Free Pirate Sun by Karl Schroeder Page A

direction in any normal sense: if you walked opposite the town’s spin, you weighed a bit less and felt like you were walking down a slope even though the street was level. Up the street meant in the direction that the wheel turned. It felt like you were climbing an incline if you walked in that direction; hence, many towns had public conveyances that traveled only in the up direction. Songly was not big enough for such conveniences. In his weakened state Richard would almost certainly have taken the easier way.
    “Sorry I lost him, Admiral,” said Darius. “We didn’t bunk in the same room. Didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”
    “Don’t call me that, damnit.” Chaison was having trouble concentrating; the sheer number of people, the gabble of voices, sudden gestures, and shouts were nerve-wracking. It had been months since he had seen more than two men at a time, and those he had shied away from. The market stalls were crowded together cheek by jowl, many with nothing but turning blue sky as their backdrop. He wanted nothing more than to totter back to the suite and collapse on the bed, so his thoughts about Richard Reiss were turning murderous when Antaea grabbed his arm and pointed.
    “Look. The pols.”
    He shuddered involuntarily. There were four of them, “secret” policemen who were not secret at all but swaggering goons in the pay of the state. They were entering the town’s market, a madcap tunnel of buildings and balconies and stairs that absorbed the street and houses a hundred feet ahead. Each policeman swung a baton loosely, and seemingly at random they were stopping people and demanding to see their papers.
    One raised his club to rap a man on the shoulder. The citizen exclaimed in anger and started to turn—then, seeing who had struck him, he ducked off to one side, bowing slightly.
    As he moved out of the way Chaison spotted Richard Reiss.
    The ambassador was sitting cross-legged on the planking not ten feet from the oncoming policemen. He had a small wooden box in front of him and was doing something with his hands, waving them in the air. There was a crowd of children half-encircling him.
    “What,” Antaea hissed, “is the idiot doing?”
    Chaison watched Richard’s lips moving, and realized that he had been hearing him for almost a minute already. He hadn’t realized it was Richard because the accent was perfect Falcon.
    “Beware the wrath of my mighty Sword of Documentation!” boomed Richard Reiss as he raised one hand dramatically. “You shall not pass, lest you sign all these forms and in triplicate!”
    The children were laughing.
    The secret policemen walked up to the Slipstream ambassador.
    One of them glanced at Richard; another nudged the first and pointed in another direction; and they all walked on.
    “I don’t believe it,” muttered Antaea. Richard Reiss lifted the string puppets he had been manipulating, and managed to get them to walk on the box in perfect imitation of the secret policemen. The kids howled with laughter, slapping each other on the backs and pointing at the targets of Richard’s jape.
    Richard looked up and spotted Chaison. “The world is safe from the Undocumented—for now,” he declaimed. The puppets turned and bowed to one another. “Come back in ten minutes for another show.” The children dispersed, chuckling, and Richard grinned as Chaison and Antaea walked up.
    “A small donation would be appreciated, citizens,” he said loudly. Antaea gave Chaison a long-suffering glance, then dug in her satchel. Quickly she stooped and slipped something to Richard; Chaison caught a glimpse of white and knew it was his identity papers.
    With difficulty, Richard levered himself to his feet. “I was trying to keep ahead of those chaps,” he said, nodding at the policemen. “Didn’t think I’d make it another ten feet, when I spotted these puppets for sale at one of the market stalls. Lucky thing one of those jailors of ours had a little loose