Ward squinted, committing the location to memory. As they drew up to the two vehicles, her focus further intensified, as if she was trying to think of how to word something just right.
“Take a breath,” Pax said, “before you have a heart attack.”
“Okay.” Ward actually did take a deep, centring breath and released it, like she had had training. “The Fae – this is a big step for us, that’s all. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Pax said. “Like your mouth-breathing boss said, it might end up getting us killed.”
Ward shook her head. “That’s typical Ministry prejudice.” She paused, considering that. “He is a bit difficult. Was there anything you wanted to say? Away from him?”
“No. I would’ve asked him to his face what the hell he’s keeping back from us, but it didn’t seem the time,” Pax said, strapping on the bike helmet. “But that black spot shit was weird. Gives me the same uncomfortable feeling as the Fae.”
“Keeping something back, like, about novisan and the tunnels? Barton suggested the system itself might pool energy, which our equipment is starting to confirm. And – we haven’t even discussed this business with Duvcorp. If there’s unchecked people in the tunnels” – Ward gasped in sudden realisation – “what if it’s them?”
Pax paused, considering Tycho’s nonchalance at the Baudelaire Club, the way he’d been, at least initially, dismissive of Ordshaw’s problems. Paired with her blundering comments that might have got him interested. “As it happens . . . I ran into someone from Duvcorp last night” – Pax hurried on as Ward’s face showed horror – “and I might’ve got them a bit curious, that’s my bad. But he said they were sceptical about Ordshaw’s weirdness.”
“But – they came after you?”
“Pure coincidence,” Pax insisted. “This was just talk at a poker table, no way they know anything about me – I brought it up. Look, it could be nothing – your boss didn’t seem too bothered about this intrusion.”
“No,” Ward said, taking care not to sound worried. “No . . . homeless people and kids creep in occasionally. Even when we’re fully staffed, it happens. But Casaria shouldn’t have been calling for backup for homeless people and kids.” Ward went quiet. Still trying to convince herself, she said, “Cano was unarmed, probably tired, if he was there all night.”
“Yeah? I’m surprised he’s back at work at all.”
“It’s fine,” Ward said, though clearly it wasn’t. Ah, Casaria, the foil for her happiness. “I can handle him. Half of success in any career is navigating other people’s idiosyncrasies. That’s all it is. And we need all the help we can get.” She emphasised that for Pax’s benefit.
“I’m doing what I can, aren’t I?” Pax replied.
Ward’s silence suggested she wanted more. She said, “All of this is in the air. Just when I thought we were resolving our scanning equipment, we get more unchecked activity. And those black spots?” She took a breath. “I’ll get the Bartons started, but we could look at a few locations later ourselves, today. Couldn’t we?”
“We’ll see how this goes,” Pax said, cautious of the snowflakes of responsibility that could soon form an avalanche. “Assuming the tunnels haven’t been overrun by something else by then. See you at the lido, okay?”
4
Biting back frustration that, of all people, Wayne Obrington had arrived as backup, Casaria led the overweight vulgarian through the St Alphege’s sewer. The man sported a superiority complex while wearing an off-the-shelf suit. His tapered head of hair had an awful, slick style that his expensive barber should have advised against. Everything he said seemed to come out snide, even his weighted comment that another agent was on the way to join them, someone to watch the exits. Like Casaria needed help.
Obrington barely fit through the access point, and bore no consideration for quiet as he plodded ahead with his torch. “I’ll give you marks for not wading in like a dunderhead, but I wouldn’t punish a little initiative.”
“I’m up for review,” Casaria replied, “for showing initiative.”
“You know that’s not the reason, don’t you?”
Casaria had accounted for himself to Sam Ward, he didn’t have to repeat it for this oaf. He pointed. “Down there. There was a body.”
“The scorpio you say was shot.”
“It was,” Casaria said, struggling to be cordial. Everything the man said sounded like an accusation. “I take it you’re armed?”
From a shoulder holster under his jacket, Obrington drew a small revolver, the sort carried by a ’70s TV detective on budget cuts. Casaria gave it the look it deserved.
