He was in the Palace. Not exactly the same hall as earlier but the same structure, same stone floor and stone walls. He looked down, trying to hold back the howling voices and wind long enough to see if there were footprints below him. There were none. He pushed forward down the hall. He fought a sense that he was in the wrong place. Every element of where he was wanted him gone. He was wrong, he was lost. He did not belong. He was an intruder. The wind and the voices were only the most physical of the sensations which battled him. His heart and mind felt the wrongness keenly in a way hard to express. They shrank back from every piece of the world around him, every shimmering stone, every wrinkle of light in the air. Still he pushed on, both the voices and wind rising with each step.
He came to the end of the hall. There was a guard standing there, staring straight ahead. Aaron managed to hold the shimmering image of the guard’s face still long enough to see two alert eyes looking out. Aaron had a jarring sensation of seeing something both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It was Jenner, but with two healthy eyes looking forward. He did not see Aaron. The voices rose and rose. Aaron fell to one knee, holding his head with hands cold and wet.
Suddenly he was inside a room. He looked around. The wind, the voices, and the wrongness had quieted as though the movement had shaken them, but he could already feel it rising again. He looked around, his vision not yet trembling with the effort of holding this world still. There was one little blonde-haired girl asleep on a bed, face turned away from him. The other bed was empty, bedclothes disturbed.
Aaron was somehow looking at the past, intruding into the past, that night three years ago, when the girl had been taken. Jenner had been standing guard in the hall, but he hadn’t been asleep. Aaron walked over to the window. Each step woke more of the voices until, as he reached the window, he was shaking with the effort of staying on his feet. He managed a look out the window and for a moment he saw two men carrying the princess, bound and gagged, between them, headed towards a carriage.
Another blink and he was on the ground, watching the two men throw the princess into the carriage and close the door while looking around nervously. Aaron didn’t move, keeping his head still, and the voices didn’t descend on him as quickly this time. The men climbed atop the carriage and led it out of the courtyard in the center of the Palace. Aaron blinked and he was farther down the road, still trailing the carriage. After a few moments, he was pulled forward again.
Madame Jane had somehow thrown him into a vision of the past. In this world, it seemed he was tied to the kidnapped princess. Whenever she got too far away, he was drawn back into her presence. Whenever he stayed in one place too long, whatever elements made the rules around here noticed he did not belong and tried to drive him off. Aaron jumped again and again as the carriage made its way down to the harbor. He tried to remember landmarks so he could recreate the journey, when he returned to three years later, assuming he was able to return. He looked around, no sign of Madame Jane. Hopefully the vision would release him after he’d seen what he needed. And not before.
As the carriage stopped on an unlit pier on the harbor, Aaron got his first good look at the two men. One held a lantern up, spreading a cold light on their operation. He had large jowls with long sideburns. He was bald on top, just a few strands of long and stringy dark brown hair along the sides. He looked like he’d once been overweight but was now thin. Aaron fixed his face in his mind. He’d need to know what he looked like a few years down the road. Something about the face, the way the lips and nose were set, reminded Aaron of a muskrat. He committed him to memory as the muskrat man. He was well-dressed for a criminal but no signs or insignia.
The other man was harder to pin down. He had a thick neck, looked strong. He was completely bald, heavy bags under his eyes. Aaron committed him to memory as the punching bag.
They were yelling at each other as they loaded the girl, struggling, onto a flatboat. Aaron took a step forward, hoping to hear what they said, but the voices and the wind descended on him, threatening to throw him back. He felt cold hands gripping him.
Then he was in the water. The boat was in front of him, the men rowing out, off the Plate, princess bound on the floor between them. What little comfort Aaron had gained in this strange place was lost now that he was in the water. The screams were back. The wind beat on his body, even the parts below the surface. The water itself seemed to hate his intrusion. It was cold and foul, trying to get into his throat. Worse, he could feel dark creatures circling just below him. Curious and possibly hungry. He desperately swam in place, trying to keep his face above the waves.
