3
After enduring brief farewells from the Bartons, Pax and Casaria climbed the escalator to the exit. Following in the air nearby, Letty said, “I still say the stuffy mum should go. She can drive a getaway scooter.”
“It’s on me,” Pax said, holding up a hand for Letty to land on.
Letty gave her a distrusting look that said she still wanted to know why, but the fairy didn’t ask. They’d prepared for the day without any more discussion of Pax’s fits or dreams. She wanted to explain, but didn’t know how. All she knew was that it was all connected. She had to go with Casaria because it had to be her that rescued Rufaizu; there was no guarantee how far they’d get, and she needed to see him, even if only briefly. For her own sake, if not for the whole city’s. Letty must’ve sensed the truth, somehow, because she wasn’t probing.
The fairy said, “We’ll have a proper talk when you get back.”
“For sure,” Pax said. She wished the fairy could come, but there was no way they were leaving the Bartons alone in Rolarn’s care. That, and Letty didn’t want to miss Lightgate, who had been absent since the conclusion of their discussion the night before. Still, Pax said, “Wish me luck. I’m noticing every time we part ways shit starts to turn dramatically worse for me.”
“That’s sweet,” Letty replied. “Just keep yourself away from the MEE building and let him handle himself.” She gave Casaria a sneering look and he gave a scowl back. “Ditch him if you have to.”
“And I’m the one you don’t trust,” Casaria said to Pax.
“Still say you should wait,” Letty said. “Lightgate must be up to something, we’d do better to hear from her before you go knocking on doors.”
“She could be hours, if she even comes back,” Pax said, picturing her somewhere between drunk in a gutter and stirring up more angry fairies towards senseless violence. “And I can’t see her making it easier to get into that office.”
“You should at least get hold of another phone.”
“We’re already late,” Casaria grumbled, “the office gets busier as the day goes on.”
“Alright, we’re going,” Pax said, then offered Letty a smile. “Take care of them, and yourself.”
Letty shook her head, arms folded, unconvinced. “You’re the one that’s in trouble. Let me give you my new number, anyway.”
As they approached the scooter, Casaria broke the silence with the purposeful tone of a man who’d long been considering offering stern words. “You got an easy ride yesterday, on account of my condition. But I’m rested now. You can’t honestly expect me to go near that thing.”
Pax stopped at the bike. “You’re too good for it, now? Take a look in a mirror.”
A few days earlier, granted, there would have been a marked contrast between his expensive suit and her motoring equivalent of a stack of used toasters. But he hadn’t changed in two days, and the dust and blood and grime had solidified into hard patches. His slick hair had lost its sheen and hung in greasy shards. The wound on his face had scabbed over from his jaw to his brow, crossing one eye, and a bruise was going from purple to yellow just below his ear.
Casaria said, “A temporary setback. I’ve no intention of touching this death-trap and I’ve no intention of returning to the MEE offices without going to my place first.”
Pax watched his eyes stray to the side, willing her not to press more. He was stalling, after all his insistence on getting a move on. “You said the Ministry took you back in. You can return, can’t you?”
“Of course,” Casaria said, haughtily. “I’m the best they have.”
“But you don’t want them to see that you got beat up, is that it?”
“As if,” he snorted. “It’d do them well to see what real field work looks like. It’d just be easier if I was able to blend in. Especially going in during the day.”
Looking at the blood on his shirt, and the flecks around his jaw and neck which he hadn’t bothered to wash off, Pax suspected he probably quite liked the look himself. Meaning he was thinking of someone else’s opinion, for once. Between his reaction to Sam Ward’s name last night, and what Ward had said herself, it was an easy guess. “Can I give you a hint as a woman? Whatever you think your co-workers think of you, your immaculate appearance is not the issue.”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s a matter of going unnoticed.”
“They know you were abducted,” Pax said. “Better if you look like you’ve just fought your way free of captivity than walked away, isn’t it?”
