“Is Joplin out?” Reese asked. A little ripple of uneasiness tugged at her. If he’s not out, we’ll have to put him out.
The big man grunted. “Yep.” He raised a small glass lantern, and the light grew brighter. “He’s sound asleep.”
Reese gripped the edge of the hole. “Think you can carry him? We need to move camp. Fast.”
Grant twisted his head to one side and rolled his massive shoulders. “Sure. Be right up.” He turned around and disappeared back down the passage.
The dull sound of distant water whispered through the tunnels. Reese double-checked the position of her gun in its leg sheath. Dragging an unconscious king through underground tunnels while avoiding police. She closed her eyes and sighed. The excitement and thrill of her talk with Tyrone would have to go. Reese took a deep breath and let the calculations run.
She heard Grant returning before she saw him. In a few moments, the big man appeared at the entrance to the hole, Joplin slung across his back. He halted on the inside and held out the lantern. “Will you take this?”
Reese pulled the tiny metal and glass contraption from his hand and backed away, leaving him plenty of room.
The strong man hunched over and squeezed out through the opening. Joplin’s head lay slumped over his shoulder, mouth slightly open, eyes closed.
Reese’s grip tightened on the lantern. “Has he given you much trouble?” she asked, leading the way toward the main exit.
Grant strode behind her, holding the king in place with his big, meaty hands. “Not much.”
“Good.” Reese poked her head out into the big canal. Main entrance points to the canals are a good ten minutes away from here, with quite a few cross cuts and tunnels. If any police are already down here, and if they’re searching in a logical fashion, we should have a few minutes. “Let’s go, quick.”
---
They reached the back garden just before the mists grew thick. Cold seeped in through Reese’s clothes as she rapped at the kitchen window. Hurry, Tyrone. Behind her, Niela and Lacewing helped Grant keep the unconscious king propped up.
Glass screeched as the window opened, and Tyrone stared out at the group huddled on the porch. “I knew you were coming back, Reese, but I didn’t think it would be with four other people,” he said. His gaze lingered on Joplin’s unconscious face.
“The mists are getting worse,” Reese said. “Let us in, quick.” She could hear Lacewing shivering in the night breeze. I’ve got to tell him not to say anything about Joplin being the king.
“So sorry,” Tyrone said. He gave an elaborate bow and stepped back from the open pane. “Pray enter my humble home.”
Reese slipped to the side and motioned Grant forward. “Take him to the cellar. Down the hall, first door on the right, down the stone steps.”
The big man squeezed in through the window, stooping to keep from hitting his head. His back filled the open space and nearly crushed Joplin against the wall.
Tyrone’s voice came from beyond the obstruction. “You know, it’s just dawned on me…”
Grant heaved his way through and let the king slide off onto the table.
A door on the other side of the terrace swung open. Reese whirled, heart in her mouth.
Tyrone stood there, candlelight behind him. “This might be simpler if we use the door.”
Relief set in, coupled with irritation. Reese motioned to Niela and Lacewing. “Be quick,” she said. She followed Grant into the dining room and closed the window as the others hurried toward the door.
“We’ll take him downstairs,” Reese said, pulling a white curtain across the window. She turned around.
Lamplight played across Joplin’s face, highlighting a patch of dark bruises over one eye.
Reese frowned. “Where did that come from?” she asked.
Grant scooped the king up in his huge arms. “The bruise? It was there when Niela brought him in.” He turned away and started down the hallway.
Reese followed, pondering. In the hallway, an open double door revealed the sitting room. Reese caught a momentary glimpse of tousled blankets and an open steamer trunk, then the other members of her gang appeared from around the corner.
Reese halted, allowing Lacewing to pass in front of her, following Grant. Niela came next. Reese caught her elbow as she passed. “Did you give Joplin a working over after I left?” she asked quietly.
Niela flinched. “I had a lot on my mind.” Her slanted eyes rose hesitantly to Reese’s. “It was just a warning.”
