I turned in horror and saw that it was slowly beginning to descend. Now I had only seconds.
I quickened my pace, finding an enclosed stairwell on the east side. Between the girders and the tall narrow box that held the stairs was a service ladder. The entrance would be near the lift’s stop.
I wrapped my hands around the ladder, ignoring the pain from my side, and gripped it tightly with my thighs. I pulled my jacket over my palms to protect them and slid down the ladder to the first platform. I looked up and saw a shape exiting the lift, climbing out onto the girders where I had been. Argentum was coming after me and he was faster. I repeated the process, not looking up, but sliding down the three remaining ladders to Level Four.
Never stop moving, I told myself. I was getting pretty good at running through Lovat.
Argentum’s words played through my head as I did. The promise he had made as we sat in that tavern a few days earlier: “I will always find you, Mister Bell.” Let’s see how true that was.
I slipped inside the stairwell and began to descend. He was clearly capable. Leading him back to Saint Olm was a bad idea without warning my friends first, and Essie’s place wasn’t an option. I was sure he knew where my apartment was. I needed to lose him.
Level Two would be my destination. A maze of haphazard buildings and shanty towns, it sat right above the flooded Sunk. It was a great place to get lost.
He clearly did not want me to visit the chapterhouse. What was he afraid I’d find? Was my hunch correct? Was it all a ruse? The Society wouldn’t be happy to discover some knife-happy thug was posing as one of their own.
Behind me his footfalls echoed off the walls of the stairwell. I kept moving, the cut in my chest growing more and more uncomfortable with each step.
I passed Level Three. My whole left side was slick with blood. My shirt was clinging to my chest. Pain flared in my right knee, the old wound feeling like it would seize up at any moment.
Argentum was above me, descending. I imagined those shiny shoes slapping down onto each stair. The knife gripped in his hand.
Never stop moving.
Level Two.
I slipped out the open doorway and blinked back a gust of cold fetid air that slapped at my face.
“By the Firsts!” said a voice.
A stunned anur slipped off a box he had been sitting on, scrambled backwards, and stared at me eyes wide with surprise. He took one quick glance at me, saw my harried expression, saw the stain of blood on my chest, and he took off. Ran away screaming for help.
I looked around frantically.
The street I stood on ran east-west and a pair of buildings extended away to my left and right. I might be able to find an alley down there, but with Argentum so close I didn’t have a lot of time. I didn’t have much room to run. The street ran along an open hole that wound its way through Level Two. The waters of the Sunk lapped against the edge. Trash and an oily film floated on the surface. I could see shapes moving under that water, most likely cephels, kresh, or anur.
He was so close now, I knew. I whipped my head back and forth, looking east and then west. But I knew he would find me. He wasn’t stupid—he was cold, calculating, and quick.
I had moments. Only moments.
I jumped into the water.
TWELVE
BLOOD SWIRLED IN THE DARK WATERS that surrounded me. My blood, I realized. It took me a moment to comprehend what I was seeing. The shock of the warm water after the icy air blowing through the city was disorienting. The clouds of black drifting in front of the shadows of sunken buildings confused me even further.
When I realized it was my blood I immediately began to panic. I wanted to scream out but knew disturbing the waters above would tip Argentum off. My heart hammered, pumping more blood into the water.
I moved my arms upwards, forcing myself deeper, willing my lungs to hold their air. The pressure increased. My lungs burned.
I didn’t want to think about the filth that ran down from the nine levels above me and emptied into the Sunk; chemicals, poisons, rat shit, and much worse.
The walkway that ran along this open length of the Sunk had been built on the roof of a long-forgotten building. Sea anemones and barnacles clung to its facade and across the panes of glass that still sat, unbroken, in its window frames. Noises I couldn’t comprehend warbled through the water like forlorn music, deep thrums, distant moans, and what sounded like the plaintive out-of-tune cries of a horn that reverberated off the sunken brick.
My lungs ached, and my arms felt weak but I continued to paddle myself downward.
