Ren shifted his gaze to Tessa. He could give her a message to relay to his family — he could reveal himself as the Viper. It might have been worth it if their mission went south.
But just as Ren tried to form the words in his mouth, the phone rang.
“I’d better get that,” Tessa said quickly, picking up the call. “Good luck.”
“Right,” Ren said as he pocketed the pill. The moment was gone, and he found himself leaving Tessa’s office and weaving his way back, telling himself that he would have time later to fill Tessa in on everything.
Until then, there was work to finish.
Back in the sewing room, the hours whooshed by in a rush of last-minute hemming and patching and adjustments. Ren was grateful to keep his hands busy, and before long it was four o’clock. By then, the rest of the recent hires had already vacated their workstations, and the regular staff was busy upstairs, assisting an Italian princess who had spilled red wine all over her champagne-colored gown and couldn’t be comforted. Only Ren and Ms. Clarke remained, along with the crown princess’s and Aiko’s wardrobes. Ms. Clarke was steaming one last skirt before the royal workers arrived to retrieve the six outfits.
“Why don’t you let me finish that?” Ren offered from his side of the room. He had drawn out packing up his workstation for as long as he could. “I don’t think you had lunch, and you should get some food before everything’s picked clean.”
It took some back and forth until Ms. Clarke gave in to her hunger and vacated the room, wheeling the steamer over to Ren before she departed. Ren had never shut the door so quickly. Finally, he was alone — and he would set out to finish what he came to the Fortress to do.
After giving Aiko’s banquet kimono a swift steaming, he gently removed each outfit from its dress form and hung it on a rolling dress rack. Then, angling his back toward the security camera, he grabbed the starch bottle that Tessa had given him and began spraying the collars, his hands shaking the entire time. Ms. Clarke could return at any minute and demand to know what he was doing, or the royal workers could arrive early and botch everything up. So Ren hurried, dousing the collars generously before he ran the steamer wand over them to dry the fabric.
As Ren zipped the last gown into its garment bag, the royal workers were hurrying down the hallway. By then, Ms. Clarke had returned, too, and she grabbed a sewing kit to accompany the workers back to the penthouse, in case Aiko or her mother required assistance. It was all over within minutes, and as soon as they left, Ren plunked into his chair.
He almost laughed. He’d spent nearly a week inside the Fortress just to spend two minutes spraying a clear liquid onto three fancy dresses. But that laugh died in Ren’s throat when he reminded himself that his real work had yet to begin.
With a few hours before the rest of the mission was to begin, Ren packed up his few possessions in his bunkroom and reported to the head janitor, who rattled off a checklist and sent Ren on his way, with a cleaning kit and a mop in tow.
Ren dove into his duties, starting first with bleaching the servants’ bathrooms, mopping a few bunkrooms, and then sweeping the hallway that led to the hotel lobby. Other workers rushed around him — waiters tying their ties, maids holding clean towels, and a couple of maintenance workers heading outside to light candles on the cocktail tables.
Eventually, Ren felt brave enough to peek into the lobby, where the first guests had gathered. Military officers sipped from glasses of champagne while their wives complimented one another on their jeweled necklaces or delicate gold bracelets. Ren had never seen an event like this before, which flowed with wine and top-shelf liquor, with tuxedos and ballgowns, and with the very upper crust of both empires. Taking all this in, he couldn’t help but think about his life in White Crescent Bay and how it differed from this glittering ball. How many times had he gone to bed hungry? Or shook with fear when the soldiers ransacked his apartment?
While the Empire downs its wine and dresses in jewels, the rest of us starve and clothe our children in scraps. How long will we let them grind their boots against our throats? Ask yourselves — at what point will you say enough is enough?
A snippet of an essay floated into Ren’s thoughts, and he saved it for later use. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to publish again, but whenever he did, he had a wealth of new experiences to draw upon.
Now he just had to survive the night.
