“So in the vision on the brooch, I saw a lot of things. One being the knife I believe those Dionadair mentioned.”
“Could you tell where the knife was?” Myles slurped his coffee.
“It was in a brick and stone room. And the place was dark.” Aini stared into her mug like she could see the vision again. “Water dripped from the ceiling. If the knife is close enough that the rebels think I can just go and get it, it must be here in Edinburgh somewhere. The only place I can think that would look like the location is the underground vaults.”
Thane reached a long arm out and grabbed his phone, pocketed it. “A good place to hide something.”
Neve hugged herself. “I hate that place. I used to run a tour there. It’s full of spirits. And not the nice kind.”
Myles laughed. “You Scots are adorable. Believing in ghosts and all that.”
Thane and Neve glared at him.
“We’ll see how cute you think I am,” Thane said, “when I make your right eye match the left.”
Myles made an Oooo sound and pretended to shake in fear. Thane took a drink, raising his middle finger over the side of the cup so only Myles would notice it.
“The man in the vision mentioned a number.” Goosebumps raised the fine hairs on Aini’s arms. “Eighty-five.”
“Yes,” Neve said. “The vaults under Cowgate Road are numbered for sure. I don’t know about the others. But those are.”
She pushed away from the table, left the kitchen, and returned with the patched satchel she usually brought on her tours.
“Look at this.” She took a map from the bag and spread it between the coffee mugs. Steam rose from the drinks as she smoothed out the paper’s folds with a palm. “Eighty-five should be about here.” Her finger hovered over a spot north of the townhouse. “This is the vault you’re looking for. This section was abandoned around 1835. But you can’t go in, Aini. They walled plague victims up in certain spots down there. The spirits—”
Aini slammed her fist on the table and everyone froze.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “But I have to go in, Neve. You know I do.”
Neve nodded, and Myles patted Aini’s back.
Thane stood and took a better look at the map. Running a hand over the black lines and scrawled names, he remembered red tape and an announcement about the vaults.
“Neve’s right that you can’t go down in the vaults,” Thane said. “But not because of ghosts.”
Aini frowned. “Why not?”
“The Dionadair used them to move around the city and orchestrate hanging the banned flag on Holyrood Palace in the spring. The king has closed them up now. You can’t get in.”
Myles frowned. “How do you know all this?”
Aini’s eyes went all fiery and angry. “I have to know what Father did or didn’t do. A padlock isn’t going to stop me.”
“Oh no?” Thane cocked his head. “A past in breaking and entering is it then?”
“No. I…I’m claustrophobic.” She swiped her palms on her dress. “Father taught me how to pick locks in case I was stuck somewhere.”
She was always surprising Thane and now was no different.
Myles’s eyes widened.
“So I’ll be fine,” Aini said. “I can get in and get out. No problem.” She swallowed, not convincing at all in her cavalier attitude.
She was going to get herself killed. Thane stood up, went to the sink, and pressed his hands into the countertop.
Aini gathered Neve’s map, smoothing and smashing it until the thing submitted to her demanding folds. “I’m leaving. Thane, will you go with me? Neve can stay here and keep an eye on Myles.”
“What about the kingsmen guarding the vaults?” Myles asked. “I’m guessing there’ll be at least one of them at the entrance. Probably need to worry more about them than ghosts. Ghosts don’t have swords. Oh. Wait.” He tapped his head. “I have a great idea.”
Thane snorted.
Myles cleared his throat like he was about to sing. “Get a dog,” he proclaimed.
“A dog?” Aini put her head in her hands.
“Listen.” Myles held up a finger. “Toss a row of sausages at the first kingsman you see. Thane will be wearing one of Neve’s dresses and—”
“I prefer blue.” Thane shrugged. “Sets off my eyes.”
“You’re taking this seriously?” Aini asked.
“None of it’s happening anyway. You’d never get away with it. No one would,” Thane said, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. But he had to stall her. “I may as well have fun with the colonial’s imagining.”
