"Will, thank God you came! Thank God," Edward whispered against Harper's neck.
It felt good to have Edward so close against his body, but for all the wrong reasons. Harper returned the hug briefly, then pulled back. "We're not out of here yet. You have to keep calm, all right?"
"Yes, of course." Edward swallowed a deep breath of air and nodded.
"Are you hurt anywhere aside from your arm?"
"Some bruises, that's all."
"Good." Harper unclipped his silver handcuffs and closed one of the cuffs around Edward's uninjured left hand. He locked the other around his own right wrist, but so loosely that he could easily slip his hand free.
"One last thing. The old woman I left with you, do you know where they took her?" Harper asked.
"They didn't take her anywhere." Edward closed his eyes for a moment. "They killed her."
"Of course. She was the only witness." A chill rushed through Harper as he realized how effortlessly Abbot Greeley disposed of the people who opposed him.
"We have to go." Harper opened the door and walked Edward out into the hall. He had been worried that Edward might give them away, but Edward kept his head down and walked with the slow dread of a prisoner on his way to the prayer engines.
Harper handed the cell key to the guard and took the prisoner ledger. As he glanced over the ledger, he noticed that Captain Brandson's initials appeared only a column below where Harper had signed them. Brandson hadn't noticed that he had already been signed in. The same initials twice weren't that noticeable, but a third time would be apparent, even to the careless young guard. Harper copied another three initials from higher in the ledger and then slid the book back to the guard.
Without waiting for the young man to respond, Harper pulled Edward forward and headed down the main hall of the Inquisition House. He had to fight his own urge to move fast. It was the sheerest luck that Brandson hadn't noticed the forged initials when he signed the ledger. Harper had no doubt that Brandson would notice them when he left the cells.
Once they reached the back stairs, Harper slipped the hand-cuffs off and urged Edward ahead.
"No matter what happens, keep going until you reach the pump room. There'll be a maintenance hatch open there. The shafts are coded to the streets overhead, so you'll know where you're going," Harper told him as they went.
"But—"
"Just in case," Harper whispered. Far down the hall, he heard the distinct sound of Brandson's voice rising over the quiet. It would only be a moment before Brandson raised the alarm. Then the entire Inquisition House would be locked down and searched.
"Run," Harper told Edward.
They took the stairs fast and then tore across the distance of basement to reach the pump room. Just as Harper pulled the pump room door shut, the alarm began wailing through the halls. Harper helped Edward into the maintenance shaft.
"It's pitch black in here," Edward whispered.
"Keep climbing down through the next two hatches. I left a lamp there." Harper pulled the hatch above him shut and twisted it closed as tightly as he could. So long as no one thought to connect this escape with the maintenance shafts, he and Edward had a chance of escaping. Harper was betting that Brandson would search the building and surrounding streets first, assuming that the only escape could be above ground.
Despite his lack of faith, Harper prayed he was right.
Chapter Eight
Steam
Harper led Edward through shaft after shaft. For the first hour, they traveled in silence. The only noise came from the packs of water rats that scampered over the water pipes and scattered as Harper and Edward approached.
At last Edward whispered a few questions to Harper. He wanted to know where they were and how Harper knew. He asked why Harper had brought the old woman to him and why she had been killed. Harper gave him short, quick answers. It was the way they had always conversed.
Even in college, when he had been deep in his anatomical studies, Edward had been an extrovert. Silence was foreign to his nature. In the past, Edward's constant flow of conversation had annoyed Harper. Now Harper felt relieved to hear Edward's voice. The sound reassured Harper that he had not come too late. The Confessors had hurt Edward, but not destroyed him.
"I think Raddly might put us up for the night," Edward whispered as they crawled through a low shaft.
"Raddly...Didn't he vomit in a deacon's memorial urn?"
"Yes. But I think the port was to blame for that. He's a nice fellow."
Harper tilted the phosphor lamp back so that he could read the letters above an intersecting tunnel.
"We're directly under Bluerow Street," he whispered back to Edward.
"Lottie Hampston lived on Bluerow, didn't she?" Edward asked.
"I don't recall." Harper swung down into the larger shaft and then helped Edward through. The once-white bandages on Edward's arm were now soiled with grease and mold. Spots of blood seeped through.
"What about Waterstone?" Edward asked.
"Who?" Harper glanced back.
"Richard Waterstone. Don't you remember? He could go on about poetry for years."
"Was he covered with moles?" Harper had a clear memory of catching a young man named Richard in the showers. He had had a beautiful back with a line of three moles just above his ass.
"Beauty marks," Edward replied. "Yes, that was him. Why don't we go look him up?"
"I don't recall enough about him to think of why we would look him up, so I doubt I can speak to why we shouldn't," Harper replied.
They reached another hatch, and Harper crouched down to work it open. His arms were aching. Edward hunched down beside him.
"Waterstone's father is the owner of the Daily Word. Richard's got a position as chief editor. We could go to him with the story. He'd publish it, I'm sure."
"We don't have a story, Edward. We don't even have a witness right now." Harper tried not to sound angry. None of this was Edward's fault. Harper vented frustration on the hatch, twisting it open with a vicious jerk.
