The Iron Bells

by Jeanette Battista

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Night has just fallen when Dham and I set out. Ryland had given us the details only hours before our retrieval assignment. He’s playing things carefully, giving very little lead time in case there’s a mole in our midst. I memorized the coordinates before we left. We're heading to the ruins of a small church near Bunhill Fields. Bunhill Fields has been a burial ground for over a thousand years. More importantly, a columbarium was installed there before cremation was outlawed.

  The Resistance had worked out a special way of smuggling items we couldn’t risk the Inquisition finding a few years ago. A columbarium held the urns of people who had been cremated in what amounted to sealed cubby boxes tucked into a wall. The Resistance had recognized the handiness of these niches: they fit most handguns and religious artifacts, people were still allowed to visit under the guise of respect for a loved one, and the location was relatively easy to put into a code. All one needed was a screwdriver or prybar and viola! You had a pretty secure way of passing along sensitive items.

  I run a quick check of the perimeter before actually leading us into the church grounds. Dham follows quietly at my back. I’m glad Ryland assigned us to this pickup. As the Gate attack looms larger and larger in people’s imaginations, dissension in the ranks is growing. Dham is steady. I have no doubts about Dham. I’m happy to have him at my side, bells or no bells. I slide through a partially open wrought iron gate, careful not to disturb it in case the hinges squeak. I hold it still, then beckon Dham through.

  "This is completely cool," he whispers into my ear as he passes. I shiver and not from the tickling of his breath on my neck.

  "Oh yes, grave robbing is insanely hip." Trick's sarcasm must be rubbing off on me.

  Dham grins, walking beside me as I pick my way through the overgrown cobbles toward the back wall that houses the columbarium. "Well, if you want to be all morbid about it…."

  He can't see my eyeroll in the murk, but it is epic. I put my finger to my lips and hurry along. It wouldn't do to be caught out here, and after dark besides. We reach a large stone building that looks like a mausoleum. It's actually where the columbarium is housed. I push open the door and step inside.

  Dham hands me a torch. I flip the switch to its lowest setting and shine the light around the room. Row upon row of plaques adorn the walls. Some have cracked, but most remain intact. I step to the right hand wall and locate the third row from the bottom. Then I begin to pace out steps, counting as I go.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Hush," I admonish, stopping to answer him. "I'm counting." I continue on, counting off the columns I pass under my breath.

  "Sure, but what are you counting?"

  I ignore him this time. I stop in front of the 37th column of plaques and squat down. I hold out my hand for the battery-powered screwdriver. "Hold the torch steady."

  I get to work and in no time have the front of the box off. I set it down gently on the stone floor and take the torch back to shine it inside the box. I shove aside the small urn still inside the box and the light picks out the silver embroidery on dark fabric. I reach inside and pull out the package. It's a black bag with masking symbols stitched on it in silver thread.

  I hand it to Dham so I can reattach the plaque to the front of the wall. When I'm finished I sit down with him and we open up the bag. Inside are two automatic handguns and several boxes of ammo. There's also a small flask of what I assume is holy water. I tuck it all back in the bag and stuff it into my backpack. "Let's go."

  "Are there more spots like this?"

  I nod and pull my hood up. It is misting, making halos of water droplets around the lit street lamps. "Becoming rarer. This is probably the last drop we'll get before the op."

  "I'm amazed that you trust me with all this. What if I’m a traitor." Dham pulls up his hood, so it's harder for me to see his face.

  I stop and turn to face him. "That's not funny."

  His face is serious. "It's not meant to be."

  We walk in silence. Finally, I say, "Do you think there is one?"

  "Not really, I guess. But the security measures are pretty intense. And there are a lot of people coming from all over--how can they all be vouched for?" He sighs and gives me a knowing look. "It wouldn’t be that hard to put someone in place."

  More silence. Dham doesn’t know the half of the measures that have been instituted since the Resistance decided to meet in London. "Harder than you might think."

  He ducks his head with a smile I more feel than see. "I’ll take your word for it then?" He changes the subject. “How are things with you and Ryland?”

  I had dodged his question at the pub, but I couldn’t dodge it out here. “Not good. He’s mad that I made him put me on the team.”

  “He wants to protect you.”

  “I don’t need protecting,” I snap.

  “Is it so bad?” He glances over at me. “Being protected?”

  Depends on what you’re being protected from. But I don’t say that. Instead I say, “Not always. Unfortunately, protecting someone tends to lead to taking away that person’s choices. To me, that’s not protection.”