Myles pumped a fist in the air. “Even our Thane can’t deny my fantastic forethought. He can go after the dog while you head for the vaults.”
Sighing, Neve grabbed the sugar bowl. “Why does Thane need a blue dress?”
“Don’t encourage them,” Aini said.
“I told you, Neve,” Thane said. “Sets off my eyes.” He fluttered his lashes.
“Stop,” Aini said. “We need to—”
The colonial clucked his tongue at Neve. “Never underestimate the power of your attire.” He shook a finger at her.
Neve dropped a spoonful of sugar into her drink. “I learned all about that when we went to The Origin,” she whispered at Myles.
The cocky gomeral’s face reddened. “Oh. Yes. You, that outfit...”
Thane smiled, glad he wasn’t the only one feeling exposed on matters of the heart.
Aini lifted her shoulder bag off the chair and her ebony hair swung across her back. “I’m going to the vault.” Thane’s chest tightened as she made for the kitchen doorway. “No matter how many ghosts or kingsmen trouble me,” she said, still not facing him. She ducked her head to draw the bag’s strap over her shoulder. “Or how much Thane scowls. And yes, Thane, I can feel your dissatisfaction burning into the back of my head.”
He couldn’t let her do this. She’d be caught. No way she’d hold up under questioning. Brave, she was. Tough? That was yet to be determined. She’d done well enough with Vera and Dodie, but…
He stepped forward. “I’ll fetch the knife. You don’t need to go.”
“Of course I’m going.”
“We’d have to go in right off High Street. Right, Neve?” Thane asked. “That’s the only door even remotely accessible.”
Neve nodded.
“There’ll be loads of kingsmen in that area,” Thane said to Aini. “And you know it.”
“Look. You were right about the club. You’re probably right now. But I’m going anyway. I have to. The Dionadair promised information. I’m going.”
He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”
Myles laughed. “Sorry, my lord Highlander. I don’t think this one,” he jabbed a thumb at her, “is going to swear fealty to you anytime soon.” The colonial grinned and began mumbling something about the merits of female domination and leather.
Thane shot him a look, and Myles clapped a hand over his mouth.
Aini had her planning face on. “We’ll find a spot to watch the vault entrance for an hour. See if any kingsmen are specifically assigned there.”
“Yeah. Look for patterns of their movement, all spy-like,” Myles said.
Thane felt sick. “Patterns? In an hour?”
“We don’t have all the time in the world. The Dionadair might change their minds,” Aini said. “And Father is suffering. I can’t sit and observe them for days like we probably should.”
Neve cleared her throat. “Why don’t you go around lunch? Maybe they take a break patrolling or might at least be distracted by the crowds heading in and out of the eateries.”
Aini nodded. “Good idea. And Myles is right.”
“I am?” He made a fist again. “I am.”
“We need a distraction,” she said. “We could…report something to the kingsmen’s office. Over the phone. Maybe they’d send their closest men to investigate, leaving the vault door unguarded.”
; Neve picked up Aini’s phone from the table and handed it to her.
Aini set the device down. “Not from my phone. Not from any of ours. If the Campbells in the office recognize one of our numbers, they’ll know I’m not following their directions to keep quiet about Father’s abduction. They might…hurt him. Or worse. We have to find another phone to use.”
“And what are you going to pretend to know about and report?” Thane asked.
This was getting messy. If Aini created some sort of ruckus, there’d be kingsmen everywhere. Some Campbells would recognize Thane. Some wouldn’t. The English kingsmen who worked here in Edinburgh wouldn’t. They weren’t welcome at the Bluefoot or any other secret Campbell haunts.
“I wouldn’t mention rebels,” he said. “Keep it something small and simple, so they don’t call in more kingsmen. It must be something the men in the area can deal with.”
Aini twisted her gold ring around her finger, her gaze distant. “How about a mysterious package at Deacon Brodies Tavern?”
