Clockwork Heart (36 page)

“Do any of you have her keys?” Cristof asked as he smoothed down the ragged locks of hair that Taya had disarrayed outside. The three shook their heads.

“It seems you will have to go back to work, Exalted,” Amcathra said. “I believe your kit contains the appropriate tools for the job.”

“Do you have a writ of entry?”

“I'll go with him,” Cassi volunteered, pushing the chair away and hopping to her feet while Captain Scarios wrote out the writ. “Just in case he needs to send a message back.”

Cristof looked skeptical. Cassi gave him a charming smile.

“Besides,” she added, “I'm looking forward to getting to know you better. Our conversation this afternoon was so one-sided.”

He looked to Taya for help, but she just winked. Cassi would be relentless.

The exalted scowled and walked out, jamming his hands into his pockets.

“Do you want me—” Taya offered, but her friend shook her head.

“Don't be stupid. Stay off your leg.”

“You know, someday
you're
going to be the one who's grounded.”

“
I'll
be smart enough to spend my time in bed reading lurid love stories and letting my friends wait on me hand and foot,” Cassi shot back, heading out the door. Taya laughed.

After the programming team compiled a list of the places named in Neuillan's cards, Captain Scarios and Lieutenant Amcathra left to muster a group of lictors for the raid on Slagside.

“So, do you think Em really did it?” Isobel asked as they cleaned up the loose cards.

“She has a selfish streak,” Victor said, “but to accuse her of theft on this scale…”

“If she hurt Kyle, I'll wring her skinny neck,” Lars growled.

“They always got along,” Isobel said. “I don't think she'd do anything to him.”

But her accomplices might,
Taya thought, worried. She hoped the thieves understood his value.

Voices heralded the officers' return just as Cassi burst through the door. Her courier bag and the pockets of her flight suit were bulging. She walked straight to the table and began pulling out slender boxes of cards.

“Pyke, the exalted's walking up Trisent with another bag full of boxes,” she said. Pyke nodded and left. “Emelie wasn't there, so we took all her notes and cards in case any of them were important.”

In moments the three programmers were thumbing through the new cards and dropping boxes on the floor.

“I think she left,” Cassi said, turning to the captain. “A lot of her clothes were missing, unless she's got a smaller wardrobe than Taya.”

“Hey!”

“Forgefire, Em must have saved every program she ever wrote,” Lars groaned, closing another box and dropping it.

“Not all of these are hers.” Victor tossed a box aside. “Some are class demos, and this looks like Alister's work.”

“I doubt any of them are important.” Isobel frowned. “Emelie wouldn't leave anything significant behind.”

“Look anyway,” Scarios ordered.

By the time Cristof and Pyke walked in, the station was quiet, everyone busy reading or waiting.

“This is strange,” Isobel remarked, turning a box upside-down. Small flecks of bright metal rained down onto the tabletop.

“Copper,” Victor said, picking one of the tiny pieces up on a fingertip.

“Punches,” Lars burst out. “That's punch chad!”

“Great Engine cards are made out of tin—”

“But Torn Cards aren't,” Cristof said, grimly. “Torn Card terrorists mark their attacks with half a copper punch card.”

“But a Torn Card would have blown up the Science and Technology Building, not stolen an engine,” Isobel insisted. “It doesn't make any sense.”

“Well, Em had the right tools to punch a card,” Lars said, looking up at Cristof. “And I suppose she couldn't leave copper keypunch droppings around in the lab's chad box where we would see it. She probably brushed it into whatever program she was working on at the time.”

“She couldn't have done the wireferry job that nearly killed that exalted, though,” Isobel said. “She was with us the night before. We all worked late, even Alister.”

“What about the refinery bombing?” Taya asked. “That was the Torn Cards, too, wasn't it?”

“No card was found,” Captain Scarios said, “but the rubble hasn't been cleared away yet.”

“Was the explosion investigated?” Cristof asked.

“The case wasn't closed, but with everything that happened afterward, it wasn't given a high priority. Besides, the refinery doesn't make sense as a Torn Card job. Not high-profile enough.”