  I look over at him again. He's a tall blot of shadow next to me in the murk. I can't make out his features at all; he kind of looks like a specter floating beside me. I notice something off to the side of him, almost out of my peripheral vision. I don't move my head, but I try to track it with my eyes. As the shape passes beneath a street lamp almost out of view, I spot a splash of crimson. Redcloaks. Only one group wears that color: Inquisition.

  I tug his hand to get him moving again. He turns his head, and I can sense his uncertainty. "Inquisition." He nods. "Keep your eyes open, there may be more."

  We quicken our pace, not running exactly. It's hard to see the periphery with our hoodies up, but it helps to keep our faces obscured. The mist has turned to a light drizzle and I hope we look like nothing more than some dumb kids that got caught out in the rain.

  "To your left," Dham whispers. I resist the urge to look, instead squeezing his hand.

  We skitter across the next street and I spy another Inquisitor trying to look unobtrusive as he stands in the narrow space between two buildings. Dham squeezes my hand and murmurs, "Right."

  The streets seem to be full of Inquisitors. I can't tell if their presence is because of the raid on the tunnels or if they are actually watching us. Or worse, following us, because they think we can lead them to the remaining Resistance. But that would mean they know who we are. If that's the case, then why don't they take us in?

  I know that we can't go any further, not like this. We can't lead them back to the others or to any of the few remaining safe houses we have. "Follow my lead," I tell Dham, keeping a tight grip on his hand.

  I giggle loudly. I am not adept at giggling, so it comes out sounding rather, I suspect, like a goose trying to speak German, especially since Dham gives me a look like I've just turned inside out and am wearing my organs on the outside. I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. He puts his arm around me pulling me closer.

  "Another on the left," he whispers in my ear, pretending to nuzzle it. We pass this one and I laugh again, trying to sound girlish and flirty. I feel like an idiot. I wrap both arms around Dham's waist, eliminating any space between us. We're still walking quickly, our feet nearly tripping over the other's.

  When we come to an alley, I pull Dham into it. I don't think about what I plan to do next because then I'll be too embarrassed. Instead I push him against the brickwork once we're out of sight and kiss him. I keep my eyes open so I see the startlement on his face. I can feel the tension in his body as I press myself against him. I push his hood back so I can run my fingers through his hair.

  He pulls away from me. The whole world's gone grey from the rain so that even the green of his eyes is lost to me. Tentatively, he raises his hand to touch my face, brushing away the raindrops that have decorated my skin like tears. Then he lowers his head to
mine and kisses me back with a gentle intensity.

  My stomach leaps somewhere around where my lungs ought to be. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He spins me and now my back is to the brick. He pushes down the hood of my sweatshirt and I can feel the rain pelting down on us, but I don't care because his mouth is on mine and his tongue is doing things that make me wish this all wasn't an act.

  I unzip his jacket, my hands anxious for the feel of his flesh beneath my hands. He deepens our kiss and I feel a powerful urge I've never felt before. I want him now, his body pressed against mine, stupid clothes forgotten. I want all of him: to touch, to taste, to mark as mine. Screw Cat and Ryland and the trip and the Inquisition and this whole stupid, stupid mess. I just want to get lost in the feel of his arms holding me tight and his lips burning on mine.

  I tip my head back, feeling the drizzling rain cool my face as Dham begins kissing his way down my neck. My eyes are closed and I'm rocketing between sensations; the rain chilling me, running down my face in icy rivulets against overheated skin, and the fire wherever Dham touches me. I pull his head back up so I can return in kind. My arms yank him closer as my leg rises to wrap around him.

  "You two!" A loud voice interrupts from the mouth of the alleyway. Dham and I spring apart, like guilty kids. Which we are, just not about that.

  "It's just two kids out for a bit of fun." The man who joins him has a wide grin on his face.

  "After curfew." I can feel myself tensing at the first man's words.

  "I remember what it was like at their age." He turns as if to leave. "Get going, you two. And keep it off the streets next time."

  Dham and I nod, relieved. The plan worked. I rub the back of my hand across my mouth, already missing the feeling of Dham's lips. I feel cold all over. We walk, heads down, to the mouth of the alley, trying for contrite and ashamed. Inside, my heart is pounding with a strange mixture of excitement and fear. Suddenly it doesn't matter that it was all a hoax, a put-on for the Inquisition.

  I kissed Dham.

  "Wait a tic." We're just at the junction of the alley and the street, when the first man stops us. "Let's have a look in that backpack."

