Palleday landed next to him, an armful of bandages and plastic-wrapped supplies, and muttered in irritation as he went to work, trying to tie the wound. “Don’t be a baby, come on now. What’s a gunshot, what’s it to you?”
Fresko answered with some wicked whispered curse.
“I’m so sorry,” Pax repeated. “I should’ve – or shouldn’t have –”
“You did fine,” Palleday huffed without looking up. “Don’t flatter yourself thinking this was all over you.” His voice got lower, masked in fast breaths as he worked to keep Fresko alive. “If there’s anything can be done, I’ll do it. You want to go. Make this worth it.”
“Uh . . .” Pax looked at Lightgate’s body. Not wanting to touch it again. “I don’t know that I can. This was – I mean – I wanted her alive.”
Palleday paused to look up. “Well, the FTC should give you a bloody medal for finishing her, no fooling.”
That was true. It might buy some favour, at last. And Letty – she needed help. How long had it been since that desperate phone call? Hell, hell. The Fae had the Dispenser, they had her friend, they had poisons hanging over the city, and what did Pax have? A dead criminal. “Can you get a message to them? The FTC leadership?”
“What?” The old Fae scowled. “You’re serious? I didn’t mean –”
“Please.”
“Craziest darned human I ever encountered.” He shook his head, then took his phone out. “Maybe Edwing’s people still –” He froze, something on his phone chilling him.
“What is it?”
“Not good. Not good at all.” He turned the phone towards her, as if there were any way she could make it out. He said, simply, “It’s Letty.”
10
Only after going through the arsenal thoroughly was Casaria truly satisfied that they stood a chance. His input clearly was needed. The revised plans that Support were feeding them, with choke points for fast-moving, dangerous creatures, suggested this was going to be messy. A battle bound for death or glory. And half the men hadn’t handled MEE energy guns before. A rough guy out of London, Agent Marks, even commented, “It’s usually people we need to stop.” Obrington’s hires appeared up for a fight, at least, but that wasn’t enough. Good thing they had Casaria to instruct them.
No sign of Pax to see his results, but she’d be here. And Ward had offered more than a few encouraging looks. When she approached at last, a little shy, Casaria could see she wanted to make up. She said, “You’re ready?”
“As we can be,” Casaria said. “These guys are green, but they’ll do.”
Ward glanced across at the other agents nearby, ugly guys with scars and cold eyes. She looked unsure, so Casaria offered an encouraging smile.
“Can I have a word alone?” She indicated a side door. Casaria jumped up, quicker than he intended, and slowed himself down. Ward took him to the new medical bay. A brick chamber with a cot and some supplies, far from sanitary. Ward started, “We’ve had our differences, Cano, and you know my doubts well enough. This past week in particular. But I want to say we value you here. A lot. You’re one of the most effective field agents we have in Ordshaw.”
Casaria found he couldn’t look at her, fearing he might smile. Didn’t want to make it more awkward, knowing this must be difficult. He mumbled nonsense she’d hear as thanks, probably.
“You know our plan is to lure the praelucente to a trap. To strike it once we’re sure it’s all there. If there’s . . . you know.”
“The screens,” Casaria said. “I know.”
“Then you’ll know someone has to – well – spring the trap. It’s not a decision I take lightly.”
It took him a moment to appreciate her point, and even then it was only because she was staring at him so earnestly. So worried. He frowned. Was she letting him down? Saying she would fire the killing blow? Or one of these vicious newcomers? He said, “Moving up in the ranks doesn’t mean you’re the best for everything, Sammy. This is mine to do, it’s what I’m good at.”
Ward was motionless, taken by surprise. He pushed the advantage.
“Obviously,” he sneered, “it’s your decision. But it’d be a big mistake to let anyone else do it. Most of all you.”
“That wasn’t my –” Ward started, but whatever feeble excuse she was going to make, Obrington cut it off with a shouted command.
“In here, Ward! Where the bloody hell is she?”
