The silent screen and silent snow conspired; light flung a path into the silent chaos of the fall beyond the window. He got up and closed the doors, the shutters and the curtains.
The next day was bright and clear, and the city could be seen sharply as far as the canyon’s broad curve would allow; buildings and lines of roads and aqueducts stood out as though freshly drawn, gleaming like new paint, while cold, keen sunlight rubbed a shine into the dullest grey stone. The snow lay over the top half of the city; below, where the temperature stayed more level, the snow had fallen as rain. There too the precise new day was displayed; he looked down from the car and studied the sight. Every detail delighted him; he counted arches and cars and traced the lines of water and road and flue and track through all their convolutions and hidings; he inspected every flash of reflected sunlight, squinted at every dot of wheeling bird and noted every broken window, through the very dark glasses.
The car was the longest and sleekest of all those he’d bought or hired; it was an eight seater with a huge inefficient rotary engine driving both rear axles, and he had its collapsible slatted hood down. He sat in the back and enjoyed the feel of the cold air on his face.
The terminal earring beeped. ‘Zakalwe?’
‘Yes, Diziet?’ he said. Talking quietly, he didn’t think the driver would hear him over the wind-roar. He raised the screen between them anyway.
‘Hello. Good. Very slight time delay from here, but not much. How’s it going?’
‘Nothing yet. I’m called Staberinde and I’m causing a fuss. I own Staberinde Airlines, there’s a Staberinde Street, a Staberinde Store, a Staberinde Railway, Staberinde Local Broadcasts… there’s even a cruise liner called the Staberinde. I’ve spent money like hydrogen, established within a week a business empire most people would take a lifetime to set up, and I’m instantly one of the most talked-about people on the planet, maybe in the Cluster…’
‘Yes. But, Cher…’
‘Had to take a service tunnel and leave the hotel by an annexe this morning; the courtyard’s crammed with press.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘I’m amazed we really seem to have shaken the hounds off.’
‘Yes, Che…’
‘Dammit, I’m probably putting the war off all by myself just by being this crazy; people would rather see what I’m going to squander my money on next than fight.’
‘Zakalwe; Zakalwe,’ Sma said. ‘Fine; great. But what is all this supposed to do?’
He sighed, looked out at the derelict buildings speeding by to one side, not far under the rimrock. ‘It’s supposed to get the name Staberinde into the media, so that even a recluse studying ancient documents will get to hear the name.’
‘… And?’
‘… And there was something we did in the war, Beychae and I; a particular stratagem. We called it the Staberinde strategy. But only between ourselves. Strictly between ourselves; it only meant anything to Beychae because I explained about its… origin. If he hears that word he must wonder what’s going on.’
‘Sounds like a great theory, Cheradenine, but it hasn’t actually worked, has it?’
‘No.’ He sighed, then frowned. ‘There is media input to this place he’s in, isn’t there? You’re sure he’s not just a prisoner?’
‘There is network access, but not directly. They’ve got it well screened; even we can’t see exactly what’s going on. And we are certain he’s not a prisoner.’
He thought for a moment. ‘How’s the pre-war situation?’
‘Well, the full-scale still looks inevitable, but the likely lead time’s increased by a couple of days, to eight-to-ten, after a viable trigger-event. So… so far, so good, to be optimistic.’
‘Hmm.’ He rubbed his chin, watching the frozen waters of an aqueduct slide past, fifty metres beneath the turnpike. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’m on my way now to the university; breakfast with the Dean. I’m setting up the Staberinde Scholarship and the Staberinde Fellowship and the Staberinde… Chair,’ he grimaced. ‘And maybe even the Staberinde College. Perhaps I should mention these stupendously important wax tablets to the man as well.’
‘Yes, good idea,’ Sma said, after a short pause.
‘Okay. I don’t suppose they have any bearing on what Beychae’s got his nose buried in, have they?’