He was pulled forward again, giving him a brief respite from the assault. He watched the boat ahead, a single lantern up at the bow. The creatures prowling, pacing from below seemed to find him again but he was pulled forward.
The boat appeared to have stopped, the muskrat man looking out on the waters. Were they meeting someone? Aaron turned around but couldn’t see another boat. He did see, for a moment, between him and the green lights of Surdoore, another head bobbing in the water. Another watcher, looking at the boat. He couldn’t make out any details. He turned back towards the princess.
Something was happening, the muskrat man talking to something that rose halfway out of the water, gripping the edge of the boat. As the light of the lantern washed over the creature, Aaron saw it was a Sunken. And there were others clustered around the first.
The creature communing with the muskrat man hoisted a heavy bag of something that rattled like gold onto the boat. Once it was delivered, the muskrat man and his partner began lifting the princess and moving her to the edge. Aaron couldn’t help himself from leaning forward. He could see the fear in her eyes as they hoisted her onto the boat’s wale. The water rebelled against Aaron, threatening to drag him under. The screams in his ears matched the scream the princess forced through her gag as she splashed into the harbor among the beasts who had come for her.
She was pulled under immediately and efficiently by the group of Sunken. Aaron watched the bubbles above her disappear. The men on the boat were quickly turning back to shore. Aaron remembered the other watcher he’d glimpsed and turned in that direction, but if he’d truly seen someone, they were gone now.
Had he seen all he was meant to? To see that she’d been sold to the Sunken? He could relay the description of the two men to Jon and start —
He was several feet underwater, the moonlight dancing on the surface far above him. Aaron let out an explosive breath, startled, and drew in a mouthful of harbor water, salty and foul. He could more easily feel than see the group of Sunken taking the princess deeper. He was still somehow tethered to her. He fought to move the other way, get back to the surface for another breath. His body trembled, desperate for air. He had nearly reached the surface when there was a sharp pain in his ankle. He looked down to see a thick hook dug into his flesh. It was being held by a Sunken, looking right at him.
The creature pulled him down towards it, Aaron frantically shaking his leg, slowly and painfully drowning in its grips. He looked at the Sunken’s face as its eyes, white and bloodshot, pulled level to his. This one had the darkish green coral growing in lumps and lines all over its slick body. It had a jaw more coral than skin. “A watcher of the dark deed,” the Sunken said formally, its voice cutting through the water. “The dark deal. What does it know?” Aaron was rapidly losing consciousness. His body shivered, starting to pull deeper again, to follow the princess down to a watery grave.
The Sunken seemed surprised, but it held its hook tightly and the hook held Aaron in place. “Updweller, we should talk.” It ignored Aaron’s dying throes. “Find me at the red fish. Ask for Locke. I can show you a gate.” Then it released him and pushed away, looking on in amusement as Aaron thrashed towards the surface. He didn’t make it before he was forced to draw more water into his lungs and the world went black.
…
“What the fuck?! Wake the fuck up!” Cal was screaming at Mada
me Jane. “Get him out of there!”
Jon was pounding on his chest as Aaron opened his eyes and immediately vomited up a couple lungfuls of dirty salt water. The room was spinning, full of yelling, panic, and breaking furniture. Aaron was on the floor. Finn added to the chaos as he kicked in the door, sword at the ready.
“Is he alive?” Cal was now hovering above him. Aaron fought for his breath. Cal looked him up and down. “Fuck, look at his leg.” Aaron rolled over, wanting to get everyone away from him. It was too bright in the room, too real after being stuck wherever he’d gone. He heard Cal talking to Jon. “Wait, what did you say?” Aaron managed to cough out before vomiting again.
“She’s dead,” Cal said. “Madame Jane. The Queen’s fucking personal spirit guide somehow managed to drown without ever leaving the table. Where the fuck did you guys go?”
