Yet today he watched the steam rising from his hot slice of roast and battered tubers and found himself unable to take more than a few mincing bites. On one level he was uneasy about Tiran’s fate—would they even know if something happened to her? Even worse was the impending task that lay before him and his companions. Zaq’s jaw clenched as he thought of breaking into one of the most carefully restricted hideouts of the Brotherhood late that night.
Burke didn’t seem to share his apprehension. He had heartily cleaned his plate of food and now sat gnawing a bone, his only expression contentment. In some ways Zaq envied Burke his ability to simply relax and enjoy his life no matter what other problems might be facing him. Life would be much more pleasant—not to mention easier—that way.
On the other hand, Shelle was frowning as she pushed chunks of her stewed lamb around her plate without tasting them. Zaq barely knew Shelle, but even he could see that she was not overjoyed at the prospect of deceiving her comrades tonight. She hardly spoke at all except to grunt at her brother’s cheerful observations about their luncheon. Zaq was silent as well. He could hardly talk about their planned raid openly in such a busy place, and nothing else sprang to mind.
Finally the luncheon plates were cleared, and Zaq thanked Burke politely for the meal.
Burke belched in reply. “Not at all, dear boy. Couldn’t let you starve could I?” Zaq smiled halfheartedly. All his life he had provided for himself, meager though it may have been. It was awkward to be dependent on someone else to pay his expenses, even in a situation like this. As soon as possible he was going to find some more honest work, even if it meant mindless drudgery for twelve hours a day.
“Well, I’m going to my room to get a little rest for tonight. If you two have any sense at all you’ll do the same,” advised Shelle pushing back from the table. Zaq stood reluctantly. He knew he needed the rest. He had not slept at all on the trip to Roma, and he would need all his strength tonight. Even still, he feared that once in the room he would be unable to close his eyes. He trudged after Burke to the room that they were sharing, barely seeing the threadbare carpet that lined the stairs to the second story.
When he entered the room, Burke had already pulled off his boots and was sitting on the edge of his narrow bed. “Don’t mind Shelle,” he began apologetically. “She’s always been a tad bossy. Gets annoying sometimes but her heart’s in the right place.”
Zaq dropped to his own mattress. “Why didn’t you tell us that it was your sister whose help we needed?” he asked, puzzled and a little annoyed. He was glad it had worked out fine, but he hated having surprises tossed at him like that.
“Ah well, to tell the truth I was pretty sure I’d never win her over without Tiran’s help,” explained Burke blithely. “Shelle was so infatuated with that Othar that she needed a strong shock to make her open her mind a bit. You’re pretty protective of Tiran, so I wasn’t sure you’d take the risk if I told you all about it. Worked out just fine,” he finished with a sheepish smile at Zaq. Zaq listened dubiously and then shrugged his shoulders. Burke was right; it was no use worrying over what could have happened. He had enough to worry about without borrowing trouble from the past.
For a few minutes both men lay silently. Zaq couldn’t shut his mind off. This morning after dropping Tiran off they had followed Shelle’s directions to this inn several miles from her shop. They had hired the two rooms and ordered the meals. Upstairs they had spent the rest of the afternoon going over their plans for tonight’s foray into the Roma hideout known as the Den. It was going to be tricky; hopefully no one would be there tonight. Zaq would fight if he had to but he sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that. His stomach clenched. Would he be able to kill another person to bring down the Oman? His mind said yes, that the sacrifice would save lives in the end, but his heart still blanched at the thought. The dilemma continued to wrack his mind. Even though his body was worn out, sleep completely eluded him. Finally in desperation he sat up and put his shoes back on. Burke was already dozing, his mouth slightly open. Zaq slipped quietly from the room and headed back down to the common room.
He found the guest terminal in a small lounge outside the dining room. Idly he pulled up any recent news stories that mentioned Tiran’s name. It would at least give him some news about her. If all had gone well with Madam Coraelle he might even find reports that the CPF had finally located the missing daughter of the Ambassador. Then he could be sure she was safe.
