The Iron Bells

by Jeanette Battista

  Chapter Ten

  After another fruitless afternoon of chasing down Patrick’s friends and teachers, I return to Auntie’s in a mood. No one has seen Patrick since the night he disappeared. His teachers haven’t heard from him, just as they told Mrs. Bowen. I feel like a demented hamster in an exercise wheel, running in circles. Ryland hasn’t gotten back to me with any information yet, but I know I can’t expect results so quickly. Still it has been several days since I first brought the problem to him; I would think he would have gotten in touch with his contact by now.

  I feel like time is ticking away and there’s nothing I can do but sit around and wait. I am not used to feeling helpless. I need to do something to take my mind off of my futile search for Patrick before I tear myself into bits. Except I have no idea what. I’m tired of sword practice, I’m tired of being underground, but I’m unsure if I’m really fit company. Truly, I can’t decide what I want, except for the one thing I don’t have: Patrick back safe.

  I turn to troop back up the stairs, my mind and body worn out with fretting. Several small groups of people pass me, on their way to the dining room where Auntie serves the official supper for everyone. I can't imagine sitting in a roomful of these people, some of who know me very well, and trying to put up a façade of normalcy. I decide that I'll wait out the hour in my room and then creep down after everyone is finished to nab a bit of leftovers.

  "Amaranth!" Dham's voice jolts me into awareness of the people around me. I turn my head to see him and Cat standing in the parlour. They must have been sitting in the front room for me to have missed them. "We're going to grab a bite. Want to join?"

  I think about saying no, but then I see the look on Cat's face. She looks like she tried to lap up some cream only to find it sour. I'm clearly not welcome as far as Cat is concerned.

  I think about that look and about my lonely room. Then I look into Dham’s eyes and my decision is made. I want to be with Dham, even if it means sharing some time with Cat. I'm going out to dinner. "Let me grab something from my room. Be right back." I give him a big smile, darting my eyes at Cat to gauge her response. She looks like she wants to claw my eyes out, her eyes spitting blue flames in my direction. Heh. I put some money in my pockets, grab my jacket from its place on my bed and meet them back downstairs.

  Cat doesn't look any happier up close. I have to fight a small smile, sure that it will do nothing but antagonize her. I probably should have stayed in, but I'm tired of obsessively thinking about what might be happening to Patrick. I need a break. Maybe getting out in company will do me some good.

  "What do you feel like tonight?" Dham asks me as I join them.

  I shrug. "I'm just a tagalong." I ignore Cat's nodding head and crossed arms. "Anything you guys decide is fine."

  Cat picks Italian and leads the way out of Auntie's. She and Dham begin a pretty lively conversation about music, one that I lose interest in once I realize that I have absolutely nothing to contribute. I much prefer books to music, having only a passing interest in songs I hear that I like and certainly no band faithfulness of my own. Both music and books are closely monitored; anything suspect is destroyed and the offending artist punished. As such, there's a thriving black market for music and books that have been outlawed by the Inquisition.

  We amble over to Clerkenwell, to a restaurant I know by reputation from others in the boarding house. I use the time to watch the other people walking down the street.

  We haven’t gone but a few blocks before I notice something isn't quite right on the street. People seem to be walking faster than would be normal at twilight, glancing behind them a bit too often. I wonder if there's been a demon sighting aboveground—though rare, it wouldn't be the first time—but we'd have heard something about it by now. Still, there is a feeling of tension in the air.

  I pay more attention to my surroundings. On every corner we pass, there seems to be someone hanging about, but in a way that doesn't seem casual. I've been running operations for the Resistance long enough to know when one is being run right under my nose. I pay close attention to the next man we pass at a corner and come away with a clue. His sleeve rides up a bit from his hand, revealing the brand of the Inquisition.

  So the Inquisition is out looking for someone. Or waiting for something to happen. Or possibly both.

  I'm grateful when we finally come to the restaurant, an out of the way little place that serves excellent freshly made pasta. I request a table near the window so I can keep a lookout for trouble. I'm doubting tonight's op has anything to do with us personally, but I don't want to be caught napping. When we're finally situated with our menus, I lean forward to my two companions.

