Hunting November

by Adriana Mather

  “I need you to listen to me,” he says, his voice demanding my attention. “Whatever happened here happened not long ago.”

  I stare at him, trying to take meaning from what he’s saying, but all I can think about is the blood splatter in the living room.

  “Which means that we may not have very much time here,” he continues, and his look is hard and serious, not soft and comforting like a non-Strategia’s would be. “The Lions will be coming back to scrub this place clean and go through your father’s things. This is our only chance to search the apartment ourselves and we need your help. You’re the only one who would know if your dad left you something.”

  The instant Ash suggests it, some of the emotional fog clears.

  “Right,” I say, my voice tight. “I understand.”

  Ash steps out of my way after giving me an assessing look and we move back into the living room.

  Ines is bending down near the floor, inspecting a few drops of blood on the wood. “I would say this happened no more than an hour ago,” she says. “The blood is still fresh.”

  “No wonder Jag gave that speech,” Aarya says, walking around the room, taking in all of the toppled furniture. “The Ferryman was probably en route as he spoke.” She turns from one side to the next and chops her hand in the air, like she’s simulating the altercation. “If I had to guess, though, the Ferryman wasn’t alone. I would say that there were three or four people in this fight, based on the wreckage and the locations of the blood.”

  Ines nods her agreement.

  I walk through the living room, fighting the urge to break down, and scour it for anything that might be personal or that my dad might have left for me to find. There are a coffee table and a couch with a charcoal-gray throw in front of a fireplace, two overturned chairs and a broken table next to the window, and a bookshelf with books scattered on the floor. The problem is that everything in the room is bland; there’s nothing that reminds me of Pembrook or that feels personal in any way.

  Aarya and Ines systematically inspect the apartment, flipping through the pages of the books and checking the kitchen drawers for false bottoms. Ash stands by the window, peering beyond the curtains down the street. I can only assume he’s keeping watch for Lion assassins.

  “Anything?” he asks after a couple of minutes.

  “A big fat nothing,” Aarya says, and I nod in agreement.

  “I’m going to check the bedroom,” I say as I move toward it, remembering the day at my house when I was certain Ash wouldn’t find anything in there. And to my surprise, Ines follows me in.

  “How can I help?” she says.

  “The quilt,” I say. “At my house there was a message in one of the seams.”

  And she immediately goes to work. I pick up my dad’s duffel bag. Plaid blanket, plaid duffel bag—it feels like an obvious association. Plus, no one but me would know that we have matching bags.

  I go over the outside of the duffel bag with my fingers, checking the seams and the fabric for any possible bumps, but find nothing. I open the bag and it’s empty, with only the faintest whiff of my dad’s peppermint aftershave remaining. I press my lips together and shake my head, forcing myself to focus. And then I see it—inside the side pocket is my dad’s favorite whittling knife with the handle shaped like a wolf.

  I pull it out and flip it open, but there’s nothing there but the blade. My heart sinks—what if he didn’t have time to leave me a message? I slip the blade into my boot, unwilling to leave it behind for the Lions to find, and I move to the armoire. I pull the doors open and inside hang simple black and dark gray clothes, exactly what you would expect from a Strategia wardrobe. I flip through the shirts and pants, running my hands over the pockets and the cuffs, looking for anything that might be out of place.

  I pull the last pair of pants aside and on the final hanger is my dad’s gray wool scarf—actually two of my dad’s gray wool scarves. I frown. He’s worn this scarf through my entire childhood and now I come to find out that it’s not even special—there are two. I grab the fabric of the first one, running my fingers along it. At the very bottom is a frayed edge. I instantly have a flashback to the game my mom used to play with me—the one where she would make me distinguish between two seemingly identical objects.

  “November?” Ines says, now staring at me.

  “I think”—my throat is suddenly parched—“this is my mom’s.” I pull it off the hanger, holding it close to my body. “I just don’t know why it would be…” I stop, my fingers finding the tag and a small bump inside the fabric.

