“Open it,” I ordered, releasing the nub.
The two men hesitated, their eyes moving from me, to their unhappy associate, to the door. The idea formed in my mind that they had Bersi hidden beyond the door. I knew it was unlikely, but as the seconds ticked away, the certainty of it grew on me.
“Do it!” I snapped. “Open the door!” I jabbed the gun harder between the first man’s shoulder blades and he gasped.
The second one, the one I didn’t know, grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it. It held.
“Locked,” he muttered with a quick glance at me. I did not need to prompt him, however. He rammed the door with his shoulder.
Inside the room, I heard a voice call out.
“Let us in!” the second man called, even as he rammed the door again.
“Alright, alright!” came the voice, much closer now. The door opened. Froddis Illugi appeared in the frame, much as I remembered her, except that her round glasses were missing and instead of her severe uniform, she wore a dark gray dressing gown buttoned up to her neck.
“Get in,” I told the two men, and they hurried to do my bidding, jostling Illugi in their haste. She protested, but had to take several steps away from the door. I used the gun to push my hostage in ahead of me. Once inside the room I slammed the door closed and took a step away from the man I had it trained on. “On your knees, all of you. Now!”
Froddis Illugi’s face drained of color when she saw me: red-masked Raud Gríma, standing in her bed chamber, armed with a semi-automatic handgun. The stuff of nightmares for people like her, no doubt. People who preyed on the weak and powerless. She and the three men fell to their knees.
“What do you want?” she gasped.
I pointed the gun at her. “Bersimund Sölbói. His mother wants him back. I’m here to fetch him.”
“Tyr’s wounds!” Illugi cried. “We don’t have him! Just today his father came for him!”
“You lie!” I shouted. I shifted my aim and pulled the trigger. Froddis Illugi howled as a bullet penetrated her thigh above the knee. She collapsed to the floor, crying and clutching at her wounded leg.
“By the Hand, we’re telling you the truth!” the second man exclaimed. The first one curled in on himself, shuddering with sobs, and I realized I had not looked at his face to see if he was the other thug who took my child from me.
The third man scooted his knees to bring himself closer to Illugi. He whispered something to her.
“Silence!” I spat. I had to think. I had to decide what to do next. “I’ll see the children, now! Take me to them.”
The second man stared at me, but the first remained with his head bowed, and the third only glanced my way before leaning into Illugi’s ear again.
The rush of hatred that swept over me at this gave me a sense of power I had never experienced before. I raised the gun to point it at him. He was responsible, he and the damned woman, and my cursed husband—I could shoot this one now for his insolence and end his days of manhandling helpless mothers forever.
“Please don’t!” the second man cried, raising a hand. “I swear! I swear we’re telling the truth. Jarl Reister Sölbói came this afternoon for the boy. He isn’t here!”
“You,” I said to the first man, the one I had taken hostage. “Let me see your face.”
He didn’t respond, except to begin rocking back and forth.
“Your face! Let me see it!”
The second man shuffled over to the first and put his hands on the weeping man’s shoulders, pushing him upright. Despite the grimace he wore as he sobbed, I recognized him. He was the other one who had torn my son from me. I remembered him being bigger. Now, he seemed thin and weak, cradling his arms around his middle as tears streaked from his eyes. Not such a tough brute now—not now that he faced death and could not bully his way out of it.
“Please,” he gasped. “Please don’t kill us.”
I pointed the gun at him. “You took a child from a mother who pleaded with you to stop. Should I listen to your pleas now?”
“Have mercy,” he cried.
I hesitated, my finger pulling against the trigger, my eyes roving over the scene. They had taken my son from me, and now they wouldn’t give him back. I wanted to punish them ten times over for it. But as blood pooled around Froddis Illugi from the wound in her leg, it stained the third man’s hands red. I found that I had seen enough.
“You,” I said, pointing the gun at the second man. It had to be him; he was the only one my rage found no anchor with. “Get up.”
He winced as if I’d struck him, but brought his legs under him. His hands shook and he stood clumsily, almost overbalancing and falling onto the first man.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
“Àdarf,” he said, smoothing his housecoat and tightening the ties.