The only recent feed he found was a chilling message from the Oman directly to Tiran. He listened to it twice before settling back thoughtfully in his chair. Obviously someone had seen Tiran here in Roma and reported it to the Oman. They had been in Roma for less than twelve hours. He couldn’t help but admire the efficiency of the Oman’s spies here in the capital. Tiran had stayed hidden for over six months in Kruundin City before anybody had spotted her, and it only was a matter of hours in this city before the Oman was setting traps for Tiran here in Roma.
With that thought his heart sank. Of course it was a trap. Would Tiran fall for it? Would she walk right into the Oman’s hands? Then Zaq shook his fears away. Tiran probably would want to run to the aid of her mother—Zaq knew her well enough for that—but there was no way Madam Coraelle would let her go. He breathed easier and then considered the impact of the message on his own plans. The message had made no mention of him or Burke or Shelle. It was impossible to tell when Tiran had been spotted and with whom. After giving it some deep thought, he concluded that there was nothing for it but to proceed with their current plan. They wouldn’t get a better shot at it.
He played around on the terminal for a little while longer and then finally his eyes started to close as he stared at the images. Dragging himself back up the stairs, he crept back into his room and slid gratefully onto his bed, succumbing to sleep at last.
The staccato raps at the door seemed to wake him before he had hardly any chance to rest. Groggily, he raised his head to see Burke opening the door to admit his sister.
“Wake up, Zaq,” she ordered brusquely. “It’s just after midnight and time to get moving. Burke, where in the world is your cloak? You’ll freeze outside in that shirt.”
Burke grimaced, and Zaq yawned hugely before everything suddenly clicked. They were leaving to raid the Den in just a few minutes. Hastily he scrambled off his bed, the adrenaline now pumping through his veins. He rifled his own bag and pulled a thick dark cloak out.
Shelle was impatiently checking her watch. “The last shift at the Den went home two hours ago, and the next one won’t be coming for four more hours. This is our window. Let’s get going.” Silently Zaq followed Shelle and Burke down the stairs and out into the street. The street was silent and empty. Blocks away, the glow of a single flickering globe kept the street from total darkness. Zaq turned his back on it and walked in the wake of Burke and his sister. The walk to the Den took somewhere near half an hour, best as Zaq could tell. He wrapped tightly in his cloak, as if it could hide him better from prying eyes, but there wasn’t really any need. During these tumultuous times, even if the curfew hadn’t been in effect, no one in his right mind would be out on the streets after dark.
Finally, Shelle slowed and they turned into a narrow alley. It was impossibly dark, and Zaq stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust. Finally, he could barely make out the shadow of various crates and the walls that lined the alley on either side. No light from the moons or stars seemed to filter down here, at least not tonight. Silently he blessed the darkness. Though he had to creep forward carefully to avoid running into Burke, it hid them completely from sight.
Shelle stopped at the barely visible outline of a door halfway down the building. She risked a little light from a pocket torch, and Zaq saw the flash of a numbered key entry as well as a thumb pad. The muted beeps of the pad as Shelle entered her code seemed to echo loudly in the quiet alley and Zaq looked around nervously. Still no sign of life t
hough. When he turned back to the door, Shelle had just pressed her thumb to the pad and the door slid open with a loud swish.
She waved Burke and Zaq ahead, and he stole inside, his heart thumping painfully inside his rib cage. It was dark and silent except for the quiet humming of several terminals. One of those terminals was not networked to anything else; supposedly this was the restricted access one that would give them everything they were looking for.