“It’s the man that holds it, makes a difference,” Obrington told him. “Shall we?”
Casaria continued, leading him past the spot where the body had lain. There was now a blood trail. Obrington hesitated over the mess. Got your attention now? The criminals wouldn’t be far; he’d listened as they heaved the thing back through the tunnels, commenting about setting up in a bigger chamber.
“As far as your review’s concerned,” Obrington said, volume making Casaria cringe, “I don’t question your initiative. And I’ll defer to Ward for your character. You clearly have a way with the women.” Compared to this wart, Casaria supposed he did. “What I question is your integrity.”
Casaria stopped and Obrington almost bumped into him. “My integrity? I’ve done everything with honour.”
“Except for lying about how you lost your toe,” Obrington said. Sounding unhealthily sure of himself. “And your treatment of this Kuranes girl situation. Or, my biggest question, worth everything: how exactly a fellow agent died on your watch.”
Casaria didn’t flinch, showing the man he had nothing to hide. There was no way he could be held accountable for the massacre outside the Fae city, nor the deaths in Greek Street.
“Gant, wasn’t it?”
That stilled him. Landon’s partner? The amateur who’d risked getting them both killed? Why ask about that? They’d been alone – and he had no choice –
“Always an awkward thing,” Obrington said, “to lose someone in places like this, no cameras, no easy answers, just a stressed man’s word over what happened.”
Casaria looked from the pistol up to his face, the oaf’s eyes questioning. This bastard might be the sort that would do such a thing on purpose. Accidentally hurt a fellow agent. Was he threatening him? “Did you come here for these criminals, or to accuse me of something?”
Obrington answered, “You know who these people are, don’t you?”
“What? No – I saw them –”
The big man put a finger to his lips. “Hey. Let’s keep it quiet.”
Somewhere in his blank face was the hint of a smile. Enjoying this? Casaria forced himself not to lash out as Obrington continued, walking lighter now. He followed silently.
The blood came in occasional smears, grit on the ground streaked from the weight of the dragged body. It led to a short set of steps that ascended to a doorway filled with the white light of an electric lantern. Obrington slowed down as they crept closer. There was no sound ahead, no talking or movement. Casaria checked back the way they’d come, a long empty hallway, and he started as Obrington’s phone lit up. The boss whispered, “Warning Landon to be ready.”
Landon? That was their other backup? That fool, again?
Obrington pocketed the phone and lumbered on. Up the steps, into a wider room. Casaria crept after him, trying to see over his shoulder. It was another vaulted brick chamber, like a wine cellar. And it appeared empty, besides the big floor lamp and the carcass of the scorpio mites. Obrington strode in as Casaria followed. He turned quickly – too late.
The big thug stepped out of the shadow of a pillar, pistol aimed at his head, a block of grey menace with his stubbly chin and dusty clothes. The shorter one, a weaselly man in mechanic’s overalls, came from the other direction, a stubby shotgun trained on Obrington.
“Gun on the floor,�
�� the big one said. Bees, that was his name, wasn’t it?
Obrington held up his hands, turning lazily towards him. Casaria tensed, fists clenched. He should’ve killed the thugs when he first ran into them outside Pax’s apartment; men lingering around with guns, unchecked. And they’d just walked in on them, damn this oaf.
“Gentlemen,” Obrington started, unconcerned. “You’re aware you’re trespassing on government property? And threatening, I might add, Her Majesty’s agents.”
“We’re pretty well aware. As, I expect, you’re aware that Her Majesty’s agents bleed, and disappear, the same as anyone else.”
“Not these ones,” Obrington said. “Our men are tracking us. The exits to this tunnel system are covered. I suggest you come quietly.”
“Awful sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Bees said, moving around the room, keeping his distance. No way Casaria could jump him without taking a shot. But he might turn into it, take the bullet in a shoulder, how much damage could that do? Obrington might be killed, but that was his problem. “Serious business you’ve got here. With your secrets and your . . . infrastructure. What exactly is that thing?”
Obrington gave the monster’s body a bored glance. “Scorpio mites, looks like. Native to Ordshaw. You the mug that shot it? Lucky it was alone. Typically move in groups, isn’t that right, Agent Casaria?”