“Well, Àdarf, we’ll see how truthful you are, and how much your associates value your health,” I growled. “You’ll take me to see the children, immediately. If anyone who remains here leaves, or tries to bring the Officers, I’ll kill you.” I glanced around at the rest of them, noting that the third man seemed to be paying attention. Froddis Illugi was gasping over her leg and the first man sobbed quietly, but I thought that perhaps the third man would keep the others from endangering Àdarf. I hoped so, for I had lost my thirst for blood—Illugi’s had quenched it.
“I assure you—” Àdarf began, then stopped when he realized he knew not what to call me. “Bersimund Sölbói is not among the children.”
“We shall see soon enough,” I said.
I kept the gun on Àdarf’s back as he led the way down the corridor, its walls covered in simple lavender paper with upward pointing arrows in even lines embossed on it. I wanted to light it on fire.
We took the staircase down again and walked through a long hallway, turning left and heading deeper into the building. Àdarf stopped at a door and opened it, then looked at me. I touched the corner of my eye, and saw rows of beds beyond, but from where I stood, I could not make out faces.
“Go in first,” I said in a low voice.
With a nod, he obliged me. I followed him, glancing around. It was a dormitory with perhaps two dozen beds. Àdarf ambled down the middle, between the two rows, and though the light coming in from the windows high in the walls was dim, I could make out each face as we passed. Only one boy opened his eyes, and Àdarf shook his head at him firmly. The boy closed his eyes again.
None of them were Bersi. We exited, and once we were in the hallway, I asked, “How many more dormitories?”
“Two,” Àdarf said.
That was fitting, three being Tyr’s sacred number. It wouldn’t do to simply trust that he told the truth, however. I could check any doors we passed with the mask’s vision, but I also needed to make myself clear. “Take me to them, and know that if you are lying, if you are hiding Bersimund Sölbói from me, I will return and finish the four of you.”
Àdarf, already pale, blanched to a greenish hue, and motioned me to follow. I did so, but I knew in my heart what I would find before he opened the next door. It was as I feared: rows of beds, almost all occupied, but none with Bersi.
So Reister had come for him, that very day, if these villains were to be believed. Wrath welled up again as we left the last of the three rooms, and I had to accept that Bersi was gone. I wanted to find Reister and tear his eyes out. My hand, holding the gun towards Àdarf, began to shake. I licked my lips under my mask and swallowed, trying to bring the shaking under control. I had to either shoot him or run away. I could no longer contain my anger and disappointment.
“Kneel,” I said.
He stood there, blinking at me.
“Kneel!” I snapped.
Àdarf flinched, then slowly folded his legs and came to rest on his knees. I pushed the muzzle into the back of his head, and he began to shake, just like me.
“Move so much as a muscle and I’ll kill you,” I hissed, and bolted down the corridor.
&nb
sp; By the time I reached the courtyard, after a wrong turn inside the school that almost had me irretrievably lost, the street sirens began to sound. If one of the Holy Hand staff had been present, I probably would have shot them, but it was too late for that. I put the safety on the gun and dropped it back in the bag, retrieving the grappling hook. Fast as I could, I swung the hook up, and mercifully it wound around the same branch on the first try.
When I reached the top of the wall I left the rope and hook where they were and jumped down to the other side, the impact ringing up my legs unpleasantly. Like a runner in a race I shot from where I hit, sprinting down the street towards the north, away from the palace and the Temple, for surely the Officers would be coming from there.
Yet as I went to turn right at the first street that intersected Sacred Comfrey, I saw a car coming from up the avenue. I whirled around and darted further down Sacred Comfrey until I came to an alley. I plunged into it, then ran to the other end, which opened into another wide street. The corner of the building had a decorative edge all the way up to the roof. Without a pause I began to climb it, using each indentation as a foot-or handhold.
