"Clockwork Heart" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pagliassotti Dru)

Chapter Two

According to the clock she passed as she soared up the mountainside, she was officially off shift. She could land at the eyrie and ask someone else to carry her message from the College of Mathematics to the Oporphyr Council. No one would blame her, after the day's excitement. And she really had to wash and change before Katerin's wedding.

But flying was working the aches out of her muscles, so she decided to push onward and deliver the message. Until she heard back from the examination board about her scores, she didn't want to do anything that might reduce her chances of being accepted into the diplomatic corps. Not all of the examination was pen-and-paper. The board would be looking at her personnel records, and some icarii whispered it had even been known to set up secret tests for prospective envoys, to see how they behaved when they didn't know they were being watched.

Rescuing a decatur's family has got to help my chances

, she thought with a sudden burst of good humor, swooping past the landing docks and heading up the cliffs. Other icarii tilted their wings as they flew past her, running their own messages across Primus and back and forth from Oporphyr Tower.

The «tower» was really a small but ornate palace built on the very peak of Oporphyr Mountain, overlooking the city of Ondinium. A number of slender stone towers pierced the sky, topped by slate roofs that shed the annual rain and snow and ringed by narrow balconies that provided safe docks for the icarii who were constantly coming and going at the Council's orders. The tower's grounds were covered with arched walkways and fountains to make up for their lack of greenery — few plants grew well this high above the mountain's long-since-vanished timberline.

Oporphyr Tower had once housed the king of Ondinium, centuries ago when the realm had still been a monarchy. At that time, the tower's location had been a matter of security. Foreigners often wondered why the Council still met in such an inaccessible location, now that Ondinium was no longer torn apart by war, but the tower was more than just a building. It was also the doorway into the hollow shell of the mountain, where Ondinium's clockwork heart floated — the colossal Great Engine, each giant gear, pin, and lever cast out of pure ondium and suspended in the center of the mountain, ticking away in constant motion as it calculated Ondinium's future.

Taya soared up on an air current, rising above the unruly gusts of the diispira

, and circled the tower. She loved being this high, where her ondium wings swept her effortlessly through the clear air, their metal feathers gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. The Yeovil Range stretched out around her. The three mountains immediately surrounding Ondinium were dotted with townships and mining camps, lumber yards and herders’ crofts. None of them were as crowded as Ondinium Mountain, where every square inch was covered by buildings, streets, or walls, but they formed a secure barrier between the capital city and the wilderness that enveloped the rest of the range.

Then she wobbled and remembered the damage to her flight feathers.

I don't need any more excitement today

, she scolded herself. She tilted and landed on one of the docking balconies.

The balcony doors were closed against the late autumn chill. Taya let herself in and pulled off her goggles, cap, and gloves. The room was dim and not much warmer than outside. Ondinium's engineers had tried running gas lines to the tower, but the pipes had kept breaking during the winter storms. As a result, the Council still conducted its business by the archaic light of fireplaces and oil lamps.

One of those lamps lit the single lictor who sat at a desk, feet up, nose buried in a cheaply printed magazine.

«I've got a message to deliver,» Taya announced.

«Destination?» The guard moved her boots and set aside the magazine. Taya read the upside-down title.

The Broken Lens — political commentary and satire. Pyke's kind of publication.

«Do they really let you read stuff like that in here?» Taya pulled the package from her back pouch.

«Are you kidding? The decaturs buy it wet off the press. The Lens’ reporters know more about what's going on in Council than they do.»

«That's not very reassuring.» Taya tilted the package toward the light, looking for the address. «Decatur Forlore. Delivered by Taya.»

The lictor dipped her pen into an inkwell and wrote as Taya stole another glance at the magazine's cover. Maybe she should pick up a copy tonight and see if it said anything about Decatur Octavus. Of course, Pyke might already have one… but borrowing it would mean listening to his latest political rant.

No thanks.

Maybe Cassi would have a copy. Her best friend didn't give a tin feather for politics, but she lived for gossip and scandal.

«Okay, you're all set.» The guard told her how to find Forlore's office and waved her through.