“No one’s been looking for me,” Casaria said. “I’m telling you –”
“Jesus Christ,” Pax said. “I didn’t realise it was pity o’clock. For your information, it was her that was trying to track you down. Sam Ward. And she seemed pretty concerned.” He looked surprised, for a brief moment, before scowling.
“You’ve already proven yourself a liar, Pax,” Casaria said. “She’s an ice queen.”
“Uh-huh. When you were working together, did you pull her hair?”
“What?”
“Call her smelly, laugh at her for having fruit in her packed lunch?”
“What are you –”
“It’s okay if you like her, and it’s shitty if she hurt you, but I’m pretty sure she took it with a little less scorn than you. Give her a break.”
Casaria had the same sort of half-angry, half-confused expression he’d worn when he realised Pax was working with Letty. The same expression as when she’d stolen his car keys. Like the thought had never crossed his mind. “You don’t know her.”
“No,” Pax said. “But I’d bet a golden squid I know her better than you.”
“She’s played their game since she first met me,” Casaria said. “Not interested in the Sunken City itself, only how she could fatten her pay cheque.”
“Except she suggested the idea of talking to the Fae, right? Sounds good to me.”
Casaria scoffed. “An empty gesture. High in principles, ineffective at actually getting anything done.”
“Listen: you see her in there, be civil, and if anything see if she can help. Now get on the bloody bike.”
She jumped on and started the engine without looking at him again. It would be interesting to see how awkwardly he’d handle sitting behind her now that he was fully conscious. She considered warning him not to get an erection, but didn’t, in case the warning made it more likely.
Casaria walked into the MEE building with more anxiety than he felt the place had a right to elicit. He didn’t intend to run into anyone, but they had cameras, and people were moving in the halls, more so than he was used to. The daylight zombies came to work in force while the sun was up, getting in the way.
Still, he’d get in unseen and do what he needed to on the fifth floor, where the med bay and inventory were secluded from the worker drones on the sixth floor. He’d slip in and out, as easy as when he took the fairy weapon before.
The idiot guard on the front desk watched him go in with a stunned look. Yes, this is what real work looks like. Some fool from another office was too afraid to ride the elevator up with him. Rightly so.
Casaria marched proudly to the infirmary door, unhindered by a single MEE contact. A quick, simple job – show Pax how a professional worked, even if she hadn’t given him the chance to dress like one. He keyed in the door code. Maybe he’d requisition some car keys from Inventory while he was here, get a better vehicle. It was demeaning, perching on the back of Pax’s rusted hobby-horse. So close to her. She probably enjoyed it, practically rubbing against him.
His face turned at the thought, imagining her mocking, smirking face, if she felt his body react. You couldn’t control that. He hadn’t let it show, of course, but give it time and it might. Then he’d be the one in the embarrassing situation, when she was enjoying it. Disgusting.
There was a beep. He put in the code again and frowned at the red light.
The damn lock wasn’t working.
That’d be right, wouldn’
t it? They’d chosen to change the codes now, after years without so much as considering the weakness of their security. Oh well.
He would put in an appearance upstairs after all.
Maybe Sam Ward would be there, so what. It’d serve her right to see him like this. Maybe she’d finally feel some guilt.
Mid-morning, and things were settling down in Greek Street. Sam kept half an eye on the monitors of Ordshaw’s topography, which showed a heatmap of amorphous red and yellow shapes moving ponderously east. The praelucente, and its horde, circling the city with their usual speed and trajectory. No more destructive surges, no abnormalities since the night before. Operations were moving ahead of the horde advised by Support’s standard alert monitoring. Another Tuesday morning in the MEE.
London would be happy.
As long as Pax and her friends were kept at bay, perhaps the praelucente was safe after all. Everything could continue as before. People had died, riding the train to work or sleeping rough, but they’d be written off as opportunity costs in the grand scheme of Ordshaw’s gift.
