Drake wandered about for a time, keeping to the shadows just in case he ran into someone who might know him. Not much had changed since he was last here. Only the faces. On every corner, peddlers and beggars jammed the walkway. Prostitutes of every gender and catering for all tastes tempted passers-by with their wares. Three times he was forced to shoo away groups of children attempting to steal his wallet. As a guard, he had come here once and thought it to be the most repulsive place in Vale. It was only later that he began to see the beauty in it. Through the dirt and grime there was a freedom here that existed nowhere else. Sure, you could get yourself killed. And if you got mixed up with the crime bosses, you probably would. But at least you could live – and die – on your own terms. But if what Vic had told him was true, all that would soon change. The magistrate would come and impose its will. They would bring order to this splendid chaos. And with it, even more hardship.
When it was time to return to Cal, Drake had resigned himself to the fact that these things were beyond his control. Life had always been hard in Vale. The only thing to look forward to was that one day, the land would be healed, and there would be plenty for all. One day.
Only the fact they he was intentionally keeping out of plain view prevented him from running straight into Bane. He was being led away by three men in dark blue suits. One was carrying a P37 and had it pointed straight at the mage.
Drake melted back out of sight. What was the royal guard doing here? And why were they interested in Bane? A chill shot through him. Xavier must have somehow tracked them here. That was the only explanation he could think of for the royal guard being involved. Damn it. Right now, it felt as if there were no one he could trust. At every turn, it seemed that people would rather see the prince dead than rescued. Only the magistrate herself had given him no reason to doubt, but he didn’t really trust her either. For all he knew, Fisk could be working for her.
He knew where to start looking, so he should run. That was his initial instinct. However, a nagging doubt quickly started to plague him. It wouldn’t go away. He owed Bane. He might not like him, but the guy had saved his life.
Keeping far enough behind, he followed the men until they reached precisely the place that Drake had been hoping they wouldn’t be heading for: the sheriff’s office. He knew the layout reasonably well – only one way in and one way out. And inside were roughly fifteen armed deputies, possibly more; not to mention members of the royal guard.
He waited until Bane had been shoved through the front door before turning and hurrying back to the lot where Cal was parked. Vic was already there, looking very displeased. Beside him stood a small pushcart, inside which was a cylinder about five feet tall and two feet in diameter. At the top of this was a metal tube attached to a square box that hung down the side.
“Where the hell have you been?” the old man demanded.
Ignoring his complaining, Drake grabbed the handles of the cart. It was not easy going. Vic was clearly stronger than his years suggested. The cart squeaked and cracked as they made their way over to Cal.
“Got her in camo mode, I see,” remarked Vic. “What are you into?”
Drake positioned the cart so that the tube could reach the fuel receptacle just above the left rear tire. At a touch of his finger, the three-inch-square door that prevented others from stealing his fuel popped open. Drake hurriedly put the box end of the tube in place.
“I need to know if there’s another way into the sheriff’s office,” he said.
Vic stiffened. “Have you lost your mind? You can’t break in there. Why would you want to, anyhow?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Vic held out his hands and shook his head. “No. Not even a little.”
The fuel cylinder hummed as it filled Cal’s tank. Drake looked around. The fact that there had been no one waiting for him here in the lot meant they must have picked up Bane somewhere else. A lucky break for the mage. If Drake had been forced to fight his way to Cal, he would have had no choice but to leave Bane behind.
“I just need a way in,” Drake pressed. Vic would know that building better than most. He not only worked on their vehicles, he also did a few minor building repairs as well.
“Look, lad. The whole building is a steel box from top to bottom. The only other door is on the roof. That locks from the inside, so you’d need a cutter to get through. And I’d sure like to see you get one of those up there without being spotted.” His frown deepened. “Whatever you’re after, give it up.”
Drake opened the trunk and then the box containing the various phials. After selecting two of these, he shoved them into his pocket. “Just do yourself a favor and forget I was here,” he said.
A sharp crack indicated that Cal was filled, and Vic detached the tube and chuckled as he lifted the cart handles. “Don’t worry. There’s not much they can do to an old man like me.” He paused to meet Drake’s eyes. “You’re a fool. You know that, right?” He let out a sigh before adding: “But you’ve always been a lucky fool.”
Drake watched Vic until he was out of sight. If anyone had seen them together, it could go hard on the old mechanic. And despite what he said, there was still quite a bit they could do to him if they chose to.
Returning to the heart of town, Drake went over in his mind how he would set about freeing Bane. He would either be in a cell – the best possible scenario – or in an interrogation room. If the latter, the royal guard would be with him. Or very close by.
Like Vic had said, the two-story office was essentially a steel box. The outer frame had been covered in plates thick enough to repel most weapons. His P37 could get through, though not without destroying half the building in the process.