A cephel jetted away, startled by my intrusion while two anur watched with serious expressions as I descended.
A shadowed form approached me, long and lean and cutting across my vision in a flash of motion. At first I took it to be one of the massive eels that I’d heard were common in these waters. As the shape paused in front of me and backpedaled I could see a pair of arms and legs lift from its sides.
I choked on my dwindling supply of air, releasing a torrent of bubbles that rushed upward.
A bok!
I had never seen one in person before. The lizards were loners, didn’t congregate in groups, and had a fearsome reputation. Bok, it was said, weren’t too far removed from the beasts. It had probably smelled my blood in the water and come for a quick meal. I cursed myself for leaping into such a dangerous place wounded.
An anur shopkeep once told me that most of the other sub-surface races don’t cross paths with the large lizards and they were never seen outside of the Sunk. As far as the stories went, they were cold-hearted brutes, uncivilized. Separate from Lovatine society.
The thing studied me, its coal-black eyes deep in the shadows of its long face. I was the intruder. I was the one who didn’t belong.
My lungs were past burning now. The moments he stared at me felt like hours.
I was deep enough, I decided. I had to get to the surface. I had to get air but I dared not move. I could see the claws at the end of the bok’s webbed hands. Knew that it could do more damage to me with its rows of teeth than Argentum’s knife ever could.
But everything inside me burned. The edges of my vision seemed to float and distort. I pointed to my mouth and then motioned to the surface.
More of my blood darkened the shadows around me. I felt lightheaded. The bok shook its head, then pointed to something behind me. It showed its teeth, which might have seemed menacing at any other moment, but wasn’t then. I wasn’t sure what it meant.
I repeated my gesture, my plea, and then—feeling myself slip toward the edge of consciousness —began kicking towards the surface.
I didn’t get very far. A clawed hand wrapped itself around my ankle and jerked me down. I looked down in time to see the bok holding me, and I tried to scream. Brine flooded in, filling my mouth. I inhaled it and gagged violently.
The beast wrapped its arms around me. My eyes wide, I imagined the bok’s jagged teeth tearing into my neck. I kicked, longed for the Judge, and then found myself grinning stupidly into the water. What use would it be down here?
It was my last thought.
I woke coughing. Salty brine in my mouth, in my sinuses. In my ears. I sat up in a panic, remembering Argentum. Remembering the large lizard creature and its large claws on my leg. My blood floating around me. The burning of my lungs.
My jeans and hair were still damp but my shirt had been removed and my chest was dry. My suspenders were pulled down around my knees. A thick bandage had been wrapped around my chest and despite my state of undress, I was warm.
I looked around, half-expecting to find myself in the bok’s den, with piles of skulls arranged in corners. Instead I was sitting on a narrow cot tucked into a cubby in the side of a wall. A dull gray vine had creeped inside and crawled its way up, draping my little sleeping space with dull green leaves.
Outside of the cubby was a much larger room. Everything was bathed in a pink light that seemed to emanate from nowhere, every
where. I rose, swinging my legs over the edge of the cot and standing. My right knee throbbed a bit but I wasn’t too weak to stand. I stepped out of the sleeping space and into the pink room.
The room itself was cavernous. A mountain of crates was stacked along one wall. The place smelled like a root cellar: earthy, stale, strangely comforting. Whiffs of wet dirt and the faint scent of mildew permeated the place. I could hear a dripping somewhere. A loud plop that echoed, suggesting a heavy drop and a long fall.
A strange pink sign grabbed my attention as it crookedly glowed on one wall, lighting the interior. An animal rendered in neon looked over its shoulder, some sort of tentacle appendage twisting out of its smiling cartoonish face. A set of words were plastered on its side. Some old language, probably pre-Aligning.
Two doors sat in the wall below. The windows in them were blacked out.
“Hello,” I said into the room. My words were raspy. My throat raw. My chest ached, from the gash and from inside.
No response.
