by Carrie Patel
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Since hearing of the latest murder, Malone was racing to keep abreast of the implications. Her wanderings and Sundar’s readings on Mortimer Stanislau had turned up nothing, but now, with Hollens dead, she was not even sure that the Stanislau connection was relevant anymore. Worst of all was the Council’s reaction to Hollens’s death. In the hours following the murder, armed men had broken into bunkhouses and union headquarters across the factory districts, showing the kind of delicacy that marked the City Guard. Four “suspects” had been killed in the ensuing interrogations, and it had become an even contest between the Council and the murderer to see who would tear the city apart first.
Malone remembered Hollens’s contingency instructions, so her next goal was to follow them: to slip into his residence and find the safe in the wine cellar.
Of course, this was much more easily said than done. The block would be swarming with city guards in the aftermath of the murder, none of whom would take well to meddling by rogue inspectors. Malone was confident that Hollens had hidden his safe well, but she grimaced to think of what might happen, and what might be lost, if the Council found it first. As she and Sundar pondered their situation, a very relieved Jane Lin was returning unhindered from her errand at the Dispatch.
“Surely Hollens would have imagined this scenario,” Sundar said, settling into his now-familiar chair across from Malone’s desk. “Grim as it is, right? I mean, what would be the point in telling you about the safe if you would never be able to reach it?”
Malone took her own seat. “He wasn’t convinced that I could. Besides, it’s not his problem now. And the more time we lose waiting for opportunities to open up, the greater the risk of our leads disappearing and of another assassination.”
“But the assassin isn’t the only one we have to dodge,” Sundar said. “If the Council gets wind of what we’re doing, they’ll book us an extended stay at the Barracks.”
“You know the stakes.”
Sundar was not ready to admit defeat. “What if Hollens had a confidante – someone he trusted who could get us in? There must be someone on his staff that he knew well enough to give a contingency plan.”
Malone shrugged. “Even if we knew who that was, he couldn’t let us in the front door now. The Council has removed Hollens’s staff for interrogation and replaced them with the guards.”
Sundar rubbed his chin. “What about another role-playing scenario? If it got us into the Directorate of Preservation and the gala, we could pull it off again.”
Malone shook her head. “Not there. They’ll have more than a secretary guarding the door. Besides, after our last trick, they’re going to be more careful. Our best option is stealth.”
Sundar grinned and flicked an eyebrow at her. “Your way, then. Are we going in through the chimney?”
“I was thinking we’d try the other end. Pull schematics for a radius of two blocks from the house, and tonight we can stake out the place and plot a way in,” Malone said. Sundar had turned to go when she stopped him.
“Sundar.”
“Malone?”
“This is what I consider serious. Since you asked.” She paused, watching his expression. “Breaking into a councilor’s house. It’s over if we’re caught.” He nodded, and when she said nothing further, he continued out the door.
Malone read through the Sato contract again, and Sundar returned an hour later with several rolls of blueprints and a stack of papers.
“It’s more than we need,” he said. “But I had to pretend I was looking for smuggling tunnels.” Malone nodded.
The pair spent the next ninety minutes poring over the designs, searching for neglected passages and concealed crawlspaces. Malone had mapped out a plausible route to the house when a station messenger came to the door with a plain, grey envelope. Sundar watched as Malone extracted the paper inside and slowly read the list that Jane had sent that morning. Too slowly, his fidgeting fingers suggested.
“So, what is it? Another invitation?” he asked.
Malone showed him the paper and watched as he read it, focusing on the familiar names.
“It’s interesting. Whatever it is,” he said.
“That’s the question.”
“A hit list?”
“Too ambitious. Besides, only one name is crossed off, and it’s been replaced with another. It looks like a hierarchy,” Malone said.
“That makes sense, particularly with Ruthers at the top.”
Malone circled back around her desk. “There are two councilors on the top of the list, but the other eight are scattered in the section at the bottom.”
“How did we get this?”
