A Sea of Purple Ink

by Rebekah Shafer

Reese stood there, running her hand up and down the sofa edge, hoping she had made the right choice. Six people. And tonight we try to end it. She folded her arms, letting her shoulders relax for one brief moment. I am the leader of six people about to attempt what could turn out to be impossible. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Niela, please be wise.

  Grant’s heavy footsteps reached the top of the cellar stairs.

  Reese stepped forward. “Grant?” She walked to the entrance of the sitting room and found the big man standing in the hall. “How’s Joplin?”

  Grant moved aside to let Niela out of the doorway behind him. “Pretty quiet.” He handed the tin of Cillian tablets to Reese.

  Niela glanced up and met Reese’s gaze briefly, then looked back down as she pulled on a pair of fingerless leather gloves.

  “Good. Do you need a weapon?”

  With a grin, Grant shook his head. The big man’s fingers groped at the side of his boot and, with no discernible effort, drew back a short blade. He held it for a moment, rubbing his thumb across the crooked hilt, then flipped it around and sheathed it again. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Reese wished she felt more relieved. “Good. Make sure you’re both back before the sun gets below roof level.”

  “Got it,” Niela replied. She finished tightening the straps on her gloves and clapped one hand against the other. “See you later.”

  Grant and the shifter vanished down the hallway, heading for the front door.

  Reese waited until she heard the latch click shut behind them, then started down into the quiet cellar. Now I wait.

  A trio of oil lamps flickered in the middle of the floor, sending a thin line of smoke and shimmering heat toward the stone ceiling.

  Reese wandered over to the empty wine racks, her thoughts a jumble of memories and data. Hiding here when Tyrone’s father had guests. The row of notches she had made for each successful trip into the heart of the criminal underworld. Her mother marrying Tyrone’s father.

  Reese frowned. She stopped in the small circle of heat from the oil lamps, trying to push the anger away. Only a few months after Father died. Reese’s hands clenched. What was I supposed to do? Just disappear? I had to hide from my own mother. In a moment, her anger dissipated. There are other things to think about now.

  Like mastermind Stryker. Reese could feel the anger seeping back. If he’s guessed what we’re planning… She dropped into a deep stretch, mind working away, trying to guess what factors he might use. Last he saw, I was threatening the king. I doubt a stunt this insane would cross his mind.

  Reese crouched and began limbering up her lower back, a new line of thoughts splitting off. Why was Stryker so anxious to catch me? The police, particularly the reader division, were focused antagonists, but the events of the last few days were incredible. He tracked me, played the Grahm trick, caught my crew, set a trap in Sea Level. All to talk to me. And he asked me where Nile was, then tried to kill him.

  She twisted right, then left. Straightening, she eased into a defensive position, Niela’s training forms playing through her subconscious. He wanted Nile back, and then tried to kill him. Right punch, left grab. Reese found herself in front of a wooden beam about the size and shape of a man. Or perhaps he just wanted to know where Nile was so he could kill him.

  She took a half step back, then jumped. Kick right, adjust to land in a roll. Her boot thudded into the wood and she dropped. The world spun for a moment as she rolled, then she swept the imaginary assailant’s feet out from beneath him. Wood dust burst into the light of the lamps.

  Well, he won’t be killing anyone without going through me. Not if it means the ban stays in place.

  The king’s voice cut in on her thought process. “You think we’ll run into some trouble?” he asked.

  Reese quick-spun to her hands and knees, then forced herself back into a standing position. “It’s always best to be prepared,” she replied. The motion had felt good, but not as good as the thought of victory. “We have no way of knowing how your men will respond.”

  Joplin’s gaze drifted to the floor, eyes narrowed in thought. The light from the lamps played along the edge of the secret room, casting its inmate partly in shadow. He stood there, just inside the door, one hand against the wall.

  He doesn’t look very confident. Reese rolled her sore shoulder, keeping an eye on the king. “Did you remember more?” she asked. The muscles in her arm creaked and popped with the stretching.