Just as I reached the fourth floor, with only two more to go, an automobile turned down the street of the building’s façade. I did not know the street’s name, nor did it matter. If they saw me on the edging, they would most certainly shoot at me to get me down. It was the night of the robbery and fires all over again, except this time Kolorma was not spying on me, and would not be there to rescue me. I pushed myself around into the dark of the side of the building inside the alley, clinging with all the strength in my hands and legs to the wall beyond the façade’s edging. Frozen, barely allowing myself to breathe, I watched as the car whizzed by.
“Merciful Gods,” I murmured, and then remembered to thank Luka especially. I pulled myself back to the decorative trim and climbed the rest of the way to the roof. Once on top of it, my escape became a matter of finding the best way to jump from roof to roof until I had left the general area of the school behind. Some roofs were closer than others, some almost touching, others yawning apart due to the quirks of their architects. The path I chose, as a result, was circuitous. I had to double back more than once to find a better way.
Eventually, however, I knew I had left the pursuing Officers behind, and I began to look for a portal to the Undergrunnsby. When I spotted one, I found a wall with a metal fire escape, and made my way down.
Hesitating at the opening to the Undergrunnsby, I thought of Kolorma waiting for me at the machine. Was she even there yet? What would I tell her? That I had to find Bersi. That we couldn’t leave until I had done so.
It couldn’t be avoided. Kolorma, unlike the rest of us, was probably safer in her apartments at the palace. If Reister had betrayed me, he might have also betrayed her, but I doubted it. Accusing the konungdis’s sister of treason was no small risk. No, I did not think he would do it. Liut, yes, me, yes; no doubt he would point a finger at Alflétta, too, although Kolorma’s association with him might protect the aging jarl. Reister didn’t know about Madr, but from Spraki’s reaction when I’d witnessed Liut’s murder, I had to assume Reister knew about him. Did Reister know about the machine? Was it compromised as well? Did I even dare return to it now?
I must. If Kolorma kept her word—and I was confident she would—she planned to meet me there. I must go at least to warn her. We would leave the machine immediately, just in case, and then come up with some sort of plan. I had to find Bersi, somehow, and meet her again later.
My head swam with fear, frustration, and sorrow. Exhaustion was also starting to weigh down my movements. I felt as though I had been running without stopping for days. I could not afford to delay now, nonetheless. I jogged down into the Undergrunnsby and started making my way, slowly at first as I got my bearings, then faster as I noted familiar messages on the walls and other markers. The uneasy feeling I’d gotten during my last trip through returned to me. Was that a pounding noise in the distance? If so, it was very far away. It did not grow louder as I approached the machine, but instead seemed farther off, so I dismissed the anxiety it gave me.
Letting myself in, I hurried through the panel maze to the main area by the wall with the screens.
“It won’t work,” I heard Spraki saying. “She already knows we can r—” As I left the last turn in the maze and stepped out into the room, my legs locked under me. Spraki, startled, stopped mid-word.
Reister. He stood next to Spraki. They looked for all the world like amiable companions, engaged in conversation.
They both stared at me.
“You!” I gasped at Reister.
“Myadar,” he responded. “How singular. I knew of your forays into the city dressed as that—that highwayman, but somehow, it wasn’t real to me before now.”
“Where is he?” I demanded, crossing the distance that separated us in a four strides. “Where is Bersi?”
Reister’s eyes gleamed. He cocked his head to the side and gave me a patronizing smile.
“Where is he?” I barked, my heart beating hard in my chest, hitting my breastbone. I didn’t like Reister’s face. Not at all.
“Myadar, please,” he said in a voice one reserves for excited children. “You mustn’t worry. Bersi is safe. I’ve simply moved him.”
“Moved him?” I echoed. “Tell me where, now, Reister. Do it, and I’ll leave you be.”
“Leave me be?” Reister said, mocking me. “Bersimund is my son as much as he is yours—”
The gun was in my hand before I had time to decide to retrieve it from the holster under my arm. I did not notice that I had gone for it; it was simply there. I raised it carefully, for I did not want my hand to shake and betray my emotion. With the same care I used my other hand to release the lock on it.
Reister’s eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up.
