Forged

by Benedict Jacka

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’m not.”

  “I know that’s how it looks to you,” Luna said. “But think about how it looks to her. You saved her from those gunmen at Archway, you rescued her from Vitus’s shadow realm, you rescued her again from Sagash’s shadow realm, you got her away from Lightbringer and Zilean . . . you get the idea? Every time she’s been in real trouble, you’ve been there to save the day, either by outsmarting the people who get in your way or by flat-out killing them. I know Anne’s got more raw power but she can’t do what you do. Light Anne likes that because she feels that when she’s with you, instead of having to take care of everyone else, she gets to be the one taken care of for a change. And Dark Anne likes that because strength is the only thing she’s got any respect for.”

  “Okay, look,” I said. “Whether I agree or not, how is this going to help?”

  “You’re thinking that it doesn’t matter if Dark Anne’s evil, she still cares about you,” Luna said. “She does, but not in the way you think. She’s going to push you to see what she can get away with, and she’s going to keep pushing, and being nice to her is just going to make things worse. It won’t matter that the jinn’s not in charge.”

  I looked down at Luna. She looked back up at me, leaning on the railing, her gaze clear and serious. “You’re not just worried about me, are you?”

  “If Anne does go ahead with this recruiting spree, I don’t think she’s going to want strangers.”

  “I’ll do what I can to step on it,” I said. “But right now the Council comes first.”

  “It’s not the Council I’m worried about.”

  I watched Luna walk away, disappearing into the blue-white light of the palace, before turning away to open a doorway back into my own dreams. Between my arm, Anne, and the Council, there were a lot of clocks running. I wished I knew which was going to run down first.

  chapter 6

  When you’re hitting a stationary target, there’s always a trade-off between time and preparation. If you’re willing, you can spend weeks staking out a place, working out your attack plan. The more information you can gather, the more you’ll know what you’re getting into, and the more prepared you’ll be.

  The other option is to wing it, which usually involves brute force. Back when I was a Keeper, I’d noticed that elemental mages had a tendency to just throw up a shield and kick in the door. It seemed to work for them, but I’d always preferred to lean towards the planning end of the scale. The way I saw it, I had a lot less safety margin than other mages, so the more risks I could control, the better.

  Things were different now. I had more power, less time, and was playing for much higher stakes. Still, I’d been given a little room to prepare, so I made the most of it.

  “Come on, make one!” Starbreeze said.

  “No.”

  “Come on.”

  “No.”

  “Come oooooon.”

  “No.”

  The inside of the van was cramped. I was sitting by the doors with my eyes closed. Cinder was at the other end, his bulk fitting awkwardly into the tight interior. And floating in the air above him was Starbreeze, looking like an elfin girl drawn in lines of vapour. I’d tried to explain what I’d need her to do, and she’d promptly ignored me and started bugging Cinder to make a flame for her.

  “A little one?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, a big one.”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  While Cinder was occupying Starbreeze, I was busy path-walking. It was one thirty p.m., which put us in the time window that Morden had suggested would be a good one for the attack. Some earlier divinations I’d done had given me tentative confirmation that some kind of fight might soon be going down elsewhere, and I’d been hoping to narrow the time down more precisely. Path-walking is quite a difficult use of divination, and you really want a quiet, secluded location to do it from. Still, I had the fateweaver to help stabilise the thread, and I’m very good at what I do. I could probably manage it even with a few distractions.

  “Can you do colours?”

  “No.”

  “I could help.”

  No answer.

  “Ooh!” Starbreeze said. “What if I guess the colour?”

  The immediate futures flickered with various possibilities of Cinder attempting to murder Starbreeze. It disrupted the thread I’d been trying to follow, which promptly vanished. I sighed inwardly. Maybe I was being optimistic.

  “Red!”

  “No.”

  “Orange!”

  “No.”

  “Blue.”

  “No.”

  “Orange.”

  Cinder glowered at her. “You just said orange.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . .” Cinder seemed to realise what he was doing and shut his mouth.

  “Oh,” Starbreeze said. “What were we talking about?”

  “Starbreeze,” I interrupted before Cinder could do anything. “Could you check to see if anyone’s watching?”

  “Okay!” Starbreeze said brightly. She zipped out under the van doors in a puff of air.

  Cinder closed his eyes and brought his head back against the side of the van with a thunk that made it sway on its tyres. “Jesus.”

  “She takes a while to get used to.”

  “Used to wonder why you didn’t use that elemental more.” Cinder opened his eyes and glared at me. “Now I know.”

  I took a second to path-walk again and this time got the result I was looking for. “Okay,” I said. “Far as I can tell, the Council are going to get an incoming attack in about thirty to forty minutes. Should do a lot to cut down their response time.”

  “Drakh?” Cinder asked.

  I nodded.

  “Where?”

  “Not sure.”

  Cinder gave me a look. “Not sure?”

  “I’m looking ahead to see what’ll happen if I get in touch with people on the Council,” I said. “It’s easy to see the point where they suddenly stop picking up their phones. Detail is harder.”

  Cinder grunted. “How long for?”

