Steel and Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  And gotten themselves killed. Use your brain—it’s your best hope now. Live to fight another day. Live to find Harrison. Then you can fight back.

  As Stone wrestled with his own inner struggle, the voices outside continued murmuring to each other. They stayed there, not more than ten feet from Stone’s hiding spot, for what seemed an eternity but what in reality must not have been more than a minute or two. Then they moved off again and eventually faded to silence.

  Stone held his breath for a full thirty seconds before letting it out, and waited five more minutes before venturing from his hiding place to peek out the window.

  The two Talented were gone, as far as he could tell. The only moving form he saw was some small creature darting across the street and passing under the flickering streetlight.

  Exhaustion and renewed hunger gripped him as his heartbeat slowed and the adrenaline of the terrifying previous minutes faded. Despite his near-overwhelming urge to get up, to run, to find a new hiding place now that this one might have been compromised, he remained where he was. He had no idea which direction the two searchers were heading, or how much longer the planned to keep up the hunt. If they’d checked this area they might not check it again, but fleeing in some random direction might put him directly in their path again—and he might not be so lucky a second time. No, best to just stay here and remain vigilant. He’d head out when the sun was up, and his aura wouldn’t give him so readily away. They probably don’t know what it looks like, he reminded himself. Don’t act like a fugitive, and they won’t treat you like one.

  He hoped, anyway. Either way, it promised to be a long, tense night.

  15

  Stone dug himself out from his bedroll when the sun’s light peeked in through his broken window. He blinked blearily and ran his hand back through his tangled hair as the reality of his situation once again settled over him.

  Despite his fear that someone would discover him, he’d managed to sleep fitfully for a brief time, but it had done nothing to alleviate his growing hunger and exhaustion. He’d have to get something to eat, or at least to drink, soon—he couldn’t afford to grow weak from hunger and thirst or he might as well turn himself in to the nearest long-coated figure he spotted.

  It was a testament to how far he’d fallen that he suffered a brief regret at leaving the stinking bedroll behind. He wouldn’t be coming back here, and taking it with him would mark him as odd—something he couldn’t afford. Besides, he knew he couldn’t stay out on the streets for long. For one thing, without anyone to help him, he had little experience with living rough—and that was on Earth. Add in a society he was barely familiar with, and he didn’t like his odds.

  The vision of the fire at Faran’s shop steeled his resolve once again: he’d have to do something, find someone to talk to, progress further on his search for Harrison—even if it put him at risk. At least two innocent people had suffered excruciating deaths because of him, and he owed it to them not to simply roll over and give up.

  No, he had places to go. He’d decided on his next actions during one of his wakeful periods last night—there was only one logical choice.

  The time for polite inquiries was past. Promise be damned, this time he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  As he hoped, the hospital/clinic was open even at this early hour. He stopped on his way only long enough to use one of his five remaining coins to buy a pastry and beg a cup of water from a bakery, then hurried toward his destination with the purposeful walk of someone who knew where he was going. The best way not to draw attention to oneself, he’d learned many years ago, was to look as if you belonged where you were. It must have worked, because he passed several people walking by on their way to work and all they did was glance disapprovingly at him before moving past. That much, he couldn’t help—he’d done his best to make himself presentable, but after his night wrapped in the old bedroll, he knew how he must smell.

  He paused outside, gathering his thoughts and coming to terms with the fact that he could be making a decision that would get him killed, then pushed open the door and strode inside.

  This early, only a few people sat in the waiting room: a pale, coughing child with his worried father, an old man who stared straight ahead at the opposite wall, and a pregnant young woman. The woman was the only one who even glanced at Stone; the others seemed to be in their own worlds of misery.

  He didn’t recognize the woman at the counter—she wasn’t the same one he’d talked to on his last visit. He marched up to her and said in a soft but insistent tone, “I want to talk to Tanissa.”

  A brief look of something—alarm?—passed across the woman’s face, and her gaze sharpened. “She isn’t here.”

  Was she lying? She was definitely scared about something, but Stone couldn’t tell what. “Can you contact her? Does she have a phone? It’s vitally important I talk to her, and I’m not leaving until I do.”

  Her expression grew stubborn, but there was no mistaking the fear beneath it. “Sir, you can’t—”

  “I can and I will. I’m sorry—I don’t want to cause trouble, but I’ve had a very bad night and I’ve no more patience for waiting. Please call her and tell her there’s someone here who needs to talk to her.”

  “You can’t talk to her,” said another voice.

  Stone glanced up quickly and was surprised to see Byra, the blonde doctor who’d arranged his job with Faran, standing in the doorway.

  “Why can’t I?” he demanded. “I know you people have phones. Why can’t you—”

  By now, all the patients in the waiting room had looked up and taken an interest in the conversation. Byra’s gaze, nearly as fearful as the front desk woman’s, shifted to them, then back to Stone. “Come with me,” she said, with a head jerk toward the rear of the clinic.

