took her a while to understand where she was. Her geographical knowledge of London was somewhat lacking, but she'd spent a lot of time poring over maps back when her and Cali were planning one of their unconsummated trips. Tower Bridge. In a room in one of the towers of Tower Bridge. She must be. If she pressed her nose right up to the window pane, she could just about see the other tower.
'How...?'
'Animalistic cunning, a flair for the dramatic and many, many Silence marks.' Kai explained. He was grinning wildly. 'The Tower Bridge museum is the on the floor below. We've got the top two floors of both towers. A group of people with Knowledge moved in here after the War, and there's been a number of us here ever since. Here - '
He led her over to the far wall. An unobtrusive pair of marks were painted on to it a few feet of the floor, a few color tones away from the wall's whitewash.
'Silence and Protection,' he explained. 'Come on, let's go and meet everyone.'
They walked through the door across the room and into what looked like a communal area. Elra entered, nervously. Ratty, worn sofas and armchairs were placed at intervals, adorned with all manner of colorful throws in styles ranging from Native American to Japanese. Between them on the floor led piles of Persian and Turkish rugs, well-loved and musty. Two coal-burning stoves sat in the corners and African ornaments decked the walls along with – books. Thousands and thousands of books, from musty old tomes to fresh-printed paperbacks. The place was heavy with the weight of that combined literature.
And then, of course, there were the people. Sitting on one sofa was a middle-aged man, balding, bearded and gruff-looking. His face had a timeless look, as if it could have fit in equally well among the docks of eighteenth century east London as the present. He looked at Elra with a closed expression that she couldn't read.
Behind him, engrossed in taking apart some device or other at a darkly polished wooden table, sat a smartly-dressed thirty-something man with intensely black, velvety skin, who shot Elra a brief smile as her eyes passed over him.
And directly before her stood a middle-aged but well-preserved oriental woman, petite and fierce-looking.
'Mother, this is Elra,' Kai said, sheepishly. 'Elra, this is Zhen Leto. My mother.'
'Pleased to meet you,' Elra said carefully.
'So, you're the unmarked girl we were told to go fetch.' Zhen grimaced, lips pursed.
'I am,' Elra replied, already indignantly displaying her minority pride.
Zhen seemed to look down on her, regardless of how Elra outranked her in height. It was understated and it was subtle, but her derision was clearly there.
‘You’re unmarked?’ the black scientist said, his interest piqued.
‘Ah, this is Hieronymous,’ Kai clarified.
‘But call me Hiero,’ he finished, rising from his work. ‘Unmarked? Well, that’s quite something.’
‘Elra, Hiero. Hiero, Elra,’ Kai said, awkwardly.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Hiero returned.
Zhen’s glare was abating, but her silence was deafening. It was broken from across the room.
‘Ain’t you going to introduce me?’ the 18th-century dock worker growled, not moving his gaze from the book he was reading.
‘And this is Harland, our resident historian,’ Kai explained.
Harland didn’t get up. ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ he said in an abrupt, insincere manner.
‘Well, I’m very pleased to meet you all,’ Elra announced. ‘And thanks for letting me stay.’
'Come on, I'll show you around,' Kai said, breaking the awkward silence.
Twenty-three
'As I said, she's conservative.'
'Yep,' Elra replied. 'Why is she like that?'
'Why is anyone like that?' Kai mused, as if the question had being weighing on him for some time. 'Ignorant, jaded... take your pick. Shall I let you in on a secret?'
She raised her eyebrows.
'That's one of the reasons her and my father separated, or so I think.'
'Jeez.'
‘Harland’s not that much damned better, either,’ he continued. As for Hiero, he’s okay. He was a good friend of my dad’s once: that’s how he came to live here.’
They were in the kitchen, or what served as a kitchen. The leftovers from the evening meal were sitting temptingly on a sideboard. It looked like roast chicken, but darker... with some form of vegetables, potatoes, a lamb stew, a few drained glasses of wine, olives, cheese, Chinese dumplings, fish stew...
Elra's hunger from running felt like a rat in her abdomen.
'May I...?' she asked leadingly, gesturing to the food.
‘Go for it.'
They descended on the spread, dolloping the messy stuff onto plates, grabbing things by hand when practical. Elra attacked the roast chicken-like dish first.
