ARC: The Buried Life

by Carrie Patel

  She emerged from her cranny as the train slid to life beneath her feet. Steadying herself against the walls, she weaved to the other end of the car, where clouded windowpanes conveyed the ghost of movement. Malone sat on a burlap sack of something that felt like grain, watching the flurry of twinkles outside as the train rushed through tunnels with gleaming dewdrop points, an imitation sky. When the metal behemoth lurched out of its warrens and into the natural night, she could only tell the difference by the stillness. She settled onto her sack, watching the dark patches of scenery fly by and aware for the first time that she had never before seen so many trees.

  Chapter 14

  Misunderstanding and Misfortune

  Jane did not sleep on the night of her confrontation with Roman. His carriage had left her at the entrance to her apartment warren, but when the driver turned the corner a block away, she had faded back into the shadows and returned to the Dispatch to leave the map for Malone. Jane was still surprised that she had managed to take it. When Roman had first confronted her, her fingers had tightened around it out of fear more than anything else. When she had dropped the rest of the pages in his stack and let them flutter past her skirts, she had realized that he was so intent on intimidating her that he wasn’t paying attention to the small, quick movements of her hands behind her back. He probably didn’t think she was capable of them.

  Still, after her run-in with the patrol earlier that night, she was more cautious and found herself calculating and anticipating the movements of guards blocks away rather than just checking for what was around the next corner. When she reached the Dispatch, she found it as empty and as quiet as the streets winding around it. The lone desk clerk never looked up at her coming or going, and Jane was only certain that he even knew she was there when she heard him speak.

  “Best hurry along,” he had said. Or so she thought. His lips did not seem to move, and the words came out more as a reflection than a comment. Still, it was enough to stop Jane in her tracks.

  “Best hurry along,” the clerk repeated, still showing Jane no more than the gleaming dome of his bald head as he gazed dreamily down at his papers. “Lots of activity tonight. The guards are getting restless.” She lifted the hems of her skirts and took his advice.

  By the time Jane reached home, her skin was covered in a cold film of sweat, and she was certain that she would find Olivia waiting for her with questions on her lips and accusations in her eyes. Instead, Jane found the apartment empty, tumbled into her room, and buried herself in her bed, fully clothed. She lay awake, staring at the blackness between her face and the wall and half-expecting to feel cold steel at her neck. A few hours later, the faint thud of footsteps overhead and whispers from pipes in the walls announced the morning.

  The day trickled by. Olivia had somehow arrived in the night, and she greeted Jane with a bright smile and tea. Jane accepted both warily, wondering when Olivia would surprise her with a warning confrontation. It never happened.

  For Jane, everything Olivia said and did assumed a double meaning. Idle chatter about their daily chores disguised lures and snares that Olivia would use to trap her when the time came. As much as Jane wanted to boot her out of the apartment, doing so would have been a direct challenge to Roman’s threats.

  Jane went to bed early that night, staring at the blank palette of the ceiling and shuffling through her thoughts. The mention of her parents had thrown her emotions into a spin, but she would not be able to get any more information from Roman about them now, and she pushed that issue from her mind.

  Her next question, of course, was what to do about Fredrick. She had not seen him since Roman’s revelation, and she had not yet decided whether ignorance or knowledge put him in greater danger. Despite his conviction that Olivia was indeed a prostitute (and of the first-class variety, he was sure), his interest in her showed no sign of abating. With the threat of retaliation still fresh in Jane’s mind, she hesitated to tell him anything that might put him in a compromising situation.

  When Jane finally drifted to sleep, her mind thoroughly exhausted from a restless night and day of preoccupation, she slumbered more soundly than she had since the beginning of the murders. She arose with her mind and body refreshed and left her room for the day’s routine, prepared anew to face Olivia.

  But when Jane saw Olivia that morning, she knew that something had changed.