  "Did either of you notice how many Inquisition forces are out in the streets tonight?"

  Dham nods, but Cat just rolls her eyes. "Can't we just have one night where we don't have to leap up and save the world?"

  I blink. I've suggested nothing of that sort. I ignore her and look at Dham. "They're at every street corner. I saw one's mark as we passed by him on our way here."

  "I noticed more people out than seemed usual. What do you think is going on? What are they all doing?" His eyes shift from me to the window and back again.

  I shrug. "No idea. But I'm guessing it can't be something good."

  "We can investigate it later if you both want to," Cat chimes in, picking her menu back up to peruse the selections. "But I'm hungry, so any snooping we're doing will take place AFTER dinner."

  "Sounds fair." Dham smiles at me. He leans over and whispers, "Enjoy the moment, Amaranth. We're safe enough right now, so let's at least get some dinner before we find out what's going on."

  I nibble on one of my fingernails, dinner pretty much forgotten. I stare out at the street, watching the people hurry by, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. A waiter comes and takes our orders; I request a plate of carbonara absently.

  "Come on, Amaranth. Stop staring out the window." Dham pokes me in the side with his elbow. "It is okay to just relax for a few minutes."

  I grin half-heartedly. I shouldn't have come; I'm not good company tonight. It was stupid of me to come with Dham and Cat, especially since it was only out of a petty impulse to get on Cat's nerves.

  "What's your favorite part of New York?" Cat asks Dham. I tear my gaze from the window, forcing myself to pay attention to his words.

  His voice seems deeper, more resonant in the low light of the restaurant. I stare at him as he speaks, my eyes tracing the lines of his face, the sweep of hair across his brow, the feather duster of eyelashes as they touch his cheek with each blink. He's a study in light and shadow as he sits in his seat and talks about his home.

  Dham is quiet as he thinks. "It's a toss-up between Central Park and the food."

  "Central Park? Why?"

  "Before it was closed off completely, there used to be a small section where people could go and picnic, catch a nap, whatever. My parents used to take us out there on Sundays when the weather was nice enough. Peter would sometimes come along too. It was pretty great." He's wearing a half-smile, eyes lost in memory.

  “Peter?” I ask, startled. “How long have you known him?” I’m curious about the man since I’ve gotten next to no time to learn more about him since he got here.

  Dham nods. “He’s been friends with my parent forever. He took it really badly when my mom died.”

  "So what happened to the park?" Cat asks before the mood can turn bleak. She rests her chin in her palm and watches him, a proprietary look on her face.

  He shrugs. "The Mayor blocked it off on orders from someone high up in the Inquisition. Nobody's allowed on the grounds anymore." He looks down at his hands for a second. "A couple of kids from my school tried to sneak in after they'd closed it up. They…uh…never came back out."

  "Did anyone on your team ever go in?" I figured Dham would understand I was asking about his Resistance group.

  "A few recon parties were sent out." He shook his head.
"We learned enough to know that it's not a good idea to muck around Central Park anymore."

  I nod slowly, realizing how lucky we were to still have access to Hyde Park. "What about your subway?" I pause while the food is delivered to our table. I take a bite, closing my eyes to savor the bacony goodness. "Is it as bad as here?"

  Cat expels a frustrated breath. "Is it possible for you to have a conversation that doesn't center on death, demons, or generally unpleasant topics while I'm trying to eat?" Her eyes bore into mine and I can feel myself redden, embarrassed. I glance at Dham, but he's busy shoveling a meatball into his mouth.

  The sad thing is that Patrick would probably agree with Cat. He’s always teasing me about my lack of social graces. I miss him so much that I feel like I might cry right here at the table.

  I can see the slight smirk on her face at my discomfort. I'm angry. I feel like an ungainly moron, like someone who shouldn't be let out in social situations without a keeper of some kind. Cat can talk to Dham about anything, no matter how shallow or ridiculous and seem perfectly comfortable with him, whereas I'm flailing about like an idiot for something interesting to say. Why can't I be more like her?

