Skies Discrowned, The by Powers Tim

Author:Powers, Tim [Powers, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci-fi, Adventure, Novel, Fiction
ISBN: 9780575117747
Publisher: Hachette Littlehampton
Published: 2011-09-29T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 3

Frank woke up to the sound of the front door squeaking open and someone scuffing mud off of boots. Frank tried to stand up, but a dozen sudden lancing pains made him decide to remain seated.

“Pons?” It was Orcrist’s voice. “Pons?”

“Mr. Orcrist!” Frank called.

Orcrist stepped into the sitting room and stared at Frank in amazement. The older man was still dressed as he had been that morning, and still had not shaved, nor, to judge by his eyes, slept.

“I’ll kill Poach,” he said. “He swore he saw you and about two hundred feet of Henderson Lane fall into the river.”

“Don’t kill him,” said Frank. “That’s what happened. I managed to climb out of the Leethee after about six blocks.”

“Are you all right?”

“No.” Frank took off his hat.

Orcrist raised his eyebrows. “Why don’t you tell it to me from the beginning,” he said, pulling up another chair. As economically as possible, Frank explained what had transpired after Orcrist ran off in pursuit of the fleeing Transport cop. “Did you get him, by the way?” Frank asked. Orcrist nodded. When the story was finished, Orcrist shook his head wonderingly.

“The Fates must have something planned for you, Frank.”

“I hope it’s something quiet. How did the rest of you do?”

“Well, let’s see. Wister and Lambert went into the river with you, and are presumed drowned. Bob has disappeared also. Poach is fine. I’m fine. You’ve lost your hair. None of the Transports seem to have survived.”

“What was the purpose of it? Just to nail some Transport cops?”

“No, Frank, not at all. What we did was … set a precedent. We’ve got to make it clear to the Transports that they are free to lord it topside, but have no jurisdiction understreet. If we can make sure that no Transport who comes down here ever returns topside, after a while they’ll stop coming down.”

“Maybe so.” Frank sipped his brandy. “Is it inevitable that they lord it in Munson?”

“As far as I can see. Are you still thinking of overthrowing the palace?”

“Sure.”

“Oh well. A mans reach should exceed his grasp, and so forth. Would you like a wig? I’m sure I could get one somewhere.”

“No, that’s … well, yes maybe I would.”

During dinner there was a knock at the door, and George Tyler wandered in, grinning, leading by the hand a woman Frank had never seen. She was blond and slightly overweight; her eyelids were painted a delicate blue.

“Good evening, Sam, Frank,” Tyler said. “This is Bobbie Sterne. We were just ambling past, so I thought we’d stop in.”

“Sit down and have something to eat,” said Orcrist. “Pons, could we have two more plates and glasses?”

“Oh, uh, look at this, Sam,” said Tyler shyly, handing Orcrist a small book bound in limp leather. Bobbie smiled and stroked Tyler’s arm.

“Poems,” Orcrist read, “by George Tyler. Well, I’ll be damned. Congratulations, George, published at last! This calls for a drink. Pons! Some of the Tamarisk brandy! Sit down, Bobbie, and Frank, get a chair for George.” Frank fetched a chair from the sitting room and took the opportunity to make sure his hat was firmly on.

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