Casaria’s eyes were fixed on Bees. He’d pounce with a hair-trigger, the second that the brute took his eyes off –
“Casaria,” Obrington said. “Your thoughts on how this one got here alone?”
Casaria snapped out of it, glancing at the monster, while Bees’ eyes found him, genuinely curious. The criminal said, “You’re telling us there’s packs of them?”
“Of course,” Obrington replied. Why was he humouring these men? “We tend to cull wandering loners, but we’ve been understaffed the past few days –”
The shotgun went off. The sound tore through the room as brickwork burst from a far wall, the shorter thug folding over Obrington’s hefty shoe in his crotch, a kick out of nowhere. The same time, Obrington crouched, revolver firing at Bees. The criminal ducked aside, barely avoiding a bullet that sparked off the wall. Casaria dropped to the floor as the two men exchanged reckless gunfire. Each shot compounded the deafening echo.
Casaria scrambled for a pillar, and as he rolled around it a bullet struck the brick behind him, the criminal taking a potshot. He leant around the other side, finding Obrington taking cover behind a pillar of his own, as Vulcher wheezed on the floor.
The two men’s guns clicked empty at the same shot, both testing their triggers a few times for good measure. With a guttural roar, Bees tore out of cover and pounded towards Obrington. The latter, reloading the revolver, stood just before Bees struck. The revolver flew from his hand as the criminal caught him around the waist and slammed their combined weights into the wall. Vulcher scrambled towards the exit.
Casaria ran after him, and unthinkingly put his weight on his injured foot. Pain screamed through his leg, bringing him down. Damned hell it was supposed to be healed! The little criminal was away, feet pattering down the tunnel. On a knee, Casaria tried to push himself up, Obrington and Bees’ sloppy fight sounding in dull thumps and thuds. He lurched forward and supported himself on another pillar.
Bees had Obrington from behind, on the ground, his great arm squeezing the agent’s neck, turning his face purple. Casaria sprang towards them but stumbled again – useless fucking foot not carrying him. Obrington gargled, feet kicking, not going to make it. His hand grasped to the side.
The revolver was in the middle of the room. Casaria flung himself towards it and his fingers pushed it further away. The gun skidded towards Obrington as Bees squeezed harder, whispering into his ear, “It’s done, mate. It’s done.”
Brushing the metal of the revolver with his finger, Obrington made a final strained stretch. He caught the weapon and turned it up. It went off and the back of Bees’ head splattered over the wall beside them. His grip releasing, Obrington sat up, gasping for air. He shunted off the criminal, aiming the pistol back for good measure.
Casaria half-stood, looking from the thug’s body to the doorway, Vulcher long gone. Obrington lowered the gun, rapidly inhaling, and checked his glasses with his spare hand. Impossibly, they’d escaped damage. Without ceremony, he lumbered to his feet and stared at his adversary’s body.
Casaria breathed heavily, too, wanting to kick the slow, mouthy bastard who’d taken his toe. Lifeless now, a chunk of head missing. Animal bastard, ingrate, uncul –
Obrington patted him on the arm, hoarsely saying, “You can tell me how you know these prats while we round up that other tyke.”
Meeting the Bartons and Rufaizu at a site designated AGb-13, with an access point disguised as a transformer box behind a Tesco Express car park, Sam tried not to rush. Pax would wait, and she owed it to everyone to manage the current situation properly. The trio looked rested, even if Barton’s limp seemed to be bothering him more than before. It would be lighter work today, anyway. The entire point was visiting untouched locations, a long way from the horde; it should be safe for them to split up with two Duvcorp scanners.
Sam took them into the tunnel and asked Barton if he knew of the black spots they were investigating, but he said it was news to him. Rufaizu offered, “Empty pockets. Places no one and nothing wants to go. Should be sealed off, the Sect had some ideas about that. No good could come from them.”
“This Sect of Fore?” Sam said.
“The MEE of their day, I imagine,” Holly said. “Off in mythical Bohemia.”
“So you heard of something like this?” Sam pressed Rufaizu. “Untouched rooms?”