She gave Casaria a look, not wanting to leave this unfinished, but raced out into the office. He followed as Obrington said, “Kuranes is stirring trouble again.”
Everyone was listening. The Bartons were up, Darren ready to hit something, Holly rigid with concern. Rufaizu bounced nervously on his feet.
“Where is she? What happened?” Ward demanded.
“Got an alert,” Obrington answered, “saying she’s taking herself right to the FTC. No word from her. Sound like our plan to you?”
“She’ll have her reasons!” Ward protested, taking out her own phone. She cursed, no doubt missed a call on this. “I need to talk to her.”
“Think we haven’t tried? And I’m still not getting through to the FTC.”
Casaria was already halfway across the office, nearing the exit.
“Where the hell are you going?” Obrington demanded.
“Where do you think?” Casaria replied hotly, and saw the warning on Ward’s face. After he’d finally started making a good impression. He collected himself and tried again. “Permission to bring her back, sir. Before she gets herself killed.”
“Denied,” Obrington said. “She’s practically there already, and your place is here.” He looked to Ward. “You’re aware of the responsibility resting on your shoulders, Casaria?”
Casaria met Ward’s eyes instead of his. Her face was crestfallen. What? She hadn’t intended to pull the trigger on the praelucente herself. The woman was reluctant to ask him to do it. She didn’t think he was up to it? Or . . . she thought it was too dangerous? She did care, she –
“Sir, there’s something else,” a plump analyst called from across the room, face in a computer. The man started to panic. “Uh. Sir! I’m getting alerts –”
Amid the office’s flurry of concerned movement, Casaria himself was at the analyst’s computer in a flash, at Ward’s side. Shoulder brushing her shoulder.
“The creatures are moving.” The analyst pointed at a map. “Spreading out – going in – this isn’t good – that’s a glogockle moving into Westlane Station –”
“Bleeding hell,” Obrington said. “Something’s tipped them off. We need to get down there now.”
“They’re not just scrambling,” Casaria observed, eyes wide at what he was seeing. “That one’s leaving the Sunken City.”
The Trial Cages hung from a crane arm that protruded from one of the FTC’s taller central towers, over a wide gap between buildings, fifteen storeys high or more. Six square lattices of rusty metal, each dangling from a chain with nothing but a drop beneath them. Letty, escorted by three Stabilisers, sent frequent looks to Flynt to draw strength from his quiet resolve. The bastards had taken her pistol and knife, and another soldier approached from the other direction with a couple of steel wing clips: pin two wings together so a Fae can’t fly. But all they had to do was remove Letty’s Clear Glider.
A great swathe of the population followed them between the buildings, a lot of bustle between them, dozens of soldiers brandishing guns one way and another, some shouting for justice against Letty, others that she should be set free – no one completely understanding what was going on.
Shoved into a cage, Flynt shouted, “It wasn’t us, dammit! They’re lying –”
“Hang fast, Flynt,” Letty called out. A Stabiliser pushed her towards her own cage, and she spun to him but held off at the sight of a crackling baton.
“Your wing.” Hearlon pointed at the hump on Letty’s back. “Get in, toss it out.”
“They’ll stand trial, under all our watch!” Valoria
boomed from high up, with a smattering of councilmen around her. Smark was there, flanked by a soldier. “Until we have confirmation that the septjad is secure – and of our men’s safety!”
Glaring at Hearlon, Letty drifted back into the cage. She landed on the bars and growled, “I’m gonna tear your ribs out, you little bitch.”
“Speak up, Letty,” Valoria said. “Your trial’s begun – let everyone hear your threats.”
“Spin on it,” Letty spat back.
The governor regarded her with a triumphant smile, twisting towards the onlookers. Over her shoulder, the edge of the big screen was just visible between the buildings. The anchor’s voice drifted over with snippets about the disappearance of the Stabiliser elite, and fears that Letty and “her people” had plotted a citywide uprising.
“Is this not proof?” Valoria demanded, caught up in her own raving. “The threat of the exiles! The inability to hold civilised negotiations, with them hijacking our weapons! But the criminal Letty is caged! Her plot foiled!”
