by R S Penney
Well…Perhaps “angry” was too strong a word. It irked him that the other man was willing to stand up for the rights of slaves but not for their love. Tommy already had a target painted on his back after everything that had happened in Hedrovan. What was one more crime after all that?
Standing before them all, Mr. Harmon flashed another smile. “Well,” he said, glancing out the window. “It seems we’re nearing the end of the day. Best to pack up then.”
“Sir?” one of the men questioned.
“We’re ahead of schedule,” Harmon explained. “Ten extra minutes won’t make that much of a difference. But be ready for an early start tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir!”
It took about ten minutes to put the ledgers and supplies away in any event. Really, they were just leaving at the appropriate time. The street outside was lined with squat buildings made of brown bricks. Horse-drawn carriages rolled along the cobblestones, their drivers sometimes slowing to offer the tip of a hat.
Dalen shuffled along the sidewalk with his hands in his coat pockets, his mouth tight with misgivings. Sometimes, he wondered how he had gotten mixed up in all of this. Which was foolish. He knew exactly how he had gotten involved in all of this; he had fallen in love with a wonderful man and an amazing woman.
And yet, there were moments when he felt like excess baggage. What had he contributed to the cause thus far? A little abstract knowledge about the Borathorin Forest? Moral support?
Money.
Revolutions were all well and good, but they had a habit of dying if you couldn’t pay the bills. It wasn’t glorious, but Dalen had something to offer.
Jim fell in beside him, walking with a spring in his step. The young man wore a smile that could drive away the darkest clouds. “Such a lovely day,” he noted. “Why don’t we walk through Calver Park?”
Dalen gave him a sidelong glance. “Because that route would take twenty extra minutes?”
“Twenty minutes of fresh air in the warm, spring weather,” Jim said with a shrug. “Sounds positively dreadful.”
In the end, Dalen took the offer. It was nice to just walk and talk with someone. So much of his life over the past year had been death and danger. He had grown so used to it that he had forgotten what it was like to not be in a hurry.
They followed a cobblestone walkway that cut through the grass with pine trees growing on either side of it. The air was cool and crisp, but the warmth of the westering sun made that quite pleasant.
For the most part, they were alone. Twice they passed a man in a suit who was headed in the opposite direction, but very few people had decided to cut through the park this evening. So few that Jim started to feel confident discussing topics that would otherwise be reserved for the privacy of their apartment.
“What’s it like?” he asked. “Aladar, I mean.”
Plodding along with his arms crossed, Dalen sighed. “I think you’d like it,” he said, casting a glance over his shoulder. “For one thing, it’s easier to get around.”
“Oh?”
“We have devices that have replaced horse-drawn carriages.”
Jim’s face lit up at the mention of automobiles. “Yes,” he whispered. “Tommy told me about them.”
The mention of his love put Dalen in a sour mood. At this very moment, Tommy and Miri were waiting outside the Parliament Building for Delarac to emerge. Those two had been spending a great deal of time together. While Dalen was forgotten once again. “Thomas was quite smitten with Aladar.”
Lifting the low-hanging branch of a pine, Jim ducked underneath it. He paused on the other side, staring down the path to the busy street at its end. Carriages were rumbling down Brahe Lane. “Maybe I’ll go someday.”
“You’d be happier there than here.”
Jim rubbed his chin with the back of one hand, then wrinkled his nose as he worked through something in his head. “Something I don’t get,” he said. “If you have all these wonderful things – medicines that can cure disease, machines that can do back-breaking work – why don’t you share them with the rest of the world?”
Dalen opened his mouth, intending to offer an answer, but none came to mind. Truth be told, he had never thought about it. “Perhaps we should,” was all he could say on the matter.
Their walk home was pleasant; Jim was kind enough to avoid such difficult topics for the duration of the journey. He was a fine, young man. Dalen felt a little uncomfortable applying the adjective. Jim wasn’t that much younger than he was. Only a year or two. Perhaps, one day, when they all returned to Aladar, Jim could come along.