  Busying herself with the morning chores, Olivia seemed no less lively but more watchful. Unless it was Jane’s imagination, those large doe eyes peered at her over the rims of soapy dishes more than usual, and every time Jane seemed on the verge of leaving the room, Olivia assaulted her with a fresh barrage of conversation: a charm offensive if ever there was one. Finally, Jane excused herself to complete her own morning routine. When she returned to the common room, Olivia’s tone changed abruptly.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, as Jane, washed and dressed, stopped at the door with her cart. The question must have come out sharper than Olivia had intended, which Jane realized when she looked back at her in surprise. She also realized that Olivia still stood over the same pile of dishes that she had begun washing almost an hour ago.

  “I have to pick up a few things,” Jane said. “It’s almost nine and I haven’t made it out of the apartment yet.”

  “But you will be back by one, yes?” Olivia asked. “I have made reservations for us at a restaurant I know. The owner is an acquaintance of mine, and he has been begging me to bring some fresh tasters.” She smiled, drying her hands with her apron in an oddly motherly way. “I also wanted to thank you and Fredrick for being such good neighbors.”

  “Fredrick’s coming?” This time it was Jane’s turn to attempt to keep the alarm out of her voice.

  “He’ll meet us here. I didn’t think you would mind that I invited him,” she added, with what Jane thought was a none-too-subtle note of insinuation.

  Jane’s heart sank at the notion that she had lost her chance to warn Fredrick away, but she also felt something inside her steel. “I’ll be here.”

  “That’s good,” said Olivia, pleased. “But where are you going now? Why don’t I come with you?” she said, abandoning the spotless stack of dishes and hanging her apron in the kitchen. She must have noticed the puzzlement on Jane’s face, and she smiled again. “I’m at loose ends this morning, and between our schedules, you and I haven’t had much time together.”

  Olivia already stood by the door, so Jane agreed with her best attempt at a smile. Still, she meant to stay in public, and under the circumstances, could not imagine that her roommate planned to do anything viler than keep an eye on her. Whatever scheme Olivia had prepared would wait until lunch.

  Despite Jane’s misgivings, Olivia was pleasant and helpful company as she ran her morning errands, picking up and delivering bundles of laundry. At half past twelve, she began to look anxious, so the two headed back. As they traced the jagged and winding tunnels back to the warren, Jane tried to think of a way to tell Fredrick everything she had learned. Too soon for her liking, they returned home to find Fredrick waiting for them, oblivious and mischievous.

  “Right on time and lovely as ever,” he said, marveling at their common cotton work dresses as though they were evening gowns. He turned to Olivia. “Miss Saavedra, I’m charmed and delighted at your proposition, er, proposal for lunch. Where are we going?”

  “A charming place called Cassandra’s, north of Turnbull Square. It’s quiet and out of the way.” Jane did not like the way Olivia emphasized these features.

  “Should we catch the tram, then? There’s a stop just below the apartment.”

  Olivia frowned. “Let’s not. It’s a short walk, and I don’t like being stuck in those at lunchtime.”

  Fredrick accepted her preference without question, and Olivia accepted his crooked arm. Jane had no choice but to follow along. Olivia led the way, appearing to choose the most twisted route of tunnels possible and seemingly aided in this by a sma
ll army of construction and maintenance crews shunting traffic out of half a dozen different tunnels. When Fredrick remarked on the number of projects, Olivia shrugged and said something about redirecting sewage lines, which ended any further conversation on the matter. For all Olivia’s assurances of a short walk, nearly forty-five minutes had passed before they arrived. Then, the crowds began to thin and only a quiet trickle of people mingled in the round, cozy streets. The tunnels intersected more tightly, with sloping rabbit holes meeting and parting at irregular angles and reinforcing the image of the subterranean as an immense warren.

  The restaurant Olivia had selected was a cozy little bistro with a subterranean balcony. Seated upstairs, the trio had a view over the quiet underground plaza where a small fountain bubbled and pedestrians milled with sandwiches and ale.

