Harsh Lessons, page 6
'Er…'
'Father,' she began, in that overly patient tone he so disliked, 'that was the most beautifully deadly looking dancing I've ever seen. Half those leaps, sweeps, and arm motions are katas from her martial arts training. Were she completing those moves she'd slay her partners, not seduce them. She needs formal dance lessons simply so she'll have something other than her killing arts to draw on to express herself.'
He skimmed through the video again, then sighed. 'Agreed.'
'I'll have Nelson load James and Preacher's chips with dancing skills. Emma's too, when they're all present at the same time. She can practice with them.'
'Oh, they'll love that.'
'Then let them know that should they give less than their full support, I will add interpretive dance and ballet, too.'
Surprisingly, over the following weeks, the other agents complained less than either Father or Mother had expected. Indeed, the girl's enthusiasm and enjoyment was so infectious, and the rare four-person-balls so joyous, that even Father joined in once or twice, to Mother's intense annoyance.
Chapter 8
Holding James's arm, Leeth curled into his side. Tonight, Leeth was trying her best to be a young ingénue, Samantha Westin. They'd told her it wasn't a mission, but from her suppressed excitement, James suspected she saw this outing differently.
For just a moment, as he pulled out the chair for her, she'd scowled, but then appeared to remember Mother's lessons and allowed him to seat her.
So far, so good, thought James, glancing from the impeccably set table to the exquisitely dressed young woman. He’d doubted her readiness at first – when he'd had to insist she wear a bra with her cocktail dress, for example. He planned to speak to Emma on the subject tomorrow. Leeth had strange gaps in her social skills. He wondered, again, about her upbringing by the Doctor. Nothing that chap did struck him as accidental: so why did Leeth seem in some ways more like a young savage than a young woman?
Leeth's eyes widened as she took in all the cutlery. Lips moving, she studied the place setting, but at last nodded and relaxed. Then read the menu with equal intensity.
'All right?'
She started to nod. 'Oh – wait! Can we order stuff that's not on the menu?'
'Certainly. This is a five star restaurant.'
She leaned forward, eyes wide. 'Then can we get them to barbecue some tarantulas?'
James went still.
'They're s'posed to be delicious.'
Still James said nothing.
'Just a few. I've got this old documentary. You pounce them with a forked stick and tie their legs up together. You have to do that carefully, cause they can shoot their hairs-'
'No! No, I'm afraid tarantulas are not currently in season.'
'Rats.'
'Don't you dare. We would both be thrown out!'
'Huh? Don't dare what?'
'Ah. I thought you meant… never mind. Just choose from what's on the menu. Are you ready to order? Do you need any help?'
She shook her head, and he met the Maitre'd's eyes. Derek glided over, summoning one of his waiters with a glance. Sizing "Samantha" up in a fraction of a second, Derek inclined his head in approval.
'It's been too long, James. What would the young lady-'
'I'd like the seafood pasta. That's a starter. For the main course, I want, I mean, may I please have the seven-hundred gram sirloin steak, rare, with a, a side of vegetables. For dessert, I'll-'
'Perhaps,' Derek interrupted, 'it might be wise to wait until you have finished your main course.'
'Why?'
'Ah… pardonne?'
'Why would it be wise?'
James seemed to be signaling her, so she waited for Derek to speak. He was the one she had to fool each night, after all.
'In case madame decides she is no longer hungry. When one considers the magnitude of such a cut…' He smiled, tactfully indicating the size with two hands.
She sighed. 'Alright. I get it. It's a lot of meat. So give me two servings of vegetables to go with it.'
Neither man spoke.
'What?'
'If madame is certain…?' At her look, he turned to James. 'And for you, my friend?'
After dinner, they strolled together. The air was warm, just a faint breeze, a full moon sailing the gaps between passing clouds. Here, tonight, amidst the glittering forest of the city, the harsh reality of the real New Francisco seemed far away.
