Plancett was a possibility as well, but one that didn’t strike me as quite right. By all accounts, he was working for Sparks, and then later Sadie. Then again, he did at least have the letter P in his name. Maybe they had obfuscated his role in the organization to keep him hidden and safe. That way, if anyone came close to learning the truth, all signs would point to him being complicit, but not entirely guilty. It was smart.
But so was Dreyfuss. He was next to nothing on paper, a retired Knight manning a stall in the Lion’s Den. Kept in the background so that he could continue to strengthen their numbers, like some sort of stud bull. His position as a food vendor suddenly made a bit more sense, too—or at least, it would if I were in their shoes. Food vendors were practically invisible but talked to everyone. His people could come and talk to him in the open, under the guise of getting food, update him, and get their new orders right then and there. Nobody would ever suspect him. It would be the perfect place to hide. It’s what I would do, if I were them.
And it was smart, in its own disgusting way. He could run everything in secret while ensuring that if anyone came after them, he could escape before they realized his significance, and then turn around and start a new family, ready to take over where the others had left off. It might take them years, but they had proven their method worked. Their family had survived.
That didn’t leave me with much, and I turned my mind back to Frederick, deciding to add him to the list of people we would need to arrest. He might not have the same father as the rest of the legacies seemed to have, but I had no idea where he stood in all of this, and the DNA connection was too strong to ignore. If I left him out and he disappeared, the cycle might start all over again. And I couldn’t take that chance.
As for who the father was… Well, we just had to do everything in our power to figure that out.
“We’re going to have to find out who this man is before we do anything,” I said, intending it for Maddox.
“Well, of course we have to find out who he is,” Dylan replied, cocking her blond head at me. “But what do you mean, ‘before we do anything’?” She looked back and forth between us, her blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What’s going on?”
I bit my lip and looked at Maddox. “Did we find any evidence that points to her being involved?” I asked, rudely talking about Dylan in front of her.
Maddox shook her head. “Not so much as a message between them. There was a file on her, but from how it reads, it looks like they were gathering intelligence about her, not working with her.”
“‘Her’?” Dylan interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Do you mean me? And who is ‘they’? The people who tried to rig the Tourney?” She frowned, as if a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Wait, have you uncovered new evidence? Do you have suspects?” She took a step forward, her entire body reflecting the intensity of her interest.
I cocked my head at her. “It doesn’t bother you that we suspect you?”
“It would, but you don’t,” she replied. She stuck her thumb out to point it at Maddox. “She just said that there weren’t any messages between myself and whoever you’re monitoring, so…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Up to you, but if you know something about who this man might be, then I want to know. This—what he’s been doing to these women—it’s disgusting. He needs to be stopped.”
“I agree,” I replied. Even if he wasn’t the father of all the legacies, I would still agree. He was taking women and forcing them to bear his children, until they died from it. It was beyond sick—it was downright evil.
I considered what Dylan was saying, and Maddox’s report that they hadn’t found anything implicating her as working with Sadie, and took a deep, calming breath. I’d been suspicious of everyone for so long, but I had to start trusting at some point. Maybe I’d already started with the Patrians—I’d let them take my brother with them, after all—and for the first time in a long time, I decided to let another person in.
“I’m going to let Maddox catch you up on everything in a minute,” I told her. “But for now, all you need to know is that we have three potential suspects: Marcus Sage, Emmanuel Plancett, and a former Knight who is now living in the farming department with his daughter.”
“Great. I’ll go down there and…” Dylan trailed off and frowned. “Did you say Marcus Sage? As in the head of the Medica?”
I nodded grimly. “I’m not certain yet, but—”
“What if the father is someone other than those three?” Maddox asked pensively. “What if we’re wrong to have only them on the list of suspects?”
I hesitated. I was banking on the idea that whoever the father was wasn’t content as a simple sperm donor—that he was someone important to the family itself and had known about the outsiders right from the start—but there was every possibility that I was wrong. Still, the three men were the only leads we currently had. I had no doubt that if we looked up their DNA profiles in the database, it wouldn’t be a match. Undoubtedly they would’ve been smart enough to upload a fake genetic profile to avoid situations like this. We couldn’t trust any comparisons to what was on record. We needed to collect their DNA personally and handle the testing ourselves.
If the DNA didn’t match, we would figure it out later.
“We’ll worry about it later. For now, we need to get DNA samples from all three men and do a comparison. That will tell us what our next move is.”
“All right,” Maddox agreed. “Who do we go after first?”
“First, you fill Dylan in on what we are doing,” I replied. “Then we’ll figure out the rest.”
30
That evening, Maddox, Dylan, and I made our way down from the Citadel, heading for Greenery 13. By random chance, both Dreyfuss and Plancett were there at that exact moment. Dreyfuss because he lived there with his daughter, and Plancett because it was time to harvest the wheat and corn they had spent the last few months producing.