  “My dear Olivia, what an excellent choice,” Fredrick said as they sat at their table, pulling crisp white napkins into their laps. “And perfectly inconspicuous. How did you find it?”

  “I met the owner when I first came to town,” she said, looking down at the plaza. Jane was tempted to press the question further, but she bit her tongue, waiting instead to see what the rest of their lunch would hold.

  “Well, I’ve hardly been to this area of the city. It’s nice,” Fredrick said.

  “And quiet,” Jane added.

  Olivia glanced up from the plaza and smiled. “Yes, that’s what I love about it.”

  Their meal arrived promptly and did not disappoint, and as they tucked into bowls of lamb stew, plates of sautéed squash, and leek and mushroom tarts, Jane wondered if she would have the opportunity to get Fredrick alone. Olivia was as polite and pleasant as ever, but she kept a watchful eye on both of them.

  Dusting the pastry crumbs from her fingertips, Jane rose from the table.

  “Where are you going?” Olivia asked.

  “To the facilities. They’re just around the corner, right?”

  “Yes, that way,” said Olivia with a nervous glance.

  When Jane returned, Olivia and Fredrick were chattering animatedly. She was describing some of the delicacies of her homeland in succulent detail while Fredrick listened with rapt attention. Jane had to stand by the table for almost a minute before she found an opening. “Lunch was wonderful, Olivia, but I’m due with a stack of linens this afternoon.” She looked over at Fredrick, who appeared all but oblivious to her exit strategy. “And I think Fredrick has a deadline, right?” she added, hoping he would hear the desperate suggestion in her voice.

  “Only a bit longer, Jane,” Olivia said. “You and Freddie must try the chocolate soufflé.” That was all it took to win Fredrick over, and Jane was unwilling to leave him alone. Lunch settled like a stone in her stomach.

  The waiter had not yet returned when they heard thundering crashes in the distance and felt reverberations beneath their feet. After a split second of total silence, the plaza below collapsed in an uproar.

  Cries of horror and panic rose from the plaza as people fled blindly, uncertain of where to run, only convinced that they must. Looking like a sick swarm of bees, from the balcony above, they dashed in all directions, bowling over one another and trampling the slow underfoot. A few people froze, clutching the fountain or a signpost for support while they attempted to stand against the tide.

  “Wha – what’s going on?” Fredrick gripped the edges of table and looked wildly around as if expecting to see the responsible party sitting at the next table. But Jane knew the answer was closer, had been with her all day and had cornered her and Fredrick in a restaurant for reasons she was about to discover.

  “You,” she said to Olivia, her voice quavering as it rose. “You knew this was going to happen.”

  Fredrick blinked at Jane, wild and clueless. Around them, a cacophony of clattering dishes and thumping tables joined the shouts below as the rest of the late lunch crowd fled the restaurant.

  Olivia did not look away. Now, Fredrick stared at Jane in open amazement.

  “Jane, have you lost your mind?” His mustache twitched above his trembling mouth.

  “She’s right,” Olivia said, her eyes moving to Fredrick. Either she had lost her accent or it suddenly sounded much less musical.

  “This is nonsense! How could anyone possibly know something like this?” Fredrick said, his gaze flickering between the two women. “We don’t even know what that was!”

  Jane’s attention remained focused on Olivia. “I need to know.”

  “It’s better you don’t.” For the first time, Olivia dropped her gaze.

  The ruckus continued from the plaza below. “I knew something wasn’t right and kept quiet because I was afraid. Now I need to know what I allowed to happen.”

  “Jane, there was nothing you could have–”

  “Just tell me.”

  Olivia took a deep breath and laid her hands flat on the table. In the sudden stillness of the restaurant, Jane felt the ragged sighs and gasps of her own breathing as she fought tears. Fredrick’s wan face hovered over the other end of the table, and the din of panic sounded far away.

  “Bombs. Set throughout the city last night. What you just heard we’ve been planning for months. It’s called ‘the Catalyst’,” said Olivia.

  For once, Fredrick was speechless.

