Read Online Aestival Tide by Elizabeth Hand - Free Book Online

started to stammer something by way of protest— oh, no you needn’t trouble, he’ll be right back, help! —but Nasrani was already out the door. It seemed rude to remain. And since rudeness was often punishable by death within the Orsinate’s cabal, Hobi hastily decided to follow.
    On the promenade outside, the pagoda-shaped houses of Araboth’s Imperators shimmered in the perpetual twilight, mauve and pink and faintest gold. Here on Cherubim Level the air smelled of some warm spice, cinnamon or galingale perhaps, piped in to counteract the briny scent of the heavily filtered breezes. Only a few yards away the heat fence crackled, and Hobi could glimpse the tops of buildings on the next level down.
    â€œShould have thought of this sooner,” Nasrani was muttering to himself. “Inadequate education these days, never see anything outside their own homes. Good idea.”
    Hobi hurried after him. In the middle of the next block the boy stopped, for a moment losing sight of the exile’s crimson coat as the older man strode on. At Hobi’s feet fluttered several paper billets. He stooped and slowly brought one to his face.
    10,000 PRAYERS TO UCALEGON! he read, and PRAY FOR THE HEALING WIND! When he looked up he saw Nasrani waiting impatiently.
    â€œLook at this,” Hobi said as he caught up with the exile. He held up one of the flyers. “Isn’t this treason?”
    Nasrani glanced at it and sniffed. “But there is rebellion everywhere, my dear,” he said. He turned the corner near the Cherubim Level gravator. “That is why you Imperators have all those replicants with horses’ heads and rubber feet. But my sisters can afford the luxury of treachery, and so they employ human help. And humans won’t put up with this sort of thing forever. Public executions, children kidnapped for torture parties, people killed to be made into rasas, houses torn down while one sleeps. You can see how it would wear one down after a while.”
    â€œBut it’s religion,” said Hobi. From one of the lower levels he heard watchmen hoarsely chanting the midmorning call to prayer. He looked up; the nuclear CLOCK said nineteen. “I mean, Prophet Rayburn said that only the children of the chosen should be allowed to—”
    Nasrani rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Hobi! I’m an exile, you don’t think you need to talk like that to me? ” Then, in a singsong voice, “ Here we are—”
    Ahead of them was the gravator. Nasrani made a grand gesture and held the door open for Hobi. “Now!” The exile beamed as the doors folded shut and the ancient machine shuddered. “I think you will find this very interesting, Hobi.”
    The gravator, while not as elegant as the one that served the Orsinate’s Level, was still quite ornate. Elaborately carven benches ran along the walls, heaped with pillows, and small round lanterns cast a rosy light on the faces of the two passengers. In the center of the moving chamber the Architects had installed a small perfumed fountain shaped like an argala, a popular motif several seasons ago. As the gravator descended, minty-smelling water spewed from her mouth onto the boy’s feet. He hastily moved to the other side of the room.
    Nasrani sank heavily onto a bench. The gravator gave a horrible lurch and plummeted a thousand feet, then slowed as it passed through Thrones Level. Another sickening plunge. The chamber filled with the musky scent of the vivariums as they passed Dominations. Then Virtues, where the dream-mantics lived; and down to Powers, with its faint background hiss of electrical equipment.
    Then, “Did we miss it?” Hobi asked, alarmed.
    The gravator pitched, water slopped from the fountain onto the floor, and they dropped another level. Hobi tugged aside one of the heavy indigo curtains covering a window. He looked outside and then turned to Nasrani, his face white.