Black Hole Sun Read Online Free PDF Page B

punishment for my father’s crimes.
    We meet three servants at the rear entrance. Two of them sweep the children away, while the third servant—a silver-haired man in a brown, plain tunic—leads us to Dame Bramimonde’s inner sanctum.
    â€œI’ll collect our fee,” I tell Vienne.
    â€œAffirmative,” she says. “We will rendezvous at Ares’s pub afterward, no?”
    â€œSee you soon. And Vienne?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThanks. I couldn’t have done—”
    â€œNo, chief, I failed you. I should’ve grabbed the girl before she fell.”
    â€œNo. I missed the switch.”
    She raises a hand, then puts it down. Awkward movement. Awkward silence. Didn’t know she had an awkward bone in her body. She moves with the kind of grace that takes your breath away if you let it. Me, I never let it, because I’m the chief, and the way a soldier in your command moves isn’t something you get to notice. Our relationship is purely professional. Not that we have a relationship relationship. Just a professional one. That’s purely professional.
    â€œIt is never the chief’s fault,” Vienne says.
    It’s always the chief’s fault. Mimi taught me that. But arguing will only embarrass her more.
    â€œMeet you at the pub.”
    â€œAre you sure, chief?” she asks. “Would you like backup?”
    â€œI think I can handle an aged Orthocrat,” I say, and wink.
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    â€œYou incompetent idiot!” Dame Bramimonde screeches as I enter. The air in here is stuffy, and it smells of silk flowers and dust. Same for the Dame. On both counts. “How could you have made such a mess of a simple mission?”
    â€œNice to see you again, too, Dame,” I say. Then ask Mimi to scan the room. Dame Bramimonde isn’t the most trustworthy client we’ve had.
    The Dame sits in a high-backed chair. Her face is a whitemask of powder, azurite lips, eyebrows a thin line of indigo, straightened and dyed cobalt bangs, and dozens of strings of cerulean beads woven into her hair. She is Orthocracy aristocracy, meaning that she’s fluent in several languages, has exquisite taste in art, and will slit your throat if given half a chance.
    â€œScan is copacetic,” Mimi says. “Unlike this woman’s manners.”
    I answer the Dame’s question. “The mission wasn’t that simple. You left out a few facts that complicated the whole operation.”
    â€œComplicated? Ridiculous.” Dame Bramimonde strokes a flat-faced cat in her lap. Its purr sounds like a series of hic-cups. “I sent you to rescue my daughter and return with the ransom. Instead, you bring me that…that boy . I suppose it’s my own fault, hiring dalit instead of professionals.”
    Bile rises in my throat. Right now the Dame’s children are getting scrubbed clean, every nook and cranny hosed with water—real water, not the ChemAqua we commoners use. Meanwhile, I’m still covered in dried sewage. My body a walking pile of stink. Having to beg for a contracted commission. I despise Orthocrats.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Regulator?” She pinches the animal on her lap. It cries out but doesn’t dare move. “Cat got your tongue?”
    â€œNothing has my tongue.”
    â€œThen why are you still here? The stench from your person is destroying the olfactory feng shui of my home. Oh,forgive me—you don’t know the definition of olfactory .”
    â€œYou do so!” Mimi pipes in before I shush her.
    â€œI’m waiting for the commission,” I say flatly.
    â€œWe established,” the Dame says, “that you didn’t complete the job as directed.”
    â€œWe brought back your daughter. Who, by the way, is not a kid. Why didn’t you tell me she was a Regulator?”
    She curls her lip. “You lost the ransom and you did not kill Postule. To think he once was my