The Fractal Prince (Jean le Flambeur Book 2) by Hannu Rajaniemi

Author:Hannu Rajaniemi [Rajaniemi, Hannu]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2012-09-27T00:00:00+00:00

At first, it is hard to see Arcelia against the sun. The sky above them is clear and, amidst the blueness above, there are faint traces of the Gourd frame, the cage around Earth, white and silver lines like segments of some giant spiderweb in the sky. But in the athar, the bird is a tiny star, easy to follow. It and the Fast One riders descend rapidly, following the Soarez Shard.

Tawaddud takes a deep breath. You can do this. It’s no different from jumping off the Gomelez Shard with Jabir the wirer boy, in the vertical lane with apple trees where the angelnet catches you.

She lets the carpet dive straight down.

The azure palaces like jewels, houses and gardens of the Shard become a blur. The Rivers of Light – the ancient windows of Sirr-in-the-sky – flash past them in bright sword-strokes. A wild tickle in her stomach almost makes her laugh. The wind tears at her hair.

She steals a look at Sumanguru: the gogol’s eyes are closed, and for a moment, he looks like a frightened child. She squeezes the handle of the barakah gun and focuses on the shape of the qarin below. It grows rapidly, and it seems like in a few moments she can touch it—

The Fast Ones swing their mount in a sharp turn away from the Shard. Tawaddud follows – into a dense forest of silver wires right in front of them. They are chimera bird tethers of an armada of rukh ships below – ornate platforms and cylinders of blue and gold, the colours of House Soarez, jinn wind sails blazing with Seals.

Arcelia weaves its way deftly past the shiny lines, barely visible in the sun, deadly and sharp. Tawaddud wills the carpet to swing around them, but it is too late. Not like this. She closes her eyes and waits for the wires to cut into her flesh—

A roar in the athar, like thunder. The Anti-Name. An explosion of white noise. Another and another. Tawaddud opens her eyes. Sumanguru is firing the barakah gun like a madman, sending out expanding waves of destruction, unleashing wildcode that cuts through the wires like a scythe in front of them.

‘Keep flying!’ he screams, eyes wild. Reeling, she rights the carpet and steers them through the unraveling rigging. They swoop past the giant rukh birds and their transparent wings. The carpet is buffeted by the wind from the creatures’ frantic escape attempts. And then they are in clear air, followed by angry shouts of mutalibun crewmen below.

Tawaddud swings the carpet around. Arcelia and the Fast Ones have lost altitude: the bird glimmers against the long shadows of the Shade quarter at the base of the Shard. Tawaddud’s heart hammers so hard she feels it’s about to burst out from her chest. ‘They are headed for Qush and Misr,’ she says, pointing at the beehive-like clusters of the Fast One parasite cities close to the gogol markets, surrounded by thick clouds of the little folk, so dense the shapes they make look almost solid.

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