A warning that might cost us our victory. The sitting room fire crackled. Reese released her friend’s arm. “You know we don’t do that,” she said.
Niela’s gaze fell. She nodded, then moved past Reese, heading for the cellar door.
Reese watched her go. What do I do now? Her mind flipped through the options. We’re out of the tunnels, we’re all here… We need food, then sleep. Then a plan—
“I thought it was rather brilliant to use the door,” Tyrone said.
Reese jumped.
He stood in the doorway. The firelight caught the shoulders of his black night coat. “Don’t you think?” he asked.
He wants me to joke back. He… Reese closed her eyes and tried to pull herself out of the all-encompassing calculations. “They’ll need food,” she said. “Do you have any?”
The merchant leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “It just so happens I had some delivered here this evening. Not that I was expecting so many people, you understand…”
Some of the emergency calculations began draining away. Reese realized her hand was still on her gun. She disengaged it and tried to relax. “Tyrone,” she said under her breath, “don’t say anything about Joplin around my crew.”
Tyrone raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“They don’t know about him,” she explained. She glanced at the cellar door. “I wasn’t sure how’d they’d take it… and I haven’t had a chance to—”
Soft footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Reese?” Lacewing’s gentle voice came from beyond the door.
“Coming,” Reese called. She took a step toward the door, then looked back at Tyrone. “Promise?” The minute the word left her lips, it tasted strange. I’m asking Tyrone to promise me something? Flustered, she pulled the cellar door open without waiting for a reply and hurried down the stairs.
The big cellar felt as cold as ever. Grant’s little lantern cast a fitful glow over the empty shelves and racks of supports, waiting for barrels and crates that hadn’t come for years.
Reese followed the stairs as they curved down the wall. Not much cover down here if someone comes looking.
Lacewing materialized beside her. “It looks like we didn’t get too marked up.”
“The mists weren’t really out yet,” Reese replied, her mind on the problem of hiding. “Grant?”
A big shadow detached itself from one of the corners and grunted.
Reese let her gaze skim over the barren wooden structures. “Do you think you could turn these into some sort of wall?” How can we make it less obvious?
“Now hold on a moment.” Tyrone descended the stairs at a rapid pace. “Before you make yourselves completely at home and rearrange the cellar, why don’t you just stow him in the secret room?” He followed the wall of the cellar around to a recessed shelf. “Just reach back in here beneath the third board…” Wood squealed against wood and the shelf swung outward. “There.” He dusted his hands off and strode back toward Reese. “All yours.”
Reese struggled for words for a moment. “Grant, haul Joplin in there for now. The rest of you can get some food upstairs.” She turned to Tyrone. “I didn’t know you had a secret room down here.”
The merchant shrugged. “My father added it after your mother moved in.” His fingers twitched. “He wanted to hide some of his money.”
Oh. Reese pus
hed the memory away, but the factors kept ticking. I need time to think. She started toward the little side room. “Grant?”
The big man appeared in the doorway and touched a hand to his forehead. “Yes?”
“Is he still out?”
Grant shrugged. “He’ll be needing another tablet in a little while.”
Right. Reese squared her shoulders. “I’ll keep an eye on him for now. You go on upstairs and eat.”
“Reese.” Niela’s warning voice came from the direction of the stairs.
“I’ll be fine,” Reese said without turning around. She nodded at Grant. “Go ahead.”
A worried expression crossed the man’s face, but he moved aside.
Reese squeezed past him and stepped into the secret room.
26
The room was a little larger than she had anticipated. A good three or four steps wide and six deep. A second lantern stood in the center, shedding a ring of light across the floor and throwing the walls into vague outline.
Reese chose the wall opposite to Joplin and lowered herself to a sitting position. Outside, footsteps climbed the cellar stairs. The hall door creaked and silence fell.
