I follow after him, dodging a group of people as they hurry down the street in an effort to get home, lest they be caught out after curfew, and their sandaled feet flop on the pavement in a mish-mashed tune that sounds as though they are stomping on potatoes in an ill conceived attempt to mash them. Rushing through the streets, I push person after person out of my way, though most jump back, glad to that I am not interested in them, as I keep my eyes on the mysterious man, and the bulging, padded jacket he holds closed, but the bulge hidden underneath, does not match his slender physique; it is unnatural, as though it does not belong. He turns his head from side to side, allowing me to see the scared expression on his face for just a moment, but the foreboding sense that his fear is not for himself fills me. He hikes up a stairwell leading to a moving walkway.
Running, I speed for the causeway knowing that I cannot lose him and afraid of what will happen if he escapes me. A woman gasps as I ram into her, but she keeps her insults to herself, as I take the stairs two at a time, while keeping my eyes on the man as he moves down the walkway, too impatient to just allow it to carry him to his destination, and as he bumps into person after person, unaware that he is not the only one on the causeway, the sinking feeling that something is amiss grows deeper, forming a chasm so deep within me, that I cannot escape. My boot thumps on the metal grate of the final step as I push myself onto the platform before jumping onto the walkway. For a moment, I fear I will lose my balance as the conveyor belt jerks me to the side, but I grow accustomed to its motion within seconds. He is ahead of me, but doesn’t seem to have noticed my interest in him.
A huge crackle followed by a deafening monotone spew from the loudspeakers surrounding us, warning everyone that curfew is near. “Curfew will be in sixty minutes,” says a robotic voice, masquerading as feminine, as though that is supposed to put people at ease.
I worm my way through the few that are on the moving walkway, while some jump off and hurry for the stairs in a desperate attempt to get home, being careful to not cause too much of a ruckus and alert the man to my presence. The gears of the causeway squeal just a little, forcing the conveyor belt to cart me onward. I spot another arbiter directing people, urging them to hurry home, and I yell at him, knowing that I might need help, but my voice is drowned by the bustle of those around me, and he is out of earshot within seconds. Quickening my pace, I hurry for the man, as each step seems to make me bounce just a little as the rubber soles of my boots meet the ribbed, rubber surface of the walkway, while the feeling of dread urges me onward. Two people step onto the walkway in front of me, but I shove them out of my way, not caring if they say anything, as the man moves further ahead of me, shrinking in the distance as though mocking my efforts. I need to catch him. I need to… What are they doing here?
For a brief moment, I allow myself to do the one thing arbiters are not supposed to do when fulfilling their duties: I become distracted. Underneath a lighted sign, reminding all Arelians to do their duty for Arel because we are all one and are all in this together, are Mandi and Natalie tucked away in its shadow, and they seem to be having a heated argument before Mandi stalks away, slipping into a crowd and disappearing, leaving Natalie to do the same. An unending barrage of questions about why they are here, and the notion that this is not the first time I have seen them meet in a secretive manner, while pretending that their rendezvous is nothing more than innocence fills me. Lost in my own musings of what I just saw, I forget about the man, until I look ahead and find that he has gone.
Dammit!
Panicked, I scold myself for allowing him to get away. I need to find him. If something happens because of my negligence, I will turn myself in to the detention center, as the blood of others will be on my hands. I do not know how I am certain of this; I just am. I rush to the railing of the moving walkway, and search the causeways above and below me, scanning them, searching for the man in the bulging coat that does not fit him as my failure taunts me, reminding me that this will be another to add to the list, but all I find is an assortment of uniforms, each a certain color, signifying their station, mixed in a sea of others not chosen to serve the way I was, but allowed to have a semblance of normalcy—so long as they obey Arel—as they parade around in their ostentatious, tie-dyed outfits. Second by second the people on the walkways grow thinner, while anxiety brews within me, intensifying as the man remains elusive, until…
There he is!
I spot him stepping off of a walkway above me and heading for the railcar platform. I need to get up there, but if I wait until I have reached the stairwell that borders this walkway, I’ll lose him again. Frantic, I look all around, searching for a shortcut, and settle upon one: a pole, stretching from the overhang that covers the walkways to the street below. This is my only chance. Bracing myself, and judging the distance between me and the fast approaching pole, I race down the causeway, allowing its movement to give my speed an added boost, before jumping onto the railing and leaping to the pole, amidst a few screams as onlookers watch my death-defying stunt. My hands grasp the warm metal post, squeaking just a little as my sweaty palms threaten to be my undoing, but I cling to the pole, refusing to let go, and wrap my legs around it, letting them support my weight. Inch by inch, I climb upward, pushing with my legs and pulling with my arms, while my jacket bunches around me, digging into my armpits and elbows, scolding me for being so reckless. I ignore it, ignore everything and everyone around me as I push myself to the moving walkway above me, concentrating on the overhang towering over me, reminding myself of my goal. An eternity passes before me, ticking the seconds away, as I ease my way upward. I’m almost there. Just a little further.