  I go back to eating my pasta as she asks him about the food he misses most. See, so easy for her. They're talking about bagels for goodness sake! She's so utterly normal, so undamaged. I can't compete with that. And she's a Ringer. I'm not even sure why I wanted to tag along when they are so well-suited for each other.

  My gaze drifts to the window once more. Less people are passing as dusk gives over to true night. The streets are fairly well-lit, so I can make out the faces of passerby. I mindlessly eat while I watch the scenes passing outside the window like a particularly boring play.

  A group of men pass by in a tight knot. I sit up, eyes following them, looking for something familiar. There are five of them, most of them unknown to me. But everyone with any sense of self-preservation knows the man in the lead. He's a tall, imposing man, in his forties, with ashy blond hair going to grey, giving it a look of silver and gold threads commingled on his head. His mouth is drawn down in a tight frown, the lines on his face etched in stark relief against his flesh.

  His name is Raulston. Geoffrey Raulston. He's the head of the London branch of the Inquisition. The Grand Inquisitor for all of England.

  I can feel cold sweat break out all over my body. Raulston is probably the most powerful man in the British Isles, wielding an enormous amount of influence through fear of his organization. People disappearing off the street or in the middle of the night, public executions, torture—it all began and ended with him and his office.

  My mother's face flashes in my memory; not the wrecked beauty that survived Inquisitorial confinement and everything it held, but the lovely face that I knew through my childhood. The healthy and sane person she was before she was taken from me. The woman she was before she came back to me in pieces.

  I drop my fork to the half-empty plate with a clatter, dinner forgotten. My eyes track their progress through the streets. They are moving quickly, not stopping for lights or traffic, heedless of the cars that swerve to get out of their way. Wherever they are going, it must be for something important. I need to find out what.

  "Excuse me for a moment." I get up from my seat.

  "Amaranth? You okay?" Dham is looking at me with a worried crinkle between his eyes.

  I nod, swallowing. He wouldn't know about Raulston, not yet. And he and Cat should enjoy their meal. But I need to see where he's going with so many men and bring back any information I can.

  So I lie. "I’ll be right back."

  He nods and goes back to his food. Cat eyes me warily, almost as if she doesn't believe the words coming out of my mouth. I force a painful grin at her, enough that she rolls her eyes and looks away.

  I walk quickly to the back of the restaurant, but instead of turning to enter the WC, I continue back into the kitchen. All kitchens have a second entrance—it comes in handy when accepting food deliveries or throwing out trash. I head towards it now, ignoring the cries of protest at a diner being back in the kitchen. I slam through the heavy door and find myself in an alley that smells of rotting food, urine and wet cardboard.

  I take off in the direction that I last saw Raulston. I catch sight of them a block ahead, but the distance between us is lengthening. I need to catch up. I put on a bit of speed, feet skimming over the sidewalk, dodging the few people around that get in my way. I draw closer to them, but still far enough away so that it won't look like I'm following them specifically.

  They are moving slower now. I notice that the Inquisition members I was seeing on our way to the restaurant seem to be gathering en masse for something. Raulston is collecting new members of his group as he passes, not unlike a child collecting rocks or stuffed animals. I slow to match my pace with theirs, keeping about a block between us.

  Before I realize it, they're off running. I walk as fast as I can, trying to keep up with them without running and calling unwanted attention to myself. I'm able to track their progress by the eddies of their passing among the onlookers and pedestrians as I hurry after them. I pull up my hood and pull it tightly closed, so that the video cameras won't be able to get a clear shot of me.

  I can hear shouts, screams, and the braking of cars up ahead. I pick up the pace, moving along with the curious onlookers who always enjoy a good show. We come up to a set of cross-streets, my little group and I, and I see the wavering chaos from behind the backs of people closer in. It never ceases to amaze me--as much as people wish to avoid the Inquisition, they're still people. If there's a spectacle, there's a crowd, especially at a public execution or flogging. I begin to elbow my way forward. Finally I crouch through, pushing through legs and past people until I have a clear view of the scene.

