Parody was the first to shrug out a pardon—they all had former-life indiscretions or they wouldn’t be there—and she seemed eager to make something of Law’s connection. “That place is a fortress. You know a way in?”
“Not. . .” He sighed deeply, then shook his head. “Especially. Nothing that would be particularly vulnerable. They open the door, only at their invitation and after a thorough review by security.”
“So,” Herald began, his weary eyes lifting to Blasphemy. “If what you say about the Captain is true—and I have no trouble believing it—”
“We can prove it,” she jumped in to assure him. “If we ever get ahold of my camera.”
Before she could even finish the thought, Gospel had it pulled from his knapsack. “You mean this camera?”
He handed over the black camera bag. She opened it to look everything over. And gasped at an immediate cause for concern. “What about the—?”
Gospel tossed her the used roll of film, safely tucked away in its little black case. “There’s already a fresh roll in there ready to go.” Blasphemy’s jaw gaped open. “You’re welcome,” he added, giving her a hint of a smirk, the first one of its kind.
“It doesn’t matter what we can prove right now,” Herald said, refusing to take the film from Blasphemy when it was offered, grabbing at his hair instead. “It won’t help Virtue.”
“You have to admit,” Blasphemy said, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder. “If we consider the facts, we know where she’ll probably end up.”
“Back at the island? Is that a guarantee?” he shot back, the sympathy and logic doing nothing to alleviate his angst.
“It’s a good guess,” Gospel added, bolstering the claim.
“Herald. . .” It was Law this time, attempting to level with him. “It’s not nearly as secure there. We know the basic layout. We could get in and out, no problem, with the numbers and weapons we already have.”
“And how many long days do you think it would take for her to arrive there?” Herald was shouting now. But the outpouring of emotion kept ripping his voice to shreds. “And what horrors will she endure while we wait? And what if we’re wrong? No. . .” He paced away, dismissing the wise choice with an offhanded wave. “We intercept her where she is. Tonight. I’ll go alone if I must.”
Law gave Gospel an exasperated glance and then was the first to sigh in relative agreement. “My father was raised at the Compound. I’ve been inside . . . in my youth. Weddings, funerals. I don’t know who’s still around, but I could probably come up with the names of a few people who might help us.”
“I’ve been there too,” Blasphemy admitted, and it brought Herald back over to the discussion. “Somewhat recently. They occasionally use paid labor. I’ve served at a few parties. So I’m familiar with some of the lesser known entry points.”
“I’ve broken in,” Gospel tacked on as well. “Just to see if I could.” He shrugged. “And I did. The third floor. But in is in.”
At what Doxy clearly believed was stupidity, she emitted a cynical blip of laughter. “Don’t tell me you’re all buying into this . . . this plan. It’s a suicide mission! They have a whole legion of Authorities stationed at that place. The tip of the top. The very best. And by now, they’re probably on high alert!”
All eyes fell, each face, every last spirit.
“There are four master keys,” Blasphemy blurted before hope could flat-line completely.
Now she received everyone’s undivided attention.
“Well, that I know of,” she said, backing down a little, not sure what help her information would be.
Law encouraged her to keep talking by circling both hands.
“I’m getting there!” For a moment, she pressed her fingertips to her temples. Due to her racing adrenaline, they were pulsing detectably. “Solomon is the obvious one. That place is his life’s work. Then Leviathan Braintree has one, which makes sense. He’s basically the Magistrate-in-training, once his father kicks the bucket, right?” Law nodded his assent, his hand to his chin. “The Head of Security has one.” She looked to Gospel. His expression darkened as he mulled that over. “I forget his name. Saw him at a distance once. Not the type of guy you’d want to mess with, so I’d avoid that one if possible.”
“Hmmm,” Gospel groaned in apparent agreement, as if he had had a few run-ins with him before.
“The last one I’m aware of belongs to the family’s Head of Surgery. A total creep. Weird name. Bumped into him once . . . with a whole tray of hors d’oeuvres . . . and regretted it.”
“Asmodeus,” Law filled in. “Yeah, he’s off. How do you know this, anyway?” He shook his head, pulling it back, his eyes narrow. “I’ve met most of them and I can’t even keep them straight. And you know who has what key?”
“I have my sources,” she replied coolly. It wasn’t a competition and she didn’t want to get into it.
Herald was practically cracking his knuckles, ready to storm those castle walls. “It’s something to go on. Is this source on the inside?”
“Yeah.”
“Will he—or she—cooperate?”
Blasphemy internally cringed at her own awful idea. “He. Hard to say.”
Herald made a gesture toward Gospel’s semi-automatic rifle. “With a gun to his head?”
“That, I can guarantee,” Blasphemy scoffed. Duty, honor, and loyalty were in a constant state of flux for this young man. Gunpoint would be more than enough to secure his allegiance. If, however, they had to lower the gun for any reason before the mission was complete, then it was anyone’s guess.
Herald swept his hand toward the exit. “Time’s a-wastin’. Who’s with me?”
“I wouldn’t say no.” Gospel moved to join him.