  “Not sure about that either.”

  “Seems like you say that a lot.”

  “Like I said. If things really go to hell, I’m not going to have an issue if you just gate out.”

  “Hm. We going?”

  I nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  I’d parked us just off Bishopsgate, the big A-road that runs from north to south through the Liverpool Street financial district. It was a warm sunny Friday and the area was crowded, men and women in business suits mingling with travellers and service workers. Both new and old skyscrapers rose up all around, with Heron Tower just visible over the nearby building, tallest of all. A little way to the north, hidden behind a city block, was Liverpool Street mainline station. If things got messy and Starbreeze wasn’t able to get me out, that was my backup plan for shaking pursuit. Glancing at the front of the van as I climbed out, I saw that in the brief time that we’d been stopped, it had picked up a parking ticket. The van’s owner was not going to be happy.

  Cinder clambered out behind, the van lifting noticeably with the loss of his weight, then reached inside and took out a pair of big plastic toolboxes, handing one to me. I took it and had to shift my stance—it was heavier than Cinder had made it look—then we turned and started walking.

  Cinder and I were both dressed in orange fluorescent worker’s overalls, with silver reflective stripes. They’re the most garish outfits you could imagine, but oddly enough, they made us blend right in. Central London is usually filled with construction work, and Bishopsgate was no exception—there were new skyscrapers going up on
both sides of Heron Tower, and nearly one man in ten was wearing gear like ours. No one spared us a second glance as we walked towards the building.

  Heron Tower is shining steel and glass, lines of white lights running along each floor, bright enough to be visible even in the daytime. Bright metal zigzagged from above our heads up and up through dozens of stories until the top blocks were so small you had to squint. The right corner of the skyscraper had a pair of lifts that were visible through the grid of glass panes, rising and falling in plain view from the outside. The side entrances had a bar and a sushi restaurant.

  The inside lobby was quieter. Security gates to the right led to a set of escalators, and there was a gigantic aquarium in the lobby centre. A tall security guard with a neat salt-and-pepper beard stood to the left, and I could feel his eyes settle on us as soon as we walked in. I headed for the reception desk before he could intercept us.

  There were three receptionists behind the desk, and I’d already picked out my target. She was blond and in her thirties, holding an iPad, pretty with lots of makeup that almost hid the crow’s-feet at her eyes. Her smile slipped a little as she saw us approaching, and I could see her sizing us up. Construction workers, therefore not rich or important. Conclusion: shoo away. She waited as we walked up to her and—

  —my future self reached forward and plucked the tablet out of her hands. She tried to protest but I held up a hand while I looked at the tablet. It was still unlocked and I opened up the list that said Appointments and started scrolling through. The security guard moved in but Cinder blocked him; both the guard and the receptionist were speaking angrily but I was focused on the appointments list. Anglo-American . . . no. GlaxoSmithKline . . . no. Lloyds Banking Group . . . no way we could pass for that. Murphy . . . maybe, but the appointment was for four. The security guard tried to deal with Cinder physically. Bad idea. He went down hard; the receptionist hit an alarm and backed away; other security guards were hurrying from the other side of the room; Cinder shot me an irritated comment. A company name caught my eye: EDF Energy. Two people. I scanned the names, checked the time, let the future collapse—

  —and I was back in the present. The lobby was quiet except for the murmur of conversation and the noise of the escalators. The receptionist was looking at us, the tablet in her hands.

  “Hi,” I said. “We’re from EDF. Looking for Keith Adams from Salesforce?”

  The receptionist eyed me doubtfully. “Do you have an appointment?”

  I nodded at the tablet. “EDF Energy.”

  The receptionist checked the tablet. “Can I have your name please?”

  “Radu Todoca.”

  “You’re a bit early . . .”

  “Our job window’s twelve to three.”

  “It just says three here,” the receptionist said, but she’d lost interest. My name matching the one on her tablet had removed any suspicion. She handed me a clipboard. “Can both of you fill in your name, company, and time entered. Also, we need a mobile number so we can contact you while you’re in the building.”

  I took the clipboard and started filling in the form. The security guy had wandered up, apparently friendly. “Hello there, sir,” he said. “What were your names again?”

  “Radu. And this is Bogdan.”

  “Oh, really? From Poland?”

  “Romania.”

  “Romania! That’s great. What are you here for?”

  I handed the clipboard to Cinder; he took it and started to fill in the blanks in silence. “Need to check the power for the twenty-third floor,” I said. “Health and Safety.”

  “If it’s the power, shouldn’t you be going to the basement?”

  I shrugged. “Work order says twenty-third.”

  “I’ve sent a message to Keith Adams,” the receptionist said. She handed us two badges. “I’ve scanned you through the security gate. Make sure to wear these at all times inside the building.”

  “Okay.” I took the badges, handed one to Cinder, gave the security guard a nod, then turned and headed for the gates. Cinder followed. No one stopped us as we walked through the security gates, took the escalators to the mezzanine floor, waited for a lift, and stepped inside. I hit the button for the twenty-third floor and the doors hissed shut, leaving us alone.