“Reister,” I said softly. “If you only knew how I’ve dreamt of killing you, you would not toy with me now.”
Spraki cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to the other. My stomach rolled—to go from threatening to kill Ádarf and the others before to Reister now did my nerves no good. I only wanted my son returned to me. I wanted to be free of this Hel’s mirror. I would never threaten another soul, so long as they left me and those I loved alone. I would promise this to any god that would listen—but then, Luka had no use for such promises, and He was the only one that had answered any of my prayers so far.
“Spraki,” Reister said, slowly raising his palms, his eyes never leaving the gun I pointed at him, “please locate Bersimund for my wife.”
I glanced at Spraki as he began to move. He lunged at a panel under the screen nearest him. Afraid that Reister was trying to distract me, I returned my focus to him, watching Spraki out of the corner of my eye. He punched keys in the panel, casting quick looks towards me and Reister.
“There,” he said after a few moments.
Keeping the gun trained on my husband, I considered the screen. It showed the grand salon of the Sölbói apartments. Bersi stood there—my heart flew into my throat. He looked taller, and thinner. Oh, my little boy.
“You see, Myadar, if you had just gone home, you would have encountered your beloved son waiting for you,” Reister said.
I glanced at him, but turned my attention to the screen again. Bersi moved about the room, touching a vase, the edge of the mantel, the clock. Each time he paused, he listened. Then his eyes narrowed and he walked quickly towards the door. Trying the knob, he found it unlocked.
“What is he doing? What’s the brat up to now?” Reister said through gritted teeth.
Bersi slipped out of the salon into the hall that would lead him out of our apartments.
“I told him to wait. I told him you would be coming for him,” Reister said.
Meanwhile, Spraki tapped the buttons, and the view fluttered out, and came back, showing a long corridor of the palace with several large doors spaced far apart. So many palace corridors lo
oked the same, but I supposed this one was the one outside the Sölbói residence.
Sure enough, after a pause, Bersi emerged through the second door. He looked back and forth, then shut the door behind him, and crept several feet down the hall. The image had no sound attached to it, so that perhaps explained why what happened next confused me. Something blocked the view. The next thing I saw were uniformed backs, but then nothing again. It made no sense for a moment, but as the uniformed backs appeared again, and moved further away, I realized that whatever machine showed the corridor, it sat in a spot where the movement of the Officers had obscured its eye for a moment.
The Officers were running, I realized. Running straight for Bersi. The Officers had their backs to the eye, and occasionally another one blocked the image again. Some were gesturing wildly, and some had guns drawn. Up ahead, a figure came around the turn at the other end of the hallway.
My heart stopped. Alflétta.
What happened next I saw unfold as if I knew what would happen; as if I’d seen it before.
“No,” I breathed.
The Officers whose rifles weren’t raised brought them to their shoulders. Some in the front kneeled down so the others could aim behind them. Bersi was there. Bersi was in the line of fire; I could not see him, but he was still there, for I had not seen the door to our apartments move. The officers paid him no mind, intent on Alflétta.
Alflétta disappeared the way he’d come, but flashes of light erupted from the rifles. Then someone stood in front of the view again for an instant, and then all of the Officers ran down to the end of the hall. The hallway emptied. Bersi was gone.
“No!” I groaned, my own gun forgotten, clattering to the floor as I rushed to the screen. The angle of the view did not show the floor.
“Can you turn the lens?” Reister asked in a quiet voice.
Spraki hit buttons, and the view moved down.
“NO!”
The scream erupted from my throat like fire from the barrels of the rifles that had killed my son.
~~~
I sat in a heap on the floor, leaning against the counter that lined the wall of screens. Above me, Reister was saying something. I did not hear the pounding that arrived at our door, but I felt it. Everything vibrated with it. Nothing made sense. I had to find Bersi, but I was so tired. I could not stand. The pounding resounded and I heard Spraki speaking fast and high, panicked about something. He tugged on my shoulder, but I could not move. I was turning to stone.
The City Darkens (Raud Grima Book 1) Page 39