A round fountain in the middle of Bowman Plaza sprayed water into the air, each drop catching the light of the sinking sun. People hurried about on the cobblestones, headed in all directions, some bumping into each other. There were at least a hundred. A year ago, Tommy would have never imagined that so many people could be gathered in one place, but after Aladar, large crowds were somewhat blasé. And they were not what he had come here to see.
On the other side of the narrow street, stone steps led up to a massive building of brown bricks, a building with framed windows on each of its three stories. Gabled roofs over both the east and west wings rose to a peak where flags stood in a line. Each one displayed the symbol of the Eradian Empire: a golden laurel on a field of green. The Parliament Building was nothing short of majestic.
Sitting on a bench with his hands on his knees, Tommy chewed on a toothpick as he watched the distant building for any sign of his prey. He had donned the fine coat and trousers that were common to men in this part of town – Miri’s suggestion – but he would not give up toothpicks. He had to do something with all that nervous energy.
Victor stood beside him, fidgeting. The young man was even more jittery than Tommy. Twice now, he had started to pace only to stop abruptly when he realized that it would draw too much attention.
“It’s been four days,” Victor muttered.
Tommy nodded.
“If he hasn’t shown up yet…”
Catching the toothpick between two fingers, Tommy pulled it out of his mouth. He shot a glance toward the other man and blinked. “It’s a shame you never got to train with Mrs. Kincaid,” he murmured. “She could teach you the value of patience.”
Victor took a few plodding steps forward, then spun around to face him. “I’m just saying we should be doing something,” he insisted. “Four days of waiting and watching haven’t accomplished very much.”
“Take it easy.”
“This plan isn’t working.”
With a heavy sigh, Tommy stood up and approached the other man. “If you want to go back to the boarding house, you can,” he muttered. “But if you’re going to stay, I will have to insist that you keep your voice down.”
“I think I’ll stay. Mrs. Carmichael is serving pork.”
“You don’t enjoy her cooking?”
“Everything is much too salty.”
Tommy forced an awkward smile, nodding his reluctant agreement. “She is a bit too liberal with the salt,” he said. “Tell you what: the next time we’re on the road, I will take on the cooking duties. I’m sure I can come up with something more to your liking.”
It dawned on him that he had started to emulate Desa’s way of speaking. Now, when had that happened? A year ago, he spoke like most of the good folk in his little village. Perhaps it was the pressure of leadership, always feeling as though he had to inspire confidence in those around him. He suspected, though, that it started long before he was in a position where anyone listened to him.
“Doesn’t it feel odd to you?” Victor asked.
“Hmm?”
Standing before him with a sheepish grin, Victor lowered his eyes. A touch of crimson blossomed in the man’s cheeks. “A man cooking dinner,” he clarified. “I’m still not used to it.”
“In Aladar, men and women share the chores equally,” Tommy said. “The same is true among the Al a Nari. I hope that, wherever the two of you settle, yo
u don’t expect Zoe to do all the cooking.”
“Well,” Victor replied. “A few months ago, I could never have believed that a slave might fight for his freedom. I suppose I can get used to this too.”
Tommy clapped the other man on the shoulder, offering a nod of approval. “That’s the spirit!” he exclaimed. “You’re going to find that a lot of what you heard growing up is wrong.”
He was about to say more, but a sudden movement in the corner of his eye made him stop. Miri strolled around the fountain in a modest, purple frock and matching hat with lace. She halted when she caught his eye and inclined her head ever so slightly toward the Parliament Building.
A man in his middle years was hurrying down the steps, a handsome man with dark hair and a thick mustache. Going by the sketches that Dalen had provided, this had to be Timothy Delarac.
“Shoot him,” Victor whispered.
“What?”
“Why don’t you just shoot him? He’s right there.”