They were returning to the Opera House, still in good time for the performance. Despite some awkward moments, in the end Mother's lessons on table manners had sufficed. “Samantha” had even approached elegance once or twice.
She looked up at the moon, and he half-turned to her, noticing her cheerfulness had vanished.
'Something the matter?'
'I was just wondering what Faith was doing, tonight.'
'Faith?'
She pursed her lips. Finally, nodded. 'We used to… do stuff together. Play.'
James raised one eyebrow.
'Not that kind of stuff! She's just a friend. A dog, actually: an Asgard Model 3 CK9.'
James looked it up, and stopped dead, which forced Leeth to turn toward him. 'CK9s were designed to hunt and kill eco-terrorists! It'd be deadly!'
'Well, sure. But fun to play with, and super cuddly.'
She slipped her arm around his waist, and snuggled in to his side.
'Much like you,' James suggested. The comment appeared to cheer her, though her thoughts appeared to be far away. 'Did you have any, ah, adventures, with Faith?'
The look she turned to him held a great depth of feeling, and her mouth opened; but she didn't speak. After a moment, she forced a smile. 'I'm Samantha Westin, remember? I don't have cyberdog friends.' She looked around. 'We need to stay in character.'
James checked. The nearest person was well out of earshot, a hundred meters away – well, ninety-four, his optic range-finder showed – but he was happy to play along.
He patted her slender wrist, draped over his arm. 'You know, Samantha, this is probably one of the few places in the whole cityplex where people can walk the streets safely, at night. It has the lowest murder rate of anywhere in New Francisco.'
Smiling down at her, he saw her expression sour and her lips purse as she pulled her arm free of his. Defensive, he wondered? Why would she-
'That's not my fault. I've only ever even been here once before!'
He blinked.
'Uh-' She thinks I'm blaming her for the low death rate! Suddenly, the doubts were back.
They took their seats near the center of the eighth row comfortably in time for the performance. As the crowd finished filtering into the large, ornately-decorated auditorium, James was all smiles and anticipation. Leeth, however, pushed herself further back into the dark red velvet. Her face had screwed up in disbelief, as if tortured by the orchestral warm-up.
'Stop over-reacting: they're just tuning up,' he admonished her.
'Why wait till now? Are they running late?'
James blinked. 'This is just the final tuning. It's part of the ritual; adds to the ambiance.' Her lips compressed into a thin line. 'Part of the joy is hearing harmony blossom from cacophony, like magic.'
Leeth put one finger into an ear, drawing it back to theatrically examine the tip. 'Huh. Well, at least they're not bleeding. Yet.'
James frowned, and met her eyes directly. 'Come, Samantha, try to be open-minded.'
Leeth scowled, then forced a happy expression, telling herself she was supposed to be enjoying this, impressed by it all.
'They're of course using analog instruments,' James added, nodding significantly. Like that made them somehow better than digital.
Leeth was unconvinced. Sure, the instruments sounded richer and realer played live – way different to recordings. At the edges of hearing, some of the odd peaks and deep notes even sent shivers through her. But a lot of those bits were also… off.
Maybe they couldn't tune them? That'd explain why no one ever recorded them.
She kept her opinions to herself, but if the painful torture went on much longer, someone was going to be sorry.
James chose that moment to put his mouth to her ear: as if she was deaf or something. 'We're very lucky – this is the first part of Das Rheingold, the Ring Saga. I think you'll like it.'
She quickly forced her grimace back into a smile. Then the lights were dimming, the massive gold curtain rising.
She wondered how long the performance would be.
For five disbelieving minutes Leeth kept silent, before conceding defeat. 'James, I can't understand what they're singing.'
James didn't seem to hear her, so she whispered it again, louder.
'James!'
Leeth gritted her teeth. Not only was she being tormented by the piercing soprano, the vocals were drowning her out so James couldn't even hear her question! She imagined jumping up on stage to claw the woman's throat out.
'James! I can't understand them!'
The couple in the seats directly in front turned and glared at her. Leeth glared right back, fighting down a sudden urge to thump them.