“Maybe someone should take another look, just to make sure we didn't miss anything,” Cristof suggested. “The refinery wasn't owned by a decatur, was it?”

“No. It belongs to one of the Big Three mining companies. Nothing screwy in its records.”

“It could have been a disgruntled worker,” Victor suggested. “Labor isn't very happy with the Big Three.”

Scarios waved off the suggestion.

“Right now, I don't care about the refinery. The only thing that matters is that your friend was either a Torn Card or working with Torn Cards, and that makes our current investigation a lot more urgent. We're going to Slagside to check out that brothel the Alzanans like so much.”

“Can we—” Victor had barely started before Scarios was shaking his head.

“You've done your part. Now it's time to step aside,” he said, his tone brooking no disagreement. “The Torn Cards are violent. I'm not going to involve civilians.”

“What about us?” Cassi volunteered. “Could you use some overhead reconnaissance?”

“Sorry, Icarus. You haven't been trained to fly in a firefight.”

The argument continued another minute, but Scarios was adamant.

“Exalted.” He turned to Cristof. “I want you to stay here, too. You're too important to get killed by crossfire.”

“I'm not—”

“You're an exalted, you're a key witness in your brother's case, and this is lictor work. The Council would bust me back to Tertius gate guard if you got hurt now.”

“…All right. But I'll stop by the refinery on my way home, just to double-check it.”

“There something you're not telling me?”

“No. I'm just bothered by the fact that the refinery was vandalized the day after the wireferry.”

Scarios gave the exalted an evaluating look, and Taya could tell he was thinking the same thing she was — that Cristof was desperate to find something to do that would take his mind off his brother. Then the captain shrugged.

“You want a lictor?”

“No. You'll need all the firepower you can get.”

“All right,” Scarios said, turning away. “Lieutenant, let's go.”

Amcathra lingered, his pale blue eyes resting on Cristof.

“What are you thinking, Exalted?” the Demican asked as the captain headed out the door.

“The refinery isn't far from some of the other contact points in Neuillan's list.”

“It's not that far from where I was nearly mugged, either,” Taya added.

Amcathra glanced at her, then back to Cristof.

“Inform me if you discover anything.”

“I will.”

Amcathra gave a brusque nod and followed his captain, leaving the Primus office to the night clerk and themselves.

“We want to go with you,” Isobel said, gesturing to Lars and Victor. “We can be your backup if something goes wrong.”

“That won't be necessary,” Cristof demurred.

“We're not as helpless as you might think,” Victor added.

“It's a long walk to Tertius,” Cristof pointed out. “I live there and Cassilta and Pyke can fly back. But for the rest of you, it's a meaningless journey that could keep you out past lockdown.”

“Look, we want to help,” Lars added. “I understand not taking us on a raid, but what's wrong with poking around an old factory? If we find one of those torn punch cards, we'll be helping the investigation, right?”

“Kyle is our friend,” Isobel added. “Anything we can do to help find him, even if it's just closing off loose ends, will make us feel better.”

Cristof let out a long, exasperated breath.

“If any of you get hurt, I'll be held responsible.”

Pyke's eyes narrowed. “Don't patronize us.”

“But you're not lictors—” Cristof stopped abruptly, but not before Cassi snapped back, “—and neither are you.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, under his spectacles, and then appealed to Taya. “You should stay, at least. You've already put too much strain on your leg today.”

Taya gave him a stubborn look.

“Not a chance. I grew up in Tertius, right around that area, and I fly over it all the time to visit my family.”

“But your leg—”

“It's going to hurt whether I'm flying or in bed, and you're not leaving me behind.” Taya pushed herself out of her chair. “When all of this is over, I'll do whatever you say. But right now, you aren't the only person who needs to stay busy.”

Cristof glowered. The rest of the group fell silent, watching with interest.

“Whatever I say,” he repeated, dangerously. “Is that a promise?”

Taya wavered a second. Then she considered the possibilities.

“When this is over — yes.”

“I'm going to find us a sector map,” he said grimly, heading back to the captain's office.