Taya strode through the high halls, taking the opportunity to stretch the kinks out of her arms, legs, and back. Most of the strangers who passed traded respectful nods with her — dedicate clerks, librarians, and programmers, and the occasional lictor. Once a masked and robed decatur paced past, and Taya joined everyone else in the hall in stepping aside, bowing with her palm pressed against her forehead. The lower-castes who worked in the tower had developed a fast and perfunctory bow around their decatur employers — a necessary compromise between intercaste formality and day-to-day work life — but Taya carefully followed protocol. If she became a diplomatic envoy, precise decorum would become her life.

Decatur Forlore's office was in one of the highest towers, and by the time Taya had finished walking up several flights of curving stairs, she was grateful for her wings. Their lighter-than-air metal made the climb a lot easier. Even so, she was breathing heavily in the thin air by the time she reached the doorway.

She knocked.

«Decatur Forlore? Icarus. I have a package for you.»

«Enter.»

She swung the door open and ducked through. Most of the city's buildings had been constructed with wings in mind, but doorways could still pose a problem.

The decatur's office was crammed with shelves of books, stacks of paper, and odd knickknacks strewn here and there on top of chairs and small tables. Two men stood at a table in the center of the room, examining a clock.

Neither was covered, although Taya spotted a set of public robes thrown over a chair in one corner, its ivory mask laid on top. Despite the lack of ritual garments, and even though they had their backs toward her, it was easy to pick out which one was the decatur. His clothes were made of beautifully dyed silks, and his long black hair was bound back in an ornate style held together with glittering gold clasps, just like Viera Octavus's. Taya saw the flash of rings on his fingers as he set the clock down.

Then the decatur glanced over his shoulder and smiled. He was a handsome man, with a generous mouth and green eyes that twinkled amiably.

«Wait for me a moment, icarus. I'll be right with you.»

He looked back to his guest, who wore the short hair and somber black suit of a famulate craftsman.

«Thank you, Cris. I'm impressed. But in truth, I'm always impressed by your work.»

" I'd be impressed if I knew how your guests managed to knock it off the mantel," said the repairman, one hand resting possessively on the clock case for a moment before rising to adjust his wire-rimmed spectacles. "This clock isn't light. What in the Lady's name were they doing?"

"It was an accident," the exalted said, lifting a dismissive shoulder. "High spirits and too many of them, I'm afraid. I appreciate your bringing this all the way up to the Tower. You could have simply taken it around to the mansion."

"I didn't want to visit the mansion. And I wish you'd send a servant to pick up your packages, instead of expecting me to bring them to you. I have other work to do, you know."

Taya shifted uncomfortably at the repairman's sharp tone. He sounded better-educated than most famulates and used the formal speech patterns of the ruling caste, but that didn't excuse his taking such a familiar manner with an exalted. He and the decatur must know each other well. Maybe the decatur broke his clocks on a regular basis. From the looks of his office, Exalted Forlore wasn't very careful with his possessions.

"Yes, well, at least this way I have the opportunity to see you once in a while." The decatur held out a hand. The repairman shook his head, but they clasped.

"You could always come down to visit me, for a change." The man turned and Taya drew in a startled breath.

The repairman was exalted, too.

The contrast between the wave-shaped castemarks on his cheeks and his somber black famulate suit was so shocking that it took her a moment to collect her thoughts. She'd heard of exalts who'd rejected their caste, but she'd never actually seen one before. She'd always considered them as unreal as dragons and unicorns.

Instead of an exalted's traditional long, ornamented hairstyle, the repairman had cut his black hair carelessly short, as if he didn't care at all what impression he made. His face was narrow and sharp, with cold grey eyes behind silver-rimmed glasses and a thin mouth set in a skeptical twist.

Taya dragged her gaze away, afraid she was staring, but he seemed to be looking just as intently at her. His chilly examination made her wonder if she'd somehow offended him. Should she have bowed? Then he took another step forward and she realized it was her armature that had attracted his attention.

"Your straps are loose," he said critically, then lifted his gaze. For a moment the lenses of his glasses flashed white in the lamplight. "And two of your feathers are damaged."

