A Sea of Purple Ink

by Rebekah Shafer

  A man’s voice stirred the silence. “Lights, Banner.”

  Something in the dark shifted and shoe leather whispered against the floor.

  Reese grabbed her gun. As soon as he strikes a match—

  A deep buzz rattled through the air and through Reese’s chest. A burner. Her eyes watered as the crawling sensation lingered on the metal of her gun, then disappeared into the void.

  Flames leapt to life in a lamp on a table, revealing a tall, thin man with long dark hair. Even from where she stood, Reese could see the tell-tale vivid red marks tinging the otherwise pale skin. She stepped back, making sure she was out of reach, then turned to the doorway.

  The reader from the attempted arrest gazed back at her.

  Reese’s heart pounded. This can’t be coincidence. She slipped her finger onto the trigger of her gun. The burner’s a closer target. I’ll kill him if I have to. But I doubt he’ll let me go if I shoot his supervisor.

  The reader stepped forward, filling the doorway, his heavy black coat stark against the white walls. “I’ve been doing research,” he said, watching her. “In all the history of Sea Level, only one person has ever broken into and then back out of it. What made you think you could do it a second time?”

  Stryker. The calculations were running hard now. Running, and not coming up with any feasible solutions. Reese eyed the man’s posture. Arms held loosely at his sides, shoulders back. Would he expect a sudden attack?

  Stryker’s eyes were flat and dark. “I take it you’ve considered my offer?”

  I don’t have time for this. Reese swung the gun barrel towards the reader.

  Bzzzzzzzz.

  Crippling fire churned through Reese’s body. Her arm jerked convulsively and the gun clattered to the floor. As the surge died away, Reese held her still-shaking arm and looked at the burner. “You’re siding with him?” she asked.

  The emaciated man looked back at her, his eyes deep in his head and hopeless. The pain from emitting the surge was clear on his face.

  Reese got ready to dive for her gun.

  Stryker’s voice cut across her plan. “Leave it on the floor, or he’ll activate again.”

  Keep him talking. Keep him talking while I think. Reese forced her body to relax. “How did you find out I was here?” she asked. Could I push my way past him? He looks older than most readers. If I knock him into the burner, it might buy me time.

  “Intuition. And hard work.” The reader smiled and took a short step forward, then froze as a flicker of pain crawled across his face. He moved one arm in close, as if to shield his stomach, and placed the other one on the doorframe. “You’re the one person I need to eradicate the remnants of the Stain rebellion,” he said, staring hard. “So, I brought you here.” Lamplight played across his steady features. “You should be careful.”

  The weight of his gaze settled on Reese. Intuition? Hard work? She shifted position. What is he playing at? He seemed to be fighting an injury. Perhaps the gun wound from the garden. But something’s off. Reese’s gaze traveled to the reader’s feet. He’s not standing like he’s in pain… She studied his face for any sign or hint.

  Wisps of grey hair traced along the reader’s temples. He watched her, solid and unmoving. A wall between her and the outer world. Then a glint of understanding crossed his face. Slowly, he adjusted his position into the very image of a limping old man.

  Reese bristled. What was that? She forced herself to look him straight in the eyes. He is a reader, isn’t he? He can’t be another mastermind. He can’t be. Her stomach heaved. Did he plan Grahm’s betrayal? Is he working with the readers? Where’s Joplin?

  Stryker’s smile crept out again. “You’re a clever woman,” he said, the smile turning to a sneer. “Let me be frank—”

  “Where does Joplin come into all this?” Reese snapped.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Joplin?”

  Reese stared at him hard, watching for any sign. Any clue. Are they working together? Why am I here? “The king,” she said.

  The color drained from Stryker’s face.

  Go. Now. Reese lunged, adrenaline pumping. Her gun went skittering to the side, knocked aside by her boot. For a moment, astonishment blared across the policeman’s face as she charged for the doorway. Then he straightened.