  Joplin shook his head. “Nothing.” The light caught his eyes as he looked up at her. “Are you sure this will work? What if you’re wrong about it only being a portion of the police against me?” He drew himself up and, for a moment, looked the part of king. “I mean, for all I know, you’re just trying to make me think I’m the king.”

  Reese hesitated. Well, he has a point. She folded her arms. “You are definitely the king.” Written, yes, but still the king. “And I promise that if anything goes wrong tonight, I’ll do whatever I can to get you out alive.” She could feel her heart rate increasing as she prepared to speak again. “As long as you promise to remove the ban as soon as you’re on the throne again.”

  Joplin studied her for a long moment, face blank. “If I find I am truly supposed to be on the throne,” he said at last, “I will remove the ban.”

  As diplomatic as ever. Reese found herself smirking. He doesn’t want to get counted among a rebellion. “You realize you would have to be the king to come up with a contingency like that?” she said.

  A trace of a smile crossed the king’s face.

  Reese had a sudden mental image of having left the upper door open. If he takes off, I can’t stop him. She risked a glance at the stairs.

  “If I really am the king,” Joplin said, “why didn’t you kill me in Sea Level?”

  Reese drew herself up. “I don’t do that sort of thing,” she retorted. Not if I can help it. “None of us do.”

  The king’s smile faded. “And your friend who killed the chief of police?”

  A flash of anger burned into Reese’s mind. “That wasn’t Niela,” she said. “I’ll vouch for that.” She gave the king a long look. “I don’t know who that was. But when I find out, I’ll…” What will I do? The thought trail had long since been lost under the rebellion. “It wasn’t Niela,” she repeated. Without waiting for the king’s reply, she started toward the stairs. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

  PRIVATE

  via Burner 6

  Palace to Reader Division

  Still no sign of him. We must assume that he is dead or missing. I’ve arranged for a group of men to start a scene at the banquet tonight. Our story will be that Nile was kidnapped by these same men. Once we have them in custody, I’ll see that they’re dealt with. Then we’ll reconsider our choices. Make sure Fielding tries to quell the riot personally.

  - S.

  29

  Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the thin curtains on Tyrone’s front windows, catching dust motes in their long reach and drawing an ever-lengthening line on the rug.

  Reese knew what the line meant. She stood on the edge of the light, listening for any motion in the street outside. Nothing had passed the house for the last hour. She closed her eyes, focusing all her attention on the heavy silence. Niela, where are you?

  Lacewing, on guard in the back garden, hadn’t received any messages. Joplin wouldn’t know where the others were. There was no way of finding out.

  Reese’s stomach clenched and a cold burn rose up her throat. She forced the anger back down, trying to keep her head clear. They might be avoiding police. They may have been caught. I don’t know what happened. I can only guess.

  A slight sound came from the street out front.

  Reese snapped to attention. Those are feet. She tiptoed sideways, edging closer to the front door. Grant’s, if I’m not mi
staken. She reached the door and slid the peephole covering out of the way.

  Grant’s massive shape filled the view. And he looked worried.

  Reese quickly unbolted the door and eased it inwards. She stayed behind the door as the big man squeezed through the opening, then closed it, careful to keep out of sight of the street.

  Festoons of small wooden boxes hung from Grant’s arms, tied there with leather straps. A bigger package dangled between his shoulders.

  “Where’s Niela?” Reese asked.

  The worry on Grant’s face deepened. “She said she had some business to take care of and sent me on with these.” He nudged one of the thongs with his elbow. The hanging boxes bumped together with a dull thud.

  Not that. Reese’s heart sank. “Take those down cellar,” she said. “I’m going to find her.”

  Grant halted mid-step. “Are you sure about that?” he asked.

