“Who’s that?”
Jon shrugged. “Like I said, our connection.” Jon didn’t trust Locke, but he wasn’t about to fill in any gaps in Lorimer’s knowledge. Not yet.
“Could this connection get to the princess if she’s alive? Could we learn his price? What about arms? If he’s running against the others, we could stock him from the armory.”
“You want to arm the Sunken? Better than they are already? What happens after all this? You want to make the army under your feet more dangerous?”
Lorimer stopped smoking, turned to look at Jon. He crossed the cell in two steps and bent down to get right in Jon’s face. “Listen up. I don’t give a fuck what happens after I get the girl back to Cassie. Do you? Your ass will be off the Plate twenty-four hours after this is resolved, one way or another. And if it isn’t, we’ll be having words about that.” He took a step back. “But that comes later. First we got to get her back. So, you want to talk to him? Brooks?”
Jon, startled by the sudden offer, kept his face neutral. He nodded slowly. “Sure.”
“We tried the stick. I’m good at the stick. I get the feeling you’re better at the carrot. You know,” Lorimer said, “when you showed up down here, that wasn’t the first time I heard the name Jon Harpish. There was a story floating around the Maritime guys about a case you ran on Dolan Krelge’s smugglers over in Lenn’s Harbor. I heard you—”
“Lorimer,” a sharp voice came from the hall.
“Yeah,” Lorimer called out, breaking off the story in an instant.
One of his men ducked into the cell. “He died, Lorimer.”
“What?!” Lorimer was in the hall in a moment, men scattering to the walls in the wake of his broad shoulders, smoke trailing from the cigarette clenched in his jaw. Jon followed. They walked into the cell which held the prisoner moments later. It was bright after the dimness of the hall, lanterns in every corner bathing Brooks Borland’s body in sharp relief. He was slumped over in a chair, eyes open. There was blood all over his shirt and a bloody towel was thrown over his right hand, a dark pool under it.
Lorimer’s voice was on the edge of panic. “How the fuck did he die? We didn’t squeeze him that hard.”
Jon walked up to the body, looking closely at the limp face. He studied it for a moment, then reached out and grabbed Brooks by one lengthy sideburn. He twisted Brooks’ head to the side, letting his face fall forward over the arm of the chair. Liquid gushed from his mouth, splashing onto the floor. One of Lorimer’s men who was standing close by jumped back.
Jon looked for a moment at the fresh dark puddle spreading across the stone floor. “You check that,” he said to the room, “you’ll find it’s saltwater.”
“What does that mean? What do you see?” Lorimer asked.
Jon turned and looked him in the eye. “I think you were right, this lead is looking dead.”
Lorimer flicked his cigarette just passed Jon’s face. “Get the fuck out of here, Sleepy, before I sit you down next to him.”
“Gladly.” Jon turned his back on Lorimer and headed for the exit. Moments later, he was in his carriage, headed back towards the tavern where his bed was. Where he could find a quiet place to think. Madame Jane had died with saltwater in her lungs and a secret on her lips. Brooks Borland had just gone that way too. The dominion of the Sunken was not limited to beneath the Plate. At least one of them had some reach atop the Plate as well. Jon shifted his bulk in the carriage, unsettled at the idea of his own throat filling with water at his enemy’s will. Anyone’s guess as to which enemy and what motivated them.
Chapter 24. Uninvited
Aaron stood at attention, one in a rigid, endless formation of cloaked and hooded men, women, and children. Water pooled in the silty stone at his feet. They were below the Plate, waiting for the remaining wetcloaks to finish their migration through the gate.
The gate had been monitored by four Sunken guards of the Ungale variety. Motley patches of green coral all over their bodies, not the sculpted darkine of the Gale House and its loyalists. The cloaks entered the water slowly and solemnly, none needing encouragement or guidance. None had lowered their hoods as they passed the guards, enabling Aaron to keep his face hidden. Once under the water and through the Plate, Aaron had turned to follow the cloaks on their course.