Tommy raised a hand to silence the other man. Even in hushed voices, this was not the place for that kind of talk. Only a fool would open fire in the middle of a crowded plaza. There was every chance that an innocent bystander would be hurt. And if anyone overheard Victor’s suggestion…
Clearing his mind, Tommy reached for the Ether.
Delarac climbed into a coach that was waiting for him on the curb. Once he was inside, the driver set the horses moving at a quick trot. Not much time. The further he got, the harder it would be to Infuse the metal.
Working quickly, Tommy began a simple lattice for a Light-Sink, working it into the carriage frame. He gave up after a few seconds. The Infusion he had created would barely dim the glow of a candle, but it didn’t have to be strong. It only had to point him in the direction of Delarac’s home.
The coach went around the corner.
And Tommy broke contact with the Ether.
Heaving out a sigh, he shut his eyes and slumped over, the tension draining out of him. “It’s done,” he said in a rasping voice. “We’ll be able to track him.”
Miri shuffled up beside him, gently patting his arm. “Excellent,” she murmured. “Then it’s time to move on to the next part of the plan.”
“I don’t see why you didn’t just kill him then and there,” Victor said. Thankfully, he was wise enough to keep his voice down even within the confines of their apartment. The young man sat on the sofa with Zoe beside him, holding his arm.
Miri wasn’t listening to their conversation. She was much too busy buttoning up her blouse, checking the knives in her ankle holster and those on her belt as well. One look in the bedroom’s stand mirror and she was satisfied. Unrelieved black wasn’t exactly flattering, but it would serve.
“Because,” Dalen said. “We need him alive.”
“Why?” Victor demanded. “If he’s starting all these wars-”
“He’s not the only one starting them,” Jim cut in. “Someone else would just take his place.”
Miri stepped into the sitting room and found the lot of them gathered around the sofa. Tommy had claimed a wooden stool while Dalen sat in the large, cushioned chair. Jim was in the corner, leaning against the wall.
Victor looked dejected, sitting with his knees apart and his head hanging. It was clear that he didn’t like being the odd man out, and he would like it even less once she was through with him. When a man spoke foolishness, a little shame was definitely in order. It might dissuade him from repeating such sentiments in the future.
Drawing herself up to full height, Miri glowered at the young man. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten,” she began. “But we need Delarac alive so he can tell us how he’s controlling Adele.”
Striding across the room, her feet sinking into the soft carpet, she towered over Victor. The dolt looked up at her with fearful eyes. “And,” Miri pressed on. “We do not put innocent people at risk.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A sudden draft of air made her turn around in time to see Kalia coming through the door. Without a sound. Tommy must have activated the Sonic-Sinks when Victor started blathering like an idiot. She could kiss him for that.
The former sheriff removed her hat and began to speak, grimacing when she failed to hear her own words. A few steps brought her into the middle of the living room, and then she sighed audibly.
“Were we planning something?” Kalia asked.
“Teaching,” Miri clarified.
“Well, the street is all but empty with the dinner hour upon us,” Kalia said. “If we are going to do this, now is as good a time as any. Though I suppose we’ll want to wait until Tommy is finished.”
Miri raised an eyebrow.
“He’s been in contact with the Ether for almost twenty minutes,” Kalia said. “I suspect he’s Infusing some of your accoutrements.”
Pawing at herself, Miri gasped. Field Binding didn’t scare her, but if Tommy was doing something to her shirt or her belt, she should have felt it? Shouldn’t she? He could have Infused every button for all that she could tell. It was unsettling to think that he could kill her with a thought, and she would never be the wiser until it was too late.
Tommy just sat there with a vacant expression, lost in his own world. Sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to experience the Ether. Maybe she should have tried harder to learn. Her mother would have preferred that. And if she’d had Sources and Sinks at her disposal, she might have been able to stop Marcus without-
No!
She would not think of that now!
Tommy flinched, coming back to reality, and then stood up. “There,” he said breathily. “It’s done.”
“What is done?” she asked.
