The Science of Power by Emerson Ru

Author:Emerson, Ru [Emerson, Ru]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781473206588
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2014-11-26T23:00:00+00:00

It was quiet for some time. Chris had no idea where they might be, except by the occasional lights they were still inside the city. He lost track of the times Patrice helped him from one cart in a darkened alley or stableyard, and into another. He itched from straw; one cart had no sides or roof, so Patrice had thrown straw over them both, and a filthy, fishy blanket over that.

He spoke to them, now and again, a word or two—mostly warning. “There is a man—three doors down, stay still. A man on horse, coming from behind us. Two men with pistols—” He had broken into a ragged cough at that point, using cough as an excuse to avert his face, Chris thought. His own stomach was painfully tight, his mouth dry. Ariadne clung to his hand. The sounds of the rampaging mob faded, dwindled, was gone entirely. The air was cooler, dryer—less wharf-scented.

The current cart was pulled by an aging donkey and had carried chickens; there were feathers, chicken fluff, and the odor of chickens everywhere. Ariadne had fortunately retained enough wit to pull an armful of clean straw from the previous cart before she and Patrice got him in; even so, he continually fought not to sneeze as down floated across his upper lip or tried to go up his nose.

“Quiet here,” Patrice said very softly. “And no one in sight.”

“Do not trust to that,” Ariadne warned as quietly.

“I do not.”

Silence then; the donkey’s hooves were muffled by the dirt road. Chris eased down a little flatter; Ariadne’s fingers tightened on his and she leaned close to him. “I’m all right,” he whispered. “Just—really tired.”

“Sleep, if you can,” she whispered back.

“Can’t.” But the slow-moving cart creaked rhythmically back and forth; somehow, he lost track of time and even movement. When he next opened his eyes, the cart wasn’t moving and he could smell sea.

It wasn’t entirely dark anymore; he could see Ariadne kneeling down by his feet, the canvas flap in her hand. She let it fall as he moved slightly. “Shhh. Everything is all right. Patrice goes to wait for the ship.”

“Oh. Good.”

Her hand pressed damp hair from his brow, rested there a moment. He let his eyes close. “You feel warm.” She sounded worried.

“‘S all right. I always sleep warm.” He didn’t. No point in both of them worrying. Hawk was English, some of them carried healers or at least someone to dispense powders. New Lisbon wasn’t that far, either. Once they got off this island. If.

The wagon springs creaked. Chris’s skin prickled but it was only Patrice. “I see it,” he said. “We go now, reach the water as the boat arrives, get you both gone.”

“I like it,” Chris said. Getting him out of the cart wasn’t any fun at all; he was sweating freely by the time Patrice had hold of his shoulders and his feet on dry sand.

“We two manage from here,” Ariadne said. “You go; all those men of my beloved papa’s last night, if one of them worked it out, somehow—”

Patrice shrugged.

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