by Carrie Patel
She watched him, waiting. Whatever happened now, she was sure Sundar couldn’t have said anything more.
Geist smiled. “You are having a rare way with words, Malone. I am hoping you stick around to conclude what you have commenced.”
He lay his gun on the floor and motioned for his soldiers to do the same.
Chapter 30
Epilogue: A Better Story
Jane shaded her eyes. It was a sunny day from the top of the lighthouse. Waves lapped at the remnants of the wall, now eroded and broken apart like old teeth wearing down to the gums.
Dismantling the wall had been one of Roman’s first acts. Like so many things, it was a work in progress, and one that Jane did not expect to see completed in either of their lifetimes.
But that was all right. It was the progress that mattered.
The distant horizon blended into a pale blue line. The sprawl of Salvage was just visible a few miles offshore. It was smaller than when she’d known it, but formidable nonetheless.
Roman checked his pocket watch and grumbled. “She’s late.”
In Jane’s biased opinion, her husband had aged very well. He still wore his hair long, but the black had frosted to iron gray. The years had softened some of his hard lines and angles, or maybe it just seemed that way because he smiled more.
The present moment notwithstanding.
“She’s always hated these things,” Jane said, giving him a peck on the cheek.
He smiled despite himself. “So have I,” he muttered quietly.
As true as that was, he’d gotten quite good at them.
The lantern room was crowded with Jane, Roman, and pair of young capitans from Salvage, and various other dignitaries from the provinces of the Continent. Between the sunlight streaming through the glass and the press of overdressed bodies, the little room was quite stuffy. Yet by unspoken agreement, everyone stood with straight backs and shoulders for the benefit of the masses below.
Jane peered down over the crowds. There had to be several thousand people, maybe more. The nearby town of Renaissance du Rochelle had been overwhelmed with the influx, but people had come from all across the Continent to witness Roman’s Gran Meisterwork. She supposed she should have been glad, but the sight of so many people still made her a little nervous.
She felt an affectionate squeeze on her arm.
“Don’t worry,” Roman said. “It’ll work.”
Presently, the sound of playful quarreling rose from the stairwell. Jane turned to look, though all of the other dignitaries were pretending – ever so politely – not to notice.
“– thousands of pounds of metal into the sky, but they can’t put a lift in the lighthouse?”
Even over the panting and grunting, Jane recognized Liesl Malone’s voice.
“You’re always clambering around the wilderness with Salazar. You can handle a few stairs.” That was Farrah, Malone’s former secretary and constant companion.
“The stairs are not the problem,” Malone panted. “The problem is these shoes.”
Jane heard two hard clomping noises.
“Put them back on!” Farrah hissed. “You can’t run around in front of a thousand people barefoot!”
“None of them can see my feet.”
Jane stifled a laugh. Roman was still gazing toward the sea, but a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Moments later, the two women emerged from the stairwell. Malone seemed as uncomfortable as a trussed turkey in a suit of black and green with a long, brocaded jacket. Farrah trailed behind her, wearing a green dress and an expression of beautiful vexation. In Malone’s hands were two orphaned shoes.
Jane glanced down long enough to note that Malone’s feet were, indeed, bare.
As packed as the lantern room was, people squeezed together to make room for two more.
Malone’s white hair was only a few shades lighter from the color Jane had always known it to be, and her pale eyes were just as sharp. She didn’t look like she’d aged so much as she’d merely hardened.
Malone gestured to the throngs below. “Arnault, you’ve got to be insane, leaving yourself exposed to a crowd like this.”
The other dignitaries blushed and cleared their throats. To nearly everyone else, Roman was “the senure.”
He gave her a patient smile that Jane had seen him practice many, many times over the years. “I’ve got nothing to hide,” he said.
“You mean nowhere to hide,” said Malone. “If they get–”
“Liesl!” Farrah snapped. She gave the former inspector a glare that would have melted butter, then turned to Roman and Jane with a more gracious smile. The years hadn’t dimmed her beauty or her bright red hair. “It’s an honor to be here,” she said, exchanging kisses with them both in the local style.
“Thank you for coming,” Jane said. “It seemed right that we should all witness this together.”
“Next time, the buried cities are hosting,” Malone said, swooping in to Jane’s cheek. Despite the woman’s pallor, her face was feverishly hot.
As Malone leaned toward Roman, Farrah frowned an apology at Jane.
Still hates flying, she mouthed over the pale woman’s shoulder.
“Geist sends his regards,” Malone whispered, just loudly enough for Jane and Roman to hear. The scarred revolutionary had put them all in a difficult spot. They couldn’t let him run free after committing so much bloodshed, but he’d been instrumental in uniting his followers under Roman’s vision.
In the end, he and his closest associates had “escaped” with Malone to the buried cities and led peaceful lives there.
Roman nodded his acknowledgment.
“We are all ready, ya?” called a voice from the other end of the lantern room. Some minister whose name Jane couldn’t recall at the moment.