  Reese crashed into a solid arm and jerked to a stop. With a quick motion, Stryker spun her around and pinned her against his chest. Reese could feel the buckles on his coat biting into her shoulder blades.

  Stryker’s arm tightened. “Then we’ll do it this way,” he said. He shifted his grip until one hand held the back of her neck. “Where is Nile?”

  Reese stomped down hard.

  The reader deftly moved his foot out of the way, and Reese’s foot jarred against the stone floor.

  Alarm bells blared through Reese’s mind. He shouldn’t have seen that coming. She pushed against his arms, trying to tear free. Think, think, think. A mental image of the night at the garden shot through her mind. He really does have a bullet wound.

  Stryker’s hand slid higher up her neck and wrapped across the base of her skull. Something ice-cold seeped from his fingers.

  Reese panicked. She jabbed backwards with an elbow, right into the gun wound.

  Stryker gasped. She shoved forward as she felt him crumple. His grip broke. Reese pushed free and darted farther into the room. The gun, where’s the gun?

  A choked voice came from the reader. “Banner!”

  Reese whirled. Not the burner. With a sickening rush, her mind jumped to overdrive. Data and probabilities flooded in. Stryker, bent over with a hand clutching his gut, leaning against the door and staring, wild-eyed, at the burner. The burner himself, turning to face her with the dead expression of one who will not argue with fate. The gun, too far away to reach and use.

  He may be a mastermind, but he doesn’t seem to know that much about hand-to-hand fighting.

  The burner took a deep breath. His eyes rolled back in his head.

  Reese charged toward the door. One step. Two step. Bend the knees and prepare for the jump.

  Stryker glared at her, pain dancing in his eyes. He raised a fist and began to swing.

  Now. Reese uncoiled into the air. One foot crashed into Stryker’s upper arm, jabbing deep into the fleshy part of the muscle. The force knocked him over backwards.

  Kick back. Disengage. Reese landed hard on one foot in the outer room, dropped deep, and launched herself up at the ladder. The metal bars rang as she scrambled upward.

  “Get her!” Stryker shouted.

  Reese rolled over the edge of the ladder into the hall. Empty. She pushed herself upright and took off running.

  A dark shape dropped from the ceiling in front of her. Still in overdrive, Reese skidded to a stop and lashed out. Then the face registered. Joplin. She caught herself and let the arm drop. The flyer stood there, gun in hand, white shirt spattered with deep purple stains. He came back. Alone.

  “What’s going on?” Joplin asked. His gaze flicked over her shoulder.

  Boots clattered on the ladder. “Stop right there!” Stryker shouted.

  Reese glanced over her shoulder and saw the burner only a couple of yards away. Stryker’s head appeared over the ladder, a gun in his hand.

  Reese threw herself sideways into Joplin. They stumbled across the hall and Joplin crashed into the metal wall as Reese wrenched the pistol from his hand. “Stay back,” Reese shouted. She held the gun barrel to the king’s neck, just below the ear. “Or I’ll kill him.”

  She felt the king stiffen under her grip. “Reese?” he hissed. “What are you doing?

  Reese twisted the king’s arm behind his back. “You thought you were stringing us along, didn’t you?” she hissed back. “It was a very clever plan.”

  Over the king’s shoulder, she saw Stryker easing his way off the ladd
er. The policeman was staring at the king. The burner stood halfway between them, his face even paler than before. Slowly, the burner turned to look at Stryker.

  “Do it,” Reese shouted. “Back off now.” She would only be able to make it so far out of the prison before having to relinquish her captive, but she intended to use that time for all it was worth. She watched Stryker’s face turn hard. King’s man. He’s sworn to protect the king at all costs, even if it costs him my—

  Stryker’s gun came up and fired.

  BANG!

  A faint puff of smoke blew from the tip of the barrel.

  Reese, locked in overdrive, saw the twisted line the bullet made, heading directly for the king.

  Gravity shifted.

  Joplin tumbled down onto the wall, dragging Reese with him. The bullet sparked against the metal wall and ricocheted down the hall. Stryker yelled.