“She showed me the kidnapping. The dark deal, he called it. We went under. Or at least I did. The Sunken were there. They bought the princess.” He rolled back over, eyes closed, slowing his breathing. The others fell quiet. “We might have to learn a little more about those folktales, Jon.”
There was a long pause. “What happened to your leg?” Jon asked.
Aaron looked down at it. There was a puddle of blood under his left leg. He leaned forward and accepted the towel Shay handed him. He wiped the blood away. It was immediately replaced by a fresh flow coming from two holes punched through the fleshy part of his calf. Where he’d been hooked.
He fell back, exhausted. “Something…caught me. Another Sunken. I think not with the group that bought the princess and took her down. Another…watcher. He told me to find him at a red fish, whatever that means.”
Jon and Shay exchanged a look. Jon turned towards Aaron. “There’s a restaurant called The Red Fish near the harbor.”
Aaron sighed, feeling at his clothes, amazed they were dry. He rolled over onto an elbow and dug out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and turned to Jon. “Is it any good?”
Chapter 6. A Drink and a Word
The Red Fish was closed. Aaron stayed in the carriage with Jon while Cal and Shay broke in and searched the place, finding nothing inside to link it to Aaron’s strange experience. No sign of the name or word Locke on any of the scant paperwork. Jon sat quietly the whole time, staring out the window. Aaron was gathering his old friend was a little troubled by the prospect of explaining to the Queen how her spirit guide had wound up dead after their late-night visit.
By the time they got back to the tavern Sleepy Jon was using as his shop, the sun was nearly up and Aaron was dragging. His body was crying out for rest, his mind echoing the sentiment.
Jon had moved Aaron’s bag to one of the upstairs rooms. Aaron slowly closed the door behind him and headed in. He pulled his shirt off, threw it on the floor, and fell onto the bed. It was only once he’d closed his eyes and let the room fall silent that he realized he wasn’t alone. He breathed deeply, the smell in the air both clean and somehow familiar. He opened his eyes and looked over at the chair in the shadows by the window.
“You must be tired,” the woman said. She leaned forward and struck a match. The warm light illuminated her face. It was Miriam. Miriam Halsted, though she’d never liked to use her last name. She lit a candle on the table in front of her. Then looked up at Aaron. She kept silent, giving him a long time to watch the fire dancing in her eyes.
Her hair was the same. Shoulder-length blonde with a touch of red to it. Her eyes just as curious, questing, as he remembered. She wore a cloak, hood down, thrown back off her shoulders. The shirt she wore beneath had a deep neckline, showing off enough smooth skin to make Aaron want to see more. No doubt by design.
After a long pause, she cocked her head to the side. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
Aaron slowly rose, wrapped in quiet. He padded softly over to the pair of chairs in the corner, pausing on the way to dig a bottle out of his bag. He felt a comfort in the silence, didn’t want to break it. Was this nerves? Fear? Anger? It felt as though the path was narrow, the peace short. Once they started speaking, something would go wrong.
Aaron found two glasses, placed them gently on the table, then poured a measure of whiskey in each. He handed one to Miriam, picked up the other.
“To fallen friends,” he said, leaning forward to meet her glass.
“And a risen nation,” she replied, meeting his eyes and giving the hint of a smile.
They drank. More silence. Aaron peeled back the bandage on his calf, giving the two puncture wounds a quick look over while he waited for Miriam to start.
“This is good,” she said, picking up the bottle on the table and examining the label. “I wasn’t aware you knew your Eostre whiskey blends, but you are full of surprises.”
“A gift from one of the local captains on the Borhele front.”
“Well, wherever it came from.”
Miriam worked for the SDC, as did Aaron. She was part of the Corvale Intelligence Circle, which meant she should be reporting directly to Aaron, but the lines of authority had gotten muddy lately. Conners Toren had taken a more active hand in the Intelligence Circle, reducing Aaron’s role to more of a specialist for the more challenging contracts the SDC received. It freed Aaron from thankless SDC management duties but left him on the fringes of the organization’s inner workings, a position Conners seemed determined to keep him in. Miriam now reported to Conners, who had also practically raised her. Her ties to him were stronger than Aaron’s. And she’d proven in the past that Aaron’s concerns came second to Conners’.
