Blightcross: A Novel by C.A. Lang Page B

you...”
    Irea gestured to the quiet young men sitting in the other booths. “On this street, you would be hard put to find someone who didn’t support your choice.”
    â€œOh. Is that so?”
    â€œYes. And that is why I speak to you and not your boorish friend. We love what your country has done for women. I am sure it will spread in a few generations, even to a place like this.”
    â€œWait, you love that they’re forcing us to fight?”
    â€œNo, we like that your country has destroyed the gender barrier.”
    Capra shrugged. To her it was just an historical afterthought. It had always been that way.
    She heard Dannac sigh and guzzle his stein of small beer. “What do you need? I won’t take any more evictions. Not in this place, anyway.”
    â€œNo, of course not. I actually am doing this on behalf of a friend of mine. A brilliant man...” Irea gazed into the dimness beyond their booth.
    Capra waited a few seconds, and when Irea failed to continue, she cleared her throat.
    â€œYes. Well, his name is Noro Helverliss. Perhaps you have heard of him.”
    Both shook their heads.
    â€œOne of the greatest minds produced in this century. He is on the leading edge of all things—the sciences, the arts—to the point of becoming the enemy of the oligarchy in both the government and academic circles.”
    Dannac yawned and pushed around the remaining food on his plate, but Capra became absorbed in the woman’s passionate tone. She leaned forward on her elbows, instantly reminded of tales from the Little Nations, of persecuted genius and doomed romance, escapes by sailing ship to unknown islands...
    â€œHe is depressed, you see.”
    Like a bottle of fine wine dumped into a drain, Capra’s excitement became a confusion.
    â€œSo,” Dannac said. “You want us to help him not be sad?” He laughed, shook his head, and stood.
    Capra clapped her hand on his shoulder, and he sat once more.
    â€œIf you would let me finish,” Irea said, and from this point on acted as though there were a wall separating herself from Dannac. “Till Sevari has finally snapped the last of what few strings of sanity kept his mind together. He has stolen one of Noro’s paintings. The finest work of art ever created... all because it threatens this order he has created.”
    â€œWhat order? This is chaos.”
    â€œCome with me to meet the artist, at least. He is the most intelligent man you will ever meet.”
    The man sounded fascinating, but Capra still had to think of Alim and the army she had deserted, and the officials she needed to bribe for her freedom. “We won’t continue until you give us an idea of what you can afford.”
    It was as if Capra had lapsed into an obscure Valoii dialect nobody had heard in three centuries. Irea cocked her head and watched them with blank eyes. Finally, she said, “Money? Of course. Helverliss can afford any price you name.”
    Dannac looked sceptical. “Yet he somehow finds himself in need of this kind of help? Are all the rich here not involved in the oligarchy?”
    â€œNot all, sir. Helverliss has much support in certain continental circles. Most of his work sells well over there.”
    â€œBut,” Capra said, “why does he stay here? If the continent is more accepting of his ideas, I hardly see why he should live in Naartland.”
    â€œThat is another problem entirely. I am sure he will tell you these things if he believes them to be necessary. Would you at least come meet him? Why don’t I give you each some kind of... token to show my honesty.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    Irea glanced at Capra’s chest. “Well, I was going to give you this amulet of mine—it is a one of a kind piece, but I see you already wear a much more unique piece and that my gift would only insult it.”
    â€œA hand-cannon.”
    Both women fell silent. Dannac was eased