The Iron Bells

by Jeanette Battista

  Chapter Thirty

  I walk into Covent Gardens already unnerved by all the people. My eyes flick around like a dragonfly, unable to settle in any place or on any one face. Any one of these people could actually be Inquisition, a thought that I can't stop running through my mind. I'm glad I left Dham, Cat, and Trick behind at the Winchester; I don't want them to see me all jumpy and paranoid. While the Winchester is not on the Resistance’s list of safehouses, it is friendly to us, as evidenced by the curlicue on the sign. We can stay there for a bit and plan our next move.

  I weave my way through market stalls and vendor kiosks, eyes alert for any sign that I'm being shadowed. I stop at random stalls, picking up items and then putting them down, browsing through old fabrics, window shopping the jewelry on offer. Just a girl, out to spend some of her pocket money before the true crowds descend. I wear that persona like armor, hoping no one will see through it.

  My stomach rumbles and I stop to pick up a pastry. I nibble as I walk, trying to take a circuitous and natural route to my destination. The Resistance has a contact at Covent Gardens, an old man who owns a stall specializing in oddities and antiques. He's on good terms with the Inquisition, surprisingly, and acts as a sort of mole for us. They like to check out his wares from time to time and he always appears to give them first crack at anything that might be really special.

  After about a half an hour of wandering casually through the growing throng, I finally come to my destination. Airy maroon draperies divide the sides of this stall from the others beside it. A small, glass-fronted case sits in the middle of the space, holding timepieces, jewelry, and an assortment of oddments, some of them quite valuable. Strewn about the rest of the stall are various metal instruments, strange wooden signs, and lots of things that look like junk. It's a perfect cover.

  In the center of all of it, surveying everything like a king overlooking his vassals, is Sir Paul. He's not really a Sir, but he likes the honorific and he well deserves it with all of the help he's provided the Resistance. I saunter up to the counter and point at something in it, miming out the process of shopping.

  "Amaranth, what brings you here so early?" Sir Paul reminds me of a kindly grandfather, eyes twinkling as he looks at me.

  "Can I see that one, please?" In a much lower voice, I fill him in on the events of last night. "We've been compromised. The Gate mission was a trap. Auntie's was raided and the tunnels breached." I see his hands shake as he reaches into the case. His mouth is pulled down in a hard line when he looks back up at me. "They blew some of the tunnels. We’ve got a traitor in our midst."

  "Who's left?" He pulls out a tarnished pocket watch. "Here you go, young miss."

  I shrug, taking hold of the watch to inspect it. "I don't know. I haven't seen anyone and didn't want to risk a safe house just yet." I hold up the pocket watch by the chain. "How much?"

  "Head for the Highwayman near the Thames just west of here. You know it?" At my nod, he smiles grimly. "It shouldn't be compromised—only Ryland and myself know about it."

  I hand him back the watch. "Too rich for my blood." I pretend to glance again at the wares in the case. "Will you direct anyone else there?"

  He shrugs. "If I trust them, I will. Godspeed, Amaranth."

  I leave him then, keeping my steps leisurely. I stop at a few more random shops, eyeing this or that shiny bauble. I want to run to the Highwayman as fast as my tired body will allow, but I know that is foolish. I can't do anything that might draw suspicion to me or my friends. I make a point to sniff flowers and amble without any sort of direction before I turn down a relatively deserted side street.

  I drop the act. My steps turn purposeful and my stride lengthens so that I'm almost running. I want to see if anyone—if Ryland—has made it to the pub Sir Paul mentioned. I may be furious with him, but he's one of the few people I have left that I care about. I need to find out if he's alright. My anger at him for what he's done to Patrick is forgotten for the moment. I can be mad at him when I know he's safe and whole.

  I pass a doorway that probably leads to the kitchen of a restaurant. I barely notice it. But I feel arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides. I'm lifted off of my feet and pulled into darkness before I can do more than cry out and begin to struggle.

  I'm dropped unceremoniously on a hard, cold floor. I hear the click of a light switch and the small room floods with light, making me blink and wince. When the spots clear from my eyes, I see a man standing by the switch, blocking the door. I climb to my feet, steadying myself into a fighting stance.

  The man turns and I launch myself at him before I even realize who it is. Ryland. My brain kicks in, but it's too late to stop my momentum. Fortunately, Ryland is ready for me, grabbing my wrist and jerking it painfully to the side, but I'm too relieved to care about the pain. He's alive.

  I stop struggling and he pulls me in close, arms engulfing me in a huge hug. I can feel my throat begin to close up, clotted with unshed tears. My arms go around him too. Everything about Patrick isn't important, not anymore. "I was afraid you were still at Christ Church or the tunnels…" I whisper, unable to finish the thought.

  I feel, rather than see, his head shake. "No. But I was worried that you'd gotten caught out in them." He pushes me back, taking a good look at me, as if to assure himself that I am actually in one piece.

  I get a good look at him now too. A bandage covers the left side of his face, red seeping into the white gauze. "What happened?" I point at his face.

  He puts a hand to the bandage, close but not touching it. "Inquisition caught me—opened me up good. Got it stitched up, but hurts like hell." Seeing the concern on my face, he smiles one-sided. "I'll be fine, Amaranth." His face grows serious. "What about the others?"