“Herald,” Parody gasped out as he set his first foot on the ladder to the street. “No offence, but you’re not fit to go anywhere right now. It would be smarter to pick me.” She raised her injured arm.
“I second that.” Law stepped forward, sneaking between Herald and the ladder. “I wasn’t kidding about the loose cannon thing. We don’t blame you, but let’s be honest. This mission is too personal for you. It’s the type of mentality that will get us all killed. So, I’ll go with Gospel. The rest of you can stay with Parody.”
“Who died and put you in charge?” It was Doxy who chimed in this time. “You really think you can keep Herald here?”
“You’re right,” Law conceded after a beat, his hands up. He moved away from the ladder. “This is Gospel’s domain. He can pick his team. And we have to agree that his word is final.”
“But. That’s—” Herald was quick to counter, as if he believed he had no chance of being selected.
“Let the man speak!” Law cut in on Gospel’s behalf, sweeping his hand toward him.
All eyes landed on Gospel. He gave his slow nod of agreement, accepting the responsibility. “Some of us need to stay behind, just in case, or this was all for nothing. So, I choose . . . Blasphemy. You’re with me.”
In all honesty, she was dumbfounded. No idea at all that he’d actually pick her and pick her first. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go . . . or was even in the right condition. Surgery the day before, and she wasn’t mentally or physically trained for a mission of this caliber. Plus, she had Hannah, who she truly feared she’d never live to see again.
Out of habit, she reached for her locket. And was left disappointed. It reminded her to be and stay angry. The bastard Authorities had taken it from her.
At that, she didn’t argue or decline. She trusted that Gospel knew what he was doing. And, she was flattered too. It was difficult to stand out as great on a team of such innovative, talented, resourceful people. Somehow, she got the job done, and had no intention of letting them down, now or ever.
“Her loose-lipped source,” Gospel continued, “is probably the only way we can get in and out of there quietly.”
She shrugged when he looked over at her.
“And next, I’ll p
ick . . . Herald.” Gospel dug through his knapsack and placed a handgun in Herald’s grip. “You’ll be the muscle. I know when the time comes, you will not hesitate to use this.” His tone was ice cold. They had their differences earlier and Herald still wasn’t at the top of his list of favorite people. But muscle was something that would unarguably come in handy, assuming Herald could bring it to the table in the state he was in.
Herald nodded once, in firm agreement. After maneuvering the gun with a surprising degree of aptitude for such a devoted intellectual, he secured it to his belt.
“And that means Law and Doxy . . . you should hang back . . . make sure Parody gets taken care of.”
“What? No!” Law’s shock resonated through the stagnant air as loud as his voice did. “That makes no sense whatsoever! Diplomacy may be a viable alternative if this source falls through.”
Law looked around for support and exhaled sharply when he didn’t receive near enough to appease himself.
“I think that’s fair,” Doxy was bold enough to respond. “They’re family to you. If there comes a time that negotiation fails and you have to pull the trigger, you may be conflicted.”
“That’s not true! Herald is. . .”
Law appeared to be rummaging through his mind for the right word to describe Herald. He’d usually pluck it out immediately. But then, there—the hunger pains, the sleeplessness, and stress getting the best of everyone—even Law was drawing a blank.
Doxy lifted a hand, as if presenting the obvious. “Herald’s willing to die for Virtue.”
“And you don’t think I am too?”
Doxy rolled her eyes at him. And Herald’s head jutted forward. He lifted a hand, to question, as if, somehow, he misheard Law or misinterpreted what had been implied.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Law, waving his hands, sought to retract his previous statement. “She’s . . . everything.” He was digging himself further in. “The very essence of what we’re trying to protect. The last person in this hellhole who deserves to be where she is. Do you honestly think I’d choose them over her safe return? Now, tell me. What is it you really think of me?”
He just snuck by, narrowly convincing everyone that he was devoted to the ideal and not the actual Virtue in question. He walked away, looking more defeated, angry, and flustered than Blasphemy had ever seen him get. “Forget it. Don’t answer that.”
He apparently misunderstood why he was being left behind. “If we intend to keep The Chronicles alive, take down the Captain—”
Law stopped and paced a few steps back toward them, one hand sweeping forward to cut her off and present his next point. “Herald is the genius behind it. He makes the rest of us look good.”
“That’s false,” Herald answered feebly, not quite sure how to handle someone else’s despair. “There’s no one I’d rather—”
“Save it,” Law dismissed him with a backhanded wave. “Go! Be the hero . . . or the martyr. See you on the other side. Of what . . . perhaps we’ll never know.” He began walking away again and then stopped, midstride and turned back once again. “But one thing’s for certain. I’m not staying in this goddamn gutter all night!”
He began glancing over possible escape routes.
It was Gospel who pulled him aside before he disappeared down one of them. He was the one who made the decision Law didn’t like, and maybe he’d have better luck calming him down.
“We go underground,” Blasphemy just barely heard Gospel say. “All of us. Leave that way. Take the lantern.” He jutted his head toward an alternate route to the street. “Go to my place. . .” He explained how to get there, which sounded a bit convoluted, but he trusted Law not only with the information, but also the directions. “Climb the scaffold to the fifth floor. My space is hidden underneath the blue tarp. Not the black . . . or gray. . .”
