A Sea of Purple Ink (17 page)

24

The hour’s walk to the old family home on the edge of the Inner Circle gave Reese plenty of time to think. More than enough time. Bargaining with the king, the complexities of Stryker and the police, Tyrone’s instability. It all swirled through her head, growing into a panicked crescendo. Questions without answers. Thoughts without solutions.

After a while, the crowded rows of buildings gave way to wealthier stores and apartments. Then the streets widened, the cobbles grew smoother, and high walls of stone or hedges hid the houses from view.

Before she was ready, Reese trudged down a road past a regimental stand of dark-leaved shrubs. The grey boughs of a tree peeked out over the top, a testament to the garden within.
The Smasher Ship
, Reese thought, the old tree’s play name. She braced herself.

A few yards farther on, the service gate appeared, a wide square of wooden boards set in the boundary hedge. Rust coated the hinges and the latch, and a section of the lowest board had fallen away, revealing the step-stone.

Sadness fluttered through Reese’s chest. Then resolve. She stepped closer to the gate and plunged her hand into the scratching leaves of the shrub. Her fingers hit wood.
Is it still here?
She scrabbled about on the unseen board, trying to find the hidden pull ring.

Wait. I’m taller now.
Reese dug deep into the bush, feeling lower and lower on the board. Then her searching fingers touched metal. With a gentle pull, the ring slid free. Metal clanked behind the gate and it eased a few inches open, sagging on its hinges.

The back garden spread out before her, a large rectangle of tangled lawn and twisting gravel paths. One large bush blocked her view of the old brick house with sprigs of wilting purple flowers.

Reese closed the gate behind her, then edged around the ancient shrub, keeping one eye out for any sign of life. The faint smell of the bush rose from its branches, soft and dark. Reese stole a glance at the sun.
Only a few hours left until dark.

No lights showed in the windows of the old house, but the faded shutters stood open. Keeping low, Reese hurried across the lawn to the stone terrace, her footsteps swishing through the long grass. As she stepped up onto the raised platform, glass crunched. She froze and looked down. Pieces of a wine bottle lay spread across the edge of the porch.

The low sound of voices drifted from the house.

Reese hesitated.
He has company?
She crouched and worked her way beneath the wide dining room windows.
Did the police come to check on him? It doesn’t sound angry enough for that.
She halted there, hunched beneath the level of the windowsill, hands pressed against the weather-beaten floor of the terrace.

One of the voices resolved into a low grumble. “But you surely can’t expect me to just sit idly by.”

Tyrone cursed. “If you don’t like it, take your business somewhere else,” he said. “They won’t end my company. They can’t.”

The other voice grunted. “I’ve made and lost more fortunes than you’ve ever held, my boy. And I don’t intend to lose more money on a failing shipping house.” He sniffed and the tip of a cane clicked against stone. “I am closing my account with you.” A chair scraped. “Now, which other companies in this shipping yard might be open to my arrangements?”

Tyrone gave a short barking laugh.

Reese’s stomach twisted.

“You really think I’m going to tell you after a speech like that?” Tyrone said. “Get out.”

“Well!” The gentleman sounded deeply shocked. There was a short pause, then the nobleman said, “You know, I might be persuaded to pay a little for such information.”

Heavy footsteps approached the window.

They’re coming this way.
Reese’s gaze swept the porch.
Too far away from the gazebo—

The window above her creaked and swung outward.

Reese dropped to the ground and prayed they wouldn’t look down.

“See all that?” Tyrone said. A hand waved outside the window in the general direction of the other roofs of homes. “There are plenty of other people to get commissions from. Now get out.”

“You’re making a grave mistake,” the customer warned.

Tyrone grunted. “Really?” Glass shattered against wood. “I’ll show you out.”

What is he thinking?
Reese listened as the footsteps receded into the house, then she rolled over to her back.
Or rather, what isn’t he thinking?
She pushed to a sitting position and peered over the windowsill into the house.

Inside, the same red wallpaper hung on the dining room walls. It was faded with time, but still clean. A wide wooden table sat a few feet from the window, surrounded by pushed-back wooden armchairs.