  A large group of Inquisitors has surrounded two young men. Both look to be in their twenties but it is hard to nail down their age with all of the commotion. Some of the Inquisitors are trying to keep people back, while the rest—including Raulston—close in on them with shackles. There's nowhere for them to go; the press of people on the street is too thick for them to be able to push through even if they weren't surrounded.

  Raulston walks up to the darker of the two men and reaches out towards his neck. I can't see what he's looking at—I'm too far away—but I see his hand close and then his whole arm jerk. He pitches something away; I catch a glint of metal as it passes beneath a streetlamp close to me. I edge over to my right, trying to keep an eye on where it landed. I can see a faint glitter. I scramble over, desperate to reach it before anyone else can get to it. I see a hand reach down to pick whatever it is up and I can finally make out what it is. A crucifix.

  My eyes flick to the two men. They are struggling against the Inquisitors. I can also hear the pounding of feet as police begin to filter into the scene. I think about the crucifix. Ryland is expecting more Resistance to arrive. Could these two be some of those arrivals? And how did they get caught?

  One of the men is frothing at the mouth; he must have secreted poison somewhere on him. Whistles are shrieking, cars are honking, making the street alive with cacophony. Raulston's shouting orders to take the body. It's total chaos, but that might work for me. I stand and step out of the crowd. If he is Resistance, I have to do something. I look around and see a clod of dirt near my feet. I reach down and pick it up, hoping that my aim is still good, then heave it at the remaining man.

  It hits him in the side of the face. His head immediately turns to where the mud came from: me. "Scum!" I shout, then flash a complicated hand symbol at him. It's one of the signs we use to identify other Resistance members. He nods, then does something completely unexpected.

  He reaches around and pulls his shoulder bag from his back. Gripping the strap in his hand, he swings it in an arc and then releases it, throwing it straight at me. It hits the ground near my feet as I stare at him in stunned silence, and then he's grabbing a gun from a nearby policeman and firing it
at the Inquisition members closest to him.

  That shakes me from my stupor. I dash forward and snag the bag, slinging it crossways across my body and begin to push back through the people. I hear someone shout, "GET HER!" but I don't stop. I slide through the crowd and finally break free of the press and take off, the bag bouncing at my side. I hear more shouts ordering me to stop. I ignore them. I put my head down and run.

  The sounds of pursuit follow me. I don't have time to think. I just follow my instinct, taking turns at random. I try to keep to more populated streets. I want to use the crowd as a smokescreen, another obstacle between me and the Inquisition. I see the startled looks of people as I flash past, but no one stops me. I dare to glance behind me and see three on my trail.

  I push myself faster. I need to find a hiding spot, somewhere I can shake them off my tracks. My heart pounds in my chest. My feet pound against cement. The bag at my side bangs into me in time to my footfalls. I hear my breath in my ears, whistling out in deep gasps. I can feel the sweat slide down my face and neck. I keep going. I can't get caught. I won't get caught.

  I skid around a corner. I take it too fast and almost lose my balance. Someone grabs my arm and pulls me backwards, clapping a hand over my mouth. I struggle wildly, elbows flying. I raise my foot to kick my heel into a shin if I can before I make sense of the voice in my ear.

  "It's me. Calm down!" Dham is still dragging me backwards.

  I turn my head to make sure it is indeed him. I nod and he drops the hand from my mouth. "What are you doing here?" I hiss. My hammering heart is making it hard for me to speak.

  "Following you. Come on." He keeps a firm hold of my arm and pulls me along in his wake. He knocks three times on a door. Cat opens it and we are inside a shop of some kind. Dham pulls me down into a crouch and the three of us slink along the perimeter of the room.

  I take a quick look at my surroundings. We're in a dark room. It's a large, relatively open space with shapes in the center of the room. When my sight adjusts I can tell we're in some kind of kitchen. I can see rolling baking racks and a wall of convection ovens. We must be in some kind of bake shop or cafe or something.

  "How did you get in here?" I feel ridiculous whispering, but it seems wrong to talk at a normal level.

  "Dham picked the lock when we figured out where you were." Cat is the one leading the way through the kitchen.

  I stare at Dham who shrugs, a mild look on his face. "You're full of surprises,” I say.