  I separate the tag fabric and sure enough, folded inside is a small piece of paper with my dad’s handwriting.

  “Got it!” I say, and Ines smiles.

  She quickly folds the blanket exactly as it was when we came in. I wrap my mom’s scarf around my neck and slip the note in my pocket. I close the armoire doors and zip the duffel bag, placing it where I found it. In a flash we’re all out the door, down the stairs, and walking to the car.

  I stick my hand in my pocket to text Layla.

  Me: Dad captured. Found note.

  We jump in the car and Ash pulls away from the curb.

  “Okay, let’s hear it,” Aarya says from the backseat.

  I take the small piece of paper out of my pocket, unfolding it. Unlike the other notes where the handwriting is neat, this one appears to have been written quickly. Did my dad know he was in trouble when he wrote it?

  I read aloud:

  The tall bouncer at the pub also guards the Lion estate. He goes there directly after his shift at 2 a.m. I love you, my sweet girl.

  I stare at the last line. While I know it’s not the important part of the message, I read it over and over, swallowing back the emotion that threatens to come.

  Aarya whistles. “I don’t know whether this is cause for celebration or the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “The Lion estate,” I say. “That’s Jag’s house, right?”

  “Yes,” Ash says, stopping at a light. “But a Family estate is more than a house. A number of Family members live there in addition to the head family, guards, and staff. The properties are large, with meeting rooms, a great hall, and a dungeon.”

  My heart races. A dungeon. “And the Lion estate is where you think the Ferryman took my dad?” I ask.

  “Without a doubt,” Aarya says. “But a Family estate isn’t just something you sneak into. We could spend weeks planning to break into one with a large crew and it still might not be enough time to do it properly.”

  I nod. “I don’t expect you to come with—”

  “I’m coming,” Ines says, and I turn to her in surprise. “It’s half past midnight. If we head to the pub now, we’ll arrive in time to track that bouncer.”

  “You want to go tonight?” Aarya says in disbelief, staring at Ines like she’s completely lost it. “You’re not even giving us one day to think this through? We might as well just hand ourselves over to Jag.”

  “Do as you wish,” Ines says. “But please don’t distract us. Every minute here counts.”

  Aarya’s mouth drops open, but Ines doesn’t seem put off in the least.

  “Where’s this pub?” I ask.

  “The London Market,” Ash says, and I can hear by the tightness in his voice that it’s not a good thing.

  “So central London?” I say.

  “Under,” Ash says.

  I stare at him. “Under what?”

  “Under central London,” Ash says, and I instantly understand Aarya’s objection. “It’s a Strategia market in the middle of an underground labyrinth.”

  My stomach drops. “As in the only people in this market are Strategia?” I say. “And because this is London, those Strategia are disproportionately Lions?”

  “By golly, I think she’s got it,” Aarya say
s, clearly not happy with the situation.

  “The pub is called the Lions’ Den,” Ash says like it’s all the explanation that’s necessary. He hits the gas pedal. “We’re going to need more weapons.”

  I immediately text Layla.

  ASH, AARYA, INES, and I move through Aarya’s apartment, quickly stocking weapons and assessing the ones we have for easy access. I stash my dad’s whittling knife and my mom’s scarf in my duffel bag for safekeeping and triple-check the position of my favorite boot dagger.

  I step into the bathroom and pull out my phone.

  Layla: When you go underground you’ll lose reception. I’ll take my own route down and follow you once you locate the bouncer.

  Me: Ash thinks he and Aarya are recognizable. So Ines and I will track the bouncer and they’ll wait near the edge of the Market. Hoping you know what that means so you don’t accidentally run into them.

  Layla: Understood.

  I flush the toilet and slip out of the bathroom, joining my friends in the living room.

  Ash stands over the coffee table tying small burlap pouches. He hands one to each of us. “There are ten darts in each, predipped in Angels’ Dream,” he says.

  Aarya pulls out something wrapped in linen from her bag. “Here,” she says, unfolding the fabric and handing me a wooden blowpipe. “I know Ash gave you his spare, but this one is much better.”