Malone pointed to a note scribbled on the mostly-blank side of the paper. “Whoever got it found it in Hollens’s things. I’ve got a guess,” said Malone, thinking of Jane.
Sundar nodded. “Now what?”
“Now, we find a way into Hollens’s wine cellar.”
Chapter 10
Unexpected Guests
Jane had not expected to hear anything further from the inspectors, and her nerves had cooled by Wednesday morning, a full twenty-four hours after her clandestine delivery. Nevertheless, her heart skipped a beat when, well into her first load of laundry, she heard a knock at her door. The face on the other side of it, however, replaced Jane’s panic with curiosity.
A large-eyed woman with long lashes and an oval face stood on the steps carrying two worn canvas bags. When Jane opened the door, the woman flashed a row of perfect teeth from between plush and pouty lips and looked around with a kind of half-wild relief.
“You are Jane Lin?”
“Yes…”
The woman smiled wider still. “Wonderful! Can you show me?” she asked, pointing over Jane’s shoulder and into the apartment. She had a vaguely familiar accent with a tripping, peppery cadence.
“I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”
“Of course. I am Olivia Saavedra. I saw your ad in the noticias yesterday.”
It took another beat for Jane to remember Fredrick’s promise to advertise for a sub-letter. When she did, she was relieved to understand the reason for Ms Saavedra’s visit but perplexed by the speediness of her arrival. Clearly, Fredrick had not understated the recent influx of outsiders. Still, Jane had not expected an answer for at least a week, and she had been counting on the time to get used to the idea.
However, if Ms Saavedra’s easy charm was any sign of her usual disposition, then she seemed promising. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone had seen it yet. Please, come in.” Jane stepped aside for her and took one of the bags. It was heavier than it looked.
“Thank you,” Olivia said. “I saw the notice just this morning. I was staying in a community hostel east of here, and I packed my bags as soon as I saw it.”
“How long have you been in Recoletta?”
“Three weeks,” she said. “I came from Bremmond, where I was living for the last seven years. But I am originally from San León.”
Now Jane recognized the accent. The orphanage in which she lived as a child had stood next to a bakery. The proprietor, a loquacious man the children knew as “Mr Pedro”, spoke with a similar rhythm and gave them sweet rolls to share if they happened to visit after a fresh batch had been baked. If Jane remembered correctly, he had come from Nuevo Laredo, a dusty city to the southwest. For all his talking, though, he had never explained why he had moved.
The women set the bags in the corner of the den. Jane stopped to work out a kink in her spine and finally had a moment to look Olivia over. The first thing Jane noticed, to her mild embarrassment, were the exceptional curves that outlined Olivia’s figure. With her long, dark hair pulled into a smooth ponytail, and her soft, dusky features, she embodied a voluptuous loveliness that Jane found both fascinating and intimidating. As Jane looked at Olivia, Olivia looked around the room with quick, calculating glances.
“It’s not that big, but I can
show you around if you’d like.”
“Yes, please.”
Glad to leave the bags in the den, Jane took Olivia around the apartment, showing her the kitchenette, workshop, bathroom, and her bedroom at the end of the hall.
“I’m familiar with Bremmond, but I’m not sure I’ve heard of San León. Where is that?”
“Almost twelve hundred miles southwest of here. It’s just past Ciudad del Mar.”
Though Jane had never traveled there, she knew the name. Bordered by stretches of jungle and desert, Ciudad del Mar occupied a balmy nook on the coast and enjoyed warm temperatures year-round. Now in the first frigid nips of mid-autumn, Jane had to wonder why anyone would forsake that kind of comfort. “What brought you so far north?”
“My family left San León with when I was young. More people than jobs, and my grandfather had cousins in the north. When I was older, I left for Bremmond.”
“For work?” Jane tried to keep her tone conversational, but she found her curiosity growing rather than diminishing.
“For a change of scenery.”
