The Chosen Seed by Sarah Pinborough

The Chosen Seed by Sarah Pinborough

Author:Sarah Pinborough [Pinborough, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780575089563
Publisher: Gollancz
Published: 2012-02-16T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter Twenty-Five

The two days since DeVore’s panicked phone call had passed relatively quietly. At first Mr Bright wondered if DeVore’s nerves would get the better of him and make him call Mr Dublin or one of the others, but it appeared not. Perhaps the rumours of his own current moment of instability hadn’t reached the House of Intervention yet.

That was quite likely, of course, since Mr Bellew’s clumsy attempts at a coup had failed and the House of Intervention had gone back to its normal place in the world; keeping watch over the inhabitants, letting Mr Bright know if anything too untoward appeared in the data stream. Outside of the Inner Cohort’s annual reviews it was a forgotten place, and he doubted that Mr Dublin had remembered DeVore yet, or got around to explaining what he believed to be a shift in the powerbase.

That thought gave him some sense of comfort. Mr Dublin was good – Mr Bright quite respected him – but he had a long way to go to reach the top of this game they all played. Perhaps Mr Dublin was too pure for the machinations required in the First’s absence; he certainly lacked fire. It had always been Mr Rasnic of the pair who Glowed the brightest.

He fought back disappointment as he stared down at the reports that had slowly trickled back to him. He’d hoped to have found the emissary by now, but there was still no trace. And it was highly unlikely an emissary would have been sent here alone, not after all this time – so where could they be hiding? He’d expected to hear something of them by now. After all, he knew how long it had taken those who’d travelled to learn to hide what they truly were, how to fight the urge to become and be. Surely the emissary would not have such restraint?

He drummed his fingers on the desk, his neatly clipped nails tapping like cockroaches on tiles. He always prided himself on maintaining his calm, and for the first time he knew that was slipping. He focused his mind; he was still the Architect. He might not have led them here, but this was his place. It was born of all their flavours and personalities, the First’s most of all, but he understood the way it worked better than anyone. So if there was no trace of the emissary there were two possible reasons: the first, the emissary had gone, and that he discounted; logic dictated that if they couldn’t find the Walkways back, then neither could the emissary. After all, they had created the Walkways, not him, so they had the advantage in that regard.

The others might be in awe of an emissary, but he wasn’t. They were only servants, after all, messengers. He hadn’t been able to see much beyond the brilliant Glow in the CCTV footage of the car, but he had a good idea who the emissary was – he would have picked someone



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