“Better watch out,” Cassi said with a grin. “A repressed guy like that…”

Taya laughed, torn between embarrassment and amusement.

Chapter Seventeen

The three icarii flew in near silence, concentrating on the airspace around them. This part of Tertius was quiet at night, with no tenements, bars, or theaters to attract people and noise. The factories were all closed and the streets were empty and dark. Light from the upper sectors gave the sky a dim glow, and lamps shone every hundred feet on the wireferry towers, but it would still be easy to mistake a factory chimney for a patch of shadow or forget about a cross-cable stretching diagonally between two towers. Taya took the lead, trying to ignore the dull throb in her leg that remained despite the painkiller she'd taken before they'd left.

From above, the bombed refinery didn't look very different from the buildings around it. The darkness hid the soot and broken windows from the fire, and although a makeshift barrier had been set up around it, parts had gone missing, pilfered away by neighbors.

Taya tilted her wings and circled lower. Pyke stayed high, watching for approaching traffic, but Cassi flew a few body lengths behind her.

The openings where the refinery's windows had been were dark and empty. Taya landed on a factory roof across the way, gasping as she took most of the impact on her good leg. She waved to Cassi, then examined the bandages around her aching calf.

Nothing I can do about it. Tomorrow I'll take Cassi's advice and spend the day in bed. Maybe she'll lend me one of her lurid novels.

Cassi cut across to the other side of the street and landed. She swiftly un-hooded her small lamp and signaled to Pyke, three swift flashes of light reflected from her silvery wings.

Pyke rocked back and forth in acknowledgment and flew back to inform the others that the coast was clear.

Perched on the edge of the roof, Taya scrutinized the burnt building. No sign of life. She glanced to her left. Gregor's hack came to a halt, and the three programmers and Cristof piled out with rifles jutting over their shoulders.

Cristof hadn't been very happy earlier when Victor had pulled the percussion weapons off the floor of Gregor's coach, where they'd been shrouded in canvas.

“Firearms are restricted,” he'd protested. “Where did you get these?”

“Friends of friends. I thought we'd be going into Slagside, and I didn't want to go unarmed.” Victor had shrugged. “They're just a precaution.”

“Vic's playing soldier again,” Isobel sighed, examining one of the weapons. “He and his friends like to think of themselves as Ondinium's second line of defense. You should get some of those lictors' air rifles, Vic.”

“These are cheaper and sturdier.”

Cristof gave the bearded man a hard look. “So who are your friends, Victor? Liberationists?”

Victor shook his head. “I don't sign up for causes.”

“Loose gears don't make a clock run better.”

“Life isn't as simple as clockwork, Exalted.”

“What makes you think I'm not going to report you?”

“The fact that you've been bending some rules yourself, lately.”

Cristof had made a familiar, impatient sound, checking to make sure the gun was loaded, but he hadn't said anything else. Victor had handed a rifle to Lars.

“Thanks, but I can't imagine shooting anybody,” Lars had said with a shudder, passing it to Gregor. “Here, watch our backs.”

The coachman had taken the weapon with a bemused expression.

“What're you going do if somebody draws on you?” Victor insisted. “Those ham-sized fists of yours won't be any protection against a bullet.”

“I don't see how a skinny little gun's going to protect me.” Lars snorted. “I'm too big to miss if somebody starts shooting.”

“The idea is that they'll be too afraid of your weapon to shoot.”

“How about I just look harmless and keep my hands up?”

Victor hadn't offered the icarii a weapon, and they hadn't asked for one. Ondinium's prohibition against airborne weapons was strict; they could lose their wings for it. Not even Pyke had suggested it, although he'd gazed at the rifles with palpable longing.

Now Taya watched as Gregor climbed up to the top of his coach and sat down, his rifle by his side. He'd driven the hack around the refinery and parked on Drover's Way, the wide road that led to the biggest gate in Ondinium's walls. He'd seemed just as excited by the late-night mission as the programmers, even though Cristof had assured them that it would likely turn up nothing more interesting than a few piles of rubble and, if they were lucky, a torn copper punch card.

