Michael Flynn - Up Jim River

But Jimmy dismissed that with a wave of the hand. “No build so strong but Thistlewaite stronger. This miserable worm, engineer. Lay pipe, calculate sewage by ancient rules. Estimate building loads and construction costs. Bridges… Was happy build bridges. Never ask for this.”

The harper touched the strings of her harp. “No one ever does,” she said quietly, running her fingers down the cords.

“I give orders. Modify systems; implement fault tolerancing and redundancy; increase reliability of infrastructure. Ministers… make up numbers to please me, and always build as always. Ancient rules. One day, all come down again. No. Better one seek Bridget ban across whole Spiral Arm. There, perhaps, success.”

To maintain the harmony of heaven-below by trying to impose the regularities of astronomy on the behavior of humans was very nearly the definition of madness. And yet mystics throughout the ages, from astrologers to computer modelers, had sought it. They forgot that even the heavens held surprises.

Jimmy Barcelona at least could see the futility of his efforts, even if he was not quite clear on why they were futile. Méarana almost told him that her quest was no less so, but that was something she had not yet told even herself.

And so she spoke truth to power. “Ye maun seek Bridget ban for her sake, not because you want to shuck your own responsibilities.”

Power didn’t like to hear that; or else he knew she spoke truth, which was much the same thing. “If purpose same,” whispered the emperor, “what matter, different motives? Keep smile. We pretend talk small nothings. Courtiers cannot hear. Listen. If Bridget ban now lost, approval of sky lost, too. So order in heaven-below, in Jenlùshy not maintain, and all become chaos above.”

“That’s absurd, Jimmy! What happens in the Spiral Arm does not depend on how well you maintain the Morning Dew!”

“This Thistlewaite. Nothing absurd. You know Garden of Seven Delights?”

“What? But…” Was this a shift back to “small talk”? “Yes. Donovan and I have eaten there several times. The food is…”

“Listen. Garden have back door. I come tonight, at Domestic Entertainment Hour. I come in front, lock door on entourage, run out back. You wait by back door with fast flitter. Rent most fast in whole sheen. I come out back door, jump in, and you ‘light a shuck for Texas,’ as your friend say. Go so fast as possible to Hifocal Big Town in next sheen. We take shuttle. Once buy ticket…” At this point he relaxed and sat back in his chair. “Port Authority protect. Then you, me, your Donovan, we fly across sky, go… maybe Texas, maybe find Bridget ban.”

The harper took her napkin and dabbed at her lips. High Tea was coming to an end and the servitors were gathering to take down the café table and set the throne room back to rights. “I must confer with my friend.”

The emperor, too, glanced at the approaching staff. “No time. No confer. Decide.”

Méarana took a deep breath, exhaled. “Second night hour. Behind the Garden of Seven Delights.”

“With most fast flivver. Now,” he rose from the table and raised his voice a bit so others could hear. “No need more play. Tomorrow, come back, sing of High Tara.”

Méarana rose, showed leg in a graceful bow, and swept up her harp case. “Your worship commands; this worthless one obeys.” And she slung the case across her shoulder and strode for the door.

She wondered what Donovan would say about this latest development; but she thought she could guess.

“Have you gone mad?” Donovan demanded.

The sleek Golden Eagle flivver floated up Double Moon Street on a cushion produced by the magnetic field in the paving. “You better hope not,” the harper said. “I’m driving.” To the west, the Kilworthy Hills had darkened, but their highest peaks still caught the un-set sun from over the horizon and flashed a brilliant white and gray.

“Kidnapping the emperor? Tell me that’s sane.”

“It’s not a kidnapping. It’s his idea.”

“Then you don’t know Thistlewaite. He may be the emperor, but ‘custom is king of all.’”

“Donovan, listen to me. He may be subject to custom—that’s what he wants to escape—but he’s certainly capable of keeping the two of us here under lock and key and demanding I play escapist music for him every afternoon for the rest of my freaking life! And then how would I find my mother?”

“Uncle Zorba told me to keep you out of trouble. I guess he didn’t think you’d be the one starting it.”

“The emperor would let you go. You have no songs for him.”

A part of the scarred man’s mind flashed with anger and Donovan chuckled. Was that you, Fudir? Insulted that she expects you to abandon her? I’m shocked .

The Fudir told him what he could do with his shock.

«This is dangerous,» said Inner Child. «Kidnapping the emperor, even with his consent.»

We needn’t smuggle Jimmy off-world , the Silky Voice suggested. We need only spirit Méarana from the emperor’s clutches .

Ah, said the Brute. You take the fun outta everything, sweetie.

It would not need much , whispered another voice. A slight tap on the temple and she’ll wake up on the shuttle halfway to Harpaloon .

«The emperor wouldn’t like that,» Inner Child pointed out.

Donovan said nothing aloud. Brute, do you think you can do it without injuring her?

No problemo.

Yeah? Do you want to tell Uncle Zorba about it, or should I? said the Fudir. If we stiff the emperor, he’ll seal the borders. And even if we make it across somehow, Snowy Mountain would be happy to hand us back .

Somehow? said Donovan. Where was there ever a border you or I found un-crossable?

Alone, and not with a naïf of a harper in tow .

And not , said the Sleuth, who had been silent until then, with a pause for debate at every juncture .

Méarana shook his shoulder. “Fudir. We’re there.”

The scarred man gathered his thoughts and looked around the service alleyway. The paving here was not magnetized and Méarana had switched over to ground effect, which blew the litter about in swirls. Cans clattered; paper whipped. The narrow lane was unlit, and what illumination spilled across the roofs from Gayway Street did little to lift the shadows. On the right, dustbins stood by each door along the back walls of the Gayway shops. On the left, a stone wall enclosed the residential lots. The emperor had made a good choice for his abduction. Except for the Garden, the other shops were closed up for the night. Blocked from the Garden, his entourage would be forced to run to the far ends of the block to reach the alley, by which time the flivver would be long gone.

“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” said Donovan.

“Of course, I am,” said Méarana. “It’s our only way to get off this planet.” Then, realizing that the question was not meant for her, she favored him with a searching look. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said the Fudir. “I promised Zorba that I’d watch out for you.”

“I’m not without resources. Mother taught me a trick or two.”

“Actually, he said he’d hunt me down and kill me if anything happened to you.”

Méarana laughed. “Uncle Zorba is a great kidder.”

The Fudir said nothing. Zorba was not that great a kidder. He raised the flivver’s gull-wing, and hopped into the alley. The ground effect was just enough to keep the chassis above the paving. “Keep the turbines at hover.” Then he crossed to the utility door of the Garden of Seven Delights, ready to hustle the emperor into the waiting vehicle.