“Got it,” Law confirmed after Gospel was through.
“Get some food. Get some rest. And tomorrow. . .”
Nodding, back-patting. . .
Gospel now had everyone pointed in a slightly more promising direction.
Blasphemy then walked over to Law, to say her goodbyes and hand over to him their next big story. She’d be leaving it in good hands.
“N-n-no,” he scolded.
He opened the camera case and plucked out the incriminating film, tucking it in his shirt pocket, patting it to show that he intended to keep it safe. After that, he zipped the case back up and returned it to her, a resigned grin finally sweeping over his face. “Herald is unhinged, to say the least,” he explained, looking over at Herald while he was running an arm over his face to dry it again. “Gospel will be occupied.” He was organizing his knapsack and making a mental note of the ammo they had left. “So, it’s up to you.” Law’s gaze flared at her. “Be our eyes and ears. Make sure you get out of there alive and with pictures. Blow the fucking top off that place without wasting a match!”
“No pressure, right?”
He squeezed her shoulders and she ducked under his arms to give him a hug. “You can handle it. Better than most.”
He often doubted himself, but when it counted, he rose to every occasion with class, charm, and grace. He made the effort to boost others up, and he did it so well.
“Good luck, Law. Stay out of trouble. The movement needs you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just go. You have work to do. You can stroke my ego another time.”
He turned her around and sent her off, just as Herald was meandering over.
Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. Law pulled the tentative younger-brother figure into a firm embrace. And Law couldn’t hold it together, watching him, feeling him suffer like that. Even Blasphemy couldn’t keep a dry eye.
“It should be me,” Herald divulged, as if attempting to cleanse his soul. “I deserve it.”
“No . . . you don’t. You’re a good man. Never question that. We certainly won’t. So . . . do whatever you have to do to bring her back!”
Herald nodded into his shoulder. Farewell. Godspeed.
And then he moved on. One last sniffle, and he was following Gospel out the exit without any show of hesitation or trepidation. Maybe, deep within, he found that muscle he didn’t know he had.
Until now.
Chapter 17
Herald
“You always have to ask yourself,” Gospel disclosed to Blasphemy, one point-making finger raised into the cool night air. Herald was trudging through the loose sand just a few steps behind, so he overheard him as well. “How do their wives sneak out . . . unnoticed? They always find a way.”
Gospel was, indeed, in teaching mode. Blasphemy was his favorite and probably his only pupil ever. But still. . .
Helpful hints. What makes Gospel, well, Gospel.
“They really scale these cliffs?”
Blasphemy’s gaze crawled up the unclimbable black monster beside them. The full moon over the bay was helping to guide their footsteps, but it did little to make the cliff seem at all inviting.
“The escape route tends to vary. But that’s the latest.”
Where Gospel had heard this tidbit—assuming it panned out—Herald couldn’t even venture a guess. And he didn’t have the patience to bother.
At some other time, Herald wouldn’t have minded the lecture on how to achieve Gospel-caliber greatness. Herald couldn’t deny that he was eerily fascinating.
Herald had heard the stories. Word of mouth, mostly. When writing, Gospel usually stuck to critiques on religion—powerful, convincing, but emotionally dry. Occasionally, though, he’d scatter in a few personal experiences from his Academy days and the years after, which were significantly worse. As the Editor in Chief, it was Herald’s job to make them palatable for their audience—sympathetic wives, the Fallow, and working-class intellectuals. The frustrated but, in general, the law-abiding.
And yet Herald’s current obsession was the fact that they were traveling away from the Compound. It had to be miles behind them.
Truth be told, if Virtue wasn’t alive, Herald would beg for that bullet. And Gospel would unlikely have any qualms about delivering it. He was considerate, understanding, and coldly ruthless that way.
Gospel suddenly stopped short to consider the starry sky. The shadow of a buoy was bobbing in the bay. After a moment of scrutiny, he said, “Look!”
He gathered their attention, but his point aroused only confusion.
Somehow, he removed a rope from a crevice on the rock face. At his tug, the bottom of it uncoiled from a mound of sand. Painted black, or close to it, it was a near perfect match to the color of the cliff. It would have been a challenge to spot in the peak-of-the-day sun. But Gospel was already up and at it, climbing, not even a pebble coming loose in the process.
At Herald’s sweep of the hand, Blasphemy began her effort to follow Gospel. But, only a few yards off the ground, her arms were shaking. She let go, falling to the ground. She landed on her feet. And for her camera’s sake—slung in its case across her back and shoulder—that was another glimmer of good fortune. He’d tag it on to “the source” they could possibly exploit and the unexpected presence of the moonlight to guide their way, enough to reveal “the rope.”
Maybe there was a God after all.
Even so, Blasphemy was clutching her sides, clearly in pain. It was another grave reminder that the devil wasn’t through with them just yet.
“I’m sorry,” she panted, hunching over a bit. “I’m never going to make it up there.”
Gospel waved the all clear from the top.
Herald tugged on the rope, and against his better judgement, he opened his mouth. “You’re tenacity. Not muscle.”
The Fallow Page 17