"Fine, then." Edward followed Harper through the hatch. "I give up. Where are we going?"
"Down." Harper smiled as he at last caught sight of the ladder he had been looking for. He tested his weight against its corroded iron rungs. It still held.
"Do you think you can climb one-handed?" Harper asked.
"I think so," Edward replied.
Harper went first. Edward followed. The phosphor lamp swung from side to side as Harper climbed. Its pale green light swept through the shadows of the ladder, casting patterns of crosses and rungs down into the darkness below. Distantly, Harper heard the hiss of steam pistons.
"You know, Waterstone used to have this theory that you were half-Prodigal," Edward said from above him.
"Really?" Harper snorted at the thought. "What in the name of God gave him that idea?"
"I think it started with the gloves."
"Hmm." Harper slowed his descent, realizing that the climb was harder for Edward than he would admit.
"You always seemed to be keeping something back. You know, all the other lads were so desperate to talk their heads off, and you never seemed to want to tell anyone anything. You always stood out that way. Waterstone was still rolling the idea around last time I talked to him. Not seriously. It just settled into a private joke between the two of us."
"I wish he were right," Harper replied. "Then I might have some Prodigal power to call on instead of just climbing down from here."
"Being able to fly would be rather handy right now, wouldn't it," Edward agreed.
The cut in Harper's palm throbbed each time he gripped a rung of the ladder. He glanced up to see how Edward was handling the climb. He moved slowly but smiled when he noticed Harper watching him.
"It's funny," Edward continued, "that Waterstone never said a thing about Joan."
"What?" Harper almost lost his grip. The lamp hanging from his forearm rocked wildly, flashing green light up into his face.
&
nbsp; "He never suspected Joan, even though he met her dozens of times. She hid it so well, I don't think anyone would have suspected."
"How long have you known?" Harper asked.
"It took me a while to work the whole thing out. But after our honeymoon, I was pretty sure. There are some things that just can't be hidden when the two of you are...close."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Harper asked.
"I suppose I was waiting for her to confide in me." Edward shook his head. "If I had known how little time we would have together, I wouldn't have waited. It was so easy to imagine her being with me forever. I thought we had all the time in the world."
"I'm sorry." It was all Harper could say without betraying Joan's trust. He continued climbing down. He went slowly, making sure that Edward didn't fall too far behind him.
"I always wondered if you knew," Edward said. "I thought you did, but you never let on at all."
"If it had been my choice, I would have told you."
"I know."
They continued climbing. Harper couldn't think of anything to say. Edward always began their conversations, so Harper remained silent until Edward spoke again.
"I always wondered how you worked in the Inquisition and had a Prodigal sister at the same time." Edward's voice was quiet, almost tentative. He rarely spoke with such caution. Harper glanced up at him to see if something was wrong.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't feel like it," Edward said, catching Harper's curious glance.
"There's nothing much to tell. Joan never got into much trouble. The two halves of my life rarely crossed each other."
"I didn't mean directly." Edward paused as he shifted his arm awkwardly from one rung down to the next. "I guess I was wondering more about how you thought of Prodigals. On one hand you're a priest, and they are devils. On the other, your sister was one of them, and I know you loved her."
"I still do," Harper replied.
"Yes, I do too." Edward continued climbing in silence for several minutes. Harper said nothing. It seemed kinder to let Edward have his privacy. It was easier on Harper this way too. So long as Edward said nothing, Harper could not be tempted to comfort him with the truth.
But Harper knew the silence would not last. Edward had never been a private man. He had never had to disguise his desires as abstinence or crush his outrage to silence. Edward lived a life of shameless honesty.
"Isn't it strange," Edward said, "how you can know someone's gone, and yet you can't stop feeling as if they were still with you? Every Tuesday evening I still wander into the bedroom as if I need to remind her that the Pipers are going to be arriving for bridge. I know she's gone, but I don't quite feel it. I keep expecting to see her or hear her in the other room. At night when I'm just drifting off to sleep, I'll keep reaching out to put my arm around her..." Edward stopped for a few moments. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just keep rambling on."
"It's all right," Harper assured him. "People tend to ramble after they've been through an Inquisition confession. Talk all you want."
"Actually, I was hoping to hear you talk a little, Will. You never did say what you thought of Prodigals."
"You could pick another subject if you'd like," Harper offered.
"No. I want to know. I never could ask you before, but I want to know."
"The answer's not all that interesting." Harper peered down, but he still couldn't see to the end of their descent. The darkness below seemed infinite.
"Just tell me, and I'll decide if it's interesting or not," Edward said.
"Very well." Harper paused for a moment to think of how to put his thoughts into words. "The thing that I find absurd about condemning Prodigals as devils is that devils and angels are the same creatures. Prodigals were angels long before they were ever called devils. Lucifer, Satanel, Sariel, Azeal all of them. Each of the fallen angels was created even before the earth, and they were not made from mud but from the will and body of God himself. Even the most degraded and ruined Prodigal is still closer to divinity than are any of us born of Adam's flesh."
"Is it just my ignorance, or does this opinion of yours smack of heresy?" Edward said after a moment.
