A Sea of Purple Ink (24 page)

The patronizing smile vanished. “And what is that supposed to mean?” Dirk said. His voice trembled on the edge of a knife.

“You must have at least three or four good fighters in your entourage by now,” Reese said.
He’s getting nervous.
She packed all the casual earnestness into her voice that she could. “Tell me, how much did you win this afternoon?”

Dirk froze.

His companion’s face whitened and she peered up at him, leaning in close. “What is she saying, Evan?” She shot a small frightened glance toward Reese.

The tall man marshaled himself. “Nothing worth repeating,” he said. His eyes snapped fire for a moment, then he turned away. “Let’s dance, Camille.” Without a backward glance, he steered the petite woman away toward the stairs.

33

T
hank goodness
. Reese watched them go.
He’ll probably try to leave her somewhere and double back this way, but we’ll be gone by then.
She lowered her wine glass.
Back to business.
“I dropped a hairpin, Tyrone. Would you find it for me?”

Tyrone pulled his gaze from the retreating guests and looked down at the floor. “Where did you drop it?”

Reese stepped back and pulled her voluminous skirt out of the way. “By the door somewhere. There it is!”

“Got it.” Tyrone bent down and snatched the offending trinket. He then offered it to her with a flourish. “May I ask,” he breathed, “what all that was about? I mean, I know you’ve made connections in some sordid places, but Evan is about as low as you can go and still be alive.”

Reese pulled the glittering pin from his fingers and maneuvered back in front of the doorknob. “He was at the fights this afternoon,” she replied. An image of Niela after the fight flashed through her head. Reese slid the pin into the lock again and began poking about.
If Lacewing was able to patch her up, she’ll be on her way to the southern entrance by now. If not…
The latch clicked.

Reese handed her half-filled wine glass to Tyrone. “Hold this.” She worked the pin back into her hair, glancing up and down the colonnade. “See anyone watching?” she whispered.

The merchant pretended to blow some dust from his shoulder and took a quick look the other direction. “No.”

“On three, then. One…” Reese reached behind her and turned the knob. “Two. Three.” She stepped backwards, pushing the door in as she walked. Tyrone hurried after her into the darkened room.

As soon as they cleared the opening, Reese closed the door.

A thin beam of light shone in from the hallway outside, but that was it.

Tyrone grunted. “I don’t suppose you brought a lantern with you.”

Reese fiddled with the doorknob. “When in doubt, in a big place like this, follow the wall.”
Blast, there’s no inner latch. I’ll have to leave it unlocked and hope no one notices.
She sighed.
Can’t be helped. I don’t have time to re-lock it with a hairpin.
She put out her hand and felt the wall of the room. “This way,” she whispered.

An old memory of this room floated to the top of her mind.
There should be a servant’s door halfway down the next side. Unless they’ve changed things, which is possible.
She followed the wall with quick steps, one hand in front of her, groping in the darkness.

Behind her, Tyrone’s wine glasses chinked together. “You sound like a small hurricane,” he whispered.

I noticed.
Reese found the corner—and a small statue. “I know,” she said. “But at least this way if anyone sees us they’ll think we’re just lost or trying to find a private corner. Watch out for the statue over here.” She started down the second wall.
Of course, that might not hold much water if I’m in a servant’s passage.
She frowned.
There’s nothing else for it, though. I’m stuck.

Her fingers met something that gave.
What’s this?
She ran her hands along the fabric.
Some sort of curtain.
Her hand slipped behind it and felt rough wood.
That’s got to be a door.
“Stand by,” she whispered. She traced along the minute seam in the wall and felt a narrow latch.
Very well camouflaged for a servant’s door.

The latch gave way and the door creaked inward, revealing a narrow tunnel lit from far away.

That’s not a servant’s passage. This is security surveillance.
Reese hesitated.
The chances of running into security are higher if we take this route, but then again, it would guarantee quick access.
She listened. No sound echoed down the brick-laid tunnel.
Designed to muffle approach. Perfect.

She eased inside the door and started down the tunnel.
The light spill must be from where this passage meets a more commonly used one. With any luck, there will be a turnoff before we get there.

