The Buried Life

by Carrie Patel

“If you want to accuse me of breaking my orders, then you’ll have to link the Vineyard murders to those cases,” she said.

  “Well, if we need more evidence, perhaps we should arrest your partner as well. Of course, we were hoping to avoid complications.” Subdued, Malone glared at him. “Then again, you could always accompany us to the Barracks, and we could keep this simple.” He drew himself up beside her, speaking directly into her ear. “Are you going to give us trouble, Inspector?” Dominguez waited, watching her. He stepped away from her and addressed the nearest guard. “Lock her up. She’s coming with us.”

  Malone held out her wrists and allowed herself to be cuffed and marched back into the city. The small crowd that had gathered to watch from a distance dispersed as Malone and her captors filed into a prisoner transport carriage, heavy with bars and bolts.

  * * *

  Inspector Malone had escorted many a criminal to justice by similar means, but this was her first time on the other side of the shackles. She found it distinctly unpleasant.

  She sat on a hard bench, the bars that separated her from the guards just inches from her knees. There were six in the carriage with her, and they gazed at her with hostile uncertainty as their conveyance bounced along the cobblestones. The bars that spanned the windows cast shifting shadows across the guards’ faces, and they seemed to constantly weave and whisper as they slid from darkness into light. Ahead, Dominguez and his own contingent rode in a grander carriage befitting their triumphant return.

  As the carriage slowed to a stop, Malone tilted her head to peer between the bars. Before her rose the impenetrable facade of the Barracks. Whereas Callum Station housed Recoletta’s law enforcement, the Barracks was home to Recoletta’s military – the guards and agents under the direct control of the Council. Like a massive, geometric octopus, it rose up and spread grasping bastions into the open cavern around it. The veranda was a formation of obelisk towers that emerged over the horizon like thick fingers.

  Nearby was the political seat of Recoletta, Dominari Hall, which overlooked the underground networks from its rise at the western terminus of the Spine. Its gleaming marble surfaces seared the eyes after the dull gray of the Barracks. Majestic spires punctured the earth to mark the capitol building aboveground. Dominari Hall and the Barracks made up the control center of Recoletta, with political grace backed by brute force.

  Malone could not help but look up as she was led across the featureless stone courtyard to the Barracks. So solid was the building and so ingenious its construction that it did not appear to have any entrances at all, only square faces and block arms that seemed to absorb and emit guards at random.

  Inside, her escorts directed her through several corridors and finally down many flights of stairs until they arrived at what, for its cultivated gloom and memorable odors, had to be the dungeon. The guards relieved Malone of her possessions and undid her shackles, shoving her into a lone cell.

  Dominguez followed them, stopping just inside the cell. From the way he looked around him, Malone guessed that he didn’t feel comfortable going farther than that, guards or no. “I’m going to leave you here a little while to reflect on your actions,” he said, recovering some of his bluster. “But don’t make yourself too comfortable. We’ll call on you soon enough.”

  Malone did not break her gaze. “For my trial?”

  He cocked his head. “What trial?”

  “The one where you demonstrate the evidence against me. So you can keep me in jail.”

  He tented his fingers in front of his lips and smiled indulgently. “Inspector Malone, I’m afraid you’re looking at this all wrong. We’re not charging you as a criminal, we’re charging you as a traitor, and you’re not being jailed, you’re being held. Indefinitely.”

  “When will you inform my department of my arrest?” she asked quietly. Chief Johanssen would know that she had escaped the guards at Callum Station, but he would not know that they had apprehended her an hour later. If he believed that she was in hiding, it could be quite some time before anyone came looking for her here.

  “I really don’t think that will be necessary. Your Chief Johanssen has enough to worry about without having your treason on his mind, do you not agree?”

  Malone glared back at Dominguez.

  In the doorway, his silhouette lowered its head. “Now, Malone, bitterness does not become you. If you’ll quit being so selfish, I know you’ll come around in a few days. If not, I’m sure we can help you with that.”

  Malone felt the futility of argument, but she feared what would happen inside her if she stopped fighting. “When the Council gets word of this, you’ll lose more than your title.”

