Years ago, during his mathematical studies—studies broken off, or discarded, he no longer knew which—Adrian Dee had proposed certain theories involving time and its equations. The modern scholars were wrong, he declared, when they talked about measuring time in discrete units. The ancient philosopher mages had touched closer to the truth when they described time as a continuous ether, its flow rising and falling like a river's current.
Ah, but I was wrong, too, he thought. Time was like sunlight pouring in all directions, susceptible to prisms and mirrors, or even a child's hand.
An automobile horn bleated in the streets below, penetrating the quiet study where Dee sat with Doctor Lusk. Off in one corner, a grandfather clock ticked away the seconds, its muffled rhythm a counterpoint to Lusk, who spoke in hushed tones about trauma and its effect upon memory. It was an old topic—one they had often discussed over the past year.
"Commander Dee? Are you well?"
Lusk was studying Dee closely, a look of mild concern on his fair round face.
"My apologies," Dee said with a smile. "My attention wandered. You were asking?"
"About your dreams, Commander. Specifically, the nightmares."
It was said in folk tales that the world came to be when Ame-no fell sick from a pomegranate offered to him by the Monkey-god. Greedy for its sweetness, Ame-no ate the fruit in a single gulp, only to discover the Monkey-god had filled it with poison. He sweated and groaned and heaved up the mountains. He sweated and groaned and spewed forth the oceans. When the sickness at last faded from his belly, Ame-no spat upon the ocean to show his contempt for the Monkey-god's evil tricks.
And from every drop of spittle there appeared an island.
Three dark smudges broke the endless green horizon, just below the faint white discs of the twin moons. Yan Dei leaned over the ship's rail and squinted through the warm ocean spray. The sun was just slanting behind the expedition ships, and the waters ran red and silver from the liquid sunset. Between the mist and the approaching twilight, it was hard to make out if those were storm clouds rising above the waves, or if at last they had reached—
"Land!" a crew member called out. "Land, ho!"
Don't get me wrong, but yeah, I know everything I need to and a little bit more. I can tell you who built Lóng City, and why it's got the Hundred Sewers. I know about the first kings, the Interregnum, and why our Guild Council let Prince Xiang back on the throne. Oh, and I can show you sixty-five dagger strikes and where to find the best meat pies. I even know...
Okay, I flunked astrology, and my trigonometry sucks the Celestial Wind, according to my Ma mi, who runs a tutoring shop for conjuration and mathematics. Ai ya, does she remind me--at least six times a day.
Like every other visitation room in Aonach Sanitarium—and Simon knew them all—this one was painfully bare, with narrow windows set high in the walls. In spite of the brilliant September sunlight, the air felt chilled, as though the thick glass had leached away the sun's vitality, and a faint astringent smell lingered, a hospital smell that Simon associated with having his tonsils removed when he was twelve. He shivered and wished he had kept his frock coat with him.
Across the room, his sister sat cross-legged on the floor, her white gown billowing around her thin body.
"141955329. Times two. Exponent 25267. Add one."
...They had never gone through the long separation most mercenary partners endured. Jessica's first few assignments had lasted only a few months apiece. The longest—a twelve month stint on the moon—had included frequent time downside. Kate had almost let herself believe that things would continue the same.
But no, terrorists didn't care about her loneliness, nor about keeping to convenient borders, such as the Middle East or selected regions in Asia. They traveled to New York and London these days. They were here, in New Haven. And now the stars.
The government draft had proved unpopular, and so private companies filled the void. In the bright new world of post Iraq, there would always be a post for a smart, brave warrior like Jessica. The money was good, the benefits even better, if you did not mind the ache of separation. And as Jessica pointed out, these companies hardly cared about her politics or her sex life. They only asked her to be dependable and discreet.
I hate it, Kate thought.
Twilight was falling over Bagluar's alleys when I arrived at the south-side wharves, a handful of steps ahead of Yenny. Clouds of pale stars lit the northern skies. In the east, the twin moons were rising, bright and swift. One of Yenny's hunting songs repeated itself in my thoughts, but I kept silent. Tonight I was both hunting and evading the hunt, here in Bagluar, where thieves and other reckless creatures prowled. Whenever the tuhan -- the rich -- visited these streets, they came with fast cars, weapons, and guards. I came barefoot, dodging from shadow to shadow.
Shades of green and white colored the hospital room, bleeding from verdigris shadows to a bright frothy snow. The halls were quiet in this midnight hour, the patients asleep, and the visitors gone. Only the occasional nurse passed by on her rounds.
Evann Douai sat in the bedside chair, hands folded together, anxiously studying his wife's face. No change in the last hour. No change in the past three days, and yet he could not bring himself to go home. For what? He could not sleep, and it was too late to answer the many phone messages.
He sighed and rubbed his hands against his trouser legs. Light from the corridor leaked through the half-open door and fell across Gwynn's bruised face. Fair Gwynn, he had called her when they met, thirty years ago. Gwynn with her laughing gray eyes and hair like sunlight.
Ah, Gwynn. What went wrong?
An unreasonable question. He knew what had gone wrong, but every time he asked himself, Evann so disliked the answers that he asked them again.