Dominions

20-1

20

- 20 -

Rodin awoke after a troubled night, his bedding once again sweaty and rumpled. He couldn’t recall the dream, but a residue of pain and fear swam through his mind.

He exercised then showered, alternating from red-hot to icy cold, relaxing his muscles while waking his mind. He stayed under the jets of water longer than the day before, though.

There was a message waiting on his screen. Leopold, setting a time for the sailing session. Rodin responded, confirming that he’d be there. Leopold told him to wear something he didn’t mind getting wet. He had no intention of capsizing, he stressed, but there was always a lot of spray when sailing the proper way.

That got Rodin thinking of possible accidents, and he imagined the Councillor sinking beneath the surface.

“You’re in fine spirits this morning,” the artist said, waving a slice of toast in the air. “I take it you enjoyed yesterday’s session?”

Rodin nodded‌—‌there was no way he could tell Sertio the real reason for his happiness. “I found it wonderfully relaxing.”

“That, my friend, is because you were born to be a model! Or maybe it was the company, yes? An attractive young woman, of course, but the mystery of her past life adds a certain frisson, don’t you think? Perhaps it was fortunate that you had the presence of a staid old artist like myself, or who knows what might have happened?” His smile was almost a leer, and Rodin had to force his eyes from rolling.

“She’s intriguing,” he said. He’d play along with Sertio’s matchmaking attempts, keep the artist happy. “But I’m concentrating on finding my feet in this Dome at the moment. I can’t afford to be distracted.” And that’s the truth, Rodin thought. Even if he was looking for companionship‌—‌or even just s*x‌—‌the contract must come first.

And that’s the truth“Very commendable.” Sertio took a sip of his juice, pulling a face that was part pleasure, part pain. “But work isn’t everything, you know. Why do you think I spend so many evenings in the company of others?”

“I’m sure you’re right.” And you need their praise, Rodin thought. But my work has to remain secret. “Maybe I can take some time to myself this morning. Unless there is anything you require of me?”

And you need their praise,But my work has to remain secret. “No, no. I intend to go over those sketches and make a few notes, maybe work through a few ideas. We’ll eat at the normal times.”

There was a questioning tone in that last sentence. “Of course I won’t neglect my duties. Oh, and Councillor Leopold has arranged for me to join him on the lake this evening.”

Sertio grinned. “So pleasures of the mind win out over pleasures of the flesh. Go, enjoy your time with our most interesting patron of the arts. I’m sure you’ll have lots to talk about.”

“I sincerely hope so.” Until the air runs out of his lungs and the water rushes in. “I’ll be back later to prepare our lunch.”

Until the air runs out of his lungs and the water rushes in.With Sertio still eating, and grinning at whatever he imagined Rodin would be getting up to, Rodin put on his jacket and left the building.

The sky was overcast, clouds drifting beneath the glass. They moved lazily, but according to the reports the wind would pick up over the evening‌—‌and Rodin wondered if Leopold had some sway over the meteorologists.

He walked the fifteen minutes to the park, greeting those he passed by as usual. Some of them commented on the slight dip in temperature, and he agreed it was getting colder, but inside he wished they’d shut up. Talking for the sake of talking. A waste of energy.

Talking for the sake of talking.When he reached the park, he recalled the one close to his old home in Genna’s district. But that, in comparison to this lush green oasis, was a patch of weeds and half-dead trees, bleak and colourless.

Before him stretched green slopes, neatly trimmed lawns alternating with areas of waist-high grasses. Paths snaked through the landscape, some broad paved affairs and others pebbled tracks. To his right they reached what looked like playing fields, the turf coloured with boxes and arcs, muddier patches indicating more intense game-play. Ahead were trees, and many of the paths led through them, although one followed close to the edge of this wooded area. This curved round, dipping as the landscape fell toward the lake to Rodin’s left.

It was like a small sea, the edges contoured to give bays and spits. Shapes moved about on the surface of the water, and Rodin strained his eyes to identify them as boats of various shapes and sizes. Some had sails, others were propelled by paddle, and a few moved with such speed that they must surely use engines, although no sound of motors reached Rodin’s ears. People strolled along lakeside paths, or lounged by the water’s edge. Across the lake was a building with glass doors opened wide, people moving in and out constantly.

When Rodin reached the edge of the lake, the air was a shade cooler‌—‌although that might have been the effect of the water. He crossed a bridge that arced over a river feeding into the main lake. In the water below, some brave souls were swimming, and others jumped from the bridge itself. The air was filled with shrieks and laughter.