Taya swallowed.

"Yes, exalted. I was in an accident. I'll get them repaired as soon as I return to the eyrie." She looked down at her harness and wished she'd taken the time to re-coil all her lines and re-fasten all her buckles. She'd been in too much of a hurry to finish up for the day. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be so unpleasant, Cristof. The young lady appears to have been working hard today."

Taya glanced up and saw Decatur Forlore smiling at her. He was young, for a member of the Council — he couldn't be much into his thirties, and most council members were in their sixties. She remembered seeing his name on her list of important people. Forlore. He was a programmer, but he hadn't voted often enough to be politically categorized yet.

"It's a matter of safety." Cristof's voice was stern. "An armature is a sensitive piece of machinery. It shouldn't be mistreated like this."

"I didn't mistreat it!" Taya protested. The exalted's eyebrows rose, and she bit her bottom lip.

"Then what happened to you?" Forlore asked, before Cristof could respond to her outburst. Taya bowed, eager to explain before she was criticized again.

"One of the wireferry girders broke, exalted, and—"

"Viera!" The decatur pushed away from the table. "You were the icarus who rescued Viera? We were told what had happened when Caster was called away from the Council. Is she well? How is Ariq?"

"They're both safe, exalted. Neither was injured."

"Thank the Lady."

"What caused the accident?" Cristof asked, his grey eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

"I don't know."

"Who cares? What's important is that no one was hurt," Forlore said impatiently. "That is — no one was hurt? None of the rescuers were injured, were they?"

"No, exalted. I don't think so."

"That's good. By the Forge, Cris," the exalted said with a touch of irritation, "you need to get your priorities straight."

"The icarus had already told us Viera was safe. I asked the next logical question." Cristof gave the decatur a sidelong look, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. "You should wonder why it happened, too, Alister. It could have been you in that car."

"Oh, would you stop worrying over hypotheticals? I've told you before — statistically speaking, you're less likely to get into an accident on a wireferry than you are walking through the city streets," Forlore said. "It was probably metal wear. I should adjust the weather variables on the Engine's repair program; the last few winters have been more severe than most."

"We would all be safer if you did," Cristof said, stiffly. "Good evening, Alister. Icarus."

Taya stepped aside as he brushed past her, wondering again whether she should bow. At last she did, but he was already through the doorway.

She turned back to Decatur Forlore, who shrugged.

"Cristof is brilliant with machines but terrible with people. Come in, icarus. Tell me everything that happened."

She took a cautious step deeper into the room, afraid her wings would knock something over.

"You had better take those off. There's no point trying to walk through this mess with twelve feet of metal strapped to your back. Here, let me find you a chair. Were you part of the rescue team? You must be exhausted."

"I can't stay long, exalted—"

"I insist you stay for a few minutes. I intend to hear the entire story before you leave." The decatur turned, working his way to a desk. "Would you care for a glass of wine?"

"No, thank you. I have to fly back," she said with regret. Wine was a luxury she could seldom afford, and it was unheard-of for an exalted to offer a glass to a mere icarus. But flying required precision work, especially with damaged feathers. She glanced at the clock on his table, thinking of Katerin's wedding. Time was slipping by. At this rate, she was going to have to choose between a bath and dinner, if she wanted to get to the ceremony on time.

Well, there'd be food at the reception.

"I hardly imagine half a glass will impair your judgment." Forlore pulled out an open bottle and rummaged until he found two glasses. "Consider it a command, if you wish."

"Well, exalted, if you put it that way…. "She set the package aside and unbuckled her harness. When she looked up, she saw him smiling at her. She instinctively smiled back, then blushed.

Exalted

, she reminded herself, pulling off her flight cap.

Mind your caste!

"What's your name, icarus?"

"Taya, exalted." She left the armature bobbing behind her and gave him a proper bow, trying to restore a safe formality between them. He was still gazing at her, looking bemused. Her short hair was probably standing on end. It always did, after a long day of flying.

"I don't believe I have ever seen you here before. I'm sure I would have remembered you."

