sorry.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. Of course I’m sorry. There’s a lot of things I regret, that I’d take back now if I could. But you can’t live a life like that. Or you’re no better off than a ghost.’ Even as she speaks, the truth of what she is saying sharpens its focus. This is how she has been living, and from here she too has a choice: a path is being offered to her. She looks at the grey-haired woman who first spoke. ‘Well, you have a choice as well. You can use me, or not.’
The room is pregnant with anticipation. Adelaide can hear the breath moving in and out of her lungs. In these moments, she still has her life. How could she have been so careless with it?
The grey-haired woman says, ‘I’m with them.’
Adelaide has made enough speeches in her life to know, in that moment, that she has won. It’s a bittersweet victory, the kind that is squeezed from ashes and tears, but it is a victory. A binding one. Dien meets her eyes. There is no hugging, no screams of exhilaration. Just a nod of acknowledgement from the other woman, which Adelaide translates as:
You did all right
.
One of Dien’s crew comes up and murmurs, just loud enough for Adelaide to hear.
‘That little eel Ren snuck out five minutes ago.’
Adelaide notes the shift in Dien’s expression.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means we’ve got about five minutes to get out of here.’
Dien jumps up onto her keg.
‘All right, people. There’s going to be a skadi raid in about five, that’s five minutes! So get the hell out of here unless you want to wake up feeling even worse tomorrow than you’re going to already!’
No one needs to be told twice. What was boisterous chaos is now a systematic evacuation as punters stream from the bar. As Dien puts a hand on Adelaide’s shoulder and steers her towards the exit, she sees hands tearing down the photographs from the wall, all of the west’s dissidents, faces gathered up and shoved unceremoniously into a folder. This was just an arena, a pop-up show. Outside, people are splitting, heading either upstairs or down.
‘We’ve got the boat,’ says Dien, directing them downwards.
‘Is there time – you said five minutes—’
‘There’s time. Anyway, you should always go the way they don’t expect.’
They cram into the lift with a dozen others and drop down through the tower in a series of juddering fits and starts. The raft racks are crammed with people unmooring their boats. Dien leaps into theirs and starts the motor. Adelaide scrambles in after her and Dien powers the boat away at once. Looking back, Adelaide can see other boats moving out, their wakes creating a star-like formation around the base of the tower, licks of white extending over the surface, before their makers duck away into darker corners of the west. For a few moments, the tower appears as dark and desolate as any other western building at night. The air still, the water lapping. Her breath in the arctic night. Then they hear the whine of approaching boats.
Skadi boats.
‘Right on time,’ says Dien with satisfaction.
Dien is relaxed at the wheel; they are well away now, the tower receding fast behind them. By the time the skadi reach the bar, all they will find is a deserted room with a few empty kegs, and the dregs of beer in tankards.
‘So, Rechnov,’ Dien shouts above the engine. ‘You ready to do it all again?’
‘Who’s Ren?’
‘A snitch. Don’t worry. We keep an eye on those people.’
‘Will it be like this every time?’
‘Worse, probably. Once they get wind something’s up.’ Dien glances back. ‘But you can handle it, right?’
Adelaide nods. The evening is sinking in on her now. As Dien steers expertly through the darkness, she hears again the jeers of the crowd, her voice against theirs. The outcome tonight was as fine as the edge of a blade, and the sense of danger, absent in the adrenaline of the moment, now crawls back to nuzzle at her throat.
When they reach
‘Yes, I’m sorry. Of course I’m sorry. There’s a lot of things I regret, that I’d take back now if I could. But you can’t live a life like that. Or you’re no better off than a ghost.’ Even as she speaks, the truth of what she is saying sharpens its focus. This is how she has been living, and from here she too has a choice: a path is being offered to her. She looks at the grey-haired woman who first spoke. ‘Well, you have a choice as well. You can use me, or not.’
The room is pregnant with anticipation. Adelaide can hear the breath moving in and out of her lungs. In these moments, she still has her life. How could she have been so careless with it?
The grey-haired woman says, ‘I’m with them.’
Adelaide has made enough speeches in her life to know, in that moment, that she has won. It’s a bittersweet victory, the kind that is squeezed from ashes and tears, but it is a victory. A binding one. Dien meets her eyes. There is no hugging, no screams of exhilaration. Just a nod of acknowledgement from the other woman, which Adelaide translates as:
You did all right
.
One of Dien’s crew comes up and murmurs, just loud enough for Adelaide to hear.
‘That little eel Ren snuck out five minutes ago.’
Adelaide notes the shift in Dien’s expression.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means we’ve got about five minutes to get out of here.’
Dien jumps up onto her keg.
‘All right, people. There’s going to be a skadi raid in about five, that’s five minutes! So get the hell out of here unless you want to wake up feeling even worse tomorrow than you’re going to already!’
No one needs to be told twice. What was boisterous chaos is now a systematic evacuation as punters stream from the bar. As Dien puts a hand on Adelaide’s shoulder and steers her towards the exit, she sees hands tearing down the photographs from the wall, all of the west’s dissidents, faces gathered up and shoved unceremoniously into a folder. This was just an arena, a pop-up show. Outside, people are splitting, heading either upstairs or down.
‘We’ve got the boat,’ says Dien, directing them downwards.
‘Is there time – you said five minutes—’
‘There’s time. Anyway, you should always go the way they don’t expect.’
They cram into the lift with a dozen others and drop down through the tower in a series of juddering fits and starts. The raft racks are crammed with people unmooring their boats. Dien leaps into theirs and starts the motor. Adelaide scrambles in after her and Dien powers the boat away at once. Looking back, Adelaide can see other boats moving out, their wakes creating a star-like formation around the base of the tower, licks of white extending over the surface, before their makers duck away into darker corners of the west. For a few moments, the tower appears as dark and desolate as any other western building at night. The air still, the water lapping. Her breath in the arctic night. Then they hear the whine of approaching boats.
Skadi boats.
‘Right on time,’ says Dien with satisfaction.
Dien is relaxed at the wheel; they are well away now, the tower receding fast behind them. By the time the skadi reach the bar, all they will find is a deserted room with a few empty kegs, and the dregs of beer in tankards.
‘So, Rechnov,’ Dien shouts above the engine. ‘You ready to do it all again?’
‘Who’s Ren?’
‘A snitch. Don’t worry. We keep an eye on those people.’
‘Will it be like this every time?’
‘Worse, probably. Once they get wind something’s up.’ Dien glances back. ‘But you can handle it, right?’
Adelaide nods. The evening is sinking in on her now. As Dien steers expertly through the darkness, she hears again the jeers of the crowd, her voice against theirs. The outcome tonight was as fine as the edge of a blade, and the sense of danger, absent in the adrenaline of the moment, now crawls back to nuzzle at her throat.
When they reach
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