“Tap your belt buckle twice in quick succession.”
Miri did so and felt her stomach lurch as she was overcome by a sudden sense of weightlessness. She pushed off the floor with the lightest touch and floated up to the ceiling, where she caught herself.
Tommy stared up at her with a big, stupid grin, his blue eyes sparkling with glee. “Doing the same a second time will kill the Sink,” he explained. “Here, let me help you down before you do it.”
Ignoring his offer, Miri pressed her hands against the ceiling and pushed herself down. Her feet hit the floor with a soft thump, and then she tapped her buckle twice in quick succession to restore gravity’s natural pull.
“With the field kept tight around your body,” Tommy went on. “The Sink should last for about an hour. But I would still advise you to use it sparingly. Your second button is a Sonic-Sink; tap it twice and you’ll be as quiet as a whisper. Your fourth button will stop bullets.”
Miri felt her cheeks burning. She was not used to the idea of someone going to that much effort to keep her safe. “All right then,” she said. “Just in case we’re not entirely clear, tonight is about reconnaissance. Nothing else. We learn the layout of the house and what kind of security – if any – we’re up against.”
Tommy and Kalia nodded.
“If you happen to see what looks like a tempting opportunity,” Miri said. “Maybe you catch Delarac taking a moonlit stroll in the garden. Ignore it. Our goal is to get him out of that house with no one the wiser. Which means we do not take any direct action until we know every last juicy tidbit of information we can learn. We don’t make a move against him until we can walk the corridors of that house blindfolded.”
“But if you happen to catch him out alone-” Victor protested.
Miri rounded on the boy, her lips parting as she drew air through her teeth. “We don’t know if he’s really alone,” she explained. “He might have guards nearby that we didn’t see because they were lurking around a corner.”
Victor went pale, his eyes widening as he considered that. “I see,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“Dalen, Zoe, Victor, Jim,” Miri said. “I’m sure you all have a long day tomorrow. Turn in; get some rest. Tommy, Kalia, you’re with me. Let’s go.”
The Weaver materialized
in a basement with walls of stone, a room lit only by a lantern that hung from a peg. Dust littered the floor. A wooden barrel in the corner looked as though it hadn’t been touched in ages.
This room was located in a small village called Marva, a town on the coast of the Sapphire Sea, about two days east of Hedrovan. If you traveled by horse, that was. It was the latest of several places that she had searched.
She had been forced to disguise herself when speaking to the villagers: gloves to hide her scaly hand, a hood to conceal her orange eyes. It galled her. Once, she had been beautiful, worthy of worship, but Desa and her pitiful uncle had robbed her of that. Still, this vessel had served its purpose.
Soon, she thought. Very soon now.
She heard the scuff of boots on the floor an instant before someone came up behind her and pressed a knife to her throat. “Brave of you,” the stranger whispered in her ear. “Sneaking into my home. Brave and foolish.”
The Weaver allowed herself a smile. “Well, I was looking for you,” she purred. “To present you with an opportunity.”
“Not interested.”
“Oh, come now! We both know that’s not true.”
“How did you find me?”
Puckering her lips as she stared up at the ceiling, the Weaver whistled a jaunty tune. “I went to village after village,” she said. “It’s not hard to locate someone like you if you know what questions to ask.”
A hard shove sent the Weaver stumbling toward the wall. She steadied herself at the last second, barely avoiding a collision. “Speak!” the stranger growled.
When she turned, she was confronted by a woman dressed in red from head to toe. Soft boots, thin pants, a tunic and hood: all red. Naturally, the stranger hid her face. That was to be expected.
Bobbing a curtsy, the Weaver bowed her head to the other woman. “I thought you might like to have some fun.”
“Fun?”
“Yes! A little mayhem. That is your forte, is it not?”
“Why would I want to help you with anything?”
“Because,” the Weaver said with a playful smile. “We’re going to be slaughtering a bunch of wealthy aristocrats.”