Bone Season 01: The Bone Season: A Novel (44 page)

The silence was damning. After that was a soft, heavy thump, then footsteps and a closing door.

For a long time I was paralyzed. After a minute I pushed the heavy door open. There was a single wooden chair inside. Its seat was stained with blood, as was the floor.

My skin grew slick and cold. I ran my sleeve across my upper lip. For a while I crouched against the wall, my head in my hands. Ivy had been talking about me.

I couldn’t think about it now. Her torturer might still be in this building. Slowly, I stood and faced the nearest room. The key was in the door. I looked inside. Weapons lined the walls: swords, hunting knives, a crossbow, a slingshot with steel ammunition. This must be where they stored arms to distribute to the red-jackets. I grabbed a knife. An anchor gleamed near the hilt. Scion-made. Weaver was sending weapons here while he and his ministers sat in the Archon, far from the ethereal beacon.

Julian was right. I couldn’t just leave. I wanted to make Frank Weaver afraid. I wanted him to know the fear of every voyant prisoner he’d ever transported.

I closed the door and locked it. When I looked up, I found myself facing a large, yellowed map.
THE PENAL COLONY OF SHEOL I
, it read.
OFFICIAL TERRITORY OF THE SUZERAIN
. I scanned it. Sheol I was built around the large central residences, tapering off to the meadow and the trees. All the familiar landmarks were there: Magdalen, Amaurotic House, the Residence of the Suzerain, the Hawksmoor—and Port Meadow. I peeled the map from the wall and studied it. The printed letters next to it were mangled, but I made them out.

Train
.

My fingers tightened on the edges of the map. The train. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. We’d all been brought here by a train—why couldn’t we leave on it?

My brain was in overdrive. How,
how
had I not thought of it? I didn’t need to cross No Man’s Land. I didn’t need to walk for miles, or pass the Emim, to reach the citadel. All I had to do was find the train. I could take people with me—Liss, Julian, everyone. The average Scion train could hold nearly four hundred people, more if they were standing. I could get every single prisoner out of this city and still have room for more.

We would still need weapons. Even if we all snuck to the meadow by daylight, moving in small groups, the Rephaim would come after us. Besides, the entrance might be guarded. I reached for a sheathed knife and stowed it away in my backpack. Next I found a few guns. The palm pistol, a similar model to mine, would come in handy: it was small, easy to conceal, and I knew how to use it. I shifted some illegible paperwork from the top of a metal case. Nick had tried to shoot Warden in the citadel, to no avail. Bullets would work on loyal red-jackets, but we’d need more than guns to take down Rephs. I was reaching for a box of bullets when the sound of footsteps drifted to my ears.

Without pausing, I made for a set of shelves and slotted myself behind them. Just in time: the key fell from the lock, and two Rephs walked in.

I should have expected this. My exit was blocked. If I crawled to the window, I would have to expose myself, and everybody knew my face. I looked between the shelves.

Thuban.

He said something in Gloss. I leaned closer to my peephole, trying to identify his companion. That was when Terebell Sheratan stepped into my line of vision.

Neither of us moved. I couldn’t feel my heart. I waited for her to call Thuban, or to drive a blade into my gut. My fingers twitched toward the pollen, hidden in my gilet, but I thought better of it. Even if I took Terebell down, Thuban would disembowel me.

But Terebell surprised me. Instead of acknowledging me, she shifted her gaze toward the guns. “Amaurotic weaponry
is
intriguing,” she said. “No wonder they destroy each other so often.”

“Are we speaking the fell tongue now?”

“Gomeisa has told us to maintain our fluency in English. I see no harm in a little practice.”

Thuban snatched the crossbow from the wall. “If you wish to foul our tongues with it, very well. We can pay homage to the days when you had power over me. What a long, long time ago that was.” He ran his gloved fingers over the lathe. “The dreamer should have killed Jaxon Hall while she had the chance. It would have been kinder than the death he will have now.”

My throat closed. “I doubt he will be killed,” Terebell said. “Besides, Nashira’s interest is in Carter.”

“She will have to hold Situla back.”