Where was I? I closed my eyes and rubbed at the ache forming behind them. The last time I had woken up in a place like this I had been underground in one of the ancient half-finished tunnels beneath the city. Removed from Lovat so completely that I couldn’t hear the hustle and bustle around me. This did not have the same feeling. In the distance I could still make out Lovat’s buzz. The movement of people, the sounds of life.
What time was it? I thought of Hannah, Hagen, and Samantha. They’d be worried.
I padded barefoot across the cold cement floor and began to inspect the crates, hoping they’d give me some insight into my location. Most were sealed shut, but a few had been opened.
Inside one I found stacks and stacks of dry bread. I checked another, and discovered it was filled with onions. I moved on to the sealed crates. Strutten markings on the sides spelled out their contents: beans, coffee, flour, sugar. I stood and blinked. It was a treasure trove! I kept reading: dried corn, dried fish, smoked sausages, potatoes. My stomach rumbled and I reached for some of the food, but then stopped short. I stepped back, stunned, realizing what I was seeing.
Whoever had brought me here was hoarding food. A lot of food. I remembered the people storming the jalky cart, the lines at the wharf, the protesters. Sam’s story about the riot. Everyone was desperately trying to find something to keep their bellies full in the cold air and someone was hoarding it. Anger flashed inside of me. It was obscene. Perverse. This hoard could feed thousands. But it sat here. In some forgotten warehouse.
Something moved behind me. I snapped out of my thoughts, spinning around, indignation still flowing through me.
The bok. It passed through one of the doors below the neon sign, its smooth scales reflecting the coral light. I could see the creature clearer than I had under the Sunk. It was a deep green in color and would be nearly black in low light. It had a long saurian face, both noble and fearsome, which rose from a pair of hulking shoulders. Dark eyes studied me from under heavy brows. Long arms and legs hung from its thick muscular torso, and a large tail dragged behind it.
I wasn’t sure if it was male, female, or something else. It wore clothes. Tight cut-off shorts, and a loose button-up shirt. A patch above its left breast read: “Hank.” The name usually skews male, so I supposed he was a he.
The thing was taller than Wensem, and looked stronger than a bufo’anur. My anger subsided, replaced by nervousness. It was no wonder the subsurface Lovatines gave these creatures a wide berth. He looked dangerous.
“Um, hi,” I said.
Hank, or what I assumed was Hank, bowed his head.
“Did you patch me up?” I asked, wondering if bok spoke Strutten.
Hank nodded his head slowly.
“Well,” I said. “Thanks.” I gave him a smile.
Hank looked over his shoulder as a lanky woman stepped into the room. She was all confidence. Her back was straight, her walk sharp and intentional. She took in the room with the same cool regard I had seen in the eyes of trail-hard roaders surveying the route ahead. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun that perched on the back of her head. She had sly eyes, a narrow sharp nose, and a wide mouth, the lips of which were turned up at the sides in a wry smile. She reminded me of a fox. She wore a suit of tweed, but in the pink glow of the neon sign it was difficult to tell its color.
“You are starting to get a reputation in my city,” she said. Her voice had a low rasp. A slight edge that added authority to her words.
I blinked. I probably looked a sight. Long hair and grizzled. Naked from the waist up, cooling down after finding stacks of food, and now standing opposite a wiry human woman in a suit and a ten-foot lizard-man.
“Uhhh...” I said stupidly.
She laughed a raw hearty laugh and clapped her hands together. Hank’s shoulders seemed to shake though he didn’t make a sound. Unsure, I waited.
“I see you met Hank.”
I nodded. Then remembered how to talk. “Thanks. Um, for the help.”
She inclined her head slightly as she crossed the space between us, stopping a few feet away from where I stood. Hank planted himself behind her and a little to the right, folding a pair of scaly arms across his chest.
“It was Hank, really. He saw you hit the water. The blood. He could tell something was up.”
“Yeah...” I said, rubbing my neck. I did not exactly want to spill my issues to a stranger. Even with the help.