  I take the blowpipe, tucking it into my coat pocket. “Thanks, Aarya,” I say, and Ash looks like he’s not entirely comfortable with the gesture.

  “Also,” Aarya says, “about the lightning poison…”

  Ash’s eyebrows rise, as if he knew something like this was coming.

  “Do we really think it’s a good idea for November to have both of those darts?” Aarya shifts her gaze to me. “What if you get incapacitated? It’s just poor logic.”

  “Let me guess,” Ash says, like he’s gearing up to argue. “You think you should have one of them?”

  “Not me,” Aarya replies with feigned innocence. “And not you, either, since we all know that if November gets taken out, you’re likely to be right behind her doing some inadvisable thing to save her life. I just don’t think we should take any chances, considering we only have two darts of the lightning poison, which is why I’m suggesting we give one to Ines.”

  Ash looks at her suspiciously.

  “I actually agree,” I say, responding before he can. I know Ash doesn’t trust Aarya, but Ines is a different story. “It’s too risky to have both darts in the same place. We need a contingency plan.” I pull one of the small glass vials out of my coat pocket and hand it to Ines.

  “Great,” Aarya says, but from the look on Ash’s face, it’s clear he doesn’t agree.

  “Is there anything else I need to know about the Market?” I ask, putting on my coat.

  “Just keep your hood up and stare ahead confidently. Strategia can smell weakness,” Ash says, pulling on his gloves. “The good news is that no one in the Market is particularly trying to attract attention; most people are conducting business or restocking supplies and don’t appreciate others being overly watchful.”

  And just like that the conversation is over and we’re headed for the door. With every step my thoughts race with hopes that my dad is okay and fears that he’s not. Hang on, Dad; we’re coming.

  * * *

  Ash and Aarya lead the way into a narrow cobblestoned alley that runs between a fancy Italian restaurant and a bookstore with colorful window displays. Even though the lights on the main street are bright, the farther we go down the alley, the darker it gets.

  Me: Almost to Market.

  Near the end of the alley, Aarya stops in front of an old wooden door and pulls a set of lock-picking tools out of her jacket. There’s a faint click and it swings open. We all slip quietly inside. Ash takes a fast survey of the alley and closes the door behind us.

  For a second we’re in complete darkness. Then a match strikes and lights Aarya’s face up like a spotlight. She moves the flame toward the wall, illuminating two oil lamps, and pulls one down to light the wick inside.

  Instantly the room brightens, revealing bookshelves of boxes and merchandise that suggest we’re in the storage room of the bookstore. Aarya leads us to the back wall, which I can now see is paneled entirely in dark wood, with electric sconces.

  Aarya presses a piece of decorative metal on the side of a sconce and one of the wall panels swings open, revealing a door. Secret doors, secret pubs, coded messages in books at the library, private Gothic inns—it’s like finding out that all of your childhood suspicions that you could step through your closet into another world are turning out to be true.

  Aarya pulls the panel fully open and Ash walks through, offering me his hand. I intertwine my fingers with his and join him on a stone staircase. The steps are worn unevenly, reminiscent of the ones in the Academy. Above our heads the stone arches, and I can’t see very far in front of me. The temperature reminds me of a cave, which Dad always claimed stays pretty consistently around fifty degrees no matter the season.

  Ash and I stop at the bottom of the staircase and the oil lamp Aarya carries illuminates a portion of the straight stone passageway. I turn in both directions, but there doesn’t seem to be a distinguishable difference.

  “The labyrinth,” Ash whispers near my ear, and I swallow.

  I eye the passage warily as we follow Aarya down it and through a doorway into a large rectangular stone room. I look at Ash for an explanation.

  “A medieval apartment,” Ash whispers, and points. “You can tell by the hearth in the wall.”

  My eyes widen. “People lived underground?” I say, and even though I’m not cold, the hair on my arms stands up.