Deputies and other people with business at the office made for a steady stream of traffic passing through the front door. What had been a bakery stood to the left of this, though the windows were empty and the light shining through revealed that workers had recently been stripping it out – no doubt the building Vic had said the magistrate had bought. On the right-hand side was a tavern where one was sure to find off-duty officers and those trying to curry favor or just outright bribe them. Drake casually strode up to the bakery and, after waiting until he was sure that no one in the street was looking in his direction, slipped down a side alley to the back.
Scaling the sheriff’s building was out of the question. Its smooth sides offered no hand or foot holds whatsoever. His eyes shifted over to the bakery’s rear wall. Difficult, but not impossible. The bars on the windows would certainly make life simpler. After finding a wooden crate, he tested it for strength, and once satisfied that it was capable of supporting his weight, he placed it just beneath a second-floor window at the far corner.
Climbing up, he eyed the bars and steadied his breathing. The sinews of his legs tensed, then burst into life. His jump was just high enough to grab the bottom of the bars with the tips of his fingers. For a moment he dangled there, fervently wishing that he were a few years younger. Eventually, after a few anxious seconds of feeling around, his feet found a tenuous hold on a slightly protruding lintel over the window directly below. This, in turn, allowed him to gain a better grip above. Inch by inch, he then climbed until he was able to wedge his boot between the bars.
A storm drain overhead was now just about within his reach, though it was obviously too flimsy to support his weight. A little above this drain, the very top edge of the building was surrounded by a thin lip. This was what he would need to grab.
With a heavy grunt, he straightened his legs and threw out his hands. Panic struck as he felt his fingers slipping the moment they made contact. In desperation, he grabbed at the drain. As expected, a section of it ripped free from its fixings. But at least it slowed his fall slightly, giving him time to seize hold of the lip with his other hand. He cringed as the drain section smacked into the ground below. So much for being silent; not that there was anything he could do about the noise now. As quickly as he could, he pulled himself
up and rolled over onto the flat roof.
After a minute, it was clear the commotion had not been enough to draw attention. One piece of luck, he told himself. Now he needed about fifty pieces more. Had he ever been that lucky? He couldn’t recall a time.
Rising to a crouched position, he crept over to the other side of the building. From this vantage point he could see across to the door that Vic had mentioned, which was set into a slanted rise in the near corner. He gauged the distance between the two buildings and backed away, focusing his strength. It was a leap of at least six feet; not normally a long way, but at this height and with only a very short approach available, he would need to take care.
He sprang into a run, managing just four paces before launching himself.
His boot struck only a few inches inside the edge of the opposite roof, and he tumbled forward into a roll to stop his momentum. Though the metal plating dulled the sound of his landing, he still waited for a few minutes before approaching the door. This was made from the same metal as the external shell and gave every impression of being extremely thick.
After pulling out one of the phials from his pocket and removing the stopper, he carefully poured the clear liquid into and around the door’s lock. Within seconds, there was a hiss as a cloud of acrid smoke rose up. He shuffled back a few paces so as not to breathe in the fumes. Slowly the liquid ate through the metal until he heard a low clunk. When the smoke cleared, there was a two-inch deep hole in the door, though no sign of it yet breaking through to the other side. He hoped this had been enough to disable the locking mechanism. He had a second phial, but he might well need this to free Bane.
Gripping the handle, he tugged. The hinges screeched, halting him at once. This door clearly hadn’t been opened in a very long time. Bringing a bit of oil with him would have been smart, he told himself.
Careful not to touch the still-bubbling hole, he pulled again, only this time very slowly. The hinges persisted with their complaint, but now at a much lower volume. He continued this way for nearly a minute before the door was open far enough to pass through. Just inside was a flight of stairs leading down to another door – though as he drew close, he could see this one was made from wood and bore no lock at all.
He pressed his ear to the door. Nothing. He cracked it open and could see that this was a storage room – boxes and old furniture mostly. After entering, he paused for a few moments to take stock of his situation.
He had been here a few times several years ago. In fact, he had once paid the sheriff to house a runner he’d caught overnight. He knew that the cells were all on the top floor. The interrogation room was on the bottom level, along with most of the offices.
If they were just holding Bane, there would be maybe four men on duty. Possibly fewer, at this time of night. Drake considered the best approach. A smile crept up from the corners of his mouth as he settled on his course of action. It would either be bold and decisive, or the pinnacle of stupidity.
He brushed off his jacket and pants, ran his fingers through his hair, and strode from the room.
The hallway was empty, though he could hear voices coming from behind the closed doors of the rooms on either side. This was somewhat troubling. The last time he’d been here, the upstairs offices were used only to store files and to give privacy to officials from the magistrate’s office when they had reason to visit. Still, there was nothing to do now but keep going. He rounded a corner, passing the stairs that led to the ground floor, and continued on to the end of the next hall.
Here, a man was sitting at a small desk station flipping through a stack of papers. He looked up at Drake as he approached and scowled.
“You’re not supposed to be on this floor,” he said. “Let me see your identification.” His hand drifted below the desktop, where a gun was certainly kept in easy reach.