  No. “I won’t be long,” Reese replied. She stepped to the small pile of waiting gear in the hall. Two rough gloves and a short black coat borrowed from Tyrone’s trunk. “If I can’t find her soon I’ll come straight back.” She slid her arms into the coat and turned up the high collar. “Divvy up the ammunition and weapons,” she ordered. “Make sure everyone eats.” Where would Niela have gone? Calculations began humming. Reese turned the doorknob. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Outside, she hurried along the street, hands clenched inside the coat pockets. It has to be the fights. Where else would she go? She rounded a corner. Especially without telling me where.

  Up ahead, a light carriage pulled by two men approached at a steady jog. Reese kept walking. Her coat was just long enough to cover the gun on her leg, and the collar hid most of her face. No one will recognize me.

  The sun sank lower and the shadows of the buildings lengthened. Reese increased her pace, focusing her attention on solving the problem of where Niela might be. The dockside ring is closer. She knew more people in the warehouse district, but I don’t think that one is running anymore. Reese changed direction and took the east road, cutting straight toward the seedier end of the docks.

  What am I doing out here? she berated herself. I have four other people waiting for me to get them started on what might be the biggest night of our lives. A thread of calculations popped up and slid a single, horrifying thought across her mind. What if the fights were raided by police? Reese’s chest constricted. Then she began to run.

  A short way from the underground rings, Reese spotted a sentry slouched against a rain barrel. That alley will be one of the ways in. She took a deep breath. It had been a long time since she’d been to one of the rings, and she wasn’t eager to go again. A fresh welter of calculations sprang up, but she tamped them back down again. Save it for later, she warned herself. We’ll need it all tonight.

  The roughly-dressed man looked up as she approached and gave her an appraising leer. “And where might you be off to this evening?” he asked. A gold ear band flashed in the evening light.

  Password… what’s the current password? Reese scrambled through her memory. I don’t think I know it. She pretended to glance up and down the street, playing for time. Come on… “I’m here to see Niela Charn fight,” she said. “Am I too late?”

  The sentry stirred in his place. He didn’t rise, but he looked as if he were ready to jump up at a moment’s notice. “You’ll be a far cry too late if you don’t give me the password,” he said. Cold steel underlined his voice.

  Unease shot through Reese. What do I do now? It’s too late to run and find another way in. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? She rifled back through recent passwords, hunting for any sort of pattern or clue.

  The man’s eyes narrowed.

  In a split second, a conversation with a canal worker flashed through Reese’s mind. “Charning weight,” she said. She brushed a hand past her right ear. “Satisfied?”

  The sentry looked her up and down a long moment, then waved toward the alley. “Second door,” he said. “Hang onto your purse.”

  Relief surged through Reese. She felt as if her knees would buckle at any moment. “Thank you,” she said coolly and forced herself into the alley at a sedate pace. Her hands shook with anger and spent fear. I’m an idiot for coming. Niela, what possessed you to do this? She stopped beside a sunken door and descended the three steps. And what’s happened to my calculations? They’re slipping. She wiped her sweaty hands on the coat and heaved the door open. Pull yourself together.

  A single candle guttered in the foul smelling passage, and a dim sound of many voices echoed toward the street.

  Reese pulled the door shut behind her. For better or for worse, she was going in there. She took a deep breath and let her calculations ramp up a few notches. The smell of the room seemed to intensify, and the candle’s shadows took on a rhythmic and predictable pattern. Hopefully safe against further slip-ups, Reese started down the passage.

  At the far end, the noise had risen to near cacophony. The passage ended in a sort of alcove, opening out into a large, underground room. Torches stood around the walls, shedding black smoke on the ceiling and illuminating the swirling mass of people. The raised platform in the center of the room stood empty.

  Reese caught a momentary glimpse of two attendants helping a battered contestant down from the stairs, then checked the rest of the room. Faces swam past her view. Scars, tattoos, the occasional foppish noble. Then she saw Niela.

  The shifter sat on a bench at the base of the ring stairs, joking with a tall man in red while a tough-looking woman dabbed at a cut on Niela’s forehead.

  She’s already fought, then. Reese stood still, watching.