Jane counted three moves, including Olivia’s most recent transition to Recoletta, which was more than most families made in thrice as many generations, and the woman did not yet look thirty. Fighting the urge to intrude further, Jane realized that she was losing.
“And then you came to Recoletta three weeks ago?”
Olivia tilted her head, wincing. “Things in Bremmond have not been so good for the last few years.”
Thinking of the current troubles in Recoletta, Jane wanted to ask more, but she noticed the anxious manner in which Olivia turned away, and she dropped the issue.
Habitual movers were rare. In underground society, they were almost as much of a curiosity as surface-dwellers. Jane guessed that something harder lay beneath Olivia’s easy, carefree smile, like sinew under smooth flesh.
Jane led her back to the kitchenette and offered Olivia a conciliatory cup of tea. “I don’t mean to badger you, it’s just that I’ve never been outside Recoletta. I’d love to hear more about your travels some time. For now, it’s just nice to have company.” Jane stopped short of adding, “Especially these days.”
Olivia brightened again. “And it’s good to be out of the hostels. I would feel safer surrounded by so many people, but too many of the residents are, ah, not the type I like sleeping close to.”
“I understand. Well, I can set you up in the workshop if you’d like. I haven’t had the chance to clear it out, but if you’ll give me a hand, we can pull the worktable and tools into the den.”
Having lifted one of Olivia’s bags, Jane was not surprised at the ease with which Olivia hauled and heaved the table and accessories. With the workroom cleared, Olivia hoisted her luggage into the room while Jane swept the dust lurking in the corners.
“It’s not exactly spacious, but we could fit the sofa in here until you’ve had the chance to find a mattress.”
Olivia pointed at her luggage. “I have some bedding already.”
Jane nodded, relieved to avoid further heavy lifting for the moment. “Oh, and about rent. You haven’t been here long, so we can settle weekly starting this Friday if you need some time to…”
Olivia plunged into one of her bags and pressed the resultant cash into Jane’s hands. “This covers the month, yes?”
Jane counted the bills, trying to hide her astonishment. She wondered where Olivia had acquired that sum of money, and in Recolettan marks, no less. Currency exchanges between cities were notoriously difficult. Still, Jane marveled while looking again at the canvas bags: with her strength, she probably could have worked two factory jobs in her three weeks and earned almost that amount.
Holding the roll of cash, Jane felt suddenly self-conscious and tucked the bills into the folds of her dress. “You seem to know your way around Recoletta, Olivia. What do you do?”
“I’m a maid uptown. There are a few openings for part-time cleaners in the Vineyard.”
Jane hoped, for both their sakes, that the population of the Vineyard did not continue to decline at the rate of the past week. She understood now how Olivia could come by so much cash in a few weeks, but a new mystery replaced the old: how was she finding work in the Vineyard so quickly without connections in town? “I have a few clients in that neighborhood as well,” Jane said. “They’re a rather insular lot, so I’d be happy to ask around and introduce you.”
“Thank you, but I have a full schedule. And not to be rude, but I have an appointment there in an hour. Perhaps you could give me some time to set up here?”
“Of course.” Jane returned to the washing while Olivia unpacked and arranged her travel-ready possessions. With a parting smile, Olivia left Jane to her laundry and her thoughts. Foremost among these were gratefulness at having found someone as capable and easygoing as Olivia, and perplexity at the mysterious woman’s habits and history.
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Nightfall came as a long-anticipated opportunity for Inspectors Malone and Sundar. Having spent the previous evening and early morning monitoring the former councilor’s residence, they knew the guard rotations and their possible means of entry. Now, clothed once again in their usual black, they were ready to convert observation into action.
The subterranean blocks adjacent to the Hollens mansion maintained a light patrol of plainclothes guards. Malone and Sundar snuck past them with good timing and old-fashioned stealth. In front of the house itself, a guard stood at every corner and in front of every entrance. If Malone’s hypothesis was correct, their constant presence meant that the Council had not yet found what it was looking for inside. That, or this was an elaborate trap to catch a returning killer or clumsy snoop.