Drake plastered on a friendly smile and raised his hands. “Take it easy. I’m with the guard.” He pulled back his jacket to reveal his P37.
“So?” he snapped back. “Your man is downstairs.” He was angry, but no longer reaching for his weapon. The sight of the P37 had been enough to convince him of the lie.
“Yeah, I know. I was checking to be sure you guys had room up here.”
“Of course we have room. What’s wrong – you and your friends think you wouldn’t get to have a night out?”
Drake spread his hands and shrugged. “We can’t get away with it in Troi. They watch us too closely. Anyway, I was just –”
He was mid-sentence when the entire building suddenly shook violently, throwing Drake against the wall. The man at the desk was pitched from his chair and left clutching at the floor in wide-eyed shock.
Three more tremendous booms resonated from the walls. Shouts came from downstairs, quickly followed by the sound of gunfire.
“What the hell?” the man shouted, starting to crawl back toward his desk.
Drake could make a very good guess as to what had just happened. Recovering his balance, he took a few quick steps, unholstered his weapon, and struck the man on the back of his skull. He collapsed face down in an untidy heap.
As Drake reached the stairs, smoke was already filling the corridor. More gunshots pinged and whizzed, followed by the sizzle of mana lightning.
On reaching the bottom, he saw that the walls of what had once been a conference room were completely destroyed. Beyond this, and now clearly visible, were the interrogation rooms. Fire from the wooden tables and chairs nearest the stairs licked at the ceiling, the updraft pulling the smoke to the second floor. Several men and women were emerging from the offices, all of them covering their faces and coughing uncontrollably. In the chaos, they ignored Drake completely.
The crack of a P37 could be heard just beyond his line of sight. He crouched low and started toward it. As he stepped into the interrogation rooms, he immediately saw two bodies – two of the three royal guard who had been escorting Bane. They were sprawled out, their dark blue suits smoldering and their flesh horribly scorched. The third guard was several yards ahead, ducked behind a toppled steel table. Six more men nearby were busy firing their weapons at an open door, the surrounding walls riddled with burns and holes.
A flash of green light shot from the room, striking the table. The guard flinched and held his P37 to his chest. Drake knew what he was about to do. There was no way Bane would survive it.
Drake had a choice, one he’d never thought he would have to make. Either allow Bane, a man he despised, to die; or kill a member of the royal guard. He leveled his weapon and pushed the switch beside the trigger guard. The heat of the vex crystal surged in his chest.
“Sorry about this,” he muttered.
The impact of a bullet smacking into his right shoulder spun him around just as he fired, sending his shot well wide. The pain was intense, even though the caliber was too small to penetrate his flesh. Ignoring his intended target, Drake rolled and turned. He saw a young woman kneeling behind a shattered table. She let loose three more shots, and one struck him in the left foot while the other two passed just above his head.
He responded with a small burst of mana that hit her on the forearm. Not a lethal shot, but enough to disarm her and send her screaming to the floor.
The remaining royal guard, now aware of Drake, was scrambling to the cover of a hallway off to his left. Drake knew there was nothing more he could do. In his present position he was badly exposed, and the remaining guard’s weapon would be fully charged by now. One shot would end it.
Rising quickly, he headed at a full run back up the stairs. The flames were more intense by now, and the smoke stung at his eyes. The man he had hit was moaning and wheezing but still completely immobilized. Another thunderous boom shook the building; the guard had apparently decided to use his shot on Bane. And from the feel of the explosion, he had possibly killed a few deputies with it as well.
“Help! Don’t leave me in here!”
The voice of what sounded like a young girl was barely audib
le through the door leading to the holding cells. His good sense told him to ignore it, but the repeated pleas to his conscience soon overruled his brain.
He fished a bunch of keys from the pocket of the injured deputy and unlocked the door. Inside was a passage with five cells on either side. All were empty save for one at the end right. A young girl, even younger than Drake had guessed – no more than sixteen – was gripping the bars and shaking them wildly.
“Please. Let me out!” she screamed.
She was a waif of a figure, with mouse-brown hair and a deep tan complexion. Her dark brown eyes were filled with fear as she gazed pleadingly at Drake. She was wearing the typical green coveralls of a prisoner, which meant she was likely to be transferred to a more permanent facility. Drake knew better than to get mixed up with a fugitive, but the smoke was increasing, and he sure as hell couldn’t just leave her here to suffocate.
Finding the right key, he opened the door. “Follow me,” he told her.
The girl simply nodded. Drake led her back out of the passage and toward the storage room through which he had entered. As they passed the stairs, the pop of gunfire was followed by a bullet striking the wall just ahead of him, sending bits of concrete digging into his face. He let loose a shot in return. Though not specifically aimed, he heard a cry of pain as it struck his attacker.
Just as they reached the storage room, Drake glanced back to see the head of the royal guard peering around the corner. He grabbed the girl’s arm and flung her inside. A split second later, the door burst to splinters.
The Vale: Behind The Vale Page 13