  He shakes his head. “This wasn’t always underground. In fact the passageway we just came from used to be a street. And this was a ground-floor apartment. Over time this city has changed dramatically, and in an effort to level out some of the streets, parts of the buildings, markets, and houses got cut off and paved over. Sections of the city just got trapped down here.”

  I shudder at the spookiness of it all. And in the way that darkness can sometimes invite gruesome thoughts, I immediately picture someone afflicted with the plague being attended to by a doctor with one of those ghoulish beaked masks.

  We exit through the far end of the room and find ourselves on another underground street. We zigzag like that for the next fifteen minutes or so. And even though I’m not scared of the dark, I feel the impulse to scrutinize shadows and corners for monsters. I can’t imagine the nerve it would take to navigate this alone with nothing more than an oil lamp.

  Then, suddenly, we come to a stone door and Ines leans back, using her body weight to push against it. We follow her through and Ash pulls it shut behind us. They’ve silenced their steps and I do the same. Unlike the small homes, streets, and shops that we’ve been moving through, we’re now in what appears to be an endless room of high-ceilinged arches and stone columns.

  Ash whispers next to my ear. “Catacombs of an old church.”

  As pretty as the stonework is, the idea that we’re walking over people’s graves is giving me the willies.

  Aarya stops by a seemingly solid wall, which I know by now should not be taken for granted, and frowns at me. “Get yourself together, November. We’re about to enter the outskirts of the Market and I swear you look like you just got chased by a mummy.”

  I close my eyes for a couple of seconds, focusing on all the places I’m holding tension. When I open them again, Ash nods his approval.

  Ines glances at each of us, almost like she’s wishing us good luck. “In omnia paratus,” she says, which I think roughly means “ready for anything,” and presses hard on a stone in the wall about the height of her shoulder. Sure enough, another secret door opens, this one with jagged edges formed
by the outline of the stones.

  Aarya turns off the oil lamp, casting us into near darkness, and leaves the lamp in the catacomb. She’s the first one through the door with Ines by her side, and Ash and me right on their heels. Ash clicks the door shut in one fluid motion.

  Aarya and Ines don’t speed-walk, but they do keep a brisk pace. And they’ve dropped the casual demeanor they were using on the surface streets of London for more deliberate movements and a focused stare. Next to me Ash wears the same look he did when I first met him—penetrating eyes with a dash of bravado. I lift my chest and neutralize my own expression, pulling my hood down a little farther to shadow my face in the dim torchlight.

  The first turn we take, the streets are eerily empty. However, the farther along we get, the more I hear the buzzing of conversation and the promise of a crowd. As we turn a second corner, Ash reaches out, squeezing my fingers. He meets my eyes momentarily, giving me an encouraging nod; then he and Aarya break off from our group. My stomach churns uneasily the farther away he gets.

  Ines walks by my side as we turn away from our friends and emerge through an archway into a big courtyard made of stone. The ceiling looms high above us in a series of domed arches, and the courtyard is bustling with vendors and shoppers from all over the world. Wooden stalls display everything from rare daggers to deadly poisons. And shop windows are lit with oil lamps and candelabras. It’s the medieval assassin’s version of my town square.

  I concentrate on keeping my face unreadable, but everywhere I look there’s a potential threat. I move with purpose like Ash suggested, but even so, I fear that every Strategia we pass knows I don’t belong here.

  Our pace doesn’t slow as we weave through the busy central square and onto a cobblestoned side street that’s much broader than the ones we were previously navigating. It’s well lit with torches and oil lamps and is an Old World version of the lively London streets aboveground. We pass several restaurants and an antique sword dealer before stopping in front of a pub.

  Ines pushes the door open and I quickly scan the room. It’s exactly what I think of when I picture a tavern—cozy and boisterous, with a handful of wooden tables and a lively bar. The place is sparsely lit by torches, which works to our advantage because of the shadows they cast. I immediately head for a small table in the corner near the window that doesn’t leave us exposed to the other customers, careful to avoid eye contact with anyone as I pass.