Maybe it was some kind of race or game. Rodin didn’t know. He knew sports were popular in the Dome, but he’d never found time for them outside. Why waste energy on something so meaningless?

A group of children played on the grass, running back and forth as they chased a ball. Some adults looked on‌—‌Rodin couldn’t tell if they were parents or guardians or teachers. They smiled, talking amongst themselves, and Rodin watched the youngsters, waiting for the inevitable fights to break out. He thought it would happen when two boys both reached the ball at the same time, crashing into each other, one of them falling. But the one left standing reached down, helped his fallen companion to his feet.

That would never happen outside‌—‌not unless the one helping the other was getting ready to put the boot in again. And Rodin wondered what these youngsters were learning. To play nicely? How would that help when someone attacked in the street? Playing games by rules meant nothing when others would try to take what you had‌—‌including your life‌—‌with no regard for any kind of rules or fair play.

But this was the Dome. The worst they would encounter would be a raised voice.

Pathetic. Give Rodin the honesty of the districts any day.

Ahead, two women sauntered along the path, both wearing long, hooded capes that Rodin vaguely remembered were in fashion at the moment. The one wearing deep green shuffled behind, her head dipped, and he considered her the younger of the two. Her companion, covered in a severe black cape, led the way as they turned toward the trees.

Rodin took the opportunity to work on his trailing techniques, dropping his speed to keep his distance as he followed. As they neared the trees and moved further from the noise of the lake, Rodin caught the susurration of their conversation, although he could make out no words. The one who spoke more often‌—‌the older one‌—‌had a deeper voice, but the other’s voice was almost too slight to hear at all. She uttered quick phrases, and Rodin imagined these were little more than ‘yes’ and ‘no’ responses.

The path wound between trees, and Rodin thought back to the plan of the park he’d studied earlier. This wooded area was long but fairly narrow, with more open grassland on the far side. There was also a cafe.

Sometimes, in surveillance, it was useful to get ahead of the target, and in this impromptu training exercise Rodin saw how he could do that. Using the cover of the trees, he cut along a smaller path. He wasn’t overly concerned of the sound his shoes made on the gravel, although he was conscious of the sensation through the thin soles.

The path the two females took would bring them through the trees in a couple of minutes, so Rodin increased his pace. He broke into sunlight, then turned to his right, aiming for the wooden building with the large veranda.

Many of the chairs outside were occupied, the tables festooned with cups, glasses and plates. The wonderful aromas of coffee and baking called to Rodin, and he joined the queue inside, the soft ambiance of many conversations almost pleasant. He eyed the cakes‌—‌give the Dome some credit, they knew how to satisfy their residents’ stomachs. The only place that came close to this in the districts was Jimny’s cafe, and that was in a class of its own anyway.

There’d be nobody to give Rodin information here, though. Anything he wanted to discover, he’d have to find out for himself.

When he reached the end of the queue, he bought a bottle of iced tea‌—‌it was a popular choice, he noticed, and many people were sipping their drinks as they walked. There was a small table free in the middle of the veranda, and that was ideal‌—‌somewhat hidden by others, but still giving him a clear view of the treeline and the paths.

The two women appeared, the one in the black cape still talking, the other walking with her head bowed, trying to make herself look as small as possible. She wasn’t that large in the first place‌—‌petite was the word that came to Rodin’s mind. But her cape was open, and her bare arms were not as thin as Rodin might have imagined.

The clouds parted, and the sudden blast of bright sun must have warmed the woman, because she reached up and pushed the hood of her cape back. She had her hair tied back, and she brushed a few loose strands with one hand, pushing them behind an ear.

Rodin recognised her in an instant. Paskia.

He wondered if he should approach, maybe offer to buy her a drink. But there was the other woman to consider. That must surely be Paskia’s aunt. What was her name? Shae, that was it.

Her hood was far enough back for Rodin to make out her stern features now‌—‌hard mouth, sharp nose, but soft skin. And there was something familiar about her.

It was as they grew closer that Rodin placed her. Remove the cape and put her in a dress, add some colour to her face, and he knew where he’d seen her before.

The party. She was the woman Leopold had been talking to, the one who had spoken harshly to him before leaving.

So Paskia’s aunt had some influence over Leopold. That was worth noting‌—‌it might be something he could use in conversation tonight, maybe to distract the Councillor.

They approached the cafe, and Rodin started to plan what he’d do if they came in for a drink. He’d have to introduce himself, use Sertio as a topic of conversation. But he hoped he could avoid that. Talking to this Shae would only add complications to his brief stay under the glass.