  With a final glance at the desk woman, Stone followed her through the door. She didn’t speak again until they were in her office, the one where Stone had signed his discharge papers.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” he insisted without sitting down. “As I told the woman out front I’ve had a very unpleasant night, and I’m done being polite. I want to talk to Tanissa, and I’m not leaving here until I get some answers.”

  “You can’t talk to her,” Byra said, looking suddenly weary. “She’s gone.”

  A chill sliced through Stone. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

  “They took her away last night. You shouldn’t be here.”

  The chill spread, and he stopped pacing. “Took her away? Who did?” He ran a hand over his face. Gods, what have I started? “You—know about Faran and Runa, right?”

  She nodded without looking at him. She appeared to have aged ten years since he had last seen her; strands of her neat hair hung over her eyes, her white coat appeared even more rumpled than usual, and she looked as if she’d tried using makeup to cover the fact that she’d been crying. “A friend called here last night to tell us. They didn’t mention you, so I wasn’t sure whether you’d gotten away.”

  “You said they took Tanissa.” He leaned forward to grip the edges of Byra’s desk. “Who did? The Talented?”

  “Who else?” A hint of bitterness touched her tone. “I don’t know how they found out you were here, but I shouldn’t be surprised—they have ways of finding out all kinds of things. Maybe they got it out of Faran or Runa, before they—” She paused to get herself under control, then met his gaze. “Either way, they showed up last night and told Tanissa she’d been called back to Temolan.”

  “Called back—?”

  “They’ve never approved of what she did here—they thought it was a waste of her time and talents, healing the Dim.” Now there was no mistaking her bitterness. “They’re all the same up there—they don’t care whether we live or die, as long as we do our work and remember our place.” She let out a loud sigh. “Anyway, they took her. I’m not sure if she was under arrest or not, but I doubt she’ll be coming back. So no, you can’t talk to her. And I su
ggest you get out of here if you know what’s good for you—and for us.”

  She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to—Stone heard it in his mind as if she had: for the gods’ sake, get out of here before you bring down the same thing on us that you did on Faran and Runa.

  “All right,” he said softly. “I’ll go. I don’t want to cause trouble for you here. But I can’t run from them forever—I’ve got to get some answers.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you anymore,” Byra said. She looked miserable. “I honestly wish I could—but I have the people here to think about. If the Talented came for us, the people in this area wouldn’t have anywhere to go.” Her gaze came up. “Without Tanissa, people are already going to die. You’d have died, if she hadn’t been here to help you. I can’t take any more risks.”

  Stone looked at his hands, still gripping the desk. She was right, of course—it was clear that associating with him was the equivalent of walking around town carrying a bomb with an unknown timer: it wasn’t a question of if the thing would go off, but when.

  “You’re right, of course,” he muttered. “I’ll clear out before anyone else sees me. Perhaps I’ll leave town—go somewhere else, where they don’t know me.”

  She gave him an odd look. “I keep forgetting how much you don’t know. You can’t leave town—not easily, anyway. You’ll never be allowed on the train without proper papers, and certainly not looking like that.” She opened her desk drawer and removed a leather purse, from which she plucked a small quantity of coins. “Take these. It’s not much, and it won’t help for long, but—” Her expression softened, though the fear never left it. “I’m sorry. I truly am. I’d help you more if I could, but I’ve got a young daughter at home, and—”

  “I understand. And thank you.” Stone took the coins and put them in his pocket. “Is there a back door I can leave through, so I won’t be seen?”

  “Yes, I’ll show you.” She looked relieved. “Come on. And good luck to you.” She opened the office door and glanced back and forth, then waved him out.

  He followed her down a hallway, past the clinic ward where he’d recuperated; as he glanced through, he spotted Milas, the other doctor who hadn’t wanted to allow him here in the first place, standing next to a bed. His back was to Stone, though, so he slipped past. From the other side of the ward, Jena the nurse happened to look up and notice him. Their gazes met for a moment, then she smiled sadly at him and turned away.

  Byra opened a door onto an alley. “This should be safe,” she said, looking left and right.

  “Thank you. I appreciate your help—again.”

  “Please—don’t come back here anymore. I know that sounds cruel, but—”

  “I know. I understand. And…” he added, gripping her arm briefly, “I’m so sorry about Faran and Runa.”

  She nodded, looking at her feet. “Me too. They were good people.” Without another word, she slipped back inside and the door clicked shut behind her, leaving Stone standing alone in the narrow alley.

  Alone, with the best of his remaining options now gone.

  As far as he could see he had only one more left—the Fisherman’s Rest.

  16

  Stone managed to avoid capture for the remainder of the day, but he wasn’t sure whether that was because the Talented weren’t searching as diligently for him as he feared, or because his efforts at lying low and not raising anyone’s suspicions were working.

  He kept moving but didn’t skulk around, grateful that his brief period as Faran’s deliveryman had given him a good idea of where things were in this part of the city. It was difficult not to look over his shoulder, convinced several times during the day that someone was following him, but he managed it. Now more than ever, fitting in and not doing anything to attract anyone’s attention was vitally important. If he looked like he had something to hide, someone would start thinking he did. And he had no idea if any of the mundanes here were in collusion with the Talented.