Greenery 13—Biggins, as it was called—resided on the 135th level of the shell and required us to exit the Citadel and enter the shell to hitch a ride up. We emerged on a wide catwalk, where a line of green-clad workers were pulling or pushing wagons full of grain to the large service elevators, for distribution to the different departments. And though it was harvest season, the catwalks were awash with people moving this way and that, in the normal chaos of activity. Only the line remained uninterrupted, people keeping their distance so as not to interfere with workers doing their duties.
The three of us slipped into the stream of people and made our way toward the massive doors with the small, portly man painted over them. He was wearing a cheeky grin, which carved a massive dimple out of one cheek. I knew him as Caleb Biggins—the hero and namesake of Greenery 13—but couldn’t remember what he had done to get so famous.
The area in front of the greenery was packed with vendors, all of them selling baked goods. Already I could smell bread in the air. The promise of getting a warm slice with a pat of salted butter melting into it was so tantalizing that I almost considered stopping at the first stall I saw. Almost.
As the catwalk neared the wall of the greenery, the crowd of people naturally turned left to head toward the door, leading us to the stalls that were set up in front of the massive metal doors. We followed the sea of people until they slowly separated into rivers, and then trickled into streams, heading down this aisle or that in search of specific items on their shopping lists.
The largest throng of people were workers in green, returning from their deliveries, and we fell into line with them as they progressed down a central aisle toward the greenery doors.
The doors were fully open today, revealing a wide walkway that bridged the span of the shell and ended in yet another door, this one also open. I could hear the sounds of machines and workers calling to each other echoing through the wide-open space, but kept walking forward, toward the doors.
Inside, the machines used for separating the wheat from the chaff had been set
up in several rows, and workers were operating them in sets of three, one man turning it on and off, the others hauling baskets up a small ladder to deposit them at the top of a chute. The machines whirred endlessly, spitting out small grains and dust while depositing the husks in the now-empty buckets placed off to the side, and adjusted by the man who was in charge of powering the machine. Several foremen—marked by yellow helmets—walked among them, barking orders. The Hands we were with headed directly for them, but I veered left, knowing from experience that the apartments for this floor were accessed by a door in the tunnel.
Sure enough, I spotted the door and control panel off to the left, and angled toward it, confident that Maddox and Dylan were behind me. Stopping at the door, I quickly pressed the button, and waited. My net began to buzz as the scanners set to work, and I waited patiently for the process to start and finish.
“Champion Liana Castell,” an automated male voice announced. “Authorized entry granted. Have a pleasant day.”
“Thanks,” I said as the door slid open, revealing a narrow series of stairs heading down. I followed them for two floors, and then opened a door at the end of them and entered the apartment floor. The apartment floor of each greenery took up an entire block of the shell and contained some of my favorite apartments in the Tower. They were always colorful and tended to have shelves filled with plants and plaques describing what the plant was and how to care for it. The lights were bright, enhanced with UV for the plants, and doors were almost always open, neighbors acting like family members.
I followed the signs to the nearest elevator station and took it down to the bottom floor, where the internal leads of the department lived. Dreyfuss’s daughter, Rachelle, was a head boss of Greenery 13, which afforded her the space to take her father in after he retired. This was where we’d find him.
The elevator slowed to a stop, revealing a long passage with doors on either side. I walked forward, following the numbers and stopping when I came to 135-5-D. I pressed the call button before I could start getting anxious about it.
Only then did I let some nervousness creep in. We were here to secretly steal some of his DNA to run it against the samples Dylan had collected, and there was a one-in-three chance that he was the father of a group of thirty or so undocs. I had to treat this delicately, because if we tipped him off, or he even got a glimmer of what we were up to, he’d notify the legacy group and we’d lose any chance of finding them.
Luckily, I had a cover story ready. I just prayed it would be enough to explain our presence here in a believable fashion. If he was who I suspected he was, he would still be suspicious—but also, I hoped, overconfident in how hidden he had been for the last twenty-five years.
The door slid open, an elderly man in his late fifties standing behind it. His face matched the picture we had on file, which meant I was looking at former Knight Elite Jathem Dreyfuss. His blond hair was mixed with gray and white, but his blue eyes were sharp.
“Champion Castell,” he said, a confused smile coming on his face. “I wasn’t expecting you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Greetings, former Knight Elite Dreyfuss,” I replied, forcing a smile of my own onto my face. “I’m sorry for stopping by without calling first, but truthfully, my schedule is never consistent these days, so setting an appointment for something like this is a little tricky.”
“Something like what?” he asked, cocking his head at me.
I smiled. He hadn’t made a move to let us in yet, and we needed to get in so that one of us could surreptitiously remove something with his DNA on it, for testing. “I wanted to see how you were faring with retirement and see if I could talk you into coming back to the Knights,” I told him. “But it’ll be easier to talk about it inside.”
The old man blinked in surprise, and then nodded. “Of course,” he said, taking a step aside. “Please come in.”
I moved past him and entered a wide living area decorated tastefully with a dark blue sofa and a few small chairs on either side, with a small table set in front of it. A potted plant sat in the middle of it, the wide, waxy leaves telling me it was there for oxygen production. A kitchen was behind it, larger than the ones in the Knight Commanders’ quarters, the counter acting as the divider between the two rooms. A hallway opened up opposite the front door, presumably leading to the bedrooms.
