Heart of Veridon (37 page)

The bed had been taken down and cut open, scattering little curls of excelsior across the wood floor. All my drawers had been opened, the cabinets pulled apart. I didn’t keep a lot of things, but everything I kept was in a pile on the floor.

“You need a woman in your life,” Wilson said. “People shouldn’t live like this.”

“Shut up, bug,” I said. I kicked a path through the room, then locked the door. The only light was the lightning flicker coming in through the massive river-side window that took up one wall.

“You shouldn’t call me that. Bug. I thought better of you than that.”

“It’s been a shitty day. I can be unexpectedly cruel, on days like this.”

“Well,” Wilson collapsed onto the shredded bed, puffing up a cloud of wood shavings. “Let’s try to focus that cruelty. We have need of it.”

“This isn’t about revenge. For me at least. If it was just revenge I’d have burned out long ago.”

“So, what? You’re going in because you love the girl?”

“Let’s not be stupid, Wilson.” I closed all the drawers, opened the curtains wide. The rain was really coming down. Hell of a storm. “I’m doing this because it’s what I should do. It’s what I’d want done, if I were in there.”

“So loving the girl has nothing to do with it.”

I sighed. I wasn’t going to tell him about Emily, about her job with the Families. It wasn’t worth the argument.

“Fuck off, bug,” I said quietly.

He laughed a genuine laugh, the kind of laugh I didn’t expect from him. He lay on my bed with his spider arms splayed out, his hands laced behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

“So what are we doing, Jacob Burn? You got us up on the Torch’ well enough. How much harder is it going to be to get in the Academy?”

“Very much harder.” I tossed a revolver and a box of shells I had picked up down on the bed, along with the box of shells Valentine had given me for Emily’s shotgun. I wanted something to eat. I started rummaging through the detritus of my house, to see if I’d left anything, anything that hadn’t spoiled. “The facility that my dad was talking about, I think I know where that might be.”

“From your days in the Academy?”

“The very days. Places we weren’t allowed to go, hallways that always had guards and locked doors. I didn’t think much about it at the time.”

“How do we know your father is telling us the truth?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well. He’s betrayed you how many times in the last two weeks?”

“Twice. Once to Angela. And I’m counting the original betrayal, with the PilotEngine. I think that one will always count, no matter how long ago it was.” I found some crackers. They were stale.

“Right, so, how do we know he isn’t going for three? He told you about Emily, about where she was. How do we know he isn’t dealing you to the other faction in the Council?”

“Oh, I’m sure he is. I’m sure he and Angela gave me that information on the off chance I slipped away. I’ve proven so elusive, you know.” I sat down on the bed and crunched my way through a messy stack of crackers. “I’m a dangerous man, Wilson.”

“And they’re going to contact the rest of the Council, to let them know you’re coming?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s necessary. They knew we’d figure it out, eventually. Knew we’d figure out where she was. They’re waiting.”

“So this is a trap?”

“Oh, gods, yes.”

“Then what the hell are we doing?”

“What they expect. Right up to the moment we do exactly what they don’t expect,” I said.

“Which is?”

“Well,” I rubbed my eyes and looked down at Wilson. He looked terrible, in his burned clothes and charred skin. “I was hoping you had an idea.”

“Oh, no. I got you out of the Dome. That was my daring rescue. This is your show, Jacob, my boy.”

“Yeah. Well.” I stood up and crossed to the window. “It’s going to have to be a hell of a thing.”

I watched a zepliner dashing in for the docks high above us. Lightning flashed along its sides, glimmering against the pale skin of the anti-ballast. The crew was on the main deck, hauling line and securing cargo. It looked like they were crashing, though I knew better. The docks were just above us, behind the stone walls of the Torch’.

“I know how it’ll happen,” I said.

“They’ll fill us with lead and burn our bodies on the signal fire?” Wilson asked.

“You’re a good guy to have around, Wilson. A real damn pick-me-up.”

He chuckled. “You have a plan.”

“No, no. But I have an idea.”

“Good enough.” He sat up and munched forlornly at a cracker I had dropped. He grimaced, set the cracker down, and looked around the room. “I’m getting tired of waiting.”

“Yeah, me too.” I packed up the revolver, threw Emily’s shotgun over my shoulder and shoved my way through the pile of junk to my front door. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You gonna tell me how we’re going to do this?”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” I said. “I don’t believe me.”

Chapter Seventeen

A Circle of Hammered Brass

G
ETTING IN WAS
easy. I’d been visiting the Academy since I was a starry-eyed kid, spent the best five years of my life in its walls. The Academy and the base were one structure, sealed in stone walls and guard patrols. I had snuck out a hundred times, and snuck back in, with a bottle or a girl.

The streets were empty, but I didn’t know if Sloane and his friends had cleared the residents in anticipation of our approach, or if it was just the weather. Either way, it was creepy. Space had always been tight on the Torch’. The only way I knew this place was crowded, herds of people squeezing through the tunnel-like streets, the narrow walkways that leapt across the many cracks and crevices in the hard stone foundation of the Torchlight. It was never empty, never quiet.

The rain made it worse. The lead skies had opened up, and it felt like the river Dunje was pouring between the buildings. The cobbles were several inches deep with cold water. Even though I walked down the middle of the street, the buildings to either side were hazy and gray.

“You cold?” Wilson asked.

“Nah. Just never seen this place like this.”

“Yeah.” Wilson stretched his arms, walked nervously nearly against the wall, trying to get a little protection from the storm’s assault. “I don’t get up here much.”

“You? Scared of heights or something?”

“Scared of Pilots, actually,” he smiled at me apologetically. “Pilots and the Corps.”

I didn’t ask. The Corps had done plenty in its time, during the various wars and skirmishes that kept Veridon in power. Resentment was natural.

“So how are we getting in?”

“I haven’t really decided yet.”

“I thought you had an idea,” Wilson said. “A clever trick.”

“I do. A brilliant trick,” I said. I bunched my coat up around my neck, then grudgingly moved over closer to the wall opposite Wilson. “But that’s for getting out.”

We walked in silence for a while. I had the box of shells Valentine had given me tucked against my belly. I hoped the powder wouldn’t spoil in this deluge. I wasn’t real sure I’d get to use any of this kit, with Sloane’s crew expecting me. But if I needed it, I’d rather it work.

“So, uh. How are we getting in?”

“You figure it out. I don’t care. We go up to the door and knock. They’re waiting for us, Wilson. We’re not going to be able to sneak in.”

“So what the hell are we doing up here, Jake? I’m not in this to walk in and get shot. Hey,” he grabbed the back of my jacket and spun me around. “I’m not going to be happy just shooting a couple Badges, Jacob. I intend