“You brought the septjad here, you delusional –” Letty shouted.
There was a crack of lightning as a Stabiliser hit his electric baton against the cage. The bars lit up with bright sparks and Letty was jolted into the air before landing, juddering all over, barely able to swear.
“Terrorist scum!” the soldier shouted, to a volley of agreement.
“Confess, Letty,” Valoria said. “You invaded the Council at this sensitive time. You commanded your exile friends to assault our finest soldiers. You intended only to –”
“Look!” someone gasped.
People were turning away. Something was happening. Letty pushed herself up, regaining her breath. Her guards turned away, following the general sway. Up towards the big screen. It had changed from the news channel again, to a shot outside the warehouse. Newbry must have regained the network. An image of a desolate street, an empty landscape of ruin. A sole figure walked down the middle. “The fuck . . .”
A human at the perimeter. A human getting closer.
Not just any human.
The camera angle changed, closer.
“Pax . . .”
Letty gave Flynt a look; from his angle he probably couldn’t see the screen, but his face was hopeful. Letty wasn’t so sure. Pax had to be out of her mind, coming here.
Valoria regained her composure quicker than anyone. “Part of her plan, no doubt – but the human does not know we have thwarted Letty’s coup. Activate the defences –”
“She’s on our side!” Letty roared. “Would any human risk coming otherwise?”
A ripple of questions ran through the crowd, many pointing to the screen – text rolled across the bottom, like with the news stories. Impossible to see from here. Valoria began another order, but Smark cut her off. “We need to see what she wants.”
“She’s one human,” Deidre agreed, “who must understand the danger of coming here. We should hear her out.”
“Should we?” Valoria rumbled. “Are we not all aware of the threat that giving humans the slightest opportunity offers? Need I –”
“What’s she holding?” the councillor in a toupee asked. Watching the footage rather than listening. “What’s that say?”
“‘Kuranes requests an audience’,” someone closer to the screen read. “Via Palleday. The architect?”
“Palleday –” Valoria started derisively, but the cameras picked out the jar in Pax’s hands. Half-finished questions swept through the crowd.
“Is that –”
“How did she –”
“Why would –”
“Are we to consider,” Valoria started, unevenly, “that a human who could capture a Fae is someone to listen to? She may be carrying a weapon – a –”
“A peace offering?” Letty snapped. “You can fucking see what she’s carrying. Proof of what I’ve been saying.”
“She’s close to the defences,” a Stabiliser warned.
Before Val could say another word, Mullon shouted, “Deactivate them, for heaven’s sake, she’s caught Lightgate!”
11
In the orange light of dusk, Pax was walking down an avenue of derelict warehouses, towards the one she believed to contain the Fae Transitional City, when she finally answered a call. She’d ignored half a dozen from Ward, Casaria, and another number she assumed to be the MEE, on Letty’s warning that the FTC were watching. If she wanted to get close, she needed to assure the fairies she wasn’t an enemy. She ignored calls from Holly too, for good measure. But now that she saw the building, an imposing brick structure with black-iron-framed windows, she baulked at doing this alone. It was a call from Holly she picked up, but Ward spoke.
“Thank God, Pax – stop, please stop. What are you doing?”
“Helping a friend,” Pax said. “Seeing as I’ve screwed everyone else.” Ahead, the huge metal doors looked rusted shut, not opened in decades, and the street in front had the dusty, debris-littered sweep of a post-apocalyptic plain.
“The Sunken City’s stirring,” Ward said. “The creatures, they’re breaking their patterns, moving away from the centre – with our sensor resets, we can see exactly where they’re moving – something spooked them and you shouldn’t be there.”
“I can’t help that, can I?” Pax said, not wanting to hear more. “But I can do something here.”
“You’ll get hurt – there are traps – no one’s gone that close to the Fae in years!”
Pax tried to breathe calmly. One step at a time. “They know I’m coming.”
Another step, and nothing exploded or harpooned her.