He must hire someone to keep things tidy around here.
Reese listened for the front door to slam. The wall clock was gone, but the painting of a distant landscape still hung over the sideboard.
And probably still hides a secret compartment of drink.

A heavy slam echoed through the house.

Reese got to her feet, ducked beneath the top of the window frame and swung one leg over the sill.

The dining room door creaked open, revealing a red-faced Tyrone. He pulled up short when he saw Reese, mouth open. Anger, fear, fury, and peeve flashed through his eyes. His fist clenched.

Do I dally around or cut to the point?
Reese quickly swung her other foot in and sat balancing on the wide sill. “You want your rebellion?” she asked.

Tyrone’s open mouth twitched and he gave a long, slow blink as if to clear his eyes. “One moment.” He raised a hand and scrubbed at his face, then peeped out over his fingers. “You know,” he said, taking a few steps toward the table. “If I hadn’t have run out of wine this morning, I’d think I was imagining things.”

Reese stood up. “I’ve found a chance to overturn the ban,” she said. She turned to pull the window closed. “Either by bargaining with the police, or taking it to the king,” she said, sliding the bolt home. Then she pushed one of the wooden chairs closer to the table. “This might be the opening we need.” She lowered herself into the chair.
It will take a miracle, but it might work.

Tyrone gave another exaggerated blink and swayed on his feet.

“Are you sober?” Reese asked.

Tyrone’s eyes popped open with a mixture of indignation and astonishment. “I am now, thank you.” He thumped down in a chair across the table and leaned forward. “Am I actually hearing this?” he asked, leaning both elbows on the table. “You actually want to take down the king now?”

How do I explain this?
“I want to take down the ban,” she corrected. “And right now, the police are the ones enforcing it, and some of them at least are making a play for power.” She had a brief mental image of Joplin, stretched out under Niela’s gravity field. “Right now, they’re much more dangerous to us than the king.”

Some of the sleepiness seeped out of Tyrone’s face. “So we make contact with this group and see if they want support?”

Reese raised her eyebrows.
That was surprisingly diplomatic of him.
“Not my first choice,” she said. “I’ve met a couple of the police involved, and they’re not on our side.”

A knowing gleam shone in the depths of Tyrone’s green eyes. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a recent raid on Sea Level Prison, would it?” he asked, grinning. “Of course, all the rumors say that the small group of desperate characters were eliminated before they gained access.”

Reese grinned back. “Maybe.”

Tyrone quirked an eyebrow in amusement. His gaze dropped to the side, and he leaned back in his chair, still smiling to himself.

Reese took the opportunity to let out a long, long breath.
There’s still more to go, but so far he’s taking it rather well.
She folded her arms on the tabletop and flexed against the soreness in the right one.

“I assume,” Tyrone said, looking up, “that you wouldn’t have come here without a painfully detailed strategy. So—” he swung one leg up over the arm of his chair, “—what’s your new plan?”

Radical, daring, and there’s no way you’ll see this if I say it right out.
Reese tapped the table. “First, we need to turn the police against themselves. If the rebelling faction is big enough, they’ll cancel each other out pretty well, or we’ll just turn the nobles against the police.” She held Tyrone’s gaze. “Then we bring in our trump card.”

Tyrone raised a hand. “Wait, wait. Before you go cleaning anything up, you’ve got to turn the two sides against each other. That means somehow proving to the solid side that the other did something pretty amazingly awful.”

“They have.” Reese tried to keep her voice light. “Attempted assassination of the king.”

The merchant’s mouth fell open. “And you know this… how?” he asked.

Reese blew a little more air between her lips.
Here we go.
“I have the king.” She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

“You what?” Tyrone asked. He swung his leg down and leaned forward, staring her straight in the eyes. “Did you just say what I think you said, Reese Darren?”

Reese nodded.

Tyrone raised his eyes skyward. “I can’t believe I believe you.” His gaze flashed back down. “How?” he demanded. “You couldn’t have snuck into the palace and… Sea Level Prison is one thing, Reese, but the royal palace—”

“I’m not sure myself,” Reese replied. “You would know better than I. You’re the one who found him in the first place.”