  He used a couple of his small stash of coins to buy another cheap shirt, and cleaned up as best he could—which wasn’t very well—in the store’s bathroom. He couldn’t do anything about shaving, or about the fact that his coat still smelled like the old bedroll, but he didn’t plan to get close to anyone until tonight anyway.

  As he sat in a park eating a sandwich he’d bought from a street vendor, he thought about what Byra had told him that morning. So the Talented had “taken” Tanissa. What did that mean? Had they killed her? Did they kill their own with as much callous disregard as they did the mundanes? Had they put her in jail for daring to help a stranger? Forbidden her to return to the cities of the “Dim”? He had no idea. Just another thing to feel guilty about, even though he knew intellectually that it wasn’t, unless the mere fact that he’d come here at all was cause for guilt. It wasn’t his fault these people had such a buggered-up society that the magically talented could screw up the lives of the mundanes with impunity.

  It wasn’t his fault, but Faran and Runa were still dead because they’d helped him. And even if Tanissa had only been forced to return to Temolan, a lot more people would die because the hospital didn’t have its magical healer anymore.

  He sighed, wadding up the paper from his sandwich while he watched a group of children running around, shouting and tossing a ball back and forth between them. They looked as carefree as any group of Earth children, which seemed incongruous to Stone after everything that had happened over the last day or two.

  He quickly got up and left, driven by some deep fear that even being near him might bring harm to them.

  He waited until full dark before heading to the Fisherman’s Rest. Before he went there, he used another of his coins—the supply was getting quite low already—to buy a knit cap to pull down low over his eyes. If he was right and the Talented didn’t know what his aura looked like, everything he could do to make himself blend in with the faceless crowds would help.

  The place was packed tonight, the air full of dopeweed smoke and jangly music and conversation. Nobody paid him more than cursory attention as he entered and pushed his way through the crush of bodies, looking for a place to sit where he could keep an eye on the door. This time he didn’t find one: all the small tables were occupied, with more customers standing shoulder to shoulder at the bar. It was hard to see in here, probably on purpose, but he did his best to scan the faces around him in search of the man he’d talked with the other night. This time, he was planning to take the man aside and ask him point-blank about Harrison. Assuming he could even find him, of course. He didn’t even know his name, and nothing about him had looked sufficiently different from many other men in here to use as an effective description.

  He shoved past more tables—three burly workmen drinking and laughing, a pair of oddly hunched, hooded figures, a tiny, dark-haired woman sitting across from a hulking pale man—to the front of the bar and ordered an ale, then carried it to a spot next to a bulky jukebox. It occurred to him that he still had no idea what he was going to do. He’d seen no sign of the man he’d talked to the other night, nor even the woman who’d called him away. Should he just pick someone at random and ask? That was dangerous, but he didn’t have many other options, nor anything to lose at this point. He couldn’t sneak around, doing his best to dodge the Talented, forever. If they decided they wanted to put sufficient effort into tracking him down, he couldn’t stop them. His best bet was to find Harrison before that happened.

  As he considered these thoughts, his gaze fell on the hallway he’d spotted the other night—the one people had been walking down in occasional singles and small groups but never coming back from. Perhaps the answers he sought were there. If he could get somewhere before anyone realized he didn’t belong here—hell, if he could get himself grabbed by somebody for trespassing—at least then he’d have a better chance of finding the people who knew what was going on around here.

  Here goes, he thought. He took a long drink of ale, then headed with purpos
e toward the hallway, doing his mundane best to keep his aura under control in case any of the Talented were in here watching.

  When two men moved to block his way, they did it so subtly that at first he didn’t realize that was their intent. To anyone else who might be watching, they simply appeared to be two tipsy workmen pausing to have a conversation in an open doorway.

  “Excuse me,” Stone said. “Could I get by, please?”

  “Sorry,” said one of them, without moving. “Private hallway.”

  Stone tilted his head. “Aren’t the bathrooms down there?”

  “Closed for cleaning,” the other one said.

  “Come back later,” said the first.

  “Closed for cleaning?” Stone didn’t try to hide his disbelief and astonishment—in fact, he exaggerated them. “This place is packed full, and the bathrooms are closed?” He craned his neck trying to see past them, but it was too dark to make out much beyond an empty hallway.

  “Sorry,” the second man said. “You can go piss off the dock out back if you want.”

  “Look,” Stone said, exasperated. “This is absurd.” He leaned in closer to the first man. “I’m looking for someone, actually. I was talking with him the other night when I was here, but our conversation was interrupted. Skinny chap, dark coat, short.”

  “He got a name?” the man asked.

  “I didn’t get it. We were interrupted before we got very far. He was going to help me look for another friend. Man named Trevor.” He watched the man’s face carefully for any sign of recognition.

  There was none. “Sorry, friend. Nobody here by that name—and the other guy sounds like half the guys in here.” He waved a hand, indicating the crowd, and made a derisive chuckle. “And a few o’ the women. Now go on—like I said, the can’s closed. Come back later if you can hold it, or go to Benbo’s up the street if you can’t.”