'Shh.' James put his finger to his lips, eyes still on the performers. 'Here's the programme.'
She took it from him, puzzled. Frowning in the dark, she re-read the pamphlet while the soprano continued her sonic assault.
Looking up from it, and around, everyone else seemed completely absorbed. Even James. She looked back at the programme. It sure sounded exciting. But it was like they were all singing in code!
'James!'
After the curtain fell, Leeth seemed in no hurry to move. James watched her studying the departing audience with a strange intensity. 'Well – what did you think of The Rheingold?'
'There was an awful lot of it.'
'Would you like to meet the lead singer? Maria Lempriere?'
Leeth's eyes brightened. 'Yeah. Yeah, I would.'
After a short flurry of messaging, Maria flung open her dressing room door as they arrived. 'James! James Connor!'
She pronounced his name "Shames Kon-nor," Leeth noticed.
'How marveilleux to see you. And who is your little friend?'
'This is Samantha Westin. She was dying to meet you.'
'’Ow wonderful. What did you think of our performance?'
'I thought you were very brave.'
Maria's face stiffened.
'Singing, with your throat hurting like that.' She'd been half-guessing, but Maria's reaction confirmed it. Leeth sensed James go still, at her side. 'You might have some kind of growth: you should see a doctor.'
Maria raised one trembling hand.
'Or maybe a mage? They could-'
Maria pointed. 'Get out!' she hissed. 'At once! And you, James Connor…'
James dragged Leeth away as the singer's eyes fell on a heavy crystal ashtray.
From there, he took her to a night café. He had intended to take her to his club, but common sense prevailed. Perhaps after she's more… rounded.
They sat now with their coffees, James watching with quiet disbelief as Leeth wolfed down a generous slice of carrot cake. After every mouthful or two, she stirred more sugar into her mug.
'Ah, that's better!' she said, after the seventh spoonful.
'Milk? Cream?'
'Oh? Uh, yeah. Sure.'
He poured. She tasted.
'Mmm, good.' She licked her fingers clean of cake, then took a large gulp of her coffee, though her lips twisted immediately after.
'You don't like the Colombian Novo-supremo?'
'No, it's, um, good. Very, you know. Coffee flavored. It's one of my favorites.' She tilted her head back and drained her mug. 'See? It was, yummy.'
He sipped at his own espresso. 'Would you like another?'
'No! I mean, no, thank you, James.' She shivered.
'Cold?'
'No.' She shut her eyes, then pushed back from the table, spreading her fingers wide. Definitely trembling. 'Hey. What should we do next? We don't have to go back yet, do we? We could go dancing. Oh! No, I know: the Tenderloin district's not far from here, is it? Yes! Let's! I'm sure we could Hunt down some fun there. Please, James? Please, please, please…'
He took another cautious sip. 'I take it you've something specific in mind?'
She sprang up from her seat, twirling from their table and then dancing back to him, shimmying down to press her front into his side. 'Several things. Please, James? Please, please, please….'
-
Maria Lempriere was still fuming. Never had she been so insulted! Her anger made her fumble the key to the door, and she had to strangle an urge to throw the foolish thing away. A brass key! What was this, the twentieth century? Finally, the mechanical lock clicked. Thrusting the door open, she stalked out into the small courtyard enclosed within the Opera House.
Which was another insult: to be forced into smoking outside – putting her delicate throat at further risk from the night air! Almost, she forgot to lock the door behind her.
She lit up, drawing the first soothing inhalation of her herbal cigarette, calming herself. Already, she could feel the rare Amazonian medicine relaxing her throat, improving her register. How dare that baby-faced-
From behind her, back by the doorway, came a loud and ugly snapping sound. She spun around to see a large figure, a man, step through the door and close it behind him. She moved back, drawing the man forward from the shadows.
'You are agitated tonight.'
He was tall, with a heavy build. He wore a very expensive, but also very tired suit.
'How did you get it in here? This is not open to the public.'