Joplin lay on his back, one arm thrown out toward the lamp, his head turned away from her. His clothes were wrinkled, but undamaged. Even unconscious he seemed tense and angry.
Reese shifted her back against the wooden wall, trying to find a comfortable spot. At least now I know what he looks like when he’s about to lunge. She sighed and propped her elbows on her knees. In only a few minutes she would have to tell the rest of the gang about the plan, and she still couldn’t decide whether to tell them about the king or not.
She groaned and tipped her head back against the wall. And what do I tell Joplin? Willing or unwilling, the king would have to go with them tomorrow night. Willing would be so much easier. But he’s not going to believe much of what I have to say. Reese let her gaze wander to the flickering flame inside its glass prison. But then, could I come up with a plausible story for him without giving away that he’s the king? She doubted it. If I have to turn on him again, like in Sea Level, he wouldn’t ever trust me again. He would bury any reason to help us. But telling him he’s the king…
Apprehension rippled through her gut. There were just too many factors. Too many unknowns to make a strong decision. Is this what most people feel like when they think? she wondered. She hunched her shoulders and stared into the dark corners of the room. If I tell him the truth, we might lose him. But if I hide it, it becomes one more strike against me.
Joplin’s breathing changed.
Reese tensed and pulled her attention back to the prone flyer. Is he waking up? The tin of Cillian tablets lay beside the lantern. Reese picked it up, then scooted sideways toward the partially open door and sat in front of the exit.
On the floor, Joplin gave a low moan and his right arm twitched. A shudder ran through his body. He rolled to his side, mouth moving. Then a single, half stammered word drifted from his lips. “Stryker.”
Reese’s hand clamped down on her gun. What is he saying?
The king shuddered again and his fists clenched. “Harbor reports.”
Cillian aftereffects. Reese leaned forward. “Joplin.”
With a final shudder, the flyer’s eyes opened. He seemed to focus on the lantern’s gleam for a moment, then his gaze locked on Reese.
Reese could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. Was he remembering, or just dreaming?
The king’s eyes narrowed. He pushed himself to a sitting position. “How much did he pay you?” he demanded.
What? Reese kept her face carefully blank. “Who?”
“Stryker.” Joplin swayed a bit and put a hand to his head. “How much did he pay you to keep me prisoner?”
Reese’s stomach crawled. How much does he know? Does he know who he is? “He didn’t pay me anything. If you recall, he tried to kill my crew.”
Joplin shook his head as if to clear it and moved back to lean on the wall. He propped one leg up, keeping his hand on his head. “I know he has something to do with all this.”
“What do you remember?” Reese asked. Clearly, he remembers Stryker for some reason.
The king didn’t look at her. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his face and rubbed his eyes. “Like I’m going to tell you anything,” he muttered.
“It’s important,” Reese snapped. “What do you remember?”
Joplin gave her a sidelong look. “While your paid assassin was giving me a once-over in that alley, I realized I’d been there before.”
Now that’s interesting. Reese tried to keep her voice gentle. “That same alley?”
“Maybe.” Joplin blinked hard. “My head hurts.”
Reese debated between standing up and remaining seated. Sitting is less intimidating… “You’re probably hungry,” she said. “Where does Stryker come in to all this?”
“You would know better than I,” Joplin snapped.
Reese frowned. He’s not going to tell me anything. She pushed herself to her feet and stared down at the flyer. “Look,” she said. “I know you don’t want to tell me anything, but this is more important than you think.” She swallowed. Here we go. “You might not believe me, but I’ll tell you whatever you want to know now.”
Joplin looked up. A confused expression swam through his eyes, then a growing gleam of cunning.
Here it comes.
“All right then,” the flyer said, sarcasm in his voice. “Who am I?”
Reese took a deep breath. “The king.”
The words hung in the air for a long moment.
Joplin’s face turned white. “What did you say?” he whispered.
“You’re King Nile,” Reese said. She stepped back, ready to run and close the door.
