Under the Burning Clouds by Steve Turnbull

Author:Steve Turnbull
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: british detective, thriller, murder, female protagonist, india, space travel, voidships
Publisher: Tau Press Ltd
Published: 2017-10-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

i

“We can’t see it at all?” said Constance, staring out into the unchanging Void through the glass of the dome.

“We’re decelerating,” said Maliha, “so our ether propeller has to be towards the planet.” She glanced up at Lilith, who clung to the girders twenty feet above her head. The child’s continuing energy made Maliha think that she had been wrong about the infection, but in the last week the whites of her eyes had dulled, first to cream and now they were going grey.

Izak had acquired a small ball from somewhere and the children were tossing it to one another. He never laughed nowadays but tended to his sister. He knew she was ill and he was no fool. He had understood Maliha’s reaction back at Mama Kosi’s house in Johannesburg and the conversations that followed. He did not ask any questions.

“It is a shame.” Françoise’s French-accented voice was clear, although she still carried the marks of her torture. She was dressed as a man and carried it off very successfully. She continued to use Constance’s cabin and had expressed no desire to move, particularly not back to her original cabin, even if it had been permitted.

“That’s what I mean,” said Constance and ran her fingers along the back of Françoise’s hand. “It’s a shame we can’t see it.”

Maliha noted Constance was far more settled than before and, seeing her intimacy with Françoise, she was satisfied the other part of her plan had worked.

“What will you do when we land?” Françoise’s comment was directed at Maliha.

“I will find Terence Timmons and deal with him.”

“Pah, you do not think, as ever,” said Françoise. “You are so impulsive—are you sure you do not carry French blood in you?”

Maliha frowned at the insult.

“Of course,” continued Françoise, “coming from that little French quarter of India I suppose it is not surprising.”

“The part of my blood that is not Indian is Scottish.”

“Oui, and what are les Écossais but barbarian French?”

Maliha sighed; it did not seem the right moment to give Françoise a history lesson. Besides, there might be French blood in her. Somewhere.

“I am not impulsive.”

Françoise regarded her with her head on one side and a look that exuded French derision. She said nothing.

I am not impulsive, I make plans. “I make plans and carry them through to their conclusion.”

“Ma cherie, you possess, without doubt, the most brilliant mind,” said Françoise. “However, you adopt the plan that puts you in the most danger and disregard all else.”

“She’s right, Maliha ... Alice,” said Constance. “I mean, throwing yourself at the Guru. Jumping on that Voidship.”

“How do you know about that?”

Constance glanced at the children. Maliha’s frown deepened. This was why she did not like having friends and hangers-on: she could not have any secrets.

“Allowing yourself to be captured by the Dutch Ambassador.”

Maliha sat upright and grabbed the bench just in time to prevent herself from shooting into the air. “How could you possibly—?”

Constance waved her hand. “Businessmen talk to their wives, wives talk to each other, especially when someone so heavily involved in trade turns up shot in his own residence.

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