the torch and returned it in a point like a bright, hot coal. One of the faces chattered at Jaya, revealing long yellow teeth. They were the monkeys of the Temple of Durga who had so recently disappeared, and now were found.

  “Go, go,” Rakh said, and each one—Shiv, Rajira, little Halil, and last of all, with a long unfathomable look at Jaya, Sirru—filed down into the tunnel. Jaya took a quick look behind. It seemed to her that she could already taste the acridity of nerve gas drifting into the cellar, but the monkeys leaped from the ledges and slipped past her, creeping up toward the light in a curiously concerted movement. She had no time to wonder as she followed her companions down into the dark.

  She did not know how old these cellar passages might be. The Temple of Durga was not itself ancient, dating back only as far as the eighteenth century. But—so they said—Varanasi was the oldest city of all Bharat, and what lay beneath its coil of streets could only be imagined. Jaya put out a hand to steady herself over rough footing, and her fingers touched things that felt disturbingly human: the curves of a hip, the line of a face. Carvings, no doubt, a relic of older worship on the site, but the stone felt unnervingly alive, cool and moist beneath her hand. Her fingers brushed against a smile. She thought she heard noises behind her, and every footstep was magnified into the sound of pursuit.

  Sirru hurried just ahead of her, bending occasionally when the ceiling became low. The narrow quills quivered and twitched, perhaps sensing information in the air. Jaya thought wonderingly of Rajira. Jaya had never been a voyeur, but she would have given a lot to be a mosquito on the wall during that particular confrontation. She couldn’t understand Sirru’s behavior: at once so normal and so strange. And he had managed to slip out with no trouble at all—that was the most worrying thing. What else might he have been getting up to?

  She fought down that unfamiliar pang of jealousy. He wasn’t her lover, after all, and she’d never even considered him physically except as a possible threat. She hadn’t considered anyone since Kamal, and it suddenly struck her that maybe it was time she did. But the thought felt disloyal and she pushed it away. Still, even if Sirru wasn’t her lover, he was her alien…

  Perhaps Ir Yth was right and Sirru’s caste were no different from humans after all. How depressing. She had no wish to end up as one of Krishna’s dancing girls, or the modern equivalent. Sighing, Jaya picked her way through the passages, longing for air and light and sense.

  21.

  Khaikurr
iyë

  The four enforcers strode forward, their robes rustling. Even through the darkness, Anarres could see the membranes quivering along each side of their long necks, sending terror into the air with methodical ease. Behind the enforcers, the walls of the ruined pod began to shrivel. The wall shredded into filaments like a dead leaf, and a fifth enforcer stalked through the gap. Something was drifting in from the courtyard: a soft, sparkling cloud. Beside Anarres, Nowhere One gave a sudden rasping gasp. A moment later, she could feel it seeping in through the slits of her skin, numbing the passages of her nose and mouth. The world flickered on and off, wavered between darkness and blinding light, wheeled crazily upside down as Anarres fell.

  ONLY a moment later, or so it seemed, she blinked awake. She was lying on her back, encased in a wet web. The binding was not particularly tight, but it was sticky, and struggling against it only enmeshed her further. There was an old, sour taste in her mouth. The wall of an unfamiliar chamber curved above her, pulsing slowly in and out. Unknowable impressions glittered through the air, and with a slow horror Anarres realized where she must be: inside the Marginals, a prisoner. Slowly, so as not to disturb the bonds any more than necessary, she turned her head.

  Nowhere One lay only a short distance away. His eyes were closed. Anarres could see a long thin foot, the toes curled defensively against the sole. Her skin prickled. Reaching down with her chin, she managed to activate her scale implant; it would do little good, but she needed at least the illusion of a defense.

  There was a soft sucking sound as the walls opened and someone stepped through. It was EsRavesh. The khaith’s plump face was pursed with distaste. He stood for a moment, staring down at Anarres with an air of disapproving satisfaction. Then he reached down and deactivated her scale. Anarres’ first thought was for the manifold—he could not find out about IrEthiverris. As forcefully as she could, Anarres began to emanate allure.

  I don’t know what good you think that will do, EsRavesh said, with contempt. Do you fancy yourself irresistible?

  “There was a time when you seemed to want exclusivity,” Anarres managed to purr.

  I have become bored with the notion. Besides, you are a troublemaker. Consorting with this—He gestured toward Nowhere One’s prone form, and Anarres caught the sting of pheromones. Willfully flouting the natural order. Why did you visit that orbital?

  “I won’t tell you.”

  EsRavesh said nothing. Gradually, she felt a pressure growing inside her head, until it felt ready to explode. “Stop it!” she cried. With a great show of reluctance she said, “We wanted to find out if there was a way of restoring Sirru’s First Body.”

  If you followed my instructions correctly, you would have had no such opportunity. Anarres looked away from the smug khaith. Ah, it seems that you did. What a pity that you were so diligent in carrying out my orders. The beady yellow gaze sharpened. You are concealing something! I can sense it.

  “No, there’s nothing,” Anarres cried. The khaith swooped, the thick, rudimentary digits working their way through the sticky folds of the mesh, pinching and probing across her breast ridge and between her legs.

  What is this? Triumphantly, the khaith snatched up the skein of the communications mesh. I see. You hoped to contact your desqusai lover, warn him perhaps? I fear I must disappoint you. He tucked the mesh into his sleeve. And now, I have things to attend to. I will not return. We have reflected on this matter, and it has been our judicious decision that your use is at an end. But for the sake of our past relationship, I am prepared to make one concession.

  “What?” Anarres whispered.