  Jane’s eyes stung. “Why?”

  Olivia shook her head. Feeling the tears finally roll down her cheeks, Jane pushed back from the table and started to rise. Olivia clamped a warm hand on her wrist and motioned her to sit.

  “I know this is a small comfort, but we didn’t want to hurt anybody. We picked the least crowded places we could find and waited until after the lunch rush. And the work crews were there to redirect most of the traffic.” Olivia paused, relaxing her grip on Jane’s wrist and drawing a deep breath. “We only wanted to draw out the guards.” She hesitated. “So they’d get people off the streets early.”

  Fredrick shook his head, but when he spoke, it was from behind a thick fog. “Off the streets for what?”

  Olivia ignored the question and continued with her eyes still on Jane. “Please believe me when I say that this kind of warning is better than the alternative.”

  A numb lump formed in Jane’s throat. “How many?”

  “Twenty-three. Of various sizes. One was half a mile from your apartment,” she said in what sounded like an apology.

  Fredrick at last seemed to emerge from his fuddle. “I don’t understand. You’re behind this?” There was a pity and disgust in his voice that shamed even Jane.

  Still, she turned to him with urgency and with relief that she could finally share what she knew. “She’s been in on it all along.” When he turned back to her, his eyes still tinged with doubt, she almost pounded the table in frustration. “I know, Freddie,” she said before he could protest. “I’ve known for two days now.”

  He waved his hands in the air between them as if clearing it of all of the extraneous questions to settle on one. “How?”

  “Because Roman Arnault sent her.” Jane glared back at Olivia. The plaza below began to clear as people hurried indoors.

  Olivia’s expression softened. “You know? Then you understand why we’re here.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jane said. “And I don’t want to.”

  Fredrick cleared his throat, still regaining some of his voice. “I’d like to, actually.”

  Again, Olivia ignored him. The maid rested her head on her hand, a weary gesture that seemed out of place amidst the chaos. “You may not sympathize with our actions, but I hope that you will at least think a little more kindly of him, if not of me,” she said.

  Jane felt her features twist. “So the hatchet man has a hatchet woman. Does that make him less guilty?”

  “What are you people talking about?” Fredrick shouted.

  Jane whirled to face him. “Roman sent this woman to watch us, Freddie,” she said. “She’s been spying on us the whole time.”


  “Whatever the hell for?” he asked. Somewhere in the exchange, his blind confusion had changed to blind anger. Now, he seemed to yell at no one in particular.

  “Arnault sent her as a safeguard. To kill us if we became a liability.”

  Olivia shook her head, her eyes wide. “Jane, no. Please understand. Roman Arnault sent me to protect you.”

  #

  Liesl Malone had remained hidden on the train as per her instructions. Still on her sack of grain, she had watched as the train pulled into the first two farming communes during the night and had taken cover behind the crates in her car when the rusty squeals signaled a stop. The boxes around her were emblazoned with bright red letters stating their destination as “South Haven”, and true to her change in fortunes, no one had yet come to check her car. Now emboldened by her arrival at the third farming commune, she balanced atop some of the crates near her boxcar’s window and observed the laborers as they exchanged freight. In the cities, commune farmers had a reputation for being wild, anarchic, and eccentric due to their exchange of civilization for brain-boiling sun. Malone had never met anyone from the communes, but watching the farmers now, they looked nothing like she had expected.

  The men and women lugging equipment and supplies from the train, and talking with the railcar operators, appeared vigorous and strong-bodied. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the first pre-dawn shades, casting a healthy glow on the skin and brows of the farmers. Stretched out behind them was an outpost of sprawling fields, clumps of wood and stone block buildings, and the silhouettes of grazing livestock. Malone had heard it said that the people who lived on the farms chose to build their houses above ground out of a love for open spaces and a desire to awaken with the sun. She could not imagine trading the security and order of tunnels for the chaos of the elements, but gazing at the vast empire of sky and field, some primal recognition stirred.