"I'm here every couple of days, exalted, flying one errand or another."

"Is that so?" He poured a half-glass and handed it to her, then filled a glass for himself. He tilted the glass in a brief toast. "I should get out of my office more often."

Was he flirting? Did she want him to be flirting? Flustered, Taya looked around the crowded room, seeking a noncommittal response.

"I can see where getting out of here might pose a problem."

He laughed.

"I know this must appear chaotic, but I assure you that I have a very scientific filing system."

"And the floor is part of it?"

"The system is deeply encrypted."

Taya smothered her smile. Lady, what was she doing? She had to get back to the eyrie.

"I brought you something to add to it, then." She handed him the package from the College of Mathematics, then sipped her wine as he opened it.

Definitely a new Council member, she thought, watching him as he read. No exalted had ever poured her a drink before, or engaged her in small talk. They seemed peculiarly thoughtful gestures for a member of the ruling caste. The exalteds, forged by the Lady with the superior insight and intellect they needed to protect Ondinium, seldom wasted much time on the lower castes.

Superior insight and intellect.

Her lips quirked as she let her gaze roam across the clutter that surrounded them.

You'd think the product of a thousand fortunate rebirths would be a little more organized.

"Well, I can't say I'm delighted by these statistics, but I appreciate your delivering them." Forlore set the papers down and looked up. "You're still standing. Sit down. You can remove that bust from the chair behind you. Set it on the floor."

"Are you sure I won't disrupt your filing system?" she asked, moving the head away and taking a seat.

"Not at all. It belongs there with the other P's." Forlore leaned against the table, watching her.

"I see." She returned his look, keeping her face impassive. "Would that be ‘P’ for Abatha Cardium or ‘P’ for astrologer?"

"'P’ for plaster."

She laughed and he beamed, his green eyes warm with pleasure.

"May I ask you a question, exalted?"

"You may."

"How long have you been a decatur?"

"I've been a decatur for a little over a year. I was elected to the Council after Decatur Neuillan was… released from duty."

Of course. She should have guessed the newest member would be Neuillan's replacement. The older decatur had been caught selling programs to the Alzanan government. Most of the city had demanded his execution, but Ondinium law reserved the death sentence for murder. Instead, the decatur had been stripped of his caste, blinded, and flogged out the city gates as a traitor.

"Is there a reason you ask?" Forlore gave her a curious look. "Do I seem different from the other decaturs, somehow?"

He did, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

"I was just wondering why I've never delivered a message to you before."

"Oh. I'm afraid that's because I spend a great deal of time down at the University with my programming team." He grimaced. "I've come to the conclusion that the Council keeps its new members in line by assigning them so much work that they're unable to find the time for any potentially disruptive pursuits, such as framing legislation. But my team has just finished a major project, so I'm free now to attend meetings."

"Is attending meetings better than programming?"

"It is different, at least. I'm afraid my job must seem quite dull, compared to yours. Now, tell me about the accident. What happened?"

Taya recounted the story a second time, gratified by his rapt attention. When she was through, Forlore gave a long, low, and very un-exalted-like whistle.

"Astounding. I'm relieved you were there. My cousin Viera is as close as a sister to me. I'd be devastated were I to lose her."

"She was very brave," Taya ventured.

"Viera has always been brave. She's also honorable; she won't forget she owes you her life, and neither will her husband. Caster Octavus is a very traditional man in matters of caste and honor."

"What are his politics?" she asked, eager to learn more about the man. Forlore blinked, looking surprised by the question.

"Well… that's rather difficult to say. Caster's enemies call him an Organicist, but it's a misnomer. He depends on the Great Engine as much as the rest of us, at least in matters of industry and agriculture. But he doesn't care for programs that simulate human behavior, so he's objected to a few of the trade and policy calculators that the Council has adopted."

Taya studied the decatur's face, trying to see if he were joking.

"You have programs that act like humans?"

"Not precisely." Forlore smiled. "I imagine you saw that play down in Secundus last year, didn't you? The one about the analytical engine that goes insane and orders the city's lictors to kill anyone that challenges its calculations?"