Cristof had chosen to team up with Lars, Taya saw, and Isobel with Victor. The two teams split up, one going left and the other right, to circle the broken shell of the refinery.

She waited until they were close and then kicked off again, taking a long, silent sweep over the building. Pyke did the same, while Cassi, their designated signaler, stayed on her high perch and watched.

Cristof and Victor seemed to have had similar training. They stayed in the shadows with their partners, popping up to look through the broken-out windows with their rifles aimed, then crouching and moving to the next. They continued until they met at the far wall and hunkered down to consult.

Isobel stepped out of the darkness and waved. Taya tilted her wings in acknowledgement and turned to see if Pyke had seen. He was heading down, too.

They both landed, Pyke on his feet and jogging to a halt, Taya on her knees. The landing hurt, and she wondered why she'd argued so hard to be a patroller instead of a signaler.

Pyke slid a hand under one arm and helped her to her feet.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she whispered, trying to keep the weight off her wounded leg. He supported her as they joined the small group.

“I didn't see anything from above,” she murmured as she joined them.

“No, but the exalted and I smelled something strange,” Victor replied. “Ammonia, he says. Smelled like methanol, to me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don't know, but it's a funny smell to come from a refinery that's been shut down for nearly a week.”

Taya gave the shattered walls a second, worried look.

“Victor and I will go inside to look around,” Cristof stated. “I want the rest of you to spread out and give an alarm if anyone runs outside. Don't shoot. Just shout. Pyke, can you stay up in the air to follow anyone who leaves?”

“Sure.”

“You think there's still someone inside?” Isobel asked.

“Chemical fumes disperse quickly, so the smell worries me.” Cristof checked his rifle. “I should probably send one of you back to alert the nearest Tertius station, but I don't want to risk raising a false alarm while Captain Scarios has another operation going.”

“Cassi can go if there's trouble,” Pyke said. “Taya needs to stay grounded.”

Taya started to object, and Pyke laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, I just saw you land. Your leg can't take many more jolts like that. You want to hurt yourself so bad you're grounded the rest of your life, like Paulo?”

Taya thought of the crippled night watchman and shook her head. Her leg was still throbbing. She had a bad feeling she might have pulled a few stitches.

“I'll stay grounded unless it's an emergency,” she acquiesced. Pyke squeezed her shoulder.

Frowning, the exalted took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “All right. There are three doors: the big bay door in front and the two smaller doors in back. Gregor can watch the front, and Isobel, you watch the back. You should be able to cover both doors at once. Cassilta's got a clear view of the west side, so Lars, I want you on the east. Taya, stay with Lars. Neither of you is armed, so if you see someone, stay hidden and shout an alarm.”

“Got it.” The big man nodded. Taya nodded, too. She would have preferred to be with Cristof and Victor, but she knew she wouldn't be much use with a bad leg.

They found a doorway where they could sit on the sooty stone steps and see most of the east wall of the refinery. Lars sat on the bottom step, and Taya sat higher, her wings brushing the brick sides of the entryway.

“You okay?” Lars asked, as she bent over and touched her injured leg.

“I think I'm bleeding again.” She tugged at the laces that were tying down the shredded leather of her pants leg and winced. “I hate being hurt.”

“You shouldn't have come.”

“I had to.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

They waited, their eyes fixed on the shadowy building. The gaping windows looked like wounds, and the rubble in the street glittered with shards of broken glass.

Minutes crawled past, and then Taya saw a glimmer of light inside the refinery. She straightened, straining to see it again.

A shot echoed through the building, and she shot to her feet, stumbling into Lars. He steadied her and they both rushed into the street as a woman shrieked.

Now lamplight was clearly visible from the windows, as if some barrier had fallen.

“Don't move,” Cristof shouted, inside the building.

“Come on!” Taya ran across the street and scrambled over broken masonry, hardly noticing the pain shooting through her calf.

“Wait, wait!” Lars wrapped a hand around one of the metal bars of her tailset as she braced her leather-gloved hands on a windowsill. “What are you doing?”

“Somebody might be hurt!”

“Emelie!” Victor's voice, from inside the refinery. “Emelie, wait!”