Tyrone’s eyes narrowed. He sat for a moment, unmoving. The late afternoon light fell across his shoulder and across the chair back. Then his eyes widened. “Damn.” He pushed back his chair. “Joplin?”

Reese shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable.
If he takes this the wrong way, we could all be in serious trouble.
“Why do you think I passed out when I first saw him?” she said.

A feeble smile struggled on Tyrone’s lips. “Apparently not his rugged good looks, eh?” he quipped. Then he turned serious. His long fingers tapped against the arm of his chair, flashing up and down in agitation. “You mean you’ve had him this whole time?” he whispered.

“I know it looks strange,” Reese said.
How am I going to explain this?

Tyrone stiffened. “Wait…” His gaze sharpened. “Joplin… the king, can fly.”

Reese nodded. “That’s why I didn’t say anything at first.”
Well, one of the reasons.
“Have you ever heard of a writer?”

Tyrone raised an eyebrow, then rose to his feet. “I’m guessing from your tone you don’t mean someone who creates books,” he said, circling his chair. He started across the room toward the wall painting.

“A person who can change other people’s memories, even give them abilities or take them away,” Reese said. She watched as Tyrone pushed the painting to one side and fumbled with the compartment latch.

Tyrone grunted. “So that’s why he didn’t remember a thing.” He forced the small door open, revealing a dark hole. “Does he know all this?”

Reese shook her head. “He’s remembering bits and pieces, but he doesn’t know who he was.”

“You mean who he is,” Tyrone corrected. He shoved his arm into the compartment, then peered into it.

Reese folded her arms and scooted back in her chair. A new line of calculations ticked through her brain, adding to the noise.
Is he really still the king, in the strictest sense of responsibility and past actions?
“I thought you said you ran out of wine.”

Tyrone pushed the painting back into place with a disgusted look. “So how does all this fit in with your plan?” he asked. He walked to his chair and leaned against the back of it. “We stash him somewhere until the police finish fighting it out? We kill him and make it look like they did it?”

“That would take too long.” Reese took a moment to calm her voice, then went on, “I have something a little more radical in mind.”
Do I?
The plan continued forming in her head, step by agonizing step.

The merchant gave her an expansive arm wave.

“The king is already starting to remember things, and from what we’ve heard, a writer’s work can’t last forever.” Reese clasped her hands beneath the table. She could feel each finger’s bone. “If we can help him remember who he was and what he’s done, he would be able to point out which of his men had betrayed him.”

Tyrone straightened. “And see us as the ones who protected him!”

A twinge of guilt tugged at Reese’s conscience. “Perhaps,” she said. She dropped her gaze to the smooth grain of the old table. “He and I aren’t on the best of terms right now. Even if he doesn’t remember everything, I thought we’d… if it comes down to a standoff, he’d make a good bargaining chip.” She tapped the edge of her chair. “With the loyal group,” she added. “Most of the nobles would support him.”

Tyrone frowned and stroked his stubble beard. “So we’ll have to make sure there are lots of nobles around.” His eyes widened. “Wait a minute…” He scooted into his chair and leaned in close. “I’ve got it,” he said. “Supposedly, the king is giving a party of some sort for the nobles and certain select merchants. Although how they’re planning to pull that off without the king being present is beyond me.” He rapped the table. “I happen to be one of those select merchants.”

He continued, jabbing the table as if to illustrate each point. “We sneak Joplin in after people start to wonder why he isn’t hosting his own party. Then we make a scene, astonish everyone, and either be rewarded as the king’s saviors, or turn into the worst kind of kidnappers and still get what we want.”

Reese’s calculations leapt to the challenge. Factors and possibilities clicked through her mind at fast speed.
This might actually work.
She rested her head on her hand and considered.
There are still quite a few unknowns… but…
She looked up at Tyrone.

The merchant gazed at her, eyes bright in excitement, his dark blue shirt ruffles crumpled against his vest.

“We’ve lost our minds,” Reese said, heart beating faster. “But we should try. If we wait longer, the police have more time to move.”