  I have a great interest in experimental gardening, and I have long been of the opinion that the carnivorous domes are a vital part of any healthy ecosystem. We have managed to grow such a dome from spores found in the Naturals’ Quarter, mingled with genes from the Core’s own seed banks—The results have been most interesting. You are sitting in one of them now. It will eat anything that remains in it, and it was last fed yesterday. So I’m afraid I shall not be staying long, but rest assured, your corpse will not be wasted. It will provide valuable nutrients for our latest project. I’m sure that you won’t begrudge the dome your body—after all, we írRas do love our gardens, don’t we?

  Then, with a flurry of robes, he was gone through the wall. Her head pounding, her mouth dry with fright, Anarres lay back on the floor and tried to think of a plan.

  22.

  Varanasi

  Perched precariously on the edge of an elephant that was, in fact, a mammoth-resurrect, Ir Yth stared down at the scene below with carefully disguised trepidation. The raksasa had never been so close to so large a creature before, unless one counted certain of the inhabitants of the inner Core Marginals, and she did not like it. She did not like the smell of old hide and meat, and neither did she care for the hairy texture or the filthiness of the wool that was clutched in all four of her plump hands. The mammoth swayed and jolted as it made its laborious progress across the square.

  Ir Yth’s latest ally was balanced on its neck, just in front of the canopy in which Ir Yth herself sat. Kharishma’s head was thrown back, her jasmine-scented hair partly concealed by a helmet of antique design. She seemed to be talking to herself, murmuring soothingly beneath her breath, and Ir Yth was starting to have serious doubts about her chosen course of action. It was becoming evident even to an outworlder that Kharishma’s behavior went a little further than eccentricity warranted.

  Ir Yth had asked that Kharishma take her immediately to the authorities, so that she could make it plain to the government that Sirru represented a threat and must be neutralized. Kharishma had been reassuring. Certainly they’d go to the government, in the morning, and tell them everything. It had taken Ir Yth no more than an hour to realize that Kharishma had lied to her, and she was furious with herself for not having detected the lie. Then again, perhaps Kharishma herself had believed it.

  But Kharishma, mad though she might be, also had power of a kind: money and connections and people who, it appeared, were willing to go into battle for her. It had dawned on Ir Yth only moments ago that Kharishma’s troops had nothing to do with the regular military. She asked Kharishma where they came from, and the woman said with a strange smile, “They’re just extras.”

  Ir Yth did not know what this meant. Kharishma continued, “Not the helicopter, though. That’s for real. Media. Channel Nine.” She gave Ir Yth a coquettish glance from beneath her long lashes. “Aren’t I clever?” Ir Yth could not bring herself to agree. She had definitely chosen the wrong ally, Second Body or not. All this Jaya-stock seemed to be either contrary, argumentative, or downright mad.

  Ir Yth comforted herself with the thought that at least this bizarre attack upon Jaya’s temenos was likely to accomplish its object in the long run: that of generating confusion and mess, discrediting desqusai involvement in interplanetary affairs, and providing the justification for the khaithoi to put forward evidence that the desqusai caste as a whole should be terminated. Once that was done, desqusai holdings would become khaithoi holdings—assimilated as per tradition by the next caste up—and khaithoi prestige would correspondingly increase. She allowed herself a moment of admiration for EsRavesh, who had, after all, been the person responsible for developing the radical new meme that allowed khaithoi to start questioning the commands of the Core for the first time in their history, permitting them—literally—to begin thinking the unthinkable.

  Cheered by these happy heresies, Ir Yth gripped the mammoth more tightly as it lurched forward. Troops were pouring in through the gate, scattering briefly as an aircraft with unfamiliar markings shot low across the square. Kharishma glanced up, grimacing.

  “Oh, fuck. That’s the military.”

  She nudged the mammoth behind one large ear with a cattle prod and the beast rumbled forward through the temple gate. There was very little to show for the onslaught. Kharishma’s followers milled about, occasionally firing stolen machine guns into the sky,
but the courtyard was almost deserted—almost, but not quite, for along the outer parapet of the temple gathered a group of twenty or so monkeys. They sat in silence, in a long row, and stared down at the intruders with bright, animated eyes. Slowly, their heads turned, as though they were a single creature. With a sudden burst of rage, Ir Yth realized what Sirru had done. She plucked at Kharishma’s sari. Irritated, the would-be liberator of Earth turned.

  “What?” Then, evidently realizing that she was addressing a goddess, she added perfunctorily, “Forgive me.”

  The hiroi. See?

  “I don’t understand—”

  Ir Yth pointed to the monkeys. Those creatures. They carry a—a plague. They must be exterminated.

  Kharishma looked doubtfully at her new mentor. She said, “Are you sure? They’re sacred animals; they’ve always lived here in the temple. Besides, they look healthy enough to me.”

  Ir Yth sent a pheromonal warning—just a small one, but sufficient to cause a quiver to run through Kharishma’s slender frame, like a stone cast into a pond. She was easier to influence than the original Jaya; that much was clear to Ir Yth. Maybe Jaya had grown used to pain.

  Plague. They must be killed. Or everything is lost. Had Sirru managed to infect anything else? The hiroi were bad enough, Ir Yth thought, but even though they might be closely related to humans (which presumably was why Sirru had selected them for his accursed experiments), they were not sufficiently sentient to relay a message. The human desqusai, on the other hand, were another matter entirely. If a communication virus should enter human beings… But surely they would still not be powerful enough to contact a depth ship, relay information about Ir Yth’s betrayal, and ask for help and rescue. Or would they? Jaya was a Receiver and had spoken to a ship, but the ship had been in close orbit. To contact a depth ship over a greater distance, any message would have to be amplified by a relay station, and Sirru did not have access to such a thing.