“Ready,” Roman said.
There was a pause, then a hum of electricity in the floor below them. Jane watched the sea beyond. The lamp behind them glowed to life, flashing across the windows as it made a few lazy circles.
Roman squeezed her hand. To her right, Jane saw Farrah stroking Malone’s arm with a quiet, familiar tenderness, drawing the tension out of her lover’s shoulders.
Malone whispered something to the redhead. She smiled.
A collective gasp echoed in the lantern room. A plume of flame had sprouted from the decks of Salvage, just beneath a long, narrow cone. It was tiny at this distance, but Jane had seen it close enough to know how big it was. Excitement – and a little fear – sped her heart.
“I’d hate to be the one riding in that thing,” Malone said.
“It’s just metal and wires this time,” Farrah said.
Roman squeezed Jane’s hand.
As they watched, the shooting flames lifted the rocket into the sky, pushing it higher and higher. They followed it sail through the clouds and recede into a bright spark until it disappeared completely. At last, all that was left was a gray trail through the blue.
The lantern room erupted in cheers. Jane embraced Roman, Malone, Farrah – everyone within reach, her cheeks wet with her tears and theirs. Below, the crowd was a writhing, joyful mass.
Only Malone looked uncertain, gazing up at the sky as if waiting for the whole thing to come back down. “That was it?” she whispered.
“That,” Roman said, “was only the beginning.”
Acknowledgments
Looking back from the end of Book Three, I’m delighted to have had the opportunity to tell – and finish – the story of Jane, Malone, Roman, and Recoletta, and I’m grateful to the many people who have made it possible.
First of all, thank you to Angry Robot’s current and former staff, especially Marc Gascoigne, Lee Harris, Phil Jourdan, Paul Simpson, Mike Underwood, Penny Reeve, and Caroline Lambe for supporting these books, and to artist extraordinaire John Coulthart for dressing them up so nicely.
Next, thank you to my agent, Jennie Goloboy, and to the rest of the Red Sofa Literary team, including Dawn Fr
ederick, Laura Zats, and Liz Rahn for championing the series.
Over the years, I’ve had the privilege to get to know some wonderful writers who have become good friends as well as invaluable sources of encouragement and feedback. Thank you to Jacqui Talbot, Michael Robertson, and Bill Stiteler, who have provided insightful critiques and heartening support from The Buried Life onwards.
Thank you to the Freeway Dragons (and the Orange County Dragons) for writerly camaraderie and advice over many write-ins and hangouts. That’s Remy Nakamura, Tracie Welser, S B Divya, David Kammerzelt, Nicole Feldringer, Jenn Reese, Chris East, Andrew Romine, and Megan Starks. Special thanks to Megan for insisting on resolving the vault!
A big thanks as well to the Unclean Synod (Dan Bensen, Tex Thompson, and Kim Moravec) for Friday morning critiques and catch-up. Especially Dan for his invaluable thoughts on language.
Also, thank you to Lieutenant Commander Sean Purdy, USN, and Lieutenant Raza Beg, USN, for their service and for their generosity in providing a tour of the USS Essex and many helpful explanations of shipboard life. Any inaccuracies in this book are my own. Thanks as well to Hiral Beg for warm hospitality and cold Moscow mules.
I couldn’t have written this without the loving support of so many wonderful friends and family members. Thanks most of all to Hiren Patel, Julie Lytle, Sydney Thompson, and Ryan Thompson – I love you all.
Finally, thanks to you for reading, sharing, and dreaming.
About the Author
Carrie Patel was born and raised in Houston, Texas. An avid traveller, she studied abroad in Granada, Spain and Buenos Aires, Argentina. She completed her bachelor’s and master’s degrees at Texas A&M University, then worked in transfer pricing at Ernst & Young for two years. She now works as a narrative designer at Obsidian Entertainment in Irvine, California, where the only season is Always Perfect. She has written for Pillars of Eternity and its expansions, The White March Parts I and II. She is currently working on the sequel, Pillars of Eternity II: Deadfire.
* * *
electronicinkblog.com • twitter.com/carrie_patel
ANGRY ROBOT
An imprint of Watkins Media Ltd
* * *
20 Fletcher Gate,
Nottingham,
NG1 2FZ
UK
* * *
angryrobotbooks.com
twitter.com/angryrobotbooks
Unearthed
* * *
An Angry Robot paperback original 2017
* * *
Copyright © Carrie Patel 2017
* * *
Carrie Patel asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
* * *
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
* * *
UK ISBN 978 0 85766 609 3
US ISBN 978 0 85766 608 6
EBook ISBN 978 0 85766 610 9
* * *
Set by Epub Services.
* * *
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
* * *
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
* * *
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Angry Robot and the Angry Robot icon are registered trademarks of Watkins Media Ltd.
ISBN: 978-0-85766-610-9
Created with Vellum
