Arrows of Time - Kim Falconer [60]
‘In here,’ the guard said, gesturing to a doorway.
The room had high windows and only the one visible door. The ceiling, like the main hall, was open-beamed, giving a spacious feel and keeping the air cool and fresh. The room was lavishly decorated with bright rugs, wall hangings and overstuffed pillows set around a low table. It felt comfortable, as if friends shared meals here—a surprise after the austere atmosphere of the receiving hall. He sat with his back to the wall and waited. The sentry waited as well.
The Caller entered from another door seamlessly embedded into the far wall. She sat opposite, motioning him closer.
‘Now we can talk,’ she whispered, though she turned abruptly away. ‘Organise us some tea and bread, will you, Jayk?’ She smiled at the guard, whose face held no expression. ‘Then back to your post. No one is to enter or leave until I return.’
‘Yes, Mistress.’ He bowed twice before closing the wooden door behind him; the sound of his steps faded as he strode away.
‘Finally. Do you ever weary of how long it takes to accomplish the simplest of tasks?’ she asked. Jarrod nodded as she kept talking, ‘Here’s the problem,’ she said, keeping her voice low as she fluffed the pillows around herself. Oddly, she didn’t recline into the nest but leaned forward again. ‘We don’t have a lot of time.’
‘We don’t?’ Jarrod looked at her, waiting for a response. If there wasn’t much time, she certainly seemed to be wasting what little they had.
‘There are listeners everywhere,’ she continued, her voice barely audible.
At least you’re aware of it. Jarrod had sensed a bevy of inquisitive minds ever since he had arrived. They were like mice trying to chew their way into a grain sack. ‘You mean spies here in your…’ He paused, lifting one shoulder. ‘Temple, is it?’
‘Palace,’ she corrected. ‘Spies, assassins, traitors, reporters. Every court has them—people seeking information that they shouldn’t have because others are paying, or forcing, them to do so. It’s all about information. Didn’t you know that?’
Jarrod repressed a chuckle. His whole existence had come about from the desire for information—more, faster, broader. His memories turned dark as he thought of the scientists at ASSIST all those centuries ago. ‘I’m familiar with the concept of information technology.’
‘Is that what you call it? You can understand, then, the need for discretion.’
‘Of course.’ He dropped his head close to her ear. ‘Can you tell me, Caller, what information it is we are discussing?’
‘I can.’ She spread her fingers out on the table. ‘These spies and reporters, they seek any word about our…’ She looked left and right before cupping her hand around the side of her mouth. ‘Dilemma.’
Was she going to talk in riddles all day? ‘Your dilemma?’ Jarrod said, matching her tone. ‘And what can you tell me about that, exactly?’ He sat back against his pillows, waiting.
The Caller clenched her jaw and motioned him closer. ‘Here on Tensar, we are experiencing a strange…problem.’
‘I gathered there was a problem, Caller. Otherwise I wouldn’t have come.’
She took a deep breath and let it spill out, her voice so low he had to amplify his auditory perceptions to catch it. ‘Here on Tensar, there are no more births,’ she whispered.
Jarrod wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. ‘No more births?’
‘Shush. Quiet.’ She looked around the room. ‘We’re denying it, of course, but the fact remains. There are no more births. None at all.’
‘Nothing is being born?’
She clicked her tongue. ‘Of course things are being born. Chickens, dogs, horses, snakes—animals are being born, hatched, whelped. Grass grows, trees bear fruit.’
‘But no children of Tensar?’
‘That’s it. No children.’
‘How long has this been