Behind her, Tyrone fumbled the door shut and caught his foot on the uneven floor.

If anyone does find us, we’ll need to be ready.
“Do you have a silencer?” Reese whispered.

Tyrone’s footsteps halted. “For me or your gun?” he demanded.

Reese bit back a laugh. “The gun.”

“No, but I have a second gun and a few more full magazines,” the merchant replied.

We’ll have to be creative, then.

The light grew stronger. Now Reese could see the well-worn floor and trace the passage of time along the stained walls.

Far up ahead, something crossed in front of the light, causing it to flicker off, then on again.

Reese tensed.
That must be where they’re monitoring the party.
She slowed her pace.
If we can’t find an alternate passage in a few more seconds, we’re turning back.

Steeling herself, she pushed forward.
This is so different from being out in the slums. There you just run and get away. Here you have to hide and hope you’re not found.

A dark patch appeared on the right-hand wall several feet ahead.

Reese’s hope grew.
Is that a doorway?
A few more steps and the patch resolved into a low-roofed side tunnel.
Perfect.
Reese ducked out of the first passage and into the second.

Tyrone quaffed the remnant of wine from Reese’s glass, then shuffled in after her.

“You might want to get rid of those,” Reese whispered.

The merchant sniffed. “What if I want to smash them over someone’s head?” he replied. “You can’t keep all the fun for yourself.”

Reese gathered up the front of her skirt and started down the dim passage, half stooping to avoid the ceiling.
In the dark, about ten inches per step, angled away from the ballroom.
She let the calculations run.
We’re only about halfway to where we need to be.

They passed the door of a small side room. Then another. Then another. As they neared the fourth, Reese’s skirt pulled tight against her legs, jerking her to a stop.

“Sorry!” Tyrone whispered. “I can’t see a thing. Do you have to leave your train all over the floor like that?”

Reese tugged at the offending material. “Well, the next time you buy me a dress, think about whether we’ll be sneaking through tunnels.”

A metallic clink echoed up the passage, and the scanty light began to fade.

Reese let go of the fabric and reached for her gun.
Someone’s coming.
“Get in the room, quick,” she breathed. As Tyrone brushed past her, she drew the weapon and sighted along the tunnel’s curve.
Either I pull this trigger and make a loud noise, or I don’t shoot and risk the person raising the alarm.
She slipped her finger onto the trigger.

Something tapped her elbow. Reese stiffened, then recognized the touch.
Tyrone.
The merchant’s hand grasped her forearm and pulled. Reese let herself be dragged along. She sensed the doorway, then the door closing behind them.

“I’ll find a place to hide,” Tyrone whispered. His voice combined with a dull, irregular pulse.

Reese listened hard. The merchant’s feet scuffled against the ground. The pulse stopped, then began again.
The message system. There must be cables and wires running through the palace walls.

Tyrone grunted as he bumped into something. The sound wasn’t that far away.
Small room. Probably a storage area or maintenance for the wires.
Reese took up a position behind the door, gun in one hand.
With a little luck, they’ll just walk right by us. We’ll have to watch out for them as we continue, but—

Something whispered against the door and a faint line of light appeared.

They’re opening the door. Are they just checking or coming in?
Reese leaned back and carefully moved her feet into a solid stance.

A crackling snap sounded and a small lantern flared to life, bringing a table and then the entirety of the room into focus.
Burner.
Reese slammed into the door, knocking it into the burner’s face. With a quick jump, she rounded the corner and shoved the barrel of her gun into the man’s neck. “Don’t move, don’t speak,” she hissed. She grabbed the man’s shoulder with her other hand. “If you burn, my hand will cramp and the gun will go off anyway.”

The tall man stared at her, face pale, eyes deep in his head. His greasy black hair trailed across Reese’s hand as he tried to stammer something out.

“Quiet,” Reese ordered. She felt a trembling pulse beneath her hand and pulled away. She motioned toward the table with the lantern. “Stand over there.” As the man stepped into the light, Reese began to feel sick.
He’s Banner. Stryker’s puppet.
Reese pushed the door shut and turned to face the man fully.

He stood there, hands held loosely at his sides, watching her with dark eyes.