Lars shoved her away, heaving his bulk through the window. Taya waited until he was clear and then started to climb through, only to have the big man grab her by the metal keel and lift her inside. A wing hit the side of the windowsill and sent vibrations rattling through her armature.

“You're lighter than you look,” he grunted, setting her on her feet.

“Ondium.” She turned.

They stood in a huge open space filled with equipment. Several lamps burned farther away, in some kind of makeshift encampment. Another gunshot rang out, and then a third. Voices began to shout in Alzanan:

“Put your weapons down!”

“I only see one! Where'd the second one go?”

Lars ran, and Taya limped after him until she spotted a metal staircase that led to a catwalk that circled the open workspace.

A door slammed. “Vic?” Isobel's voice.

Taya grabbed the staircase railing and half-climbed, half-hauled herself upward to see what was happening.

“Lars, get down!” Cristof cried out. Another shot cracked through the building. Taya yanked herself up to the catwalk and saw a figure leaning over the railing, aiming a rifle.

“Wait!” she shouted, panicked. Then, switching to Alzanan: “Stop! You must surrender! The building is surrounded!”

The man turned, his rifle barrel dropping. Taya threw herself forward.

The Alzanan yanked the rifle back up, but ondium and desperation gave her the momentum she needed to close the distance before he could squeeze off a shot. Taya's gloved hands grabbed the weapon's barrel, shoving it aside, and she rammed a metal-protected shoulder into him. The man staggered and the rifle went off, bucking in both of their hands.

Then she tore it from his grasp and he tried to ram an elbow into her ribs, only to hit the metal of her armature keel. He winced and used an Alzanan word she hadn't learned yet.

Taya slammed the rifle's butt against the side of his head. He staggered and his legs buckled.

“Sorry,” she said as she kicked him in groin with her metal-toed flight boot. With a strangled groan he collapsed, holding himself.

She set the rifle down with distaste and looked over the railing.

The Alzanans had cleared away the fallen rubble to set up a small lair inside the refinery, using scrounged blankets and boards as makeshift walls. The center was dominated by a work table covered with wire, metal pipes, buckets, and cord. Sleeping mats were scattered along one side of the room, and a wagon filled with crates stood at the northernmost end, close to the bay doors in front.

One Alzanan was lying on the soot-covered floor next to the table, holding his arm. Blood trickled through his fingers, and his face was pale as his dark eyes darted back and forth.

Three Alzanan gunmen crouched by the wagon, two aiming, the other reloading. They were focused on Cristof, who had taken cover behind a low stack of wooden crates. He was digging in his coat pockets for something, but from the looks of things, he wasn't finding it. His rifle was on his lap, its breech open. The crates had several splintered bullet holes in them.

A few feet away, Lars crouched beside some kind of heavy equipment that had been twisted and bent by the explosion. The Alzanans had a clear shot at him, but he was low and in shadow and the Alzanan with the gun seemed more worried about Cristof.

She didn't see Isobel, Victor, or Emelie, but from where she was standing, she could just make out someone huddled against one of the makeshift walls in an awkward position.

Cristof stopped searching his pockets and pinched the arch of his nose. Then he set the rifle aside and rolled onto his stomach, peering around the boxes.

One of the armed Alzanans tensed, but Cristof ducked back and the man's finger loosened on the trigger.

“Out of cartridges?” the Alzanan mocked, his voice loud.

Cartridges! Taya crouched and searched the groaning Alzanan at her feet. Her hands closed on the paper-wrapped cylinders. Hoping that all rifles took the same kind of ammunition, she leaned out as far as she could.

“Here!” She threw them down at Cristof.

The second Alzanan spun, squeezing off a shot that slammed into one of the catwalk supports. The whole walkway shuddered.

“Dammit, be careful!” her victim shouted, hoarsely, in his own language. “I'm up here!”

Taya grabbed his weapon and kicked him to make sure he'd stay down.

“Cris!” She hurled the Alzanan's rifle toward the exalted as hard as she could. It clattered several feet beyond him. She'd done better with the cartridges, which were now scattered around his crate.