'Ah, a woman of high tastes,'
'What is it?'
'Partridge. We get a few sent down every now and then by the Hambles. They live on a farm in Hampshire.'
'But, it looks like...'
'Yeah, a partridge is kind of like a small chicken which lives in woods. They shoot them.'
'Well, they taste very good,' she replied, her mouth full of its meat.
'Ah, and I see Rania and her dad came round.'
'Who?'
'A father-daughter pair. Live in Whitechapel, nearby here. He makes the most excellent spicy lamb. Seems like him and Hiero cooked up this number, it’s got his signature color. You'll meet them soon, probably.'
Elra pinched a chunk of lamb from the tureen with her fingers and popped it in her mouth. It was deeply spicy and burnt her tongue, but in a highly satisfying way.
Later, Kai played host and took her around the rest of the hideout. He showed her the 'main' entrance, a slim, secret staircase within their tower that led down to a cramped tunnel within the bridge itself and exited somewhere near the Tower of London; the circular Observation room in one of the bridge's small turrets that commanded a near-360 degree view of the city; the so-called 'museum' where Harland studied marked artifacts; and, finally, the cozy little bedrooms that took up the majority of the top floor and a few of the turrets, some occupied, most not.
When Elra saw the beds, piled thick with patterned blankets and downy pillows, she realized just how tired she was. The weight of the day was laying heavy on her, all that emotion, traveling, revelation and discovery.
'Do you mind if I borrow a bed? I'm quite - '
'Tired?' Kai finished. 'Step right this way ma'am.'
Through the narrow corridors of the living quarters and up a small spiral stairway they climbed. They came to a little oak door just small enough to make you crouch when you walked through it.
'I thought you might as well have this room, since you're the guest of honor,' he explained, shooting her that grin of his and opening the door.
What a room. It mirrored the Observation Room’s circular size and panoramic view; except, instead of being barely furnished, a beautiful four poster bed sat against one wall, along with a few waist-high cupboards (so as not to block out the view) and an impressive desk cut to fit the wall's curve. Everything, much like the rest of the hideout, was covered in rich, sumptuous rugs and throws. Elra noticed later, much to her amazement, that the Persian rug on the floor was circular and - unless it was highly coincidental - seemed to have been especially made to fit the room. But then, in the present, all Elra could think of was how inviting that bed looked, especially with the setting sun reddening the sky and casting it in a warm, muted light.
'Harland made this room his hobby,' said Kai. 'He made the desk, the cupboards, and assembled the bed. He’s like that, Harland. Shows a stronger affinity to things than people, on the most part.’
'You sure he won't mind?'
'He'll live with it,' Kai replied, in a slightly bitter tone. 'Do you want me to leave you to it?'
'If you'd be so kind.'
He smiled widely. 'I had fun today.'
Elra looked at him. What could she say
? In the end, she just settled for a smile.
'Right, I'll be off. Wake up whenever you want, tomorrow. We're in no rush. Would like to see what you're capable of, though. As would the others. Have a good one, Elra.'
He stood there awkwardly for another moment, then left.
Elra fell onto the bed fully clothed, sighing audibly at how the mattress slowly collapsed under her weight. Before consciousness left her, she was creepingly aware of the need to set her phone's alarm. Sleepily, she realized she didn't even have her phone, and was vaguely troubled by this, before physical and mental exhaustion finally took their toll on her frazzled mind.
Twenty-four
Things were not going well. Cali had just spent three and a half hours being grilled by two police officers who seemed more troubled with the gang activity than with the presence of a mysterious female corpse. Cali told the truth (or, a portion of it), to the effect that she and her friend Elra had come to confront Elra's mother with their suspicions about Barry only to find the scene in the kitchen, then a fight had broken out in which Cali had been hit. When they asked her who hit her, she said that it all happened so quickly, but she thought it may have been Barry. She said she couldn't be sure though, and the two officers nodded in assent and seemed satisfied.
One thing they were having trouble with, however, was Elra's whereabouts, something that troubled Cali in equal measure. They understood that Cali couldn't know definitively, but that didn't stop them asking numerous probing (and, quite frankly, personal) questions about her friend's activities. Having repeatedly denied that Elra had any connection
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