“No doubt.” She ran her fingers over a blade. “Remind me: what was in this room before the armaments?”

“With your blasphemous interest in the fell world, I would have thought you would know exactly where all the resources were kept.”

“I think ‘blasphemous’ is a little melodramatic.”

“I do not.” He picked up a handful of throwing stars. “What was in here before, you ask? Medical supplies. Plant extracts. Salvia, aster. Other stinking leaves.”

“Where were they moved?”

“Have you forgotten
everything
in the last few minutes, miscreant? You’re as stupid as the concubine.”

You had to hand it to Terebell: she was either immune to his attitude, or very good at hiding her emotions. If she had any.

“Forgive my curiosity,” she said.

“My family does not forgive. The scars on your back should remind you of that on a daily basis.” His eyes were full of Ivy’s aura. “That’s why you want to know. You’re trying to steal amaranth—
aren’t
you, Sheratan?”

Scars
.

Terebell’s face was hard. “Where were the resources moved?”

“I don’t like your interest. I
suspect
it. Are you plotting with the concubine again?”

“That was almost twenty years ago, Thuban. A long time by human standards, wouldn’t you say?”

“I do not care for human standards.”

“If you hold the past against me, that is one thing. But I do not think the blood-sovereign would appreciate your attitude toward her consort. Or your questionable descriptions of his role.”

Her voice was harder now. Thuban took a blade from the wall and swung it toward her. It stopped an inch from her neck. She didn’t flinch. “One more word out of you,” he said, his voice a whisper, “and I will summon
him
. And this time he will not be so temperate.”

Terebell fell silent for a moment. I thought I saw something in her face: pain, fear. They must be talking about one of the Sargas. Gomeisa, perhaps.

“Yes. I believe I remember where the supplies are.” Her voice was low. “How could I forget Tom Tower?”

Thuban barked a laugh. I absorbed the information, like blood absorbing flux. “No one could forget it.” He breathed the words against her ear. “Nor the sound of its bell. Does it ring in your memories, Sheratan? Do you remember how you screamed for mercy?”

My limbs were beginning to ache, but I didn’t dare move. Thuban was inadvertently helping me. Tom Tower must be the one that stood above the entrance, the bell tower.

“I did not cry for mercy,” Terebell said, “but for justice.”

A harsh snarl escaped his throat. “Fool.” He raised a hand to strike her—then stopped dead. He sniffed.

“I sense an aura.” He sniffed again. “Search the room, Sheratan. It smells human.”

“I don’t sense anything.” Terebell stayed where she was. “The room was locked when we arrived.”

“There are other ways to enter a room.”

“Now you sound paranoid.”

But Thuban didn’t seem convinced. He was walking toward my hiding place, nostrils flared wide, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. A sickening thought occurred to me: that he was a sniffer, able to smell spiritual activity. If he sniffed me out, I was worse than dead.

His fingers moved toward the box that hid me. In the distance, in another room, something exploded.

In an instant, Thuban took off down the corridor. Terebell followed, but she turned at the door.

“Run,” she said to me. “Get to the tower.”

And she was gone.

Not waiting to question my good fortune, I pulled on my backpack and vaulted up onto the windowsill. I almost fell down the ivy, scraping my arms and hands.

Blood thumped through my veins. Every shadow looked like Thuban. As I ran through a set of cloisters, heading for the main quadrangle, I tried to pluck some rational thoughts from my mind. Terebell had been helping me. She’d concealed me. It even looked like someone had caused a distraction for me. She’d known I was coming, known what I was after, and she’d only started to speak English after seeing me. She was one of them. The scarred ones. I needed to find out more about their history, to work out what was happening—but first I had to break into Tom Tower, grab the goods, and get back to Warden.

The explosion had brought a group of bone-grubbers running from the entrance, away from the bell tower. I halted in a dark archway. Just in time—they came running into the cloisters, exactly where I’d been about to run out. “28, 14, secure the Meadow Building,” one of them called. “6, you’re with me. The rest of you, cover the quads. Get Kraz and Mirzam.”