  Across the turmoil, Niela looked up and met Reese’s gaze. Shock crossed the shifter’s face. Then guilt. Then anger. She turned to the woman beside her, said something sharp, and pushed to her feet. The motion made her sway, and she caught the arm of the man beside her.

  Blast. Reese began elbowing her way through the crowd toward her injured bodyguard. A hand bumped into her leg, searching for a gun or hidden money. Reese slapped it away and kept going, intent on reaching the ringside.

  Niela, still holding onto the man’s steadying arm, watched her approach but said nothing. A thin trickle of blood ran down beside her eye and spread across her cheek in dark red drops.

  An arm’s length from her friend, Reese stopped. The tall man hadn’t moved and Reese could smell the sharp aroma of rash, although she couldn’t tell which of them had drunk it. A tremor shook her shoulders. Stay calm. Analyze. She glanced at the tall man, running the factors. He’s probably some old friend from her fighting days. Not a fighter himself… maybe a backer. Reese turned and looked straight into Niela’s brown eyes. “We need to go,” she said. The strain of not breaking down made her voice tremble as she added. “Are you finished?”

  Niela pulled herself to her full height. “Almost.” She looked up at her companion. “Dirk, will you get my winnings?”

  “Sure,” the man said. His voice slipped through the noise of the crowd like oil on deep waters. “Don’t get carried away while I’m gone.” He smiled and slid his arm from beneath Niela’s hand, then turned and vanished into the crowd.

  More factors ran. Every moment was a moment lost. Reese could feel the strain building. “We don’t have time,” she hissed. “The sun is going down. I gave you a task in trust.” She saw Niela’s face darkening, but continued, “And where do I find you?”

  “I needed this, Reese,” Niela retorted. She swayed again and wiped her cheek with her hand. “You don’t know how badly I needed this.”

  Dull heat grew behind Reese’s ears. You don’t know how badly I need you back at Tyrone’s. She longed to cut straight to the point, but long experience with her friend had taught her to avoid direct confrontation at any cost. Hang experience. “If you’re this mad about me taking Joplin and not you—”

 
Niela laughed. She sat down heavily on the bench. “Did you like him?” she asked.

  Reese’s fists clenched. “Who, Joplin?”

  “No. My father,” Niela said. She rolled her head back and regarded Reese with a slightly off-kilter expression. “Or actually, my half father. Pompous old noble.” She gave a short laugh and let her features droop into a blank stare. “See the family resemblance?”

  Reese stared at her friend’s face. “The nobleman who knew about writers?” Is that what’s been bothering her?

  Niela’s blank stare sprang back into her usual sharp, tense features. “Yes,” she snapped. “I never wanted to see him again.” She spat on the floor and wiped her face again, then sat, regarding the smears of blood on her fingertips. “He had a serving girl he was rather fond of…” She cursed. “I gave him a punch or two in parting. Just to remember me by.”

  “And then took it out on Joplin?” Reese asked. “Have you been drinking rash?” Almost before she finished talking she knew the answer. It was as obvious as the vacant expression in her friend’s eyes. No. No. No. Reese stepped forward and seized her friend’s shoulders. “Niela, I need your help,” she snapped. “Now are you ready to go keep a bunch of police locked up in their own building, or aren’t you?”

  For a moment, the mists in Niela’s eyes cleared away. She looked back at Reese with an intense gaze, and she took a breath to reply.

  A hand grabbed Reese’s arm. “What are you doing to my fighter?” Dirk demanded.

  Before Reese could pull away, Niela sprang to her feet and delivered a powerful blow to the man’s chest.

  Dirk gasped and stepped back, grabbing at his bruised side. “What was that for?” he said. The smoothness drained from his voice, leaving it as sharp as broken glass.

  “Niela,” Reese said in a warning tone. Her friend had moved into bodyguard mode over the slightest provocation. Clearly the rash hadn’t worn off yet.

  The shifter kept her iron gaze trained on the taller man. “You touch my friend again,” she said, “I will crush your lungs.”