Sundar looked at Malone and pointed to a spot on the ground five yards away. A drainage grill set into the street lay just within range of one of the patrols. It provided access to the sewage tunnels of the Vineyard and, more importantly, one of its branches surfaced seventy feet away, two steps from Hollens’s place, in the next block. Just beyond that outlet lay the key to their plan.
In keeping with the grandeur of the Vineyard, the exposed facades of the residences around them were high and heavily decorated, nothing like the window-pocked rock faces that marked more common dwellings. Not wasting a moment, Sundar cast a rope with a soft, weighted knot at one end over a gargoyle perched on the building next to him. He scurried fifteen feet up the wall and into the shadows, making nary a sound as his feet found purchase in the relief work and sills. The wide, soaring construction of the tunnels in the Vineyard created more visibility for someone watching from the right position, and with the skylights overhead darkened, that position was suitably obscured for the inspectors’ purposes. Now perched on a shadowed ledge, he edged to the corner of the building and peered around, the Hollens residence and squad of guards clearly visible.
At the base of the building, Malone waited for his signal. After a few moments, she saw Sundar flash his open palm, and she hurried to the grating with a heavy key. Sequestered from the offices of the Municipal Police, the key provided access to all of the sewage tunnels and gratings of the Vineyard. With a turn of the key, the grill slid easily into its recess, and she found a series of rungs descending to the sewers.
Malone produced a small hand lantern that provided just enough light for her to follow the narrow walkway rising above the mire. Remembering the schematics, she followed the main channel for about fifty feet and turned into the fourth access tunnel on her left. She could see a bluish glow from the grating above her head, and she knew that she must have reached the point just below the house.
Upon reaching the end of the tunnel, she would have identified the water main and followed it down to where it punched into the domicile’s reservoir. Ducking into an adjacent crawlspace, she would have centered herself underneath the grating that directed runoff from the basement into the sewers. Between her crowbar, her lock pick set, and the master key for the sewers, she was conf
ident that some combination of the resources would get her from one side of the grating to the other and then from the basement to the cellar. However, all of her elaborate planning became worthless once she saw the heavy alloy gate separating her from the crawlspace below.
The schematics were five years old, so she reasoned that the gate must have been a recent construction. The gate was moored to the rock face of the sewer tunnel, and a boxy, fist-size lock kept it shut. When the master key failed, Malone examined the lock under the light of her hand lantern. She rummaged in her pocket and found a few unofficial tools of the trade. Setting her light in the piping overhead, she focused on the lock and went to work. After a few practiced maneuvers, she heard a soft click, which she took as a signal of quick success. When she heard a gassy hiss, she knew she’d been wrong.
Malone just had time to jump back from the gate when she began to smell heavy fumes. She stumbled back along the tunnel, dimly aware of the dull splashing of her boots in the sewage. Her vision had already begun to blur, something in her throat was constricting, and her knees were starting to buckle.
When she reached the grate by which she had entered the tunnels, she leapt up the rungs and clung to the grill, sucking at the fresh air through the bars, no longer mindful of stealth or silence. Over the pounding of her heart, she could not hear the footsteps of patrols or the distant whisper of the gas. She did, however, hear a shout from the direction of the domicile. Seconds later, Sundar’s coat swished in the corner of her vision as he took off at top speed, and she nearly fell from the ladder as two guards thundered over the grill, chasing after him. Weakly, she turned her key in the lock and peered into the street as the grate slid open above her.
She didn’t know what had happened, but for the moment, there was not a soul present in the street. Climbing out of the sewer, she quickly skirted the adjacent building where Sundar had been roosting and looked around the corner.
Malone could hardly believe her luck. The east end of the house was completely deserted, but she knew this opportunity would not last long. Though her legs still felt like pudding, she sprinted to the side of the house under one of the circular windows. Peeking inside, she saw only darkness, and she rotated the window open and slipped inside.