“What brings you out tonight, Miriam?” He regretted the question as soon as he asked. He didn’t want to know. Or rather, he didn’t want her to confirm what he knew was coming.
“Just a drink and a word, then I’m on my way.”
“You’ve got the drink…”
She gave him an offended look but spoiled the effect by smiling again. “Such a hurry.”
Aaron still hadn’t figured out exactly what role Miriam would adopt for this visit. There was always something with her. A strategy behind every nod, wink, or laugh. The familiarity, the smell. Tonight her disguise was the woman he’d fallen for back in the early days building New Wyelin, the stronghold the Corvale founded in the mountains. Before Conners had realized his tools were being blunted by love and needed to be separated. Aaron remembered telling her the night he left. Remembered seeing the look in her eyes. She’d already known he was leaving. And she knew Conners’ plan would prevent them from seeing each other again, maybe ever. He hadn’t gotten a feeling of regret from her, just impatience. Ready for him to go and close this impossible chapter, wake from this pointless dream of complacency and happiness. Leave the community he was building, the life he was making, to find the opposition wherever they hid and break whatever they were building. Get back to what he knew best. Killing, dealing death, both deserved and undeserved, as decided by Conners, always in the name of the risen nation he’d just toasted.
“I’ll be straight. Conners is unhappy,” Miriam said. “There’s no sugarcoating the loss of the Borhele conflict. It’s the first inarguable failure we’ve delivered and everyone in the north is using it as an excuse to renegotiate their contracts. Revenues are way down. And now both your and Cal’s names are in the dirt where you used to be one of our strongest sales pitches.”
This was Conners bringing him to heel with a particularly harsh choice of emissary. “I told him not to take the contract,” Aaron argued. “Cal said the same. No one understands the Borhele. I fought them for six months and I’m not any closer to knowing why they started the war. All I can tell you is it will be over shortly. They only want a few lands that should have been given over immediately. The whole thing was a mess. Plus the resources he was willing to spare were embarrassing. Me, Cal, a handful of other SDC, none over Class Seven, and six dragons? To win a war?”
“Eostre and Garen both sent troops. So did Tannes.” Miriam always argued hard, whether she had a
winning hand or not.
“They sent their dregs, plus a load of unqualified generals from the noble class, all looking to make their name. All furious at the idea of taking orders from contractors, even if one was the son of the Steward of Castalan. Conners should have listened to my requests for more manpower. It didn’t go unnoticed that the prime contract holder was outnumbered by every national coalition.”
“Is your assumption that Conners doesn’t know any of that?” She shook her head, hair waving, a familiar gesture which wrenched at Aaron, bringing up a mix of complex emotions. “None of it changes the fact you failed to deliver. He thought you would, despite all the obstacles, and you didn’t. And now we’re all paying the price.”
Aaron finished his drink and stood. He stared out the dirty window next to him, lighting a cigarette. “Okay, fine. Consider me appropriately chastised. So did Conners send you all the way to Surdoore just to tell me I fucked up? I already knew that.”
“No, he’s got something else for you. He wants you to do what you can to destabilize Camron Air. Their contract is starting to look shaky. And it’s up for renewal.”
“Are you serious? I’m here to support Jon. Earlier tonight I agreed to help the Queen. There’s something foul going on here.”
“Aaron, do you really want me to take that message back to him? A ‘no’? ‘I’ve got to help a friend’? You didn’t check with Conners before surrendering that war. And then the next day you’re headed to Surdoore? You just taking a vacation after handing the SDC the biggest loss we’ve had in years, maybe since we got started?” She gave him a penetrating look, letting the softness melt away from her features. “You can’t have two failures in a row. I don’t care how high in the organization you are. There will be consequences. This is about making our people strong enough to prevent another slaughter.”
Alliance of the Sunken (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 3) Page 5