Embarrassed, she nodded.

"You needn't turn so red! I was among the exalteds who went to see it, myself. I found it very imaginative, but its playwright didn't have any idea how analytical engines really work. What we call a human-behavior simulation program doesn't give an engine any capacity for independent thought. What happens is that programmers like my team collect a great deal of data about how one person behaves, or about how many people behave, under certain circumstances. They boil the data down and develop a behavioral model, code it onto cards, create a program, run it, and the Great Engine uses the program's parameters to calculate the most statistically likely behaviors a hypothetical person sharing the same traits might adopt in a given situation or over a finite period of time."

Taya gave him a dubious look. He smiled.

"You've taken loyalty tests, of course."

She nodded. Icarii took a loyalty test each year, on the anniversary of their Great Examination.

"Your answers to each test are fed into the Engine, and it compares your new responses to your old responses, notes any changes that have occurred over the years, compares them to established risk factors, and predicts whether or not you're a threat to the city or the Council. If there's a reasonably high probability that you're becoming a security risk, you'll be summoned before a Board of Inquiry that determines the truth of the matter."

"Isn't the Engine always right?"

"Many people make that assumption, but it isn't true. If the Engine has a well-tested, reliable program and enough data, its predictions can be have a high level of validity. But it's impossible to collect enough data to cover all the potential variables. That's why humans make the final analyses." He smiled. "If the Great Engine were infallible, Ondinium wouldn't need a Council."

Taya thought of Pyke. "I know someone who always criticizes the Council, but he's never been called up to a Board of Inquiry."

"Criticizing the Council doesn't automatically make a person a security risk." Forlore paused, taking a sip of his wine. "In fact, Council members criticize each other all the time. A group that doesn't question itself usually makes bad decisions. Your friend may not be happy with Ondinium's government, but apparently he hasn't shown any inclination to sabotage it."

"He wouldn't do that," Taya hastened to assure the decatur. She didn't want to get Pyke into any trouble. Forlore looked amused, as if reading her mind. "Do decaturs take loyalty tests, too?"

"Yes, but…. "the exalted paused, glancing at her. "As I said, the Engine isn't infallible. If it were, it would have caught Decatur Neuillan."

His moment of hesitation was enough to remind Taya that she wasn't chatting with a friend; she was talking to an exalted. Why was she dawdling here, anyway, when her sister was getting married tonight? She stood.

"I'm sorry, exalted. I've been taking up too much of your time."

"Not at all." He reached out for her glass. She faltered, then handed it to him. Exalteds weren't supposed to take dirty dishes. "I've enjoyed talking to you, Taya."

"Thank you. And thank you for the wine."

"My pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again."

"I'm sure you will, exalted." She began strapping on her armature again.

"Yes. I'm sure I will, too."

She glanced up. He was watching her with a thoughtful look, the lamplight glittering off the gold clasps in his dark hair and burnishing the smooth copper of his skin. But even without the ornaments, it would be obvious that he had been born exalted — his Ondinium coloration and features were flawless.

Taya smoothed her short auburn hair, the all-too-apparent sign of her mixed heritage. To her chagrin, she took after her Mareaux-descended father more than she did her Ondinium mother. Then she blushed and looked down to check her harness once more.

Lady, there's a reason exalteds wear concealing masks and robes!

She had no right to notice Decatur Forlore's face. The only features that mattered between them were her wings and his castemarks.

Think of this as a diplomatic test

, she advised herself.

Act like you would if you were already in the corps.

"Is that everything, exalted?" She took a deep breath and looked up, smoothing her expression into one of calm professional interest.

"For the moment." He held her gaze. "Fly safely, icarus."

"I will. Thank you." She bowed once more, her palm against her forehead, and made her way out as quickly as she could. She felt his eyes on her and had to struggle to resist the urge to glance back.

As soon as she reached the hall, she rubbed her hands against her cheeks, trying to convince herself they weren't burning and he hadn't seen her blush.

Lady and spirits. I'm going to have to rush to get to the wedding on time.