The cloak Aaron wore seemed built for the water. It didn’t get sodden, spreading and flowing behind and around him like wings. It smoothed rather than slowed progress. The hood cut through the water in front of him like a knife. The progression of cloaks ahead of him looked like stingrays, swimming in a line, an unusual school in an unusual place. They appeared practiced, no stragglers or strays. They’d made this journey before. There was something both solemn and giddy to their manner.
They went past the chamber in which he’d first met Locke, the one he’d taken to calling the Lake. A second chamber, massive in scale, was just beyond. When he’d surfaced, he could sense the elated mood, the anticipation of the crowd, but their discipline held and none made a sound. They had formed orderly lines, patiently waiting for the stragglers. Aaron remained in place for nearly two hours by his best guess, before a Sunken came to the dais in front of them and raised his hands in the green light. It was Locke.
“Welcome,” he said, his gravelly voice projecting through the quiet chamber. “I know you have long waited for this day, as have I. The day I could welcome you below the Plate before the tides turn and bury us in green. It is our fate.”
The crowd of wetcloaks spoke in unison, repeating back, “It is our fate.” Then they all reached reached up and removed their hoods.
Aaron had only a fraction of a second to decide whether to follow suit. As strange as it felt to bare his face in this place where he was not invited or included, he realized it was the right decision. A moment later and he would have been the only one in this crowd of hundreds with his hood raised. But now his face was exposed. And with his peripheral vision restored, he could see the Sunken guards walking the rows. More Ungale. The guards held lanterns, which shown green light onto the crowd, faces all staring up towards Locke.
Locke continued, “Your journey has only begun. Our journey has only begun. The depths call us. They are not without their guardians. They are not without danger. You will be tested as you have never been tested before.” Locke was impassioned, a confident power in his voice. Nothing like the calm presence Aaron had seen staring at his cards the other night.
As he glanced to either side, Aaron could see rapt adoration in the cloaks around them. Aaron’s movement, small as it was, drew the attention of one of the patrolling Sunken. He felt first a lantern’s light, then eyes on him, distracting him from Locke’s strange speech. He turned to see Cornett Ungale, the Sunken who had won Aaron’s wine, staring at him from a few feet away. Cornett slowly raised a rusty knife, then banged it against the coral on his shoulder. It produced a loud metallic clang which reverberated throughout the chamber. Locke stopped speaking immediately, looking in their direction. Cornett raised his lantern, and Aaron could see Locke jump down from the dais and begin moving towards them.
“Hi, Cornett,” Aaron said in a casual tone. “How was the wine?”
Cornett didn’t answer, just giving Aaron a dark grin, waiting for Locke to make his way through the crowd.
Seconds later, the row of cloaks in front of Aaron parted and Locke stood facing him. “The marked spy,” he said, voice dark. “I told you your role is up there, not down here.”
“My role?” Aaron said. “I feel like my role isn’t all that clear right now. And neither is yours.”
Locke didn’t answer, simply waving his hand to summon more guards.
Aaron said, “I can tell you what I want. I want the princess back. You said she was alive. How about you? What do you want?”
“I don’t care what you want,” Locke told him sharply. “And I have no intention of answering your questions. I see you brought no wine this time. This time you entered uninvited. You hav
e made a mockery of those whose ranks you stand in. Those who would tear you to pieces at my word. Swim back, little fish. This is not for you.”
Guards on either side seized Aaron. “Why’d you order the footprints?” he asked as they began dragging him away. “Do you know where Cal is?”
“There are no answers for you down here,” Locke said, walking away, the ranks of wetcloaks closing behind him. “Not today. Return uninvited and you shall die.”
The guards pressed Aaron back to the water’s edge, giving him no time or space for argument. None of the wetcloaks turned in his direction as he was forced back off the shelf and the waters closed over his head. Four Sunken accompanied him during the swim. They shoved him through the gate and swung a set of steel bars into place behind him. The sound of the lock engaging carried through the water. He surfaced in the basement, alone in the dark.
A thorough search of the house revealed no one. No straggling wetcloaks. No gatekeeper. Even Trey’s unconscious body was missing, a wet outline where it had lain. Aaron left the house, disgusted to see the sun was nearly up. He was no closer to finding Cal, no closer to finding the princess. The only thing he knew at the end of his night that he hadn’t known at its beginning was that the footprints were left on Locke’s command. Locke was somehow in the thick of this whole mess.