  The sickening motion lurched to a stop. Reese scrambled off of Joplin and got to her feet. Stryker just tried to kill the king.

  Niela stood a few feet in front of her, both hands stretched toward the now-vacant hall and ladder, a frown of concentration on her face. “Move,” she barked. An unconscious guard lay on the floor behind her, blood trickling from an ugly bruise.

  Reese gasped for breath as a torrent of thoughts poured through her head. The shock nearly knocked her out. His own men just tried to kill him. In an instant, she saw Joplin as one of the hunted. One of the stains.

  The king still lay on his hands and knees. His face had turned white and Reese could see him shaking. Reese held out her hand. “Let’s get out of here,” she said. Her voice trembled. “Are you all right?”

  Joplin looked up at her. The open, quizzical look was gone. Instead, there was a wary guardedness, and even a hint of anger. The face of a forbidding king.

  Reese’s chest felt as if it were constricting.

  “Ceiling,” Niela called. Reese leapt sideways as the gravity shifted again. The king, unprepared, slid sideways on the slippery metal and crashed into the new floor.

  Niela dropped from above to join them. “We have to get out fast,” she said, grabbing Reese’s arm and reaching for Joplin’s. “Get up, quick.”

  They ran. Hurtling along the metal ceiling, around corners, using the walls and floor as needed. Past astonished guards and yelling police. Finally, they burst through the outer door into the mist-filled moonlight.

  “Where are Grant and Lace?” Reese asked as Joplin pushed the door closed behind them. Her mind was still racing, trying to analyze what had happened. The king came back to save me, and the police tried to kill him. The world was upside down.

  Niela wiped her forehead. “They’re hiding in the canals. I’ll take you.” She laid a hand on the rail, then turned around. “Flyer, stay close or you…”

  Reese looked up. Joplin was gone. A cold feeling settled in her stomach. Where did he go?

  Niela took a quick step forward. “He wasn’t really a hostage, was he? Because I can get him back if we need to.”

  He was, but he wasn’t. “No,” Reese replied. “We’ve got to take care of the others first.” The look on Joplin’s face flashed before her eyes. Her heart sank into slow dread. Did I just destroy an ally I didn’t know I had?

  Half a night’s work later, Reese and Niela reached the new hideout—a tangled mess of pipes hidden inside a little-used canal—and collapsed in exhaustion.

  POLICE DISPATCH

  via Burner 7

  Palace to Police Headquarters

  King Nile relayed through his guards that he wishes to go ahead with the banquet after all. I want squads three and six to report to me for a security briefing and preparations.

  - Fielding

  PRIVATE

  via Burner 6

  Sea Level to Reader Division

  I saw him. With her, nonetheless. They slipped through my fingers. Arrow is no longer trustworthy. I’ve taken care of that. Fielding is getting too curious to hold off for long. Send out the posters and pray that they set off a trigger soon.

  - S.

  20

  Plink. Plink. Plunk.

  Water dripped at the same maddening speed.

  Reese rolled over and tried to shut out the rhythmic pulse. Plink. Two and a half seconds. Plunk. Three seconds.

  Footsteps brushed along the narrow walkway beside the canal. “Reese?” The faint voice seemed to curl around the water, dainty and hushed.

  With an effort, Reese opened her eyes. “Yes?”

  The petite blonde smiled down at her, a lit candle in one hand.“You might want to get something to eat now,” she said. “You’ve been sleeping for almost a day.”

  A day. “Really?” Reese pushed herself to a sitting position. Her arms and legs felt heavier than she remembered, and her head throbbed gently. “Are the others up?”

  Lacewing nodded.

  Reese squinted her eyes against the candlelight. “Ask them to come over here,” she said. “We need to talk.”

  “I will,” Lacewing replied. She stooped and slid the candle into a crack in the brick floor, then disappeared into the gloom.