I didn’t have much time. I got to my feet and sprinted toward the main quad.

The House was vast, linked together by a series of closed- and open-air passages.
Rat in a maze
. I didn’t dare stop. I secured the straps of the backpack around my torso. There had to be a way to get inside Tom Tower. Was there a door by the main entrance? I had to be quick: Kraz and Mirzam were Reph names, and the last thing I needed was four Rephs, at least three of whom were hostile, in the House and on my tail. I doubted Warden had many friends like Terebell.

I stopped at the edge of the quadrangle. It was vast, with an ornamental pond in the center. A statue stood in the middle of the pond. I had no choice but to expose myself. Speed would have to come above stealth.

I broke into a sprint across the grass. My ribs twinged. When I reached the pond, I ran through the shallow water and crouched behind the fountain. I hunkered down low, so the water came up to my waist. When I looked up, I recoiled. Nashira was staring back at me. Nashira, cast in stone.

There was no one on the quadrangle. I could sense an aura, but it was too far away to be a threat. I jumped out of the fountain and ran toward the bell tower. I spotted the narrow archway at once. This must lead to the bell. I shot up the steps, praying that no Rephs would appear—the passageway was so narrow, I’d have no chance. When I got to the top, I gazed up at the sight.

It was a treasure trove. Glass jars sparkled from hundreds of shelves, dappled in sunlight. I was reminded of hard-boiled sweets: bright, glassy colors, glistening like stars. There were iridescent liquids, brilliantly colored powders, exotic plants wrapped in liquid—all beautiful and alien. The room was full of smells: some sharp, some bad, some sweet and fragrant. I scoured the shelves for medical supplies. Most bottles were labeled with the Scion symbol, written in English, but some bore strange glyphs. There were numa, too, probably confiscated. I caught sight of a show stone, various
sortes
—and a single pack of cards. Those were for Liss. I flipped through them quickly, assessing the illustrations. It was a Thoth deck—a different design to the one Liss had before—but it could still be used for cartomancy.

I stuffed the deck into my bag. I took Silvadene and paraffin and antiseptic. There was another door, probably leading to the bell, but I didn’t go through it. This would be my last contraband: the bag was almost too heavy to lift. I hauled the straps over my shoulders and turned toward the steps—only to lock gazes with a Reph.

All my life functions seemed to stop. Two yellow eyes smoked at me from underneath a hood.

“Well, well,” he said. “A traitor in the tower.”

He made toward me. I dropped the bag and climbed the nearest shelves in a heartbeat.

“You must be the dreamwalker. I am Kraz Sargas, blood-heir of the Rephaim.” He gave me a mock bow. I could see Nashira in his features; in his thick, brassy hair and hooded eyelids. “Did Arcturus send you?”

I didn’t say a word.

“So he lets his tribute to the blood-sovereign go wandering off by itself. She will not be pleased.” He held out a gloved hand. “Come down, dreamwalker. I will escort you back to Magdalen.”

“And we’ll just pretend this never happened?” I stayed where I was. “You’ll take me to Nashira.”

His patience vanished. “Don’t make me crush you, yellow-jacket.”

“Nashira doesn’t want me dead.”

“I am not Nashira.”

Now I was in for it. If he didn’t kill me, he’d drag me straight to the Residence of the Suzerain. My gaze settled on a jar of white aster. I could wipe his memory.

No such luck. With a single flex of his arm, Kraz brought the whole bookshelf crashing to the ground. Bottles and vials smashed against the floor. I rolled to avoid being crushed, slicing my cheek on a shard of glass. A cry leaped from my lips. My cracked ribs seared.

I wasn’t on my feet fast enough. My injuries slowed me down. There were no spirits in here; nothing I could use to repel him. Kraz picked me up by my gilet and smashed me into the wall. I almost blacked out. My ribs were tearing from my chest. Kraz gripped my hair in his hand, pulled my head back, and inhaled—deeply, like he was trying to breathe more than air. I realized what was happening when blood filled my eyes. I kicked and clawed and twisted, gasping for the æther. It was already slipping out of reach.