With one final push, I am level with the walkway. My heart pounds in my ears as I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and let go, pushing with all of my might, leaping from the pole to the causeway. I slam into the railing, but cling to its smooth surface, my muscles burning as I pull myself over it, until I am able to swing my feet over it and onto the conveyor belt, landing with a thump, while the sudden sensation of moving causes my stomach to leap into my throat, before I refocus my attention. I look where the man has disappeared and race down the walkway, glad that only one or two people are on it, as I hurry for where I last saw him, knowing where he is headed. I plow through the exit for the walkway and charge down the platform to the stairs leading to the railcars, ignoring any who get in my way, as I race past them, and stomp up the stairs, shoving everyone out of my way with such force that some almost topple over the railing. Like a madman, I weave between people, almost tripping over one or two, as I make my way upward, until I burst onto the railcar platform and the crowds forcing their way onto the last shuttle.
“Curfew will be in fifty minutes,” says the loudspeaker, but I ignore it as I scan the crowd, searching for my target,
People brush past me, sprinting for the edge of the platform, wanting to be the first on the approaching shuttle as its whine draws near. Dammit, where is he? I move around, edging my way into the gathering crowd, knowing he is here, as I glance from one individual to the next, hoping that the next one I spot will be him. He could not have gone far.
I see him.
Near the edge of the platform, the man stands with his hands gripping his oversized coat, as he summons the resolve to do what he has planned. Another man stands in front of me. I grab him and throw him to the side as I squeeze through the tightknit crowd, forcing my way to the man. He opens his coat, revealing a vest of explosives with a symbol painted on it (the Arelian insignia with a line through it) as he stretches out his arms and raises his right hand with a trigger in it. Realizing that their lives are in jeopardy, people scream and run away in a desperate attempt to put as much distance between the bomber and themselves, while I charge for him. Ignoring the screams, ignoring the chaos, I race for him and plow into him, knocking him to the ground as the trigger shoots from his hand and skips across the platform before rolling over the side and onto the tracks. The man struggles to get away,
but I pin him to the ground, noticing the wires on his vest. Fearful that it could still detonate, I reach for the wires, knowing that this could be my last act, and rip them out. The man screams in frustrations and flings an elbow at me, but I block it, and throw him onto his stomach, straddling him so that he cannot get up.
“Who are you working for,” I demand as I grip his hands and pin them behind him.
Before he can answer, movement catches my attention as more arbiters move in to subdue the man, distracting me just enough for him to roll on his side, tossing me off him. Stunned, I shake my head to clear it as he scrambles to his feet and reach for him, but I am too late. The whine of the railcar fills the platform and pounds against my ears, suffocating me as it races forward, desperate to stay on schedule.
“No!” I scream as the man in the vest jumps from the platform and into the path of the shuttle.
Bits of his flesh smack into me as he is sprayed in every direction from the impact, turning him into nothing more than a terrible memory, while I am left on my knees on the platform, wondering if I should feel relief, or shame.
Chapter 24
Still Not Over
Commander Vye stands next to me, while I stand at attention in her office, reading my demeanor, my every movement, trying to discern if I have hidden anything from her while I recount the events of the past few hours. “Are you sure that is everything?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say in a stoic voice, burying my emotions and refusing to allow them to escape, fearing that I may betray the young life that depends on me now.
“And just why were you at such a disreputable place, knowing full well that it is forbidden?” she asks me, her sharp voice slicing through me as though I am nothing more than softened butter.
“Master Arbiter Molers commanded me to,” I reply, refusing to flick my eyes in Molers’ direction as he stands at attention in the room with me, knowing full well that, for the moment, he is not the one in charge and must submit to Commander Vye’s interrogation, but I feel his eyes burning holes into my skull for having reported that he forced me to go to a house of pedophilia. I hope he burns for his crime.
“And?” prods Commander Vye, rounding on Molers, “where were you when the suicide bomber was spotted?”
“Arbiter Noni ran away,” answers Molers, “and I had no knowledge that she was in pursuit of a suspect.”
“Perhaps you would have been if you hadn’t been piddling your time away at a house full of child prostitutes!” roars Commander Vye. “You know that all of my arbiters are forbidden to go there and you just demonstrated why!”
Ringing silence fills the temporary void as Commander Vye regains control over her anger.
“Noni, you are dismissed.”
Not wanting to be there any longer than necessary, I salute and leave, glad to be out of there, but now is not the time to rejoice in such a small victory; there is still the matter of the boy, but I know that I will not be able to get him out of the city, yet he cannot stay where he is. I need help, and there is only one person I can think of who will be able to do what I need done, but the thought of risking his life for a situation I created sickens me, but if I don’t, someone far more innocent will die. The empty hallway gives me courage to do what I must. I creep down the corridor, almost tripping over the strings of a rug that has begun to unravel, a form of its revenge for not being maintained, and head for the door leading down to the plebeian quarters. Though the barrenness of the hallway unnerves me, I assume it is because some are on duty, while others are avoiding being caught eavesdropping, lest they also suffer Commander Vye’s wrath, not that I blame them. I find the rotted door and grip the handle, prying it open, hoping that Chase is down there and not on some other task.