"Yes, it does smack a little. But it's not just my opinion; it's stated fact in the scriptures. Lucifer, whom God made Prince of the Air and the Stars, is the same Lucifer who fell to the Abyss. Sariel and Rimmon were archangels of the storms before they became lords in hell. If we accept that Prodigals were once devils, then we must also acknowledge that they were also the third of Heaven's Host who revolted against God. They were angels. You can't have one without the other."
"I hadn't thought about it before, but I suppose you're right." After a moment Edward added, "It's amazing you haven't been excommunicated."
"I think you're the first person I've told." Harper glanced down again. There was a dim glow far below them. The sounds of the steam pistons grew steadily louder.
"Tell me." Edward had to raise his voice a little. "Do you live by the principle that what people don't know can't hurt them?"
"No," Harper replied. "What people don't know can't hurt me."
"Even better," Edward said. "So, do you have any other secret theories?"
"A few," Harper admitted.
"Well, tell me then."
"They're too dull. You'll nod off and fall off the ladder."
"You said the last one was uninteresting, and it shocked me quite a bit."
"Really?" Harper looked up to see if Edward was joking. Then he realized that he had been around Belimai too much lately. Edward was never sarcastic.
"Of course." Edward stopped to rest his arm, and Harper waited for him. "It's not every day that a captain of the Inquisition tells me he believes Prodigals are more divine than the Sons of Adam. Even radical anatomists like Raddly don't say things like that."
"The same Raddly who vomited in the deacon's urn?" Harper asked.
"Yes. He was barred from practice last year. Not because of the urn. As far as I know, no one has ever found out about that. Raddly published a paper revealing no differences between the bodies of baptized and unbaptized children. He drew the very unpopular conclusion that spiritual states might not affect physical bodies."
"Really? Did he use Prodigal children in any of his studies?" Harper asked.
"Yes." Edward began climbing again. "He didn't even try to publish that. He just happened to mention it to me when we were talking about the Prodigal murders that took place this spring. From the description of the remains, Raddly surmised that the killer was extracting the Prodigals' Ignis glands."
"For what little it's worth, he was right. They took the glands and blood to use in potions. They were making a huge profit from it." Harper was glad Edward couldn't see his face in the darkness. It still enraged him to think that his own abbot had been involved, and he still hated his own part in supplying Peter Roffcale for the slaughter.
"Joan was one of the victims, wasn't she?" Edward's voice sounded tight. "I guessed that you couldn't tell me because I wasn't supposed to know she was a Prodigal."
"I'm sorry, Edward." Harper's voice barely carried above the hisses and gasps of the steam pistons. "If I could go back and change things, I would."
"I know. I just wish it could have brought us closer instead of driving you off. I could have used the company, you know."
"I'm sorry." Harper wondered if he could ever stop saying he was sorry. He wondered if there would ever come a time when he had said it enough that it would make any difference.
"Did you catch the men who did it?" Edward asked.
"Yes and no," Harper replied. "The men who were abducting and murdering Prodigals are dead now. They were killed while resisting arrest. The men who assisted them and hid their activities are still free."
"If I ever found out who they were, I think I would murder them with my own hands." Edward's words were soft, but the anger in his voice ran deep.
Harper said nothing.
The chill of the sh
aft gave way to a moist heat. Light shot up through the grated walkway below him. He jumped down to the walkway. Only a few feet below, the steam pistons and water pumps roared and hissed as gallon after gallon of ore and water rolled through them.
The dirt and acid in the air stung Harper's skin and eyes. The smell of refuse and the sweat of Prodigal bodies hung on Harper's clothes like a mist. Edward coughed and weakly clambered down the last rungs of the ladder. His eyes watered and his light skin was already an irritated red.
"Where are we?" Edward asked.
"Hells Below," Harper replied. "We're a little east of the ore furnaces. We'll need to go west."
"Does the entire place burn like this?" Edward rubbed his eyes.
"Yes. You'll get used to it. Once you're inside, it'll be a little better."
Harper studied Edward. His rough, gray cell clothes would have stood out horribly anywhere else, but in Hells Below many people had been held by the Inquisition. Few of them were wealthy enough to throw away the clothes they were issued on release. Harper's own appearance would be far more remarkable.
"We'll trade pants." Harper decided. "You can take my vest as well. It'll look like you've been out for a while that way."
Harper quickly stripped off his pants and vest, then handed them to Edward. Edward fumbled with the buttons of his pants with his uninjured hand. Harper removed the Inquisition insignias from the collar of his coat. He removed the priest's collar from his shirt as well.
Edward stepped out of his baggy, gray trousers with an awkward shyness. Harper found it hard not to steal a glance at Edward's bare waist and legs. At one time he had been very attracted to Edward. But that had been long before Edward became his brother-in-law. What remained of Harper's desire after Edward became his brother was a deep affection and slight curiosity. Harper kept his eyes to himself.
Harper snatched up Edward's discarded pants and busied himself tucking in his white shirt while Edward dressed.
"All part of my new, criminal life, I suppose," Edward said as he straightened Harper's vest over his shirt. "How do I look?"
Nervous, Harper thought, but he didn't say so. Instead he smiled.
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