  Reese closed her eyes and ran a hand over them. All night long, her mind had mulled over the look on Joplin’s face. The sneaking into the prison. Joplin coming back for her. Stryker’s bullet. What is going on here?

  The look in Joplin’s eyes had been sincere. No actor could look so thoroughly betrayed. But betrayed by who? It was possible Stryker was the betrayer. The king and he had set up a trap, and then Stryker took his chances. But that solution wouldn’t rest easy in Reese’s mind. There was something more. A niggling suspicion, springing from who-knows-where. What if the king really was helping me? Reese scooted backwards until her shoulders rested against the curve of the tunnel wall.

  The candle flame flickered and danced, a tiny patch of gold in the dark of the canals.

  It wasn’t likely, but it was possible. And the only people who can tell me the truth of the matter are Joplin, who I held at gunpoint, and Stryker, who I never want to see again.

  Stryker. The thought made Reese shiver. How did I miss that he was a mastermind? She wrapped her arms across her chest and leaned back against the wall. A mastermind in the service of the king was hard enough to believe. How do the other readers tolerate him? Reese stared at the lines of bricks beneath her, their edges jagged and stained. I’m caught in the middle of a war I don’t understand. And I don’t even know which side I’m on. A hollow feeling formed in the pit of her stomach.

  Niela emerged from the shadows. “I had the worst headache for the last hour.” She flopped down beside Reese and folded her arms. “But it’s gone now.”

  Reese eyed her friend. Niela’s shirt hung in tatters, blood and purple stains mingling on the frayed edges. “And how is the rest of you?” she asked. She saw Niela’s smile stiffen.

  “Glad to be out,” the shifter said, staring off into the dark.

  Reese tried to pull her mind to the task at hand. “Did Joplin show up?” It might be too much to hope.

  Niela shook her head. “No.” She tapped the ground with a finger and regarded Reese. “Where did he come from, anyway?”

  “Tyrone found him.”

  Niela’s mouth fell open in an exaggerated expression of surprise. “You went to the smuggler?”

  A part of Reese rebelled at Niela’s tone, but she held it back. “I didn’t have many options,” she said.

  The ground vibrated.

  Niela looked up. “Here comes Grant.”

  The big man strode up, Lacewing half-jogging beside him. “Got anything good for us to do?” he rumbled.

  “We’ll see,” Reese said. She watched as Lacewing set a small basket of food in the middle of the circle. A strong man, a vanisher, a shifter, and me. But not Keller.

  Reese fought a wa
ve of grief. Keller and his opinions. His complaining. His fight… It would have been interesting to see how Keller would have handled Joplin. Not only a rival flyer, but a king who— A forgotten conversation flashed into her mind. “Oh, mists,” she heard herself say. I know how Joplin learned to fly.

  “That’s just what the police do,” Keller spat. “They pull us in with all their lies, then laugh while we dance. If I were a writer, I’d give the whole crowd of them something to think about.”

  A writer. The thought seared Reese’s mind like a burner’s touch. There hasn’t been a writer in years. But what if there was one now? Writers can give abilities. They might even be able to affect memories. What if Joplin was being truthful about losing his memory? She suddenly realized her followers were staring at her.

  Reese forced a smile. “Let’s get to work,” she said. She scooted forward, closer to the candle’s ring of light. “Did any of you pick up news while you were in prison?”

  Lacewing lifted a roll of bread from the basket. “I think the king’s men believe we ship our friends off the island on the barges.” She leaned toward Reese, holding out the bread. “They’re trying to figure out which merchant it is.”

  Reese glanced at Niela, who gave a barely perceptible shake of the head.

  Grant chuckled. “It’s nice to know we have them completely fooled.”

  Maybe. Reese looked around the tiny group. “Anything else?” She took the bread from Lacewing’s hand and tore off a tiny piece.

  Three waiting faces looked back at her. Nothing. Niela’s eyes were slightly narrowed.

  They deserve to know. Reese collected herself and took a deep breath. “Lots of things happened while you were in prison,” she began. “And each of you know how sorry I am,” she added.