‘No,’ Sma said. ‘But they’d certainly be stored in the same place he’s working; I guess you could reasonably ask to inspect their security arrangements down there, or just want to see where they’d be kept.’
‘All right. I’ll mention the tablets.’
‘Check the guy hasn’t got a weak heart, first.’
‘Yeah, Diziet.’
‘One other thing. That couple you asked us about; the ones that came to your street party.’
‘Yeah.’
‘They’re Governance; that’s the term they use for major local stockholders who tell the corporate chiefs…’
‘Yes, Diziet, I remember the term.’
‘Well, these two are Solotol’s, and what they say goes; the Chief Execs will almost certainly do exactly as they suggest as far as Beychae is concerned, and that means the official government will, too. They are also, of course, effectively above the law. Don’t mess with them, Charadenine.’
‘Me?’ he said innocently, smiling to the cold, dry wind.
‘Yes, you. That’s all from this end. Have a nice breakfast.’
‘Bye,’ he said. The city slid past; the car’s tyres made hissing, tearing noises on the dark-surfaced turnpike. He turned up the heating in the footwell.
This was a quiet part of the under-cliff road. The driver slowed for a sign and some flashing lights ahead, then almost skidded at the sudden diversion sign and emergency road markings that turned them off the road, over a ramp and down onto a long concrete channel with sheer walls.
They came to a steep rise with only sky visible beyond; the red lines indicating the diversion led over the summit. The driver slowed, then shrugged and gunned the engine. The hump of concrete raised the nose of the big car, hiding what was on the far side.
When the driver saw what was over the concrete summit, he shouted in fear and tried to turn and brake. The big car tipped forward, onto the ice, and started to slide.
He had been jolted by the turn and then annoyed that the view had been taken away. He looked round at the driver and wondered what was going on.
Somebody had diverted them off the turnpike and onto a storm drain. The turnpike was heated and didn’t ice up; the storm drain was a sheet of ice. They had entered near the top, through one small sluice out of several dozen spread in a semicircle; the broad drain led down into the depths of the city, crossed by bridges, for over a kilometre.
The car had partially turned as the driver came over the top of the sluice baffle; the vehicle was sliding down sideways, its wheels spinning and engine roaring, lumbering on and on down the steepening expanse of the drain and rapidly picking up speed.
The driver tried to brake again, then attempted to go into reverse, and finally tried to steer towards the slab-high sides of the drain, but the car was slithering down faster all the time, and the ice provided no purchase. The car’s wheels shook and the whole body shuddered as it hit ridges in the ice. The air whistled and the side-on tyres whined.
He was staring at the sides of the drain, whirling by at a ridiculous speed. The vehicle was still slowly turning as it skidded; the driver screamed as they headed for a massive bridge support; the rear of the car banged and the whole vehicle leapt as it battered into the concrete. Bits of metal flew into the air and crashed into the ice behind, then started skidding down after them. The car was spinning faster now, in the other direction.
Bridges, tributary drains, viaducts, overhanging buildings, aqueducts and huge pipes spanning the drain; all flashed by the revolving car, hurtling past in the bright light, some shocked white faces gasping from parapets or open windows.
He looked forward and saw the driver opening his door.
‘Hey!’ he shouted, reaching forward to grab the man.
The car thundered over the uneven ice. The driver jumped.
He flung himself into the front, just missing the driver’s ankles. He landed down at the pedals, grasped at the levers and controls and tugged himself into the driver’s seat. The vehicle was turning faster, jolting and screaming as it hit ridges and raised metal grilles set in the slope; he glimpsed one wheel and various bits of bodywork bouncing away behind him. Another teeth-chattering contact with a bridge support ripped an entire axle free; it flew into the air and exploded against an iron leg supporting a building, dislodging bricks and glass and scattering metal like shrapnel.
He grabbed the steering wheel; it flopped about uselessly. He had the idea of keeping the car pointing forward if he could, until the gradually increasing temperature further down the canyon provided a wet rather than icy slope, but if there was no steering he might as well jump off too.