The stale air of the basement attacks my lungs, causing me to cough as I grip the rail, while flecks of the peeling polish flick off and coat my hand as it slides down it in an effort to balance me while I step on each of the bent, wooden steps that wobble beneath me, giving me the sensation of floating as I descend into the unknown depths below. A small splash sounds as I reach the bottom. Musty light greets me as I look up and watch the balls of dust hang in the air, forming a thin curtain of pollution that my lungs detest inhaling, but I ignore their protests as I hurry to the end of the first corridor and past the swaying cobwebs hanging from the bare walls with strips of wood missing, having fallen away from rot. I turn the corner, heading down the other corridor, like I did the first night I had snuck down here, leaving prints in the layer of dirt on the concrete floor—it looks as though it has not seen a broom in years—and charge past the swinging manual doors as I head for one particular one. I burst through it. Chase sits on the bed with Gwen, combing her hair for her as she fiddles with the tattered blanket that has brown stains on it; I hope they are not the remains of someone’s blood. They both stop what they are doing and stare at me with wide eyes, each asking a question, but not daring to speak it.
“I need your help,” I say.
Chase stands up and pulls me inside, after looking up and down the hallway, assuring himself that no one has witnessed my presence down here. “Tell me,” he says.
“There is this boy,” I begin, keeping my voice low so that prying ears will not hear me as I tell him about the house of pedophilia and the child I had helped escape from there, but now have no place to take him so that he can be free from ever having to satisfy another’s perverted needs. “After what has happened today, I cannot sneak out without attracting attention.”
“I’ll go,” Chase says, without me having to ask.
I tell him where the boy is hidden before telling him about Luther. “Are you sure you can find it?”
“I know my way around these streets.”
“Just be careful.”
“Are you sure he will help?” Chase asks me.
“He pretends he doesn’t care, but something tells me that he does,” I reply.
Without another word, Chase puts on his shoes and grabs a sweater before rubbing dirt on his face, but before he leaves, he squats down, putting himself at Gwen’s level and looks her in the eyes as he touches his forehead to hers, trying to ease her fears.
“I’ll be back,” he says. “That’s a promise.”
She wraps her thin arms around him and squeezes, not wanting to let him go, but releases him when he stands up.
He looks at me and says, “You should go back upstairs before they notice you’re missing.”
I nod in agreement. Just as he steps out the door, I grab his arm, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach, afraid that I am sending him to his death. “Come back to me.”
“Always.” He disappears, heading for the window that we had used the night he took me to see how plebeians are treated in Arel.
Gwen looks at me with those wide eyes, and I remember the night I had first seen her as she tried to get medicine for her mistress, but her mistress died anyway. The worried expression no her face gnaws at me, and I do not know what to do other than to hold her for a moment; so I walk over to her, sitting on the cot next to her, and place an arm around her, comforting her the best I can, hoping that my embrace alleviates some of her fears. No words pass between us. There is nothing I can say that will eradicate her fears. All we can do is wait and hope.
“I have to go,” I whisper to her. It’s true. I cannot stay here, not tonight.
She nods and I wipe a stray tear from her eye, helping her to lie down as I tuck the blanket around her before leaving and running for the stairs that will take me back to the main floor.
My lungs thank me as I step through the door, crossing the threshold from the basement to the main floor of the manor, thankful to have cleaner air to breathe, if one could say such a thing as the air has smelled foul to me these past few weeks. I close the door to the basement and hurry to the stairs leading to the second floor, but pause when I notice a commotion, followed by an unusual silence, as though everyone is in a hurry to be somewhere, frightene
d of the consequences of disobedience. Grasping the rounded curve of the railing and ignoring the few splinters that try to dig into my hand, I look around, watching as the arbiters that live here with me hurry outside to the green atrium, wondering what it happening, and what I have missed in my short absence.
One of the arbiters stops in front of me, giving me a pondering glance. “What are you doing?” he says to me. “We have been ordered onto the green.”
What? Why?
Knowing better than to ask questions—this is not the time to be inquisitive—I tuck the few stray strands of my black hair behind me ear and straighten my jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles as best I can, before running for the back door that leads to the giant quad where the exercise equipment is, not wanting to be the last one there. This could be a surprise inspection, a visit from a councilmember, or some sort of hazing of a new member to our ranks. Untold possibilities run through my mind, but I haven’t time to think about them. When I reach the quad, I pause, spotting two poles, spaced an even length apart, and my stomach sinks as I remember the day I was brought out here to receive my punishment for failing to carry out my duties as an arbiter. Not wanting to be forced to stand between them again, I fall in line with the other arbiters as they form two lines, one on each side of the poles, standing erect and facing forward, refusing to show an ounce of pity toward the offender. Commander Vye stands between the two poles, staring out at those under her command, her hawk-like gaze missing nothing as she watches from her perch, with a stoic look on her face, causing me to quiver just a little as I take my place in line, glad that I am not the one being punished. A soft roll of thunder echoes above us as clouds move in, blocking out the stars and making the night sky appear darker than it is, adding to the foreboding atmosphere that has overtaken us.
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 38