  "Dham and Cat are with me." I pause, wondering whether I should tell him the next part, then decide to go ahead. He's going to find out soon enough anyway. "Patrick too."

  "It giving you any problems?"

  I shift my weight, uncomfortable with what I have to say.

  "Amaranth?" Ryland prompts.

  The words break out in a rush. "I tried to free Patrick from your binding spell." The look of shock and hurt on his face is quickly masked, but I've already seen it. I gulp, and continue. "It didn't work out exactly like I planned and now I'm bound to him. Or he's bound to me. We're bound to each other. So he has to listen to me."

  Ryland stands still for several moments, more statue than man. I can't imagine what he thinks of me. Suddenly, he grabs me and holds me tightly. "You stupid, stupid little girl."

  I blink back tears. I wasn't expecting forgiveness. Ryland pushes me back. His voice is urgent when he asks, "Do you feel any different? Any strangeness?"

  "No. Nothing at all." I look at him curiously. "Should I?"

  Ryland settles his hands on my shoulders. "I don't know, Amaranth." He stops, weighing his words carefully. "Your father was…different, and that may have affected the spell."

  My breath catches in my throat. "What about my father?" Ryland's never talked about my father before, putting me off with lies whenever I ask about him. "What do you mean by different?" When he doesn't answer right away, I say, "Ryland?"

  "You never met your father. Your mother wanted it that way. But he was a good man." His voice is sad.

  And you're avoiding the question. "How was he different, Ryland?"

  He refuses to look at me. "He was one of the few magicians we had left."

  I gasp. My father, a magician? "Does it run in the family?"

  Screams and yells from outside startle me, making me jump. Ryland's head goes up like a bloodhound's scenting game, and his eyes narrow. I can make out the faint honking of cars. Feet pound pas the door.

  "We need to move," he whispers.

  "But—"

  "I'll tell you all I can later, but we need to regroup someplace secure." His face is in shadow, but his eyes bore into me.

  I sigh. He's right. We're not safe squatting here. But I want to know about m
y father so badly, I ache with it.

  "Where are the others?"

  "Someplace safe, for now. But I wanted to check out the Highwayman first before I went to get them. I don't know how much the Inquisition knows." I look up at Ryland, a feeling of dread beginning to gnaw its way through me. "You know we were betrayed. Any idea who it could be?"

  He looks grim, the bandage and blood loss and unforgiving overhead light making him look like someone two days dead. He sighs heavily, looking almost defeated. "It was only a matter of time."

  "Who though?" I can't wrap my mind around it; that someone I've possibly gone into danger with could sell us all out like that.

  "If I knew that, I wouldn't be sitting here." He rubs the uninjured side of his face. "We'll have to see if we can flush him—or her—out."

  I stare at his profile, glad that the bandage is on the other side, in shadow. "It wasn't me, you know. No matter how mad I was at you, I would never betray you."

  He smiles, a true one this time. He pulls me close. "My girl, you are many things, but traitor is not one of them." He squeezes my shoulder. "Of that I have no doubt." He relaxes his hold. "But there are other young women in the Resistance—and a lot of relative newcomers. Keep your wits about you."

  He stands, pulling me with him. For a moment, I lean against him, head spinning. Could Cat be the leak? Is that what he's hinting at? Or is it all just wild speculation? She may be a massive annoyance in a pint-sized body, but a Judas? I can believe a lot of things of Cat, but not that.

  I'm at a loss. "What do we do now?" I need to go and get Dham and the others. They can't sit at the Winchester forever. But I feel paralyzed, as if every decision I make will be the wrong one. I want someone to tell me what to do.

  He thinks for a moment, his eyes going distant and that little line appearing between his eyebrows. I wait while he consults whatever inner compass or guide he has, my own mind rolling through a list of possible traitors. It does not make for pleasant thinking.

  "Go ahead and bring your group to the Highwayman. I'm going there now, to see if anyone made it there and I'll begin recon to see if any of ours made it out of the tunnels."

  "You know about Auntie's, right?" I can't believe I forgot to tell him. I just always assumed he knows things before I do.

  "What about it?" His eyes grow dark.

  "It got raided last night—Auntie made sure we all got out. So whoever it was that betrayed us, they knew about the boarding house too." I can see the lines on his face deepen as a scowl settles over it like a cloak.

  He takes a deep breath, obviously bringing himself under control. When he speaks, his voice is tightly clipped. "I'll send out word for her too."

  I decide in that moment to tell him the rest. “Dham and I are going to try for Rome. We don’t expect any help or for you to come with, but we think we may find some answers there. And on the road is the safest place for us right now.”

  Ryland blinks, surprised. Then he nods. “The Inquisition is hunting for all of us now. Getting out is the smartest thing. I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

  “That’s what we figured. And we may as well try and find out something useful while we’re at it. Trick’s coming with us.”

  He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything about that fact. "Eyes open, Amaranth. I don't trust anyone anymore and you shouldn't either." I nod, trying very hard to suddenly not cry. I don't know why the tears are gathering in the back of my eyes, but I know they won't help anything. "Be careful." He pulls me into another quick hug, then opens the door and ushers me out.