The evening charged onward. The cocktail hour concluded, leaving behind a trail of champagne flutes and empty hors d’oeuvres trays, and the formal dinner began in the banquet hall, where the guests dined on their choice of locally raised steak or freshly caught Pacific halibut, or braised root vegetables with an arrangement of delicately assembled greens.
Ren, however, was too nervous to even think about food. Once the clock on the wall ticked past nine, he began mopping the halls of the workers’ quarters and counting down the minutes. Aiko and her mother had already changed into their third outfits for the night. Plenty of time had passed for the sleeping drug to seep into Aiko’s skin, and she should have already felt the first effects of the drug: a headache, a churning stomach, the trickles of exhaustion. It was nearly time.
“Looks like you got a side job,” someone said behind Ren.
Ren groaned. He knew that voice too well. Gripping on to the mop handle, he mumbled, “May I be of assistance, Sasaki-sama?”
Sasaki responded by shoving Ren against the wall. “There’s something shifty about you.” Ren could smell the faint smell of wine on his breath, but Sasaki wasn’t drunk. He simply seemed angry. “I don’t know how you got a job at the fort, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it. A criminal’s son never should have been hired.”
Ren’s heart thudded hard. He hadn’t seen Sasaki since Tessa used her power on him, and now Ren wondered if Sasaki had remembered some of that encounter. Hadn’t Tessa said that her abilities were limited?
“I’m not my mother, Sasaki-sama,” Ren forced himself to say. “I’m loyal to the emperor.”
Sasaki laughed. “You expect me to believe you? The son of a Chinese traitor?”
Ren clutched his mop even tighter. He had to shake off Sasaki and keep a low profile until Tessa came to find him. He had to make an excuse and get away, but he had a feeling that Sasaki was relishing this moment.
Then, to Ren’s surprise, Sasaki backed off and turned around. But that relief was short-lived.
“Come with me and bring that mop,” Sasaki said, motioning at Ren. “I’ve got a job for you.”
Once again, Ren didn’t have much of a choice but to obey.
They entered the hotel lobby, where Ren got his second glimpse of the Joint Prosperity Ball. The glass doors to the courtyard had been thrown open, and about half the guests — hundreds of people — had already wandered outside, wine glasses in hand. Dozens of heat lamps were spread out over the patio to keep the air warm, and the band had started up their first set. Ren could see the swimming pool down the way, filled with lilies and floating candles, a scene straight from an Old World fairy tale.
The other guests remained in the banquet hall, lingering over plates of miniature apple strudels and small taiyaki cakes, which were sculpted into the shape of a fish and stuffed with red bean paste. Most of the cadets had been sent up to bed, but the senior class had been given permission to remain. Ren spotted a few of them trying to steal liquor bottles from the bar.
“Stop gawking,” Sasaki hissed. He elbowed Ren in the ribs and shoved him toward the reception desk. “One of the guests was sick, and you get to clean it up.”
Ren flinched as soon as he spotted the large pool of vomit, not far from the elevators and the front doors of the hotel. A server had propped the doors open to air out the smell, and Ren saw a security checkpoint outside on the hotel’s circular drive. Metal detectors had been set up by a majestic fountain, while a flock of suited security guards kept watch for late arrivals. Even a helicopter circled above the hotel, yet another line of defense for the e
vening. The chop of its propellers kept Ren company as he approached the vomit and began to clean.
Sasaki hovered over him. “Hurry up. There’s another mess after you finish this one.”
Ren mopped faster and said nothing. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could retreat to the workers’ quarters. That was where Tessa expected to find him, and he wasn’t about to let Sasaki or a pile of throw-up get in the way of the mission.
As Ren mopped, Sasaki’s attention shifted toward the checkpoint outside. A group of latecomers had approached the metal detectors — a white-haired woman in her seventies, flanked by four younger women in bell skirts, likely her daughters or other family members. One of them interpreted for her from German to Japanese.
“I am Baroness Augusta of Saxe-Lauenburg,” the woman announced, walking up to the first security guard while leaning on an ivory cane. She wore a velvet maroon gown with a grand poufed skirt that looked like something that had been plucked out of a Victorian painting. It almost resembled a costume.