“Pax, we’re moving into the tunnels – this is happening – did you find Lightgate?”
“Yeah,” Pax said. “She’s dead.”
A brief pause from Ward. “Do you have a body? Bring it here – we’ve got our own negotiations going on with the Fae. They could kill you and we need you here.”
“Yeah.” Another step, and it looked safe to continue. They probably wanted her to walk right on in. It’d be neater to kill her indoors. “They must’ve seen me by now.” She held the jar aloft, turning it from side to side, trying not to look at the bloody corpse inside.
“The first agents are already going in,” Ward continued urgently. “You don’t understand, the creatures might surface.”
Pax stopped. That was bad. Their fears coming true, of what the screens might be capable of under threat. But why now? She frowned, studying her feelings. There was something. Far away, subtle, but movement, nonetheless. The screens sending signals. Were they still in the Ministry offices? Reading the computers? Aware of their plans? But they’d had half the day, why now . . .
“Fuck – they know I’m here,” she whispered. They had felt her. The same way she felt them. If they didn’t know exactly where she was, they knew she’d had a spike of her own energy, she’d tried Fae dust – they knew she was interacting with the Fae. Quickly, she told Ward, “I have to be here. It’s why they’re panicking.”
Ward was quiet, not liking it.
“They’re scared, Sam,” Pax told her. “That’s a good thing.”
“But . . .”
“I’ll call you when I’m done.”
With a quiet voice, Ward conceded, “If you – when you get out, I’ll have a car waiting.”
“Thanks.” Pax forced a smile and hung up. Never mind that she had Obrington’s car back there, the promise of company was nice. She looked up at the door, tall and wide enough for two lorries to roll through. She expected Fae guards, warning shots, anything. There was no movement. In both directions, the road stretched away along the front of the warehouse, a fortress of a building, utterly abandoned. All this real estate, left to ruin . . .
Pax knocked on the metal door. The rap twanged up and down the adjoining streets. She hit it again, the sound strangely satisfying, then called out, “Hello? Anyone home?”
She paced to the side of the doors. The nearest windows, though huge, were a good ten
feet off the ground, no way she was climbing in. “You know who I am? I’ve got a peace offering.”
With no response, she continued searching for another way in. After the buildup, from what Letty had told her of the FTC, and what the MEE reported, she’d expected a minefield, snipers, barbed wire, something. This was just a dead building at the end of a dead street.
“Human,” a small voice called out. She looked up the wall to a gap in the window. On the ledge stood a fairy in black armour, like the ones she’d run into at the lido. He had a rifle aimed down at her, and spoke with deep uncertainty. “You . . . stop.”
Pax showed her free palm, indicating she was no threat.
The guard shifted position uncomfortably, clearly uneasy under the gaze of a human; he must’ve drawn a short straw for this.
“You know who Lightgate is?” Pax asked.
He made an unhappy noise, then said, “State your business.”
“I’m selling jam, what do you think?” Pax said. “I want to talk to someone in charge.”
The guard ducked back, conferring quietly. He pushed his cohort, neither of them wanting to get any closer. When his companion didn’t budge, he reluctantly flew off the ledge. “I’m to search you. Do not move.”
“You’re . . .” Pax started, but gave in. Better let it play out.
The guard swept down to her, and stalled about two feet away. He hovered, looking her up and down fearfully. He muttered again, “Do not move.” Then came closer. Pax followed him with her eyes as he flew around her. Up, down, between her legs, over her head. Finally, he hovered back in front of her face, an uncertain expression on his own. They shared a mutual understanding that it was an ineffective search.
He looked back to the window, swallowed his uncertainty and called out, “I can’t see any weapons.” No one replied. He gestured to the side with his gun. “Down there.”
Pax looked along the wall, to a shaded area. There was a hatch, a drop-box for deliveries. She walked up to it, a two-foot square panel. The guard was gone. She pulled on the handle and the hatch opened with a heavy, rusty creak, pivoting down. The chute inside was barely wider than her, and dropped into darkness.
The Violent Fae Page 28
