The Emperor of Everything

An uneasiness came over her, too late. She discovered that she had passed the sun, and its dwindling warmth no longer reached her. Pharaoh was a grain of sand, lost in the void.

She looked up. Above her was a glassy black ceiling, a smooth arc that seemed to have no beginning and no end. She tried to slow herself, lest her delicate body be smashed against this barrier, but still she rose.

Finally a tiny round opening appeared in the otherwise featureless surface. An awful truth came to her; she saw that Pharaoh and everyone in it existed in a monstrous glass jar — and that she was rushing into its neck. Was it stoppered?

She brushed the slick walls painlessly, slid upward, slowing as the bottle’s neck narrowed and her body made firmer contact with the glass.

Finally she stuck, arms reaching upward, feet kicking furiously. No! she shouted soundlessly. She fought to get higher, clawing at the glass. Her wings were tearing, and this did hurt her, terribly, but she ignored the pain and struggled on. She moved a tiny bit, then a bit more. She had a sudden horrible sensation that the black tunnel was about to squeeze shut and crush her life away. She made a last muscle-tearing spasmodic effort.

And pulled herself to the top of the bottle, where she clung to the lip, and looked out across the starry wastes. Her wings were bloody tatters of agony, the stars were cold meaningless fires, impossibly far away.

She was terrified, but it was an oddly joyful terror, and at that moment she didn’t want to wake up.

Ruiz sat motionless for the remainder of the night, submerged in his thoughts, giving only a small part of his attention to the silent forest. He could see little hope for their survival, unless the highway they would reach tomorrow was a busy one, traveled by beings of remarkable confidence or naivete. Who else would stop to help them?

When Corean arrived, she would no doubt be equipped with mechanical sniffers, or some sort of trailing beast — these were standard tools used by all successful slavers. Depending on the efficiency of Corean’s sniffers, she would catch up to them tomorrow afternoon or the next morning — if Ruiz failed to find swift transportation away from the area.

Ruiz looked up through the canopy, saw bright stars, and the gleam of the Shard orbital platforms. Had it rained, as it had earlier promised to, the sniffers would have been slowed.

He worried at the problem, but could find no purchase on its slippery shell. He might attempt an ambush; he had the splinter gun. But Corean would doubtless be armed with heavier weapons. If her Mocrassar bondwarrior had finished its molt and was with Corean, confronting the slaver was hopeless, even if she were foolish enough to engage him at close range.

No, everything depended on finding transportation, which was to say everything depended on luck. This intransigent reality made him grind his teeth in frustration. He had always been lucky, but he had always been careful to put no faith in luck.

Never to need luck: that was the secret of being lucky. Now he needed it.

When gray light began to seep through the treetops, a few big raindrops fell, plopping into the leafy forest floor. Then they stopped.

Chapter 4

Ruiz hurried the others through the morning’s necessities: breakfast, packing, stretching sore muscles. Dolmaero seemed somewhat refreshed by his slumber, but he went up to Ruiz and spoke in mildly truculent tones. “Why did you not call me for my watch?”

“I wasn’t sleepy,” Ruiz answered. “Why should we both suffer.”

“Well, next time, call me. I can do my part.”

“I know,” Ruiz said, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper. “In fact, I have a job for you today. I’ll ask you to keep a close eye on Flomel. Nisa will watch him too, but she may not be strong enough to stop him if he takes a notion to do something foolish.”

Dolmaero nodded. “As you say. It’s odd. There was a time when the troupe was everything to me… and despite Flomel’s unpleasant aspects, I thought him a great man. He was such a wonderful conjuror.” Dolmaero sighed. “But times change, and now I see that I was a fool.”

“No, no. You weren’t a fool, Guildmaster — you were like everyone else, doing the best you could with what you knew.”

“Perhaps… kind of you to say so, anyway.” Dolmaero returned to his packing.

The path was broader and smoother now, and they made good time. For a while Ruiz treated himself to the pleasure of walking hand in hand with Nisa, following the others. He felt a bit silly, like an overage schoolboy, but Nisa apparently saw nothing undignified in such affectionate gestures. Her hand clasped his tightly; occasionally she turned her lovely face up to him and gave him a smile.

By midmorning, they began to pass evidence of recent use: plastic food wrappers, discarded articles of clothing, small heaps of charcoal where fires had been built. Ruiz forced himself into a higher level of alertness. He released Nisa’s hand, called a halt.