The security guards had some trouble tracking down the baroness on their records, and the old woman appeared none too pleased. She began rattling off names of military officers whom she knew, but the guards still wouldn’t let her inside the hotel. Sasaki curiously watched the proceedings unfold, ready to insert himself with a puffed-up chest.
But then, everyone’s attention in the foyer was drawn elsewhere.
One of the elevators pinged open and out stepped Aiko, newly changed for the dancing portion of the ball. Her cheeks were freshly powdered and her lips had been painted pink and glossed over. Ren, however, wasn’t looking at her face.
He was staring at her outfit. Aiko wasn’t wearing the gown that the sewing team had spent months preparing. She was wearing a completely different dress — it was the A-line one that Ren had sewn for her. Except Aiko had made alterations to it.
The ivory fabric had been painted with sweeping black brushstrokes that stretched over the bodice and down to the skirt, forming a bold modern pattern. But as Aiko walked past Ren — she didn’t even notice him — he saw that the brushstrokes didn’t form a pattern at all. The strokes looked like words, written in beautiful Japanese kanji.
Liberty.
Freedom.
Power.
Ren’s mouth dropped open. Over in the lounge area of the lobby, conversation all but hushed. Guests began tilting their heads in Aiko’s direction, with their eyebrows arched at sharp angles. Soon, the whispering started.
Right then, Crown Princess Katsura stepped out of the banquet hall, already dressed in her third kimono for the evening and with the swell of her belly pushing out the delicate fabric. Her gaze traveled toward the elevator, where she spotted her daughter, and her face turned ghostly white.
Moving hastily, the crown princess pinned a frozen smile to her lips and hurried to take her daughter by the arm. Ren pretended to keep mopping but could hear pieces of their argument.
“What are you wearing? What is this?” the crown princess whispered frantically. She tried to nudge Aiko to the elevator, but Aiko refused to move. In fact, Aiko looked determined to join her father and her fiancé out on the patio.
“Let go,” Aiko muttered. Somehow her features remained placid despite everyone staring at her.
“You should be grateful that your father hasn’t seen you yet. How could you do this to him?”
“How could he marry me off to that old man?” Aiko said, hurt tearing through each syllable. “Forst is nearly Father’s age.”
“You’re making a scene,” the crown princess said through gritted teeth. She tried to jab a finger at the elevator buttons, but she needed a security card to swipe her in. Her servants must have held on to her ID on her behalf, but now they were nowhere to be seen.
“Our guests are waiting,” Aiko said, triumph in her tone.
Her mother’s voice lowered. “Don’t insult your father like this, in front of all of these people.”
“He didn’t even tell me about the engagement until —”
“It’s for the best.”
“Best for who, exactly?” Aiko said, defiant.
The crown princess glanced back to the lobby and noticed everyone staring at them. Flushing, her eyes went wet with tears. “Don’t do this. Not here.”
At that, Aiko hesitated. She was probaby expecting a fight, but she hadn’t been ready to watch her mother cry. Ren saw the warring emotions on Aiko’s face. As a princess, she was expected to follow a life’s plan that she never had any say in — to accept, to conform, to swallow her dreams and do it with grace. But Ren realized that Aiko’s dreams wouldn’t be banished so easily. She wanted to fight for them, and yet doing that would come with a price — humiliating her parents, disgracing her station, and shaming her own name.
But right as Ren thought Aiko would back down, she stood even straighter.
“I won’t marry him,” Aiko said. Her voice wobbled a step, but she steadied it. “I can’t.”
It took a few seconds for the crown princess to reply. “Is this about art school again?”
“It’s not only —”
“Then what is it?”
Color rose up Aiko’s neck as she searched for words. “It’s about … it’s about everything!” she said, echoing what she had said to Ren on the balcony of the royal penthouse.
The crown princess, however, refused to hear any of it. “We’re going upstairs to change before your father sees you.” She took her daughter by the arm again while she searched for one of their servants.
