16. James

16

JAMES

J ames, you got luckier than you deserve tonight.

It wasn't the first time I'd thought it since Adina had come to my rescue and gotten me out of what could have been a real problem with that shopkeeper.

The deeper into Londabad we got, the more I realized that nothing I'd experienced before could have prepared me for this. Despite my father's lectures on managing the populace, my mother's fond reminiscing about her theater days, and Jeffry's droning lectures on keeping control over the peerage, I'd learned next to nothing about how the city itself worked.

Like money. Good gods, everything cost money, and I'd come out here with nothing but the clothes on my back. Clothes which were, apparently, worth a hell of a lot on the market. More than once, I got offers from random people on the street for the golden buttons on my tunic and the gold in my hems, and each time Adina knocked them back with a casual "No thanks," or "Sorry, no stripteases today," or something else that made me blush furiously beneath my veil.

That meant she had ended up paying for everything we did. She brushed it off, told me not to worry about it, but even someone as clueless as me could see she wasn't wealthy. Her clothes were well-made but also well-mended, her shoes were cracking along the soles, and her riveting face was thinner than any of the palace women's faces were. She carried herself with all the self-confidence of a rani, though, and with at least as much grace.

I resolved to pay her with a couple of my gold buttons at the end of our time together. That should cover her expenses and even buy her a couple of new outfits.

The flying circus was amazing—part holographic show, part exhibition of genetically modified organisms, and there were even a few Old Earth animals there—a horse that stood taller than me, a rabbit with long, soft ears and tender eyes, and an ancient tortoise that was big enough to sit on.

"He's over three hundred years old," Adina said as she passed me a bright red leaf to feed the creature.

She'd paid extra to get them, and I felt a little guilty watching her money get consumed so readily. On the other hand, I'd never seen live animals before outside of the flock of neon parakeets my mother kept in her private greenhouse, and I couldn't deny that it was a thrill to be feeding one.

"He was here before the outer gates were built. Can you imagine being part of the world back then, when everything was so much more dangerous?" Adina shook her head. "It's just amazing."

Three hundred years ago, my family had already been firmly entrenched in the palace, living beneath the domes and hoarding all sorts of goods for ourselves while people starved in the streets. The histories didn't phrase it like that, of course, but there was no denying that our money had bought a great deal of security that almost no one else could claim. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"He's special." I scratched him just above one of his eyes. The enormous tortoise seemed to enjoy it—or at least was sufficiently occupied by the food that he didn't care. His ancient, weathered skin felt like nothing I'd ever touched before.

"He's the last of his kind," Adina said, her voice tinged with sadness. "At least, here in Londabad. There'll never be another one like him."

I frowned, puzzled. "Surely he can be replicated?"

Genetic replication was common when it came to animals, and the technology was used mostly for producing meat but also for recreating beloved pets.

"I'm not a scientist, but from what I understand, they can't create a female tortoise from his genetic material, and since he's the last one, he is doomed to being lonely." She held out another leaf, and watched as the tortoise turned his head to her, stretching his neck out until he could snap the food from her hand.

"He's alone, but he's not lonely," I said to cheer her up.

Adina shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. "Not right now, at least. But come on. You didn't sneak out of the palace to hear me get all maudlin over a tortoise. Let's go to the speakeasy!"

The speakeasy was a mobile drinking establishment that was always moving so it could stay ahead of the guardians. It served not only alcohol, which was legal, but also synthetic, drug-laden cocktails that could send a person sky-high—before crashing back to ground and needing another just to be able to walk. According to Jeffry, it was the scourge of the city, responsible for most of its crime.

The place was dimly lit, with holographic projections of swirling colors dancing across the walls. The air was thick with the scent of exotic spices and something slightly chemical that I couldn't quite place. All around us, people laughed, danced, and engaged in hushed conversations, their eyes glittering with secrets and desires.

Adina got me a fizzy ginger-based cocktail that was astonishingly spicy and sweet enough to make my teeth ache, while she had something that came in a tiny glass of solid ice. The drink burned pleasantly as it went down, leaving a trail of warmth in my chest.

"How is it?" Adina asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched me take my first sip.

"It's... intense," I managed, coughing. "But good. Very good."

She laughed, a sound that somehow cut through the din of the speakeasy and made my heart skip a beat. "You palace folk aren't used to real flavors, are you?"

I was about to protest when I realized she was right. The carefully prepared, bland foods of the palace seemed a world away from the explosion of tastes I'd experienced tonight.