  “You are shit at passing for an electrician,” Cinder said.

  “I got us in, didn’t I?”

  The lift hummed as it rose. Gravity pressed down on us as the lift climbed past the lower floors and into the glass elevator shaft I’d seen from the outside. Through the clear windows we could see the street and shops and pavement below, shrinking quickly.

  “That guard had you made.”

  “He’s a security guard,” I said, keeping an eye on the numbers above the lift door. We were going up fast. “Being suspicious is his job.”

  “You sounded like an American doing a Cockney accent.”

  “Oh, come on. I wasn’t that bad.”

  “Yeah, you were.”

  “My dad was a university professor. I’m never going to make a convincing construction worker.”

  “You sound like a posh twat.”

  “You think anyone with an RP accent sounds like a posh twat.”

  “’Cause they are.”

  The lift slowed and stopped with a ding, the doors sliding open to reveal two women and a man in business dress. I held up a hand. “Sorry. Maintenance.”

  They stared in confusion. I hit the Close button, followed by the top floor. The doors slid shut and we started rising again. “Okay,” I said. “Once I get off, head down to the basement and find a place to hole up. I’ll get in touch with you once it’s time to cut the power.”

  “Use your phone,” Cinder said.

  “Mind-to-mind is quicker.”

  “Yeah, and it’s creepy as shit,” Cinder said. “Phone.”

  I sighed. “Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of picky?”

  The lift reached the top floor and I stepped out. Behind me, Cinder pushed the button to the basement; the doors closed and he disappeared from sight. Above the control panel, I saw the numbers counting down.

  The clock was ticking now. Our cover story had gotten us inside, but the longer we stayed, the better the chance someone would figure out that we weren’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t worried about building security or police, but I was worried that Levistus might have a communications tap, or that the Council might pick up on an alert. The first thing I did was strip off my overalls and bundle them into a nearby closet. One nice thing about overalls: they’re so ill-fitting, people don’t notice when you’re wearing armour underneath. The set I was wearing was an imbued item of reactive mesh with solid black plates covering vital areas. It had been badly damaged when I’d taken the fateweaver, and it was only within the last couple of days that it had recovered enough that I felt comfortable wearing it. I could feel its presence around me, watchful and protective. Time to get to work.

  The top of Heron Tower was a windswept jumble of smaller structures, crowded with ventilators, railings, and stored equipment. The data centre was a smaller sub-tower that reached up above the roof, its top a forest of aerials. For now, my goal was the longer, squatter structure on the tower’s east side which held the tower’s backup power systems. A few flights of stairs and some work with my lockpicks got me into the power room, which unsurprisingly was deserted. The generators stood against one wall, silent and unguarded.

  Divination is powerful, but it has limits. The further ahead you look, and the more decisions you try to map through, the harder it becomes to follow a possible thread. Looking ahead to see what would happen if I left the van and got past the security guards at Heron Tower and made it all the way up to the top floor and bypassed all the other security measures and waited for Cinder to cut the power in the basement had been too difficult. Now that we were both in positi
on, it was a different story. I took out my phone and called Cinder; he picked up on the second ring. “Yeah?”

  “Get ready to cut the power. Don’t go without my signal.”

  “Sure.”

  And with that, I was ready. I looked ahead to see what would happen if I crossed the roof of Heron Tower, approached the data centre, and tried to force my way in. My future self felt a low-pitched, vibrating crump as the bomb went off, destroying everything of value inside. But if I cut the backup power, called down to Cinder to cut the main power, then crossed the roof to the data centre and forced the door open, then—

  Crump.

  Uh-oh.

  “Hold on,” I told Cinder. I looked ahead to see what would happen if I tried a different way in. Crump. Call Starbreeze and have her give me a lift? Crump. Gating, picking the lock on the door, breaking a window . . .

  Crump, crump, crump.

  Shit.

  I tried every route I could see and got the same result. Damn it, I was sure the defences were electrically powered. Now that I was this close, I could sense the gate wards on the data centre with my magesight, and they were far too weak to do any heavy lifting on their own. The place had to be running off mains. Why wasn’t cutting the power working?

  Battery backups? If it was that, there might be some sort of delay before the cut-in that I could exploit. I tried searching for one . . . nope.

  I checked the time. Fifteen minutes until Richard’s attack was due to start.

  “We going or not?” Cinder said.

  “Hold on,” I said. The problem was that I didn’t have any information to work with. Any attempt to get inside the building was setting off the bomb, and once it had gone off, the inside was too much of a wreck to learn anything more. If there was some future where the bomb didn’t go off, I could strengthen it with the fateweaver, but I wasn’t seeing one. I might be able to find one if I kept looking . . . but I had no idea how long that could take.

  Time to go with plan B.

  When Cinder had been telling me not to use mind-to-mind, he’d been referring to my dreamstone. It’s a shard of amethyst-coloured crystal that I picked up and bonded with years ago and which gives me the ability to step between our world and Elsewhere. Its core ability, though, was mental communication. It’s easiest with someone you know well, but with practice, you can do it with people you’ve never met.