  "Just one of those skills you pick up."

  "How'd you know where I was?" There's the sound of sirens and commotion outside, audible even in here. I feel my shoulders tense.

  Dham puts a finger to his lips. The three of us wait in silence, ears straining for the sound of anyone trying to get into the shop, or anything else that might tell us our hiding place has been discovered. I can hear someone trying the front and back doors, but finding them locked, they move on. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding as the sounds of the search move farther away from the shop.

  When everything is quiet, Dham leans back against the steel cabinet we're hiding behind. Cat plops down cross-legged on the floor, pushing blonde hair out of her face. Then she glares at me. "You maybe want to tell us what all that was about?"

  "How…did you know?" I spread my hands, at a loss for exactly what to ask.

  "When you didn't come back from the bathroom, we figured you had done something monumentally stupid. And hey! We were right." Cat crosses her arms over her chest. I take a moment to wonder how one learns to sit emphatically. Cat has clearly mastered it.

  "Cat," Dham warns. She subsides into a minor snit. "We saw all the activity pick up pretty quickly and when you didn't come back, we decided to check it out." He looks at me. "We came at the end of things, after the chase had started so we figured we'd find a safe place and then I'd go look for you."

  "Good thing you did." I smile at him. Cat clears her throat, and I look away.

  "You plan to tell us what happened?" She still sounds annoyed.

  I stare down at my hands for a few minutes, trying to gather my thoughts. What should I tell them? How much? I'm sure I can trust Dham, but Cat is an unknown. I know she doesn't like me—will she be willing to follow my lead in this? I put my hand on the messenger bag. I don't even know what's inside it.

  I decide to keep that part to myself for now and hope they don't notice I've somehow acquired a new messenger bag. "I saw the Grand Inquisitor pass by the restaurant with a group of men, and I decided to follow him. After a couple of blocks, I saw what all those guys posted at the corners of streets had been up to." I pause to steady myself. I can feel the shakes beginning now that the adrenaline is starting to fade, so I clutch my hands together to still the tremors. It's almost like I'm praying.

  "There were two men—young, maybe twenty or so—and they'd been surrounded. One was wearing a crucifix. I saw it when Raulston—that's the Grand Inquisitor—yanked it off of him and threw it away. I figured out they were Resistance. One of them took poison or something as soon as they were captured. But the one with the crucifix grabbed a gun and started shooting."

  "But why were they chasing you?" Dham's got his head cocked like a spaniel, kind of like he's listening for what I'm leaving unsaid. "Did something happen?"

  I shrug, hoping I convey uncertainty with my face and body. "I don't know. Maybe one of them saw the sign I flashed at the guy to see if he was Resistance. All I know is they shouted at me to stop, so I ran."

  He looks dubious and I know he doesn't quite buy it. I rush on with the story. "I don't know what happened to the other man, whether he was taken alive or not. And I don't know what they were doing here either. I think they may have been here for whatever meeting brought you two here—I didn't recognize either of them so I'm guessing they were from out of town."

  Cat has finally stopped looking sulky and has turned serious. "I can't imagine him wanting to be taken alive."

  I shudder, remembering my mother. No, I can't imagine anyone wanting to be taken alive. Dham says, "That's probably why he grabbed the gun—to force them to shoot him." I don't say the other possibility: that he took the gun so he could shoot himself. The thought is simply too bleak to think about for long. But when I meet Cat's eyes, I can tell she's thought of it too.

  "What now?" she asks, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

  "We should stay here a while longer." Dham looks towards the front of the store. "Make sure they've given up on this area. Then we hightail it to Ryland and let him know what's happened."

  "He probably already knows. He's got eyes out for this sort of thing." I don't want to see Ryland, even if this information is important.

  "We've still got to assume he doesn't. Protocol." Dham grins, some of his good humor returning. "And since it looks like we're going to be here for awhile, anybody want to play poker?" He fishes in his jacket pocket and produces a deck of cards.

  "We don't have any chips." Cat holds out her hand for the deck.

  "That's not the kind of poker I was talking about."

  "Perv."