Read Online Nine Layers of Sky by Liz Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Liz Williams
Tags: Fiction
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Muromyets, then we will help you achieve your greatest wish. We will help you to die.” His black gaze met Ilya’s own. He smiled blandly. “And because, quite frankly, you have nothing else. The tide of time has washed you up, and you have nowhere to go and no one to be. Why you, you ask? Because you are a hero, Ilya Muromyets, a sword for hire. Hopeless quests are what you do.”
Interlude
BYELOVODYE, N.E. 80
The old man was reading the newspaper when Anikova’s men blew his door off its hinges. In his confusion, he dropped the paper, knocking over the samovar and flooding the kitchen floor with tea, but he moved fast enough after that. No doubt he was aiming for the fire escape, in order to drop down onto the monorail tracks and lose himself in the heart of the city, but Anikova was too quick for him. He was halfway out of the window when she caught him by the braces and hauled him back.
Something scuttled out from beneath the kitchen sink, and Anikova glimpsed hot-coal eyes in a mass of dark hair before the thing sank sharp teeth into her ankle. She swore.
“Get it off me!”
The old man gave a high cackle of laughter.
“He doesn’t like you, the old
Domovoi.
”
Anikova kicked out, sending the creature against the wall. It lay still for a moment, then slid back under the sink. Her ankle burned and she hoped the creature’s teeth had not been infected. Insanitary, horrible creatures; Central Command should enforce the regulations more stringently. If the situation had not been so serious, it might even had seemed comical, but Anikova was too angry to see the funny side of things. She held the blastgun to the old man’s head and snapped shockwire around his wrists. The old man grew slack and still.
“Against the wall, now! Spread your arms.” Swiftly, Anikova checked his pockets, but found nothing except a box of matches and a ragged handkerchief. She threw them onto the table in disgust. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” The old man turned his head to look at her. His eyes were round and bland, offensive in their very disingenuousness.
“You know very well what I am talking about. The distorter coil.”
“What in the world is a distorter coil?”
Anikova could have sworn that the old man was enjoying himself.
“A piece of forbidden technology, stolen from Central Command’s laboratories. I know the dissidents passed it to you before they made it over the border. You were seen talking to them. I have a witness who swears that he saw it in your hand. You see? You can hide nothing from us.” Anikova mouthed the usual cliches with a confidence that she was far from feeling.
Hide
was what the old man had done most successfully up until now. “Answer my question.”
“Or what?”
Anikova stared at him in disbelief. It was impossible that a person should be unaware of the penalties for such a crime: a spell in the
Gulag
at the very least. Perhaps the man was mad, or simple, or arrogant enough to think that such a thing could never happen to him. It occurred to her that any or all of those reasons could explain his involvement with the insurgents in the first place.
The Mechvor stepped forward and put a gentle hand on the old man’s arm. “It really would be better if you simply told us,” Kitai said. Her dark eyes, whiteless among the soft planes of her face, were filled with concern. “We care for all our citizens. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”
The old man gave her an arch look. “Then you know what you can do, don’t you? You can leave me alone.”
“We can’t do that,” the Mechvor said sadly. “You might fall into bad company. Some of your fellow sympathizers have already gone south, to the horse tribes. You don’t want to spend the rest of your days among barbarians, do you?”
It occurred to Anikova that perhaps the old man thought the two women were practicing nothing more than some good cop/bad cop routine, that he was responding with a game of his
Interlude
BYELOVODYE, N.E. 80
The old man was reading the newspaper when Anikova’s men blew his door off its hinges. In his confusion, he dropped the paper, knocking over the samovar and flooding the kitchen floor with tea, but he moved fast enough after that. No doubt he was aiming for the fire escape, in order to drop down onto the monorail tracks and lose himself in the heart of the city, but Anikova was too quick for him. He was halfway out of the window when she caught him by the braces and hauled him back.
Something scuttled out from beneath the kitchen sink, and Anikova glimpsed hot-coal eyes in a mass of dark hair before the thing sank sharp teeth into her ankle. She swore.
“Get it off me!”
The old man gave a high cackle of laughter.
“He doesn’t like you, the old
Domovoi.
”
Anikova kicked out, sending the creature against the wall. It lay still for a moment, then slid back under the sink. Her ankle burned and she hoped the creature’s teeth had not been infected. Insanitary, horrible creatures; Central Command should enforce the regulations more stringently. If the situation had not been so serious, it might even had seemed comical, but Anikova was too angry to see the funny side of things. She held the blastgun to the old man’s head and snapped shockwire around his wrists. The old man grew slack and still.
“Against the wall, now! Spread your arms.” Swiftly, Anikova checked his pockets, but found nothing except a box of matches and a ragged handkerchief. She threw them onto the table in disgust. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” The old man turned his head to look at her. His eyes were round and bland, offensive in their very disingenuousness.
“You know very well what I am talking about. The distorter coil.”
“What in the world is a distorter coil?”
Anikova could have sworn that the old man was enjoying himself.
“A piece of forbidden technology, stolen from Central Command’s laboratories. I know the dissidents passed it to you before they made it over the border. You were seen talking to them. I have a witness who swears that he saw it in your hand. You see? You can hide nothing from us.” Anikova mouthed the usual cliches with a confidence that she was far from feeling.
Hide
was what the old man had done most successfully up until now. “Answer my question.”
“Or what?”
Anikova stared at him in disbelief. It was impossible that a person should be unaware of the penalties for such a crime: a spell in the
Gulag
at the very least. Perhaps the man was mad, or simple, or arrogant enough to think that such a thing could never happen to him. It occurred to her that any or all of those reasons could explain his involvement with the insurgents in the first place.
The Mechvor stepped forward and put a gentle hand on the old man’s arm. “It really would be better if you simply told us,” Kitai said. Her dark eyes, whiteless among the soft planes of her face, were filled with concern. “We care for all our citizens. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”
The old man gave her an arch look. “Then you know what you can do, don’t you? You can leave me alone.”
“We can’t do that,” the Mechvor said sadly. “You might fall into bad company. Some of your fellow sympathizers have already gone south, to the horse tribes. You don’t want to spend the rest of your days among barbarians, do you?”
It occurred to Anikova that perhaps the old man thought the two women were practicing nothing more than some good cop/bad cop routine, that he was responding with a game of his
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