With a muted click, the lights flicked on at a low level. Shelle was standing near the door, her lips pursed thoughtfully. “That’s the receiver right there,” she pointed. It was six feet tall and looked like a sleek black cabinet. Zaq strode to the receiver and put his hand on the front. It felt like ceramic. Certainly his two compact charges of telfonne explosive would easily destroy the cabinet. He pulled the protective tubes from his bag. The slender cylindrical wands of telfonne had been one of the common explosives used in the mines in Davuune. They were very stable in these tubes, but once he slid them out and set the timers, the explosion would probably reduce the whole room to rubble. He waited next to the cabinet patiently while Burke and Shelle accessed two of the terminals in the room. He would set the explosives just before they left the Den.
Burke was frowning in concentration. He connected a small memory disk and made a few selections from the terminal menu. “There!” he announced with satisfaction. “Give me about five minutes and I’ll have the name of every Brother the receiver tracks.”
Shelle was speed-reading through the posts and comms on a compact terminal in the corner. Zaq knew that this was one of the secure Brotherhood terminals, and she was searching for the information that would help them know where to find the Oman. Any other news (such as whether or not they had realized that Shelle had gone absent) would also be crucial.
“Burke,” murmured Shelle, “check for the locations of four men simply listed by numbers one through four. Those are the Oman’s personal bodyguards. If we can find them we can find the Oman.”
Burke tapped rapidly at the terminal screen.
“I see them, Shelle. They’re in Mazor.” He paused, his mouth turned down in an uncharacteristic scowl.
“Mazor,” repeated Shelle grimly. “Figures.”
“I’ve never heard of it; is it far from here?” inquired Zaq. Obviously the town had some significance to Burke and Shelle.
“Not too far. There’s a message calling all high-level Brothers to Mazor. I wonder what he’s planning,” Shelle mused.
“Burke, does that program allow you to search by name?” Zaq asked, struck by sudden inspiration.
“Yep. This is how they track down defectors, right Shelle?”
“That was my job,” confirmed Shelle in a low voice. “They’d comm me a name, I’d look it up and return a location.”
“Look up Sirra Bruche,” suggested Zaq. Burke raised an eyebrow at him and then turned back to the terminal. He tapped at the screen and squinted for a moment. “Mazor,” he said finally. “I’d bet half my stockpile of Cambrian wine that whatever the Oman is planning to do in Mazor, it involves her.” He stared pensively at the screen for a moment until a muted beep roused him.
“The download’s done,” Burke announced more cheerfully, pulling the memory disk from the terminal and placing on the table.
“What happens if you check someone whose transmitter has been deactivated?” Zaq asked curiously, wondering what it showed for each of them.
A sudden rapid beeping at the door interrupted them. Shelle swore. “Someone’s coming in,” she hissed. Burke shot clumsily to his feet, knocking the memory disk to the floor. Zaq swiftly scooped it up and looked for another exit. Shelle was already pushing through a back door, and Burke waddled after her as fast as he could move. Zaq hesitated and then ran for the outside door. He had only a moment to take their visitor by surprise, and maybe it would buy the others a precious minute to make their escape.
Grabbing a metal strong box from the table, he ran to the door just as it swung open. He didn’t hesitate; he shoved the box directly in the entering man’s face, smashing into his nose and knocking him backward down the stairs. Zaq’s own momentum carried him forward, and he stumbled for a moment before leaping over two tangled bodies down into the alley. A sliver of the younger moon had risen above the roofline of the buildings, lighting the alleyway just enough that he could see. He could hear the men scrambling to their feet behind him, and he sprinted down the alley. Reaching the first corner, he pelted straight around and into the street, racing as far as he could from the house. He could hear the men running after him, but the footsteps were growing fainter. Muffled yelling sounded in the distance, but he didn’t dare turn around.
Eventually he slowed. He couldn’t keep sprinting forever. Dropping to a jog he glanced over his shoulder. The streets were empty. Possibly the other men had gone for a transport. They would catch him quickly if he didn’t get off the streets. Then he considered for a moment. With the curfew, a transport would easily bring the CPF into the chase. This wasn’t one of the neighborhoods where the Brotherhood practically ruled the streets. Granted, they hadn’t seen any soldiers in the streets to enforce the curfew; presumably people just stayed off the streets for their own safety. So whose territory was he in anyway?