“I remember you,” Reese said. “Do you remember me?”

A puzzled look filtered through the man’s gaze. He squinted his eyes. The motion revealed a red scar across his forehead. “No,” he said.

Tyrone’s voice came from the corner of the room. “What is this?” he demanded. “How many people in here do you know?”

Reese brought the gun up until it leveled on the burner’s chest. “I’m the one you and Stryker found in Sea Level,” she said. She noted the look of startled recognition and continued, “There are two things that can happen here, so listen carefully.” She shifted position to get a better sight. “I am on my way to ending the ban against our kind,” she said. “So either you will stay here, dead or unconscious, while I continue. Or, you will remember your better self and tell me a quick way to get to the king’s rooms.”

More color drained from Banner’s already-pale face, leaving it ghost white. “The king’s rooms?” he whispered. His gaze darted over Reese’s shoulder to the closed door. “If I stay here, I’ll be late for the other room checks,” he said. “They’ll know something’s happened.”

Reese tensed.
Don’t try to bluff me.
She tried another line of approach. “Do you want to be rid of Stryker?”

Banner’s eyes widened. For a moment, a hint of excitement showed on his emaciated features. Then it gave way to fear.

Reese’s stomach dropped.
I know that look. It’s the look of all the other burners who were too frightened to leave their masters. He’s afraid of what Stryker and the police might do to him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tyrone approach, wine glasses still in hand.

Reese locked her gaze with the burner. “I know a little of what they make you go through here,” she said. “So I’ll ask you again. Do you want a chance to get rid of Stryker?”

The burner’s jaw clenched.

Tyrone stepped forward and swung. Reese jumped as a glass shattered against Banner’s shoulder.

The burner cried out in pain. He backed toward the table. Sparkling shards streamed off his coat and tinkled to the floor.

“Answer when she asks you a question,” Tyrone growled. He jabbed the broken stem of the glass toward the burner’s face.

Banner raised a hand. “All right,” he gasped. “All right.” He braced himself against the wooden stand.

Reese could read the whole story on his face.
He’s too afraid of pain to fight back.
A wave of nausea swept over her. She hated facing traitors to her kind. Especially when they were as broken as this.
This isn’t going to work. He doesn’t have the courage to change sides.
Reese took a step forward. “Do the wire maintenance tunnels run to the king’s rooms?” she asked.

The burner hesitated.

Reese narrowed her eyes. “Tyrone.”

A convulsive twitch ran through the burner. “Yes, they do,” he said, eyes shifting from one to the other.

All right. We’ll make this simple.
Reese motioned toward the back corner of the room. “Go open the panel,” she ordered.

The tall burner seemed to shrink in on himself. With another nervous look at Tyrone and the wine glass, he lowered his head and walked to a metal sheet in the wall. With a few quick twists, the sheet peeled away, disclosing a small tunnel. Wires hung against the back of the tunnel, their lines traced by tiny, sporadic blue sparks.

This had better work.
Reese approached the burner. “Now signal for a routine checking of the lines,” she said.

Banner started in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

“Hurry up,” Tyrone snapped. “Get to it.”

The burner turned to face the wires and reached into the opening. His eyes closed, and a new rhythmic pulse rippled through the air.

Three short. Four long.
Reese watched closely.
And some more complicated combinations.
She tried to slow her breathing.
For all I know, he could be sending news of where we are to Stryker himself.

“They’ll know it isn’t scheduled,” Banner said. He withdrew his arm and stood upright.

“Doesn’t matter,” Reese replied, with more confidence than she felt. “Don’t tell anyone we’ve been here. If you do, I will find you. And I think you know by now that I can get into any place you might think to hide. Now, Tyrone…”

The burner’s frightened eyes flew to Tyrone. Reese took her chance. She lunged forward and slammed the side of her gun into the man’s head.

Banner’s eyes rolled up and he toppled forward, blood trickling from a new cut. Reese stooped beside him and felt for his service knife.

Tyrone cleared his throat. “Remind me to not argue with you any time soon,” he said.

There.
Reese pulled the curved blade from its sheath. “Grab the lantern. We’re going in.”