Rufaizu gave her a smiling look that suggested he did, but he slowly shook his head.
“He does that,” Holly said. “Can your Ministry substantiate any of his claims? This Gardossa city, for instance? I have so many questions.”
“I’ve got Support looking through the details,” Sam said. She had the same questions, and so far the answer was no. The Ministry had no evidence to support the young man’s anecdotes. Beyond the blue screens there was so much more to know. It started down here, with them, collecting data. She couldn’t wait to finally meet the Fae, but they needed to see the first black spot together, at least. To be sure it was safe. It would be quick – she’d be just behind Pax.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Sam took it out, hoping to see a message from Obrington informing her everything was under control. It was the office. Barton asked, “How does your phone work down here? We always had trouble with electronics.”
“Special issue,” Sam explained in a whisper, as their secretary, Tori, spoke.
“Ms Ward? I don’t like to bother you but this sounded serious –”
“They found the people in the tunnels?”
“Huh?”
“Obrington, Casaria.”
“Oh that – I don’t know, it’s not that. I got a call. Someone from Duvcorp. They wanted to speak to you, directly – to put you through to Tycho Duvalier.”
Sam was too dumbstruck, thankfully, to say, “The Tycho Duvalier?” As if there could be two.
“Ms Ward?”
“You have him on the line?”
“Not right now, I have a number –”
Sam’s mouth hung open without words. Duvalier, an international tycoon, chasing her for stolen property? Damn Obrington – damn all of this. She covered her phone to address the Bartons, worriedly recalling the scanners in their hands. “Wait here a minute, I’ve gotta make a call. Tori? Get them back.”
5
“At a time when Fae doubts Fae,” Edwing said, “I declare no more. I have spoken with the exile, Letty. Within our very city. We’re told she orchestrated the theft of the Dispenser. The slaughter of many humans. The sharing of Fae secrets. The same Letty who strove for nine years to reclaim the Dispenser – not to clear her name, but to complete the very task we’ve all forgotten? Her int
ention in contacting the human Apothel. Her intention in contacting the human Kuranes. She still believes. I do. Don’t you?”
He paused to give space for an answer, minutely correcting his posture. “The Waste Chief Smark came forward in Letty’s favour, for he recognises what we must all understand. Letty offers change. Hope for something beyond the Transitional City. Hope so many of us lost long ago. Hope that we can get along with the humans. Change is frightening. Risky. But it is necessary. We have seen the true worth of our position here, have we not? The city almost fell last Tuesday.”
Edwing paused again, using an adjustment of his glasses to let that sink in. “Governor Valoria Magnus warns us the humans are on our perimeter. She tells us they will not negotiate, that we cannot abide communication with them. She keeps them at bay. As your Chair of Information, I tell you it is not the human Ministry putting these barriers before us. Perhaps they won’t negotiate – with her. But Letty and her human connected with them – their diplomacy stopped the attack.
“Pax Kuranes, some of you know as a monster. I have spoken with her myself, and I tell you this conscientious human wants peace. She is the bridge we have always lacked. She protected Letty. She protected the Dispenser, and she has not exposed us. Even after our people tried to hurt her. She has opened a door which the governor claims does not – cannot – exist.
“This will be painful to hear. You may ask why I trust Pax Kuranes. You have been told that the humans will inevitably betray us. I do not expect to change your beliefs in an instant, but I ask you to give me a chance. I will meet with the Ministry myself to learn exactly what the humans can offer us. What we can offer them. Give me that chance. Give Letty a chance. Give humanity a chance.”
He lowered his head, affecting solemn reflection. When he raised his eyes again, his tone shifted, graver. “Many are angry for what happened to our city. Afraid. I do not fault the governor’s responses. But one of our own did the damage – one called Lightgate. To my shame, I met with her, too. Before it began. And as I go to speak with the humans, it is not their species I fear, but our own. Please – consider our future, as you seek vengeance and security. I appeal to Governor Valoria to address these issues publicly. We all deserve this opportunity for co-operation. The real monsters are those that would prevent it.”
The Sunken City Trilogy Page 80