Again, Aiko tried to pull away. “For once, will you listen —”
But Ren would never hear what Aiko intended to say.
Sudden gunfire popped at the checkpoint outside, blasting into his eardrums and echoing inside the lobby. At first, Ren thought maybe a soldier’s gun had misfired, but then more bullets sprayed and the soldiers began shouting orders. This wasn’t an accident, Ren realized. This was an attack. With his pulse racing into a gallop, Ren hit the floor fast and crawled behind the reception desk, blinking to figure out what was going on.
Outside, just beyond the hotel’s front doors, Ren watched the soldiers squaring off against Baroness Augusta and the four women accompanying her. But these women were no longer prim and proper blue-blooded ladies. Each one had pulled a pistol or rifle from under her skirt and had killed off most of the security team already. As they reloaded their weapons to fight an incoming wave of soldiers, Baroness Augusta revealed a grenade launcher strapped to her right leg.
“Take cover!” she shouted in perfect American English to her comrades. And then she launched the first bomb straight at the helicopter hovering over the hotel, clipping the aircraft’s tail.
Everything flashed bright. A metallic roar sounded in the sky, and the helicopter came crashing down, a hot smear of red against the night. It landed right outside the hotel, shaking the walls, shuddering across the floor, and hurling debris and smoke into the lobby.
Ren buried his head under his arms as chunks of marble flew past him. Screams erupted from every direction as Baroness Augusta launched another grenade outside, turning the bubbling fountain into a boiling explosion.
Inside the lobby, the soldiers ordered everyone to get down and not to panic.
No one listened. The screams ratcheted louder, while the ceiling cracked and moaned.
Ren had no idea who the baroness was or why she was here.
All he knew was that the Fortress was under attack.
And his mission was turning to dust in front of his eyes.
Smoke billowed in the hotel lobby, invading people’s lungs and conquering every inch of clean air. The fire alarms blared and the emergency sprinklers turned on, showering Ren with freezing-cold water.
Ren huddled into a ball as another spray of bullets popped somewhere outside. Anarchy had taken hold in the hotel, despite all the security measures. Soldiers lay dead while others stood dazed, unsure of where to go. Meanwhile, the guests were crying
and stumbling around. No one knew what they should do — head outside where the fires blazed, or remain inside and risk the hotel collapsing? — so they resorted to spinning around in circles.
Ren coughed out a mouthful of dirt, still shell-shocked at what had happened. This couldn’t have been a Resistance attack — Marty wouldn’t have jeopardized the mission. So who was Baroness Augusta and why had she come? Ren doubted that she was a Soviet operative; the Russians had been itching for a fight against the Nazis, not the Empire.
It doesn’t matter. You have to move, Ren told himself. What mattered was salvaging the mission if he could. Not to mention staying alive.
Another shudder rippled across the hotel floor, and Ren scuttled to his feet. He didn’t see Sasaki anywhere, thankfully, but he couldn’t find Aiko, either. But even if he did locate the princess, he still needed Tessa. There would be no getaway car without her.
Smoke wafted into Ren’s nose and he coughed again, just as a chilling thought struck him. Were Aiko and Tessa even alive?
Ren picked his way over the debris and the puddles. The sprinklers kept spewing water onto the lobby, extinguishing the flames but turning the marble floors into a slippery mess. Ren was nearly knocked over by a couple of Nazi colonels sprinting for the front door, and as he staggered to gain his balance, he bumped into a girl behind him. He swung around and grabbed on to her shoulders to steady himself and was about to move on, but the girl clutched his hands.
“Ren!” she shouted over the fire.
Ren blinked, the pandemonium around him quieting as he realized who was standing in front of him. He couldn’t believe it. “Tessa —” He stopped himself. “Fräulein Plank?”
“I was coming to find you when the bomb went off! I’d just gotten to the lobby before the first explosion,” she shouted over the mayhem. Her hair was drenched, and her fist was coiled tightly around a key ring.
Ren fixated on the keys. “Are those —”
Live in Infamy Page 16