There were dozens of possible sources of DNA in the house, but we had to be certain we got the right sample. He was living with his daughter, and while having her DNA would help implicate him, having his was the best way to know for certain.
Dreyfuss stepped past us, his arm already held out toward the sofas. “Have a seat, please.”
“Thank you,” I said. I moved over and took a single chair with my back to the wall, while Dylan perched next to me on the couch. Only Maddox remained standing, and I could tell by her “nervous” fidgeting that she was going to start the plan right now—by faking the need to use his facilities. The bathroom was the best place to find genetic material, and we were all hoping that Maddox could grab something simple, like some hairs from a brush. Anything that wouldn’t be missed. “Kerrin?” I asked, using her last name.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said apologetically, and it was all I could do not to smile. “Sir, may I use your bathroom?”
It was the best excuse we’d been able to think of. Dreyfuss gave her a surprised look, and then nodded. “Of course. Second door on the right.”
“Thank you.” Maddox ducked her head at him while making a beeline toward the hallway, looking for all the world like a girl whose bladder was about to explode. I kept my face neutral, and then smiled brightly at Dreyfuss when he looked at me.
“So what can I do for you, ma’am?” he asked, taking a seat in the chair opposite mine.
“Actually, it was what I was hoping we could do for each other.” I kept my words vague intentionally, trying to drag the conversation out to give Maddox time to get something to test.
“Oh? What would that be?”
“First, let me ask: Are you satisfied working as a vendor?”
He blinked in surprise at my sudden shift in the conversation, and then settled back in his chair. “I have no complaints,” he said carefully. “I’m sure you saw that my retirement from the Knights wasn’t entirely by choice. I have arthritis in my knees and shoulders from lash work, and two compressed vertebrae in my back. The Medica deemed me unfit for the physical labor of the department, and I was retired.”
I nodded sympathetically. “I did read that in your file, sir. And, please be assured, I’m not asking you to resume your duties or anything like that. But it seems several of our instructors in the Academy are up for retirement, and your name was suggested by one of the other Knight Commanders as a possible replacement.”
“Which one?” he asked curiously. I noted the gleam of interest in his eyes and replied with my prepared lie.
“My father, actually.” I had done my research, anticipating his question, and had learned that he had served under my father in his final two years before retirement. I had considered going to my father and asking about it, but I hadn’t spoken to him since the funeral, and certainly didn’t intend to start now.
He gave a surprised laugh. “Really? I didn’t think he thought much of me. I was already slowing down because of my injuries, and that prompted him to put me at a desk, filing reports.”
“That might be why he thought of you, actually,” I said with a polite cough. “We need a class on writing reports for some of the cadets who are coming through. I’ve noticed that in the last few years or so, reports filed by younger Knights tend to be incomplete, or told in a biased tone that I wouldn’t want anyone in the Tower to see, let alone associate with the Knights. No one seems to be teaching practical writing, and the younger generation is suffering.”
Dreyfuss frowned. “You want me to be an instructor, to teach… report writing?”
I nodded solemnly. “I know it doesn’t seem like much,
but you’d be helping future Knights become more efficient at their jobs.”
He seemed to consider that for several moments, and I was content to let him, my eyes drifting to a point just over his shoulder where the hallway sat, as I waited for Maddox to emerge. She hadn’t been gone for even a minute, but the conversation wasn’t intended to go on that long anyway, lest we rouse any suspicions. Of course, if she didn’t find anything, then we were in a world of hurt, but we’d cross that bridge if we came to it.
It was nerve-wracking, nonetheless.
“I’ll need to talk it over with my daughter,” he said finally, jerking my gaze back to him. “I think she likes having me around and wouldn’t want me moving back to the Citadel.”
“You wouldn’t have to, if you didn’t want to,” I told him, and he gave me a surprised look.
“You wouldn’t worry about one of your Knights living outside of the Citadel?”
“Of course I would,” I breathed, my eyes flicking over his head as Maddox emerged from the shadows of the hall. Relief bled through me as she patted her pocket and gave me a thumbs-up before walking toward us. “But we could make it work. I encourage you to think it over and discuss it with your daughter before you make a decision. If you have any questions, you can send a message to Lieutenant Kerrin.” I nodded toward her as she came around his chair.
“Thank you,” she gushed, a relieved note in her voice. “And yes, please don’t hesitate to message.”
“Of course,” he said politely, slowly coming to his feet.
I rose to mine as well, Dylan following suit, and went around the table to shake his hand, offering him my most winning smile. “I hope to hear from you soon, either way.”
“I will talk it over with my daughter tonight, and send you my decision tomorrow,” he informed me, returning my firm squeeze with one of his own. “But thank you for your consideration. I’m honored.”
“No, the honor is mine,” I lied to him. “Have a great day.”
The Girl Who Dared to Endure Page 25