Myles made a face. “Like a bomb threat?”
“Yes. I mean, aye.” Aini’s cheeks went pink.
Neve smiled. “Just be yourself, Aini. Quit trying to be what you think you should. No need to fash yourself over your language.”
“Fash?” Myles asked.
Thane tossed his coffee into the kitchen sink and rinsed the mug. “It means stress, or trouble.”
“Thane. I wish you’d get over it and help me,” Aini said sharply.
She could’ve saved her breath. “You know I will,” he said.
“Then what? You don’t like the plan? If you have any ideas, I’m open to them.”
“It’s not that.” He wanted to tell her everything. But how could he? He was the enemy. It would ruin everything. It would blow his mission. And he had his mother to think about. If Aini could just be stalled until he figured a way out of all of this… “I think we should wait,” he said.
“For what?”
“You need to think this through. It’s no little thing to call something in, to make a report.”
“I know that. I’ll keep it anonymous. None of this is little.” She tucked the map inside her shoulder bag. Her hands were still shaking and it tore at Thane’s heart. “It is terrible and big and horrifying. But oh well.” She practically shouted that last bit, then lowered her voice to add, “There’s an old phone booth behind the hostel on Cockburn Street. Father used it once. We’ll go straight out after I make the report and watch the vault door for kingsmen.”
Neve and Myles wished them good luck, and Thane followed Aini outside, into the summer sun. He took a minute to close his eyes and pray for a better outcome than the one he currently had raging through his brain.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE VAULTS
SEA BIRDS SQUAWKED OVERHEAD as Aini and Thane headed toward High Street. Three men in suits—Londoners, according to the accent—strolled into a pub, their ties bright pink, blue, and white. A handful of university students took sadly scant sandwiches from a narrow shop and called out to a friend across the street. Tourists in sunglasses meandered around, snapping pictures and bumping into one another. A few studied the king’s latest news release on the public board. If everything went as planned, Aini would have the knife from the vision embedded in the brooch in less than an hour.
She tucked her hand into the crook of Thane’s arm, hoping he was okay with that. Honestly, she wanted him here beside her being all stern and big. She knew the dangers they faced. Having a backup that could throw a punch and kept a knife wasn’t a bad idea. She had to shake her head at herself. Two days ago she never would’ve thought something like that.
The rolled edge of Thane’s worn button-down was smooth under her fingers, but his muscles beneath tensed. He shut his eyes briefly like her touch caused him pain. She stole a peek at his profile, with its peaked lips and strong chin. He wore a hoodie partly pulled up over his rumpled hair. He glanced back, then away, a reluctant grin tweaking one corner of his mouth. She smiled nervously, her insides fluttering.
The crowd thickened. A group of school-age kids bumped past, their parents mumbling apologies as they wove through, trying to catch them up. Urged into an orderly line by some kingsmen, a bus load of elderly tourists spoke French to one another.
Thane tugged his hood down, and Aini slipped on a funky, black hat she’d borrowed from Myles. If any Campbells had been watching, maybe now they’d lose them.
To the left, a kingsman scrubbed at some silver graffiti. Two thumbs crossed. The Dionadair’s sign. Seemed Nathair Campbell, the king’s vicious head of security, was having trouble stamping out the growing flame of rebellion.
A memory of the men and women accused of treason and shot down by Campbell’s men in the middle of the Grassmarket courtyard splashed across Aini’s mind. A sharp chill raked over her. Their wide eyes. The pooling blood. A rush of quiet like a wave washing over the gathered Edinburgh natives. No tourists had been there that day. Had Nathair Campbell made sure of that?
She blinked the memory away as they worked their way through tables of knick-knacks and tourists, and came out on High Street. A street performer in red gloves juggled knives on the pavement. Next to the man, the sun glinted off the shiny brass toe of the Hume statue. Her heart contracted, recalling the superstition Father had taught her about touching the toe for wisdom. An ache filled Aini.