  "Come on, Brian," his companion says.

  "They're out after curfew," the guard insists, a deep frown creasing the lines on his face.

  My heart drops to somewhere around my knees. I stare at Dham, who slowly blinks. "No worries," I answer and begin to slide the backpack off of my shoulders.

  I angle myself so that Dham is off to the side and behind me. He's got a clear shot out of the area. I swing the backpack off of my shoulders and fling it at Dham, who's ready for it. He grabs it and takes off.

  I'm already spinning, dropping low with a leg sweep. My shin crashes into the first man's legs, throwing him to the ground. I use my momentum to keep spinning and come to my feet directly in front of the second man. He gapes like a landed trout. My fist smashes into his solar plexus. As he staggers back, trying to catch his breath, I hit his temple with a roundhouse that throws him to the side.

  The first man is getting back to his feet, so I sidekick him in the face as he's pushing himself off of the ground. But I can already hear the sounds of more Inquisition heading this way. I sprint off in the direction that Dham went, hoping to throw them off. I hope Dham can find his way back to the Highwayman without me. I have a feeling it will be a long time before I'm heading back there. If at all.

  My hood is back up. I'm sacrificing peripheral vision, but it's better than letting the video cameras get a clear shot of my face. Bad enough that two Inquisition members got a look at us. I skid down streets and fly past empty shops. The sidewalks are slick, but the rain is good for one thing: it will be difficult for a Sniffer to track scents with all this water. No matter how enhanced they are, they are still bound by some natural laws.

  I crouch down behind packing pallets and crates and anything else where I can catch my breath. Sometimes I hear the sound of pursuit; other times it seems I've lost them. But I know better than to rest for long. I need to keep moving and hope I'm the target they focus on. I let the video cameras at some of the corners get a clear look at me so I can extend the chase—a bit of the carrot to keep the mule pulling in harness.

  Hours pass. Shouts rise and fall around me, some closer, others much farther away. I pelt onward in a jog, winded from running. There's a stitch in my side and I press my hand to it as I stagger along. I am close to the Thames, but I need to lose them completely before I can risk going back to the pub. I hope Dham has gotten clear.

  I keep to the shadows as I search for stairs that lead down to the water. If I can hide under a pier or something, I may be able to lose my pursuit and then slip away into the crowds during the day. With the curfew and the fear of being questioned by the Inquisition, few people risk going out at night. Right now, I'm far too visible. And vulnerable. I wish for the umpteenth time that I'd brought my blades.

  I am close to a set of stairs. I dart across the empty street when headlights flash on, catching me by surprise. Two men exit a small car. They are only shapes, tall and dark, against the brightness of the lights in my eyes. I move closer to the edge of the road, toward the side where it drops into the river.

  I keep my eyes down at their feet to keep from being blinded as the men walk closer. I see the flash of red lining in the taller of the two men's coat. I glance up and my heart begins beating triple time in my chest. Raulston.

  "You've led my men on a merry chase." His voice is deep and soft, like worn denim. I do not expect that voice to come out of that man.

  I say nothing, instead choosing to look behind me. The water of the Thames laps against the stone wall beneath me. I scoot back until my heels hang over the edge. I know better than to look at the Grand Inquisitor, but I feel my eyes drawn up to his. This must be what a fly feels like when it realizes it has flown into the spider's web.

  The other man draws something from under his jacket. It's a gun, heavy and black in his hand. I look from him to Raulston and back again. The gun doesn't waver.

  "Now, you are going to come with us and answer our questions satisfactorily. I don't think I need to elaborate on the alternative?" He waits a beat, then frowns when I don't answer. Not that I could even if I wanted to since my mouth has gone dry. I wonder why Raulston would be out at this hour for something as insignificant as a teenager out past curfew. Even taking the assault into account, it doesn't explain why a Grand Inquisitor would bother with it. He's got underlings for escapades like this.

  I am in deep trouble.

  He gestures for his companion to come forward. "Shoot her in the kneecaps."

  I push off with my toes, sending myself careening into the empty air. I twist around, trying to launch myself as far out as possible so I don't land headfirst on the stone stairway that disappears into the water. The water is like black glass spreading out beneath me.

  Shots concuss the air behind me. I tuck in tight, trying to make myself as small a target as I can. The water shatters in front of me as more bullets strike it. Pain lances across my back like summer lightning. I cry out before I can stop myself and take in a faceful of the Thames as I disappear beneath it.