The best option, for Sam, would be to keep playing the game and hope to gain some kudos for the little assistance she had offered. She could report, at least, that she’d actually spoken with one of the Fae now. Yes, he had threatened to shoot her and aided in a fugitive’s escape, but she could describe other things besides, like his general appearance, accent and patterns of movement. She could spin it to garner some validation for IS Relations, maybe give talks in London. Maybe spearhead similar initiatives in other cities. Istanbul had a Fae population, and the lesser-known city of Guadaleizam in Mexico. Imagine instructing a team of Mexicans – she could say things like, “I need you to be a Mexican, not a Mexican’t.”
Was that racist? She’d email Jen in HR to check.
Anyway, if she wanted to get her career back on track, that’s what she had to accept.
Keep things simple, don’t rock the boat, don’t aim for change.
Except.
Except she didn’t want to accept that. She couldn’t shake the wish that these resources be put to proper use again. In the briefest moment she’d had charge of this office, she’d exposed something that she knew had meaning. No matter what Mathers said. What was really going on in those pockets that the Commission deemed irrelevant? What did Apothel’s people know and how could they use it? What had actually caused the previous day’s devastating surges? And there had to be a reason that novisan was affected in different parts of the city to the praelucente – there had to be a result.
Sam found herself hovering by an analyst’s shoulder. As he stared at a stream of ever-growing numbers, she considered how vital it was that they monitor novisan everywhere, with the unsettling awareness that the levels around Dr Rimes’ map coordinates were only affected when the praelucente was far away. But of course she couldn’t redirect Support. She scanned the office. Landon had gone home to rest, at last, but maybe when he got back in there was another option. Someone watching one of these markers might take some readings on the ground. Did Operations have equipment for that?
The lift beeped, beyond the reception desk. The doors opened, and Tori’s surprised jump alerted everyone else to their visitor.
Those other questions could wait.
Casaria stepped out, grinning as usual, reminding Sam in an instant of how he made her skin crawl. But his suit was torn, his shirt filthy, his face bloody. She’d been right to be worried.
“Casaria? Are you okay?” she asked loudly, pacing across the office.
He waved a hand dismissively, purposefully ignoring her as he approached the secretary. Tori shot Sam a worried look, no doubt intending to buzz Mathers immediately. Sam shook her head, making Tori squirm.
“Agent Casaria,” Tori stuttered, “are – are you hurt?”
“I expect you heard what I went through on Sunday?” Casaria said, nonchalantly. “It’s nothing, but I’m taking some time, of course. I just needed to check something.”
“You were suspended, I can’t...” Tori said.
“He was missing,” Sam said, surely the more pressing matter than his employment status. There was no way his condition was caused entirely by the events in his reports; he’d been in more trouble since Sunday, for sure.
“Yeah.” Casaria winked at Tori. “So, I need the new security codes, I left something downstairs.”
Reminded of his arrogant manner, Sam sensed the sympathy she’d felt for him dissolving. She moved closer, hissing, “Where have you been?”
He leant around Tori’s desk and lowered his voice. “Miss me?”
“I’ll get Deputy Director Mathers,” Tori decided, fumbling for the phone.
“No,” Sam said. “I’ve been looking for him. I’ll take care of it, and report to the deputy director myself.” Tori regarded her sceptically, but Sam kept her eyes on Casaria, in case he disappeared again. He was still smiling. “Agent Casaria’s input directly affects the work we’re doing in IS.”
That worked – the smile skipped like a hiccup.
“We’ll use my office,” Sam said, but paused. She checked him over again, realising they had an excuse for greater privacy. “Unless you need to go to Medical first?”
Casaria looked at his own bloodstained clothing, then the bullpen, and came to the same conclusion. “You know, that’s a great idea.”
4
Rolarn hadn’t taken his eyes off the humans, and the longer Letty watched him the stranger she thought it was. The guy wasn’t interested in a game of cards, or shooting the shit, or anything, it seemed, other than staring like a creep. The humans felt it, too; whenever one of them looked his way it was with the uncomfortable awareness of having a nasty spider on the wall, hoping someone else would remove it. There’d been no hint of Lightgate coming back, and Letty was getting tense thinking about her other plans when a visitor arrived.