Four kingsmen sauntered down the pavement opposite them, eyeing the juggler. Street performers were permitted to have weapons for show as long as they weren’t sharpened. The shortest kingsman held a hand out toward the performer. The juggler stopped tossing the knives and handed one, hilt first, to the kingsman.
Her hands sweating, she tightened her grip on Thane.
The kingsman said something to the performer and handed the dull weapon back.
“Here’s Cockburn Street.” Thane touched her hand.
She swallowed and headed toward the red phone booth. Please let this work.
Thane stood outside as she slid the door open. Lifting the receiver to her ear, she pressed the gold Crime Report button below the zero. The line rang and suddenly she wasn’t so sure she could even talk.
A click. “CR line. What’s your situation?” a gruff male voice said.
She tried to talk, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Go away, nerves. “I…there’s…”
“Are you an American colonial?”
“Yes. No. Why?”
Thane peered in, scowling.
“Only English and Scottish subjects may use this line,” the voice said and it sounded like he was going to hang up.
“Wait! I’m a Scottish citizen.”
“All right then. What is the problem?”
“I saw something strange in a tavern on High Street. A box. It was hidden…under a table in the back. It was black and there were wires going from it into the wall.”
“When and what tavern?”
“Five minutes ago. Deacon Brodies.”
“We’ll check it out. Your Subject Identification Number, please.”
“I don’t have my card with me.”
“You don’t…you must! Young lady, I fear—”
Aini hung up. Her heart clawed at her throat.
Thane popped in. “Did you do it?”
“Yeah, but he wanted my SI number.”
“You didn’t give it to them, did you?”
She shook her head. “I hung up.”
Thane shrugged one shoulder. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see if it works.”
The door leading to the vaults had been painted black and a strip of plastic tape fluttered from the lintel. One kingsman hung around the entrance and a padlock the size of Thane’s fist hung from the door handle.
Around the corner, staying somewhat cloaked in a group of university students waiting for food at a place that only served baked potatoes, Aini pulled her pick set from her dress pocket. Her hands were steady, but sweat slicked her palms.
Thane’s eyebrows went high. “You weren’t bluffing about the lock-picking then, were you?”
The kingsman who paced back and forth in front of the vault door wasn’t a Campbell. He wore no tartan, just black military pants. His eyes were half-closed as he watched his own boots. At least he wasn’t a horrible Campbell.
“He’s never going to leave, is he?” she whispered.
The walkie talkie on the man’s belt made a scratching noise. He turned it off.
“Why isn’t he answering that thing?” she asked. “I bet they’re trying to call him now.”
Another kingsman, this one in a blue and green Campbell kilt, stalked down the road and met with the one they watched. She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, wanting more than anything to run at that man and demand to know where Father was and why they insisted on making life in Scotland so much more difficult than it needed to be.
Thane turned away and leaned against the restaurant’s brick wall. A sheet including all the king’s updated rules fluttered beside him, the words written in a jagged style. “Fantastic,” he muttered, scanning the street.
The guard at the door talked as the Campbell threw a hand toward High Street.
“We should go.” Thane squinted at the flow of people in the wide avenue.
“Not yet.”
“We can’t spend all day here, waiting for someone to spot you. Things will only get worse.”
“I think they’re leaving,” Aini said.
Both men faced High now, the one all in black speaking into his walkie.
“They’re not,” Thane said.
“Five minutes.”
“Aini.”
“Thane.”
The Campbell started back toward them, toward High and the crowd. With one look at the door to the underground vaults, the other kingsman followed him.
“Yes.” Aini turned her face to the menu taped to the window and pretended to study the differences between prices for English and Scottish customers. The king was so cruel, so petty.
“They’re gone. Let’s go,” he said.
The buildings shadowed them as they approached the taped-off door. There weren’t any crowds here to hide them and they couldn’t be sure when the kingsmen would be back.
The Edinburgh Seer: Edinburgh Seer Book One Page 11