The Messenger’s Tide
Chapter 25. A Crowded Room
The sound of insistent knocking carried into the apartment’s back room. Cal rolled over and groaned as the dawn light fell across his face. He could tell his eyes would burn when he opened them, still sore from the saltwater below the Plate. The cut on his lip had already closed tightly, but his mouth was dry, throat raw.
Nalani rose from the bed and walked quietly to her dresser. Cal risked opening his eyes in order to watch her naked backside sway as she moved across the small room. She drew on a sheer, ornate robe, knotted it once around her waist, then drew a long, thin knife from a drawer and tucked it away into the folds of delicate fabric. “Won’t be long,” she said, looking at Cal. “I’ll knock twice if I could use a hand.”
“Okay.” He fell back into the soft covers. He was naked aside from a small pair of shorts. The feel of the smooth, white covers on his skin was good, taking him miles away from the rough, wet coral below the Plate and the dream of a hook under his chin which had come to him at some point in the night.
When they’d arrived back at Nalani’s place, they’d found a place for Tyrne out back, then gone in. The desire to get out of the wet clothes had gotten things started, and shortly afterwards they’d fallen into bed together. They hadn’t talked much before or after, but there was a comfort that had grown between them. A silent partnership. Cal hadn’t forgotten that she returned to save him from Garem. When he woke in the middle of the night, fighting to pull his head away from a hook held by Lord Gale, Odell laughing behind him, he’d felt Nalani’s hands pull his head to her chest. He’d looked up and saw her eyes wet, her own nightmares not far off. Eventually they’d fallen back asleep, together in each other’s arms.
The bed seemed strange with her gone. Cal heard her open the door and conversation start up. She didn’t sound particularly thrilled at the presence of the other, a man’s voice. Cal wondered if he should think about getting dressed. He was remembering her boyfriend was Anders Dentrick, the head CA guy. Maybe it wasn’t the best move to be caught in her bedroom mostly naked.
Footsteps came towards the door, Nalani’s protests growing louder. Cal was looking around for a weapon, recalling that he’d buried his knife in a thresher’s eye, when the door burst open.
The man who charged in was unfamiliar to Cal at first. Shorter than Nalani, mostly bald, a ratty beard. “You?” he said, surprised to see Cal.
“Me,” Cal replied. Then he placed the man. “You were out on the plateau.” It was the surly one who’d stood behind Anders.
“Gabriel,” Nalani said, “there’s nothing here for you. Time to go.”
“Bullshit. I didn’t expect it was the SDC, but that makes no difference. You’re drawing pay from somewhere else. I know a rat when I see one. And I want a cut or this goes straight to Anders.”
Cal rose to his feet, face dark, but Nalani was making gestures, waving him off. “Gabriel, honey,” she said. “Turn around.”
Gabriel did to find a knife point at his throat. He swallowed hard.
Nalani leaned in behind the knife. “I’m not really sure if I care whether you tell Anders about this or not. Regardless, it’s not what you think. What I really care about is you getting your stinking ass out of my apartment and then forgetting you ever knew where it was. If you’re here much longer I’m going to have to wash the curtains to get rid of your stench.”
There was a pause and then Gabriel swept the knife aside and went for his belt. Cal kicked him in the back of his knee and grabbed him by the collar. He slammed Gabriel’s face into the doorframe. “You must not have heard her.” He shoved Gabriel through the door and onto the floor of the main room. Cal’s eyes were drawn to the open front door, where Aaron stood, sword out.
“Welcome back,” Aaron said calmly.
Cal grunted then took a knee to punch Gabriel in the back of the neck. When he hit the ground again, stunned, Cal fished a knife off Gabriel’s belt.
Aaron was holding Cal’s swordbelt, which he threw to Cal. “That might work better.”
Cal nodded, then turned back to Nalani. “Anything else you had to say to him?” He moved past Gabriel towards Aaron, the two clasping hands. Cal was mentally prioritizing his report to Aaron, when he paused. Miriam Halsted was behind Aaron at the door.