Rolarn suddenly stirred from the counter like a dog sniffing the air. He lifted off without explanation and flew to the escalator. The Bartons went quiet, watching him, and, after a moment of surprise, Letty launched after him, calling out, “What’re you doing, lardo?”
“Wait here,” he said, continuing up to the next floor.
Like hell. Letty followed Rolarn up to find a man near the top of the escalator; a thin Fae in a grey suit, waistcoat, tie and all. Before Rolarn could greet him, Letty shot ahead and demanded, “Who the shit are you, Lightgate’s accountant?”
“Letty, is that you?” the man said, with surprise. “I was hoping to meet you.”
She slowed down; he didn’t look like an exile. Not in those threads, with that educated accent. He adjusted his little glasses and offered her a smile, holding out a hand. Letty looked at it like it might kill her.
Rolarn said, “You alone?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to waste time, not once I heard – well, how everything’s going.”
“How what’s going?” Letty said, accusingly. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Edwing,” the man said, lowering his hand. “You weren’t expecting me?”
Rolarn answered, “I was. You’re here to see the humans?”
Edwing gummed his lips for a second, in anticipation, a glance down the escalators. “They’re down there?”
“You’re some FTC toff?” Letty demanded. “What are the humans to you?”
Edwing eyed her warily. “I’m here on Lightgate’s invitation. You are aware of the messages Lightgate relayed to the FTC?”
“You think this is my fucking aware face?” Letty advanced on him.
Rolarn gave her a fierce look. “This doesn’t concern you –”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You and Lightgate are bringing FTC pricks in here to gawk at my humans and it doesn’t concern me? You want your own fist rammed down your throat, Rolarn?”
The heavyset Fae swelled, ready to bite back, but Edwing intervened. “Sorry – I’m getting in the middle of something here. But we’re on the same side, Letty.”
>
“That’d be why you’re tiptoeing around?”
“I’m on the FTC Council,” Edwing said, like that explained everything. Letty’s scowl didn’t shift. This was where Lightgate had gone? Rustling up a shit-heel from the FTC?
Letty said, “If you’ve sold me out to Val –”
“No,” Edwing said, insistently, “quite the opposite. Many of us in the FTC fully sympathise with your intentions, Letty – creating dialogues about the viability of relocation and the Sunken City, human interaction – long-buried issues. But it would be political suicide to publicly suggest such things without a very convincing argument. I understand the Dispenser has slipped away from us again – but your humans present other opportunities. If I can see them…”
“My humans,” Letty said, “are not fucking zoo animals. What’re they to you?”
“Lightgate presented various ideas,” Edwing ventured carefully.
“Which ought to stay between you and Lightgate,” Rolarn said.
“No, he’d best keep damn talking,” Letty snarled.
Rolarn’s shotgun swung her way, his expression warning her off. “We’ll talk. Once he’s gone.”
The two Fae squared off in tense silence, neither blinking.
Edwing looked from Rolarn to Letty hesitantly, deciding who was the more dangerous. “Yes, I think you had best talk yourselves. I’ve seen enough. The general sentiment is that Lightgate’s not there yet. This rather confirms it.”
“Not there yet?” Rolarn growled. “We’ve got a damn Ministry agent and Citizen Barton himself. What’s not ready?”
Edwing adjusted his glasses. Fair play to him; for a frail-looking suit he kept his composure. “You have components, not a cohesive whole. This” – he gestured to Letty, indicating the confusion between them – “is clear enough. Tell Lightgate I’ll be in touch.”
Rolarn glared at him angrily. A more extrovert Fae might have railed at Edwing with righteous vitriol about whatever they were scheming. He only nodded towards the exit. “Get, then.”
The Sunken City Trilogy Page 55
