Concern darkened Red Katrin’s eyes. “They will be remembered,” she said. “I will see to it.”
“Katrin didn’t download the last months, did she?”
“Virtual months, then. Gone back to the phantom zone.”
“There are records. Other crew sent downloads home, and I will see if I can gain access either to the downloads, or to their friends and relations who have experienced them. There is your memory, your downloads.”
He looked at her. “Will you upload my memory, then? My sib has everything in his files, I’m sure.” Glancing at Old Davout.
She pressed her lips together. “That would be difficult for me. Me viewing you viewing her. . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t dare. Not now. Not when we’re all still in shock.”
Disappointment gnawed at his insides with sharp rodent teeth. He did not want to be so alone in his grief; he didn’t want to nourish all the sadness by himself.
He wanted to share it with Katrin, he knew, the person with whom he shared everything. Katrin could help him make sense of it, the way she clarified all the world for him. Katrin would comprehend the way he felt.
he signed. His frustration must have been plain to Red Katrin, because she took his hand, lifted her green eyes to his.
“I will,” she said. “But not now. I’m not ready.”
“I don’t want two wrecks in the house,” called Old Davout over his shoulder.
Interfering old bastard, Davout thought. But with his free hand he signed, again, .
Katrin the Fair kissed Davout’s cheek, then stood back, holding his hands, and narrowed her grey eyes. “I’m not sure I approve of this youthful body of yours,” she said. “You haven’t looked like this in–what–over a century?”
“Perhaps I seek to evoke happier times,” Davout said.
A little frown touched the corners of her mouth. “That is always dangerous,” she judged. “But I wish you every success.” She stepped back from the door, flung out an arm. “Please come in.”
She lived in a small apartment in Toulouse, with a view of the Allйe Saint-Michel and the rose-red brick of the Vieux Quartier. On the whitewashed walls hung terra-cotta icons of Usil and Tiv, the Etruscan gods of the sun and moon, and a well cover with a figure of the demon Charun emerging from the underworld. The Etruscan deities were confronted, on another wall, by a bronze figure of the Gaulish Rosmerta, consort of the absent Mercurius.
Her little balcony was bedecked with wrought iron and a gay striped awning. In front of the balcony a table shimmered under a red-and-white checked tablecloth: crystal, porcelain, a wicker basket of bread, a bottle of wine. Cooking scents floated in from the kitchen.
“It smells wonderful,” Davout said.
Wine was poured. They settled onto the sofa, chatted of weather, crowds, Java. Davout’s memories of the trip that Silent Davout and his Katrin had taken to the island were more recent than hers.
Fair Katrin took his hand. “I have uploaded Dark Katrin’s memories, so far as I have them,” she said. “She loved you, you know–absolutely, deeply.”
“Yes,” he said. “I know.”
“I felt I should tell you about her feelings. Particularly in view of what happened with me and the Silent One.”
He looked at her. “I confess I do not understand that business.”
She made a little frown of distaste. “We and our work and our situation grew irksome. Oppressive. You may upload his memories if you like–I daresay you will be able to observe the signs that he was determined to ignore.”
Clouds gathered in her grey eyes. “I, too, have regrets.”
“There is no chance of reconciliation?”