The Night Watch by Sean Stewart

Author:Sean Stewart [Stewart, Sean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: urban fantasy, Science Fiction, Fantasy
ISBN: 0441005543
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1998-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

Water Spider knocked on Floating Ant’s door. “It is me, Father.”

“You? Who are you?” An iron bar slid back in the center of the door and two eyes peered out. “Spider! Only much older and wetter. Why are you here?”

“Will you let me in?”

“Of course, of course! Only, tell me why you’ve come.”

“Father? Why do you sound afraid?” The iron bar shot back. Bolts slid, chains rattled. The door swung slowly open. “You’re already up,” Water Spider said, surprised. Instead of a bathrobe or a dressing gown, his father was dressed formally, in a long tunic and pants of white silk, with pearl buttons in gold mounts. Looking past his father’s shoulder, Water Spider saw three old men sitting cross-legged on the floor around a small, low table. One was dressed all in gold silk, with a pair of white boots. The second wore only red, save for a pair of white gloves. The third wore a long black robe, belted with a white silk sash.

A pot of tea sat on the table—almond from the smell of it—but there was only one cup, before his father’s empty place.

“You are all wearing white,” Water Spider said. “Who has died?”

His father gave him a curious look. “Well, Spider. Come in, come in. You look cold and empty and careworn.”

“I am all those things tonight. If you could spare a cup of that tea, I would be very grateful,” Water Spider said, heading for the low table.

“No, not this,” his father said, snatching the pot away. “I will make you something better. Something better, for a connoisseur.” He opened the window above the sink and poured the tea outside into the rainy night. Floating Ant still moved spryly and his back was straight, as if he carried on it only sixty of his ninety-six years. Water Spider felt older than that, this night.

But this had been his father’s gift, and curse: to live, and live, and live, while everyone around him perished, in body or soul. No doubt he would outlive his son, as he had outlasted his wife and the comrades he had deserted at the Carnegie Slaughter. For years he had seemed to live on nothing but plum wine and marijuana. His body had not decayed, but become small and leathery and tough, as if the wine had pickled his insides, and the smoke from the joints had cured his hide. But this morning Floating Ant was uneasy. Old ghosts haunted his eyes and hands.

While his father rummaged in a cabinet for tea, Water Spider placed his umbrella in the stand by the door, and turned politely to the silent gentlemen waiting around the table. They regarded him, unspeaking. There was something in their looks that disturbed him. Their eyes were still water; he could see his own reflection there, trembling and shallow on the surface. Any thoughts that might move in the depths of their silence were hidden utterly from him.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Father?”

Floating Ant turned. “Introduce…? Ah—no.

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