Surface Detail

He gave the smallest of smiles. “Oh, I loved you with all my heart, from the very first.”

She glared at him.

He stared at her, eyes bright. “It’s just that love is not enough, Led. Not always. Not these days; maybe not ever. And never around people like Joiler Veppers.”

She looked down at the floor of the flier, brought her arms up and hugged herself. Jasken glanced at the time display on the flier’s bulkhead.

“Could be as little as a quarter of an hour till the second wave arrives,” he said. His tone was concerned, even kind. “You seemed to get here pretty fast. Can you get away again just as quickly?”

She nodded. She sniffed back her tears, wiped her cheeks and eyes again. “Do one thing for me,” she said.

“What?” he asked.

“Go.”

“Go? I can’t just-”

“Now. Just leave. Take the flier and go. Save the servants and staff; all you can find. But leave him here, with me.”

She looked into his eyes. Jasken hesitated, his jaw working. She shook her head. “He’s finished, Hib,” she said. “The NR – the Nauptre – they know. They can intercept whatever passes between him and the GFCF; they know about his agreement, about how he tricked them. The Culture know everything too. The Hells are gone, so he can’t use those to save himself now. He won’t be allowed to get away with all he’s done. Even if the Enablement can turn a blind eye to something on this scale, he’s got the NR and the Culture to answer to.” She smiled a small, half-despairing smile. “He finally found people more powerful than he is to fall foul of.” She shook her head again. “But the point is: you can’t save him. All you can save now is yourself.” She nodded towards the open door of the flier. “And anybody else you can find out there.”

Jasken looked out through one of the high-level ports in the flier, at the skies above the dully lit mansion. A wall of smoke like the end of the world was lit from beneath by flames.

“What about you?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll try to find him.” Now it was her turn to hesitate. “I will kill him, if I can. Not pretending otherwise.”

“He won’t be an easy man to kill.”

“I know.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I won’t have to. A condition of me getting this chance was that one of the Culture people went to confront him, give him the chance to turn himself in.”

Jasken gave a small, snorting laugh. “Think that’ll work?”

“No.” She tried to smile; failed.

Jasken looked into her eyes for a little while. Then he reached behind his back and brought out a small gun, holding it by the barrel as he passed it to her. “Try the Number Three Strongroom.”

She took the gun. “Thank you.” Their hands hadn’t touched as the weapon passed from him to her. She looked at the gun. “Will it still work?” she asked. “The ship was going to disable all the electronic weapons.”

“Most are already fried,” Jasken told her. “But that one’ll work. “Just metal and chemicals. Ten shots. Safety catch is on the side facing you; move that little lever till you can see the red dot.” He watched her take the safety off. He realised she’d probably never handled a gun in her life. “Take care,” he told her. Another hesitation, as he seemed to think about coming towards her, hugging or holding or kissing her, but then she said:

“You too,” and turned and left, walking out of the flier and across the courtyard.

Jasken looked at the floor for a moment, then along it to the paintings in their ornate frames.

Lededje found the young servant Nolyen in the archway leading to the main vestibule, crouched on his haunches. “You were supposed to leave, Nolyen,”she said.

“I know, miss,” he said. He looked like he’d been crying too.

“Go back to the flier, Nolyen,” she told him. “Mr. Jasken will need help looking for people to take to safety. Now, quickly; still time.”

Nolyen ran back towards the flier and helped Jasken throw the paintings out before they took off to look for people to save.

He jogged down the stairs to the basement. The stairwell was poorly lit and he’d forgotten how far down the level holding the deepest strongrooms was. He’d rung for a lift up in the house, but even as he’d stood watching the floor-indicator display winking on and off with an error code, he’d realised he shouldn’t step into an elevator car in the circumstances even if one did arrive.

He stopped on the last landing, above a pool of darkness beneath, and dug inside the hide bag, pulling out a pair of night-vision glasses; lighter, less bulky but also less sophisticated versions of the Oculenses Jasken had worn. They weren’t working either; he threw them away. Next thing he tried was a torch, but the flash-light refused to work too. He smashed it against the wall. That felt good. At least the bag was getting lighter.