Ice blue eyes stared at Maria, unblinking. 'You Called. This one came.'
He stepped forward.
She stepped further back. 'Stop. Do not come one step closer or-'
She rocked back on her heels as a large hand clamped around her throat.
'You are distressed.' He nodded. 'Yes. And angry. And now, afraid. These are phantoms, clouding your mind.' The cold eyes burned into hers as she beat futilely at the arm holding her. 'There is no need for fear. You will soon see. Prepare yourself for the gift of clarity….'
Chapter 9
'Come on, James, stop dawdling. Let's race!'
Pulling her hand free of his, she darted ahead, deeper into the quake-twisted streets. From doorways of the buildings on either side, several large figures watched speculatively as Leeth sprinted past them, her high heels clutched in one hand.
Christ! She could move! James charged after her. And silent, too, he noticed, realizing if he didn't catch her before he lost sight of her…. «Faster» he ordered his bio-chip, and felt power surge to his legs.
Down two, three alleys he chased her, scarcely gaining ground, before she slowed, then stopped, standing with her head tilted to one side.
Thank god, he thought, just as she blurred back into motion, smashing through a barricade to disappear inside what looked like a squatter's den. From within, ply-board crashed to the ground. He heard her scream a challenge, and answering male cries.
When he burst into the squalid, ill-lit room, it was to see one tattooed male falling backwards, blood spurting from his neck. Leeth's foot kicked out into another man now collapsing behind her, while throat-punching a third in front who fell, dropping a knife. Before her, a fourth person, a terrified young woman, clothing torn, scrambled away from her on heels and elbows.
'Stop!' James yelled.
She didn't. Instead, her teeth gleaming in a fierce smile, she hauled upright the gasping man she'd just punched. Behind her, the man she'd kicked rose groggily to his feet.
Knotting her hand in the jacket of the ex knife-wielder, she spun him around and up, hoisting him over her head to slam down into the man swaying behind her.
James winced as their skulls cracked together.
The young woman, still scrabbling on the ground on hands and knees, grabbed up… a credstick? Then fled.
James reached the tattooed ganger bleeding out from… Good lord! His eyebrows raised at the sight of Leeth's stiletto heel jutting from the jugular.
As he crouched down, the man's chest stopped rising and falling, her bloody victim falling still.
Placing her feet carefully, he saw, Leeth reached past him to wrench her shoe free.
'Are you- what do you think you're doing?'
The face she turned to him was alive with delight. 'Hunting for more people to rescue, of course!' She squeezed his arm. 'Thanks so much for bringing me here – this is heaps more fun than the opera!' She frowned at her blood-soaked shoe as she turned away. 'We can do more, right? Just let me finish off these other two, first.'
From behind, James tasered her. She staggered. But instead of collapsing, she spun around, jerkily, with an expression of disbelief. Only half-stunned. He followed up with a blow to her temple, a hard tap. Still she didn't go down! Instead, eyes glazed, her fist punched out to his belly. Even at full augment, he was only just fast enough to deflect the blow.
A third, harder strike to the side of her head finally rolled her eyes back, and she collapsed, her gaze still accusing.
Holy hell! He looked around, assessing the scene. He had an evidence bag, which should be just large enough for her bloody heel, to keep his suit clean. He tucked that one inside his jacket and the other into a trouser pocket. Then, hauling her up and over one shoulder, he brought up a map to work out the best place to direct his car to, to meet them. Then called up the schematics for this address, and began picking his way out, toward the side exit.
Wincing, he thought ahead to his report on tonight's outing. She'd just taken it from ten minutes work, to two hours.
What the devil had gotten into her?
Chapter 10
It was the next day and for once, all three agents were mission-less. Emma and James lounged in the rec room, though with a palpable tension between them.
James had just returned from a short debrief with Father. Who had reacted to his account as he'd half expected: with indifference. 'Nelson set a watch - the deaths have passed unreported. Was that by accident, d'you think, or has she been paying attention to her lessons?'