The flyer stared at her, lips moving, but no words escaped.
Reese’s skin began to crawl. This is wrong. Her calculations began mounting. A sick feeling grew in her stomach.
The king’s eyes rolled up in his head.
Realization hit Reese like a thunderclap. He’s going to do something the writer set him to do. Calculations jumped into overdrive. If I were a writer and wanted the king to stay hidden, what would I want him to do if anyone told him who he really was?
A red mark appeared at the king’s collar and crawled upward, drawing a vivid line toward his forehead. His hands shook and his back went rigid.
Burner! He’s a burner! Is he going to burn me or himself? Reese lunged forward. Either way he’ll get hurt. He doesn’t know how to do this. She tossed her metal gun away and grabbed the king’s broad shoulders. “Joplin! Joplin, stay with me.” She pulled forward, trying to tip the rigid king toward the ground. “Push it away,” she hissed. “Don’t let it stay inside. Push!”
With a strangled gasp, the king toppled toward the floor. Reese dropped to a crouch beside him as he lay, facedown, hands scrabbling at nothing.
Alarm bells blared in Reese’s mind. I’ve got to get out of here. If he lets off a blast we’re both dead. She gritted her teeth. But I can’t just let him kill himself. He’s our only chance out of this! She put one hand on the back of the king’s neck and clapped the other to his scalp. “Can you hear me? Push it away. Away to the front, not—”
A searing pain shot through her hands. Reese gasped as the cramp ripped through her chest and shoulders. Her eyes watered and an uncontrollable shaking jerked her hands away from the king. She pulled back as the burn passed. Her heartbeat fluttered and shook.
Bluish-white sparks danced across the lantern and gun, then disappeared.
Joplin fell limp.
A final tremor raced through Reese’s arms, then dissipated, leaving a dull ache. The chill of the room set in. Reese shivered. The king seemed to swim before her eyes, and a strange taste filled her mouth. Is he alive
? She flexed her hands, trying to bring some feeling back into them. I don’t want to check. She breathed in a ragged, gasping breath. I’m alive, though. She licked her lips and tasted blood. “Joplin?”
The king didn’t move.
Reese crawled to his side, trying to see his face. “Are you all right?” Her mind began sorting through the data. Reese reached out one hand and tapped Joplin’s shoulder. Nothing happened.
Two abilities. That’s not possible. She moved to a crouch. Is he the writer? The thought gave her chills. She pushed it away. If he’s the writer, he’s a better actor than I am. She gingerly shoved her arms under the king’s body and heaved upward.
Joplin rolled over to his back, still unmoving. Two long burn marks showed across his forehead like a branded whip lash.
Reese cringed at the sight. Not good. She held two fingers beneath his nose, trying to feel for any breathing, then placed her hand against his neck. A faint pulse stirred beneath her touch. Thank goodness. Reese pulled her hands away and took a deep, deep breath. Either he’s the writer, or going burner was a safety feature the writer put in. It made sense. That way, on the slim chance that someone tells him who he is, he still won’t make it back to the palace. A weak smile crossed her face. But the writer didn’t factor in the possibility of me being involved.
Joplin choked.
Before Reese could reach him, he jerked to sitting position, eyes wild. “What happened?” he demanded. His face grew paler still and he turned away, retching and heaving.
Reese waited until the dry hacking cough had stopped. “You almost killed both of us.” She shuffled back, out of arm’s reach. “Are you sure you’re not the writer?”
Joplin moaned and put a hand to his head. “I don’t know what happened.” He sank back down to lie flat on the floor, then grimaced in pain and took a shallow breath.
“You turned into a burner and tried to kill yourself,” Reese said. She glanced over at her gun. I should get that back. She crawled a short ways and reached for the weapon.
“Why?” Joplin groaned. “I’ll kill that writer.”
Reese pulled the gun to her and holstered it. “I had just told you something about yourself.”
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