Finally he stopped to get his bearings. Until sunrise, he had to get out of view. If he went wandering around, eventually someone would notice him, and he didn’t want to be picked up by the CPF any more than by the Brotherhood. Briefly he considered returning to the inn. It might have been a coincidence that someone had come to the Den in the middle of the night, or they could have been looking specifically for the three of them. It was so hard to know with spies everywhere. In any case, he decided not to return to the inn. Better to err on the side of caution.
Instead, he slipped into another pitch black alley that soon presented itself. He crept all the way to the end of the building then followed it around until he reached a stack of rotting crates. He gingerly shifted the pile to create a screen and then crawled behind it. It was cold and damp but out of sight. The complete silence unnerved him; it was unnatural in such a large city. Back home in Kruundin City he had been out occasionally in the middle of the night, and though it was much quieter than during the day, there was still plenty of noise. Transports rumbling through the streets, street sweepers working industriously to clean the main streets, and raucous bars serving the night crawling crowd. Here it was as quiet as the night he and Tiran had spent outside Rastallin—no, even quieter. The woods outside Rastallin had been filled with the unfamiliar noises of rustling leaves, chirping crickets, and the occasional scurrying of some nocturnal creature. He might as well be hiding out in a tomb for all the sound that reached him now.
The last hours of the night passed slowly. Zaq’s eyes never closed. He shifted every so often so that his legs didn’t go to sleep. It was very uncomfortable; no matter how he readjusted, there always seemed to be a brick poking him in the back. Still, the early light of dawn filtered over the tops of the buildings at last. He waited awhile longer until the sun’s rays flooded the alley and he could hear signs of the city’s return to life. Finally, standing and stretching, he stood and walked back out of the alley.
It was still early, but there were a few pedestrians hurrying along the street. Transports rumbled past, and a man with a heavily loaded delivery cart stopped at a store just down the block. He shouldn’t stick out too badly.
Zaq didn’t know Roma at all, but he pulled a small map of the city from his pocket, identical to the one he had given Tiran. Shelle had marked both the areas of the city essentially controlled by the Brotherhood, as well as the areas with heavy CPF protection like the neighborhood they had taken Tiran to yesterday. He chose the nearest CPF stronghold and briskly started in that direction. It was the area of town most likely to have somewhere with a public terminal.
Still deep in his pocket, Zaq carr
ied the tiny memory disk that contained the names and general locations of thousands of people. Of course, in the original plan, Burke had intended to take charge of that information, using Erron as the go-between for the information transfer to whomever Tiran managed to find. Zaq was a little more uneasy with this responsibility, but he didn’t have much choice. He needed to find a terminal so he could contact Erron and transmit the data.
An hour later he reached the area marked on his map. The difference was palpable. The streets were literally filled with pedestrians. A couple of soldiers were posted on every street corner. Apparently he had found one of the still prosperous commercial areas of Roma. There were a couple of banks, even a Union-based one that was still open. There were restaurants, shops, and busy offices. Almost unconsciously Zaq began to relax. He hadn’t realized how on edge he had been until he could feel the tension slipping from his neck and shoulders.
An obliging pedestrian directed him to the local library branch which had a bank of public access terminals. The walk was short and Zaq soon found himself staring at a screen and slowly tapping in the address to Burke’s home terminal. He was connected in moments and he sent a text comm to Erron with a high priority signal, waiting for him to answer. Idly he watched the other patrons in the library while he gave Erron time to respond to him. Despite the normal busyness of the area, he could tell that the neighbors still lived under great strain. Everyone looked tired and defeated. Once again, he regretted that he had ever believed the Oman’s claim to be prophet. Following Othar’s violent policy had not led to much happiness for most Denicorizens.
Corizen Rising Page 27
