Shadowmaster. Susan KrinardЧитать онлайн книгу.
out of the city. It was evident that one family was from the Mids, another couple almost certainly from the Nobs. But the mingled fear and hope was the same on every face.
These were people condemned for deportation for minor crimes such as shoplifting or running a red light—foolish little infractions that showed how desperate the government was becoming in its search for convicts to send to Erebus as blood serfs. Some were accompanied by family members who would give up everything to remain with their loved ones, even brave the dangers of the southern Zone and risk their own very possible deaths.
Phoenix leaned against the wall of the building, taking deep breaths to ease her distress. She had never been so close to one of these unfortunate people. Aegis had kept her protected from such sights, from such thoughts.
Now there was no escape from reality. She had always disliked the practice of deportation, but the situation was complicated and very volatile. That was why the two main political factions, Patterson’s and Shepherd’s, were so hostile to each other. No one wanted deportation, but those who supported Patterson believed an end to it would lead to another devastating war, while Shepherd’s supporters claimed that there had to be another way to negotiate a new, permanent kind of peace.
She turned her troubled attention back to the waiting emigrants. A wealthy-looking couple was clinging to each other, the fiftyish woman with a tearstained face and the man staring about him in apparent confusion, as if he couldn’t guess how he’d come to be in such a place. Their money obviously hadn’t been enough to buy their way out of punishment.
The Mids family, consisting of two young children and a single man, sat together in a small circle of misery. The girl, perhaps ten, simply looked blank. The boy, a few years younger, was crying. The father’s face was wretched with misery.
Was he leaving a wife behind, a wife already condemned? Did he hate this city, one of the last refuges for humanity on the West Coast of the former United States?
“There will be additional supplies waiting for you outside the walls,” Sammael was saying, cutting into her thoughts. “You’ll be in the Zone for the most of the next hundred miles south of the city. Avoid the agricultural Enclaves. There are said to be several unauthorized human settlements between here and the Los Angeles Enclave. I can’t vouch for their safety, but you’ll be better off with other people around you.”
The man with the two children pushed his hand inside his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of A-bills. “I’m sorry I don’t have more,” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. “If I did...”
“Keep it,” Sammael said, stepping back. “You may eventually find them useful, and I don’t need your money.”
“But I understood...”
“I don’t need your money,” Sammael repeated. He knelt to face the little boy, stroking the child’s dirty hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. He smiled at the girl. “You’ll take care of your little brother, won’t you?”
The girl’s face lost its blank look, and she focused on Sammael’s face. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll take care of him.”
Sammael took her hand and squeezed it very gently. “That’s a brave girl,” he said. He got up, nodded to the father and turned his attention to the wealthy-looking couple.
“Two hundred A’s are all I need from you,” he said.
The woman’s moist eyes widened. “That’s all?”
“You’ll have a hard enough time adapting as it is,” Sammael said. He hesitated, lowering his voice. “You do understand you may die out there, or be taken by rogue Freebloods.”
“We understand,” the man said. “At least we have a chance.” He held out his hand. “Thank you.”
Sammael ignored the hand, and the man let it fall. “There will be no turning back,” he said.
A series of nods, a sob, a sharp breath followed his announcement, but no one seemed interested in backing out. A few moments later, Sammael joined his crew in chivying the frightened people into what seemed to be a solid stack of concrete blocks.
Phoenix continued to stare long after they had disappeared from view. Her bones seemed to have melted, and only a sheer act of will kept her on her feet.
Sammael had let those people out for nothing, or almost nothing. He’d risked his life and those of his crew out of sheer altruism, just as Brita had described.
No, not just altruism. Compassion. A Daysider showing compassion to his enemies, people he was supposedly willing to help destroy by aiding in the mayor’s assassination.
It was a paradox. He had no stake in these peoples’ lives, no reason to want to help them.
“Only three Bosses smuggle people out,” Brita whispered, “and the price the others charge is very high. With The Preacher, it’s a miracle if you get out at all. Sammael does it because he wants to help.”
Does he? Phoenix thought. Or was all this some kind of trick to upset what Brita believed to be Phoenix’s plan? Was it possible that Sammael was pushing these people right into the arms of bloodsuckers waiting to ambush them outside the walls? Wasn’t that just as likely...more likely coming from an Opir?
No, she thought. Not from a man who had touched the little boy with such gentleness, spoken to the little girl in just the right way to give her a purpose, a reason to go on.
None of it made any sense.
“Come on,” Brita whispered, grabbing Phoenix’s arm again. “We need to get back before they do.”
Phoenix resisted her tug. “You showed me this because you think it would change my mind about exposing Sammael and your crew...if that were my intention, and if I could get out of here alive?”
Brita didn’t answer. She blindfolded Phoenix again and hurried her back to the Hold by the usual circuitous route. But every moment, Phoenix was aware that she was being given a chance to escape, that Brita must have had more than one reason for taking the “guest” out to observe Sammael’s act of apparently selfless philanthropy.
Was Brita hoping that she could force “Lark” to act recklessly to expose Sammael and the secret passage? Did she want an excuse for a fight and a chance to kill? Phoenix didn’t give her what she wanted. Once they were back at the Hold, Brita escorted Phoenix to her room, followed her in and closed the door.
“You didn’t run,” she said.
“But you expected me to try,” Phoenix said, standing near the bed.
“I don’t know what to make of you, and I don’t like—”
“Not knowing,” Phoenix finished. “Believe me, I understand.”
Brita snorted. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, for now,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I won’t be watching.”
“And I’ll keep your secrets as long as you keep mine.”
“And what you just saw this morning?”
“I’m not planning on telling anyone. It might backfire on me, too.” She offered her hand, which Brita pretended not to see.
“The others will be back anytime now,” the lieutenant said. “I suggest you get some rest.”
She left, played with the lock outside—presumably with the intent of hiding the fact that it had never been functional in the first place—and walked away, her footsteps barely audible in the corridor.
Twisting her hair into the usual ponytail and tying it with a scrap of twine, Phoenix considered what she’d learned. There was so much she had yet to understand. Once again she weighed instinct against her orders. If she were to follow her instructions precisely, this would be the time to return to Aegis with the intelligence she had collected...presuming she could escape now that she’d