Aaron followed Cal’s eyes. His expression shifted to one of mixed resignation and enthusiasm, a hint of suspicion in it. Cal made a quick guess that Aaron hadn’t come with her, but wasn’t surprised to see her in Surdoore.
Miriam looked into the room, noting Gabriel struggling to get off the floor, Nalani standing over him with a knife drawn and a fierce expression, and finally Cal. She gave a warm smile. “Good to see you, Cal.”
He walked past Aaron and gave her a quick hug. Their paths had crossed briefly since Delhonne. She always had a kind word and a good story or two to swap.
“You might want to put some clothes on,” she whispered into his ear.
He nodded and went back to the bedroom. Miriam back and probably waving the SDC banner. Good to have her on their side, if that was the case. But he wouldn’t be too quick to dismiss the distrust in Aaron’s look. There was more to that particular story. It seemed a lot had happened while he was below.
In the bedroom, Cal looked around for a moment before finding his pants, bundled up in a corner. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he realized they were still wet and smelled of saltwater.
“Why bother?” A woman’s voice came from the window. “You have nice legs. Do you really want to rob the world of a chance to see them?”
Cal slid his half-drawn sword back into its sheath. “Shay.” She was sitting on the window sill. “Certainly feels like the whole world is already here. Are there stairs back there or did you climb the building?”
“You slept here without checking the back exit? I guess it’s true when they say you’re a sucker for a pretty girl.” She smirked. “As to the whole world being here, maybe next time do a better job hiding the only loose dragon on the Plate? The one everyone was watching stalk the harbor all day yesterday? The sun’s been up for almost an hour.”
Cal opened his mouth to retort when shouting came from the other room. He balled his wet pants up and threw them at Shay, who deftly dodged them, letting them fly past her through the window and presumably out to the street below. A problem for later. Cal hurried back towards the main room, wondering if he would look even more ridiculous if he strapped on the swordbelt over his shorts.
Anders Dentrick had arrived and was yelling at Nalani. His face was red and he was violently pointing around the room. He seemed to be in the middle of chastising Nalan
i, with the occasional barb for Gabriel. The small apartment was getting crowded. In addition to Anders, there was now a large man in a long grey coat standing in the corner.
When Cal came out of Nalani’s bedroom, mostly naked, Anders stopped. “Him?” he cried furiously, pointing at Cal. “You can’t be serious.”
Anders kept yelling about betrayal and doublecrossing and gesturing to Gabriel, who had stumbled over to the sofa and was holding the back of his neck. Cal ignored Anders and instead focused on the big man in the grey coat, who was looking coldly at him.
“I’m Cal.”
“No shit,” the man replied.
Cal looked at Aaron who mouthed the name Lorimer. Aaron’s face was bruised. Cal pointed to his own cheek and gave Aaron a quick inquisitive expression. Aaron nodded towards Lorimer. Cal looked back at the large man, hand unconsciously caressing the hilt of his sword. So this was Jon’s rival, the one whose man they’d sent for a swim a few nights ago. If Lorimer had roughed Aaron up, he was overdue for some comeuppance.
Cal filed it away and scanned the rest of the hastily assembled crowd, ignoring the increasingly loud argument in the center. Aaron was off to the side, letting the drama unfold. Miriam was standing right behind Anders, her face tight. There was something to that pose. Cal didn’t let the arrival of Sleepy Jon, who slid quietly into the room, throw him off. He stayed focused on Miriam, her eyes on Anders’ hands as he gave increasingly wild, agitated gestures. She was protective of Nalani. Miriam had always taken her role as a protector of the Corvale women seriously, but what was Nalani to her? Not Corvale, certainly. Cal recalled asking Nalani who she worked for and never getting a satisfactory answer. He thought maybe he had his answer right here.
Anders was still yelling, Nalani only occasionally getting a word in edgewise. Jon and Lorimer appeared to be warming up an argument, Gabriel was moaning, and Cal could hear Shay climbing in the window in the back room. By Cal’s count there were seven too many people in the apartment for this early in the day.
Alliance of the Sunken (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 3) Page 17