She held up a hand. “I don’t need to know. But I do find it fascinating that Waldo Bell ends up in the Sunk right after an ill-fated visit to Kiver dal Renna’s apartments.”
I must have looked shocked because her face broke into a broad grin. About a million questions fluttered through my head like a flock of gulls and she anticipated every one.
“It’s my business to know what happens in my city. Especially among the elite. Especially right now. When the man who led the Methow refugees to safety shows up at an elevated party it piques my interest. All those rumors about you... The whole Collector Killer escapade.” She chuckled. “Funny. Lovat sure is getting a little weird lately, isn’t it?”
“We live in strange times,” I said.
She studied me for a moment and then clapped her hands together. “Indeed. You thirsty?”
I nodded.
“Come,” she said. Then turned and looked up at the neon sign. “As much as I love this thing, the light hurts my eyes after a while.”
She motioned for me to follow and we stepped through the doors from the warehouse and into a smaller back room.
A counter ran along one wall broken up by a stove and an icebox. Another pair of doors led elsewhere. Both were closed. At the center of the room, as if lifted from a monochrome serial, sat a rough-hewn table illuminated by a single hooded lamp. A scattering of chairs sat in stationary orbit, a few tucked in. A dimanian with small dark horns lingered in the back. He wore a crisp button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and dark slacks. His long hair was combed back and held in a topknot. He was writing in a small notebook when we entered and looked up as we approached.
“Allard, clear the room.”
He nodded and disappeared though a door at the back.
“Have a seat,” said the woman. She motioned to a chair on one end of the table. I sat.
Hank moved to the icebox and removed a couple of beers and a pitcher of water. He poured a glass of water and placed it in front of me. Then, using one of his talons, he popped the cap and placed it next to the glass.
He tapped a claw next to the glass of water, then the beer, indicating the order I was to drink. I smiled in comprehension. If he returned any expression I couldn’t tell.
“He’s a doter,” said the woman.
“Not much of a talker,” I said. Could bok speak Strutten? He clearly understood it. Maybe they lacked the vocal capability to enunciate the words and had their own language. Similar to the cephel.
“Never has been,” the woman said. “We’ve worked together, what...
eight years? Nine?” She looked over at Hank. He shook his head.
“Twelve,” he rumbled. His voice was deep and gravelly, like thunder rolling across mountains.
“Well, shit,” she laughed.
Hank turned and looked at her. His shoulders shook again with that silent laughter. He set the second beer in front of her and moved to a row of bottles along the counter and poured himself a glass of wine.
“You swallowed a lot of water,” said the woman.
“Didn’t have much of a choice,” I said. I could imagine Argentum’s cold fury as he stalked around above the Sunk looking for me.
“Sometimes we don’t. You’re either incredibly brave or spectacularly foolish.”
Samantha’s words popped into my mind. “I’ve been called both.”
She grinned. “The world needs both. Though we rarely like to admit it. There’s something about a loose cannon that most people can’t stomach. But they’re often the only ones who can take the right risks at the right time.”
The thought of Samantha lingered. I had told my friends I was going to pick up food. It would have taken an hour—max. I had no idea how long I’d been gone. I needed to contact them.
“You have a name?” I asked and took a sip of my water. It stung my throat so I drank slowly. Easing into it.
“I go by Elephant.”
“Ele–what?” I asked.
“Elephant,” she repeated, enunciating the word. “It’s that pink animal on the sign. It was a pre-Aligning critter.”
“Elephant,” I said around another swallow of water.
She nodded.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“Where are we?” I looked around the room again.
Elephant laughed. “Level Two, actually. Above the Sunk, right in the heart of ol’ Myrtle.”
Myrtle. It was a warren with the reputation of being solid Outfit territory. Things were starting to make sense.
I had never crossed paths with organized crime in Lovat, though it ran rampant. The Outfit operated in the shadows and usually worked hand-in-hand with the corrupt cops and dirty politicians. They had their warrens, and I kept well away for the most part.
Red Litten World Page 13