  The guards backed away and stood behind Dominguez. He glanced at them as the space between him and Malone cleared. “And where do you think I get my orders? Your fate has been decided by the highest authority, and, after your imprudence, I’m afraid you’re out of allies.” He paused, sighing and straightening his jacket. “I cannot waste any more of my time like this. Should you require anything, you may summon room service with a shout.” Dominguez turned and strode out of the cell, a pair of guards slamming the heavy door and locking it with a disheartening series of thuds and cranks. Malone flew to the door’s barred window and pressed her face to it as she watched the men retreat the way they had come, leaving a lone guard to monitor the cellblock.

  Leaning into a corner, Malone surveyed her new accommodations. The cell measured about nine by seven feet with no apparent outlet except the heavy iron door through which she had entered. Smooth and without a handle, it sealed the wall, and she could discern no way to pry it open, pick its lock, or remove it from its hinges, and certainly not without alerting the guard outside. The barred window at chin level was barely wide enough to see through, and the slit for the food tray was secured from the other side.

  A straw cot with a single moth-eaten sheet sat in the farthest corner of the room. Malone searched the large, rough-hewn blocks that formed the walls with stretched palms and probing fingertips and then their counterparts in the floor on hands and knees, but she found nothing except a thick layer of grime. Every block was solid and every seam filled flush with the rest of the wall. Listening in the near-darkness, Malone heard only the intermittent pacing of the lone guard echoing in the otherwise empty cellblock. Even here, she was alone. She slumped onto her cot and sighed, feeling defeated for the first time since Cahill’s murder.

  Lying on the hard plank and staring at the ceiling, Malone listened absently to the stirring of the guard outside. As she counted his steps, she thought she heard them double. She sat up and realized that another guard had joined the first and that the two were conversing. She silently slid off of the cot and crept to the door, poised just under the window to listen.

  “…between you ’n’ me, but I’m a bit nervous about it,” said one guard.

  “What’s to worry about? It’s just another job.”

  “It’s my first time out at the site, you know.”

  “Oh, I get it. Look,” the other said, “just keep to your post and stay on alert. And mind you stay out of everyone else’s way.”

  “Nothing I’d like more.”

  “If you see anyone unfamiliar approaching the site, kindly escort them to the captain on duty. No sweat, easy as pie.” Malone did not like the sour emphasis that the guard put on the word “kindly”.

  The first guard shifted as he worked up a response. “It’s just that, well, I heard they caught someone snooping around last week…”

  “And?”

  “And what happened to him?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t want to. The site’s a secret for a reason,” said the second, quickly. The direction of his voice wavered, giving Malone the impression that he was looking around as their conversation lingered on the subject of the mysterious site.

  “But why?” asked the first. “Do we even know what this place is?”

  “Look, mate, that ain’t for you or me to kn
ow, alright? You’re asking too many questions. Just keep your mind on the job and forget about the rest,” the second man said. “Hey, they’re paying us enough for that, don’t you think?” he added, trying, with minimal success, to lighten the mood.

  The other guard mumbled something in reply, and when they concluded their conversation, Malone shuffled back to her cot and returned to counting the first guard’s footsteps. In a matter of moments, her eyelids drooped shut and she fell soundly to sleep.

  She awoke suddenly with a mixture of guilt and surprise. Blinking, she guessed that several hours must have passed, and she listened for sounds of the guard outside. Silence. She rose from the lumpy cot, ignoring the kink in her back, and tiptoed to the door to listen again. Still nothing. She straightened her knees to peer through the tiny window.

  “Malone.”

  A husky whisper startled her, causing her to jump back half a foot. She returned to the narrow window and peeked out from all directions, but she couldn’t see anyone from her angle. “Who’s there?” she whispered back to the empty hall.

  “Quiet. Listen carefully, Malone. The guard rotation begins in two minutes. For now, the cellblock is empty. When I open the door, climb the stairs by which you descended and take an immediate right at the top.”

  “Hold it. Who are you and what are you doing?”

  “No questions. That tunnel will lead you out of the Barracks, and from there you will skirt the complex until you reach the passage running south. This will take you back to the train station, and from there, you can…”

  “What makes you think you know where I’m going?”

  The disembodied voice on the other side of the door chuckled. “I certainly know where you were arrested, and there’s only one place you would have been headed from there. I can only assume you mean to finish what you started. And I suggest that you do it quickly.” He cleared his throat and continued.

  “Once you have left, don’t stop or turn back for any reason. You will have five minutes from the time you leave this cell before someone returns and finds you missing. If anyone sees you along the way, I trust you know what to do. The door is unlocked,” Malone heard a rattle and a muffled thud as her mysterious benefactor turned the key and unbarred the door, “and you may count to twenty once I leave.”

  He hesitated. “And one more thing. At all costs you must avoid being seen at the site. There’s a river fifty minutes after leaving the third farming commune – Fairview. Jump the southbound before the train crosses the river and follow it southeast until you reach the ruined veranda with the giant man, then follow the broken arrow another two miles east. You can observe from an elevated position, but stay away from the main entrance.”

  “Wait! What do you expect me to do once I get there?” she asked, still craning her head to get a view of the stranger.

  “Start counting, Malone.” She heard the soft rustle of fabric as her nameless ally hurried away, still out of sight. Resisting temptation, she dutifully counted down before slipping out of her cell and into an empty hallway. No one stood at the guard desk, and she replaced the keys on their nail in the wall. Her things were scattered on the desk. She quickly threw on her coat and secured her equipment, turning up the stairs and ignoring the wrenching of nerves in the pit of her stomach.

  She passed no one on her ascent and, after a much longer journey than she remembered, she reached the level from which her captors had led her. To her right, as promised, was a narrow passage, which appeared virtually unused. Malone decided to take advantage of her opportunity while this was the case.

  Guiding flames set on parallel tracks in the walls led her through the winding tunnel and, amazed at her good fortune, she passed no one. A grayish blob of an exit appeared as she rounded the last bend.

  Malone stopped when she reached the end of the tunnel, her nose not quite flush with the open doorway, and listened. Someone paced twenty-five feet above her head. Another pair of footsteps joined the first: the new guard on duty coming to relieve his predecessor. Looking up, she saw that the walls rose straight to the polygonal ridge where the exchange was taking place. She glanced over her shoulder as she heard footsteps echoing down the previously deserted hall and heading in her direction. There was no cover from the guards up top, so she would have to hug the walls and ease around the corners as her unknown friend had instructed her, hoping that the guards would not wander any closer to the edge of their lookout.

  She edged along the wall, pressing herself as close to it as possible. She moved steadily and silently, sliding along the stone. Malone heard a choking sound from above and froze, prepared to bolt, when a wad of phlegm landed inches from the toe of her boot.

  Not daring to crane her head upwards, she remained still for a moment more before stepping over the spot on the ground and continuing her shuffle.

  Another set of footsteps echoed in the direction that she had come from, spurring her to creep faster. When she reached the south edge of the building, she knew she was free. A crude tunnel ran up to the side of the Barracks where the walls of the building merged with the cavern. She sprinted for the tunnel and traced a maze of half-empty passageways back to the transit station without incident.

  The honeycomb of streets and passages merged into a hub of activity as Malone reached the station, where the damp tunnel walls glistened as the night sky surely did outside. Instead of returning to the ticket desk, she made her way to the back cars of the southbound lines where laborers were loading freight destined for South Haven, Morsefield, Juny, and beyond. Riding in the passenger cars up front was no longer an option, so she would again have to content herself with the cramped company of crates and cargo.

  Ducking between the hulking boxcars and in and out of plumes of steam, Malone located a series of linked cars carrying cargo marked for South Haven. Securing passage unnoticed was simply a matter of slipping into a half-packed car while the laborers were otherwise occupied and settling into a nook between the boxes, sacks, and barrels. When the door to her car rolled shut with a clank and the angled diamond of light disappeared from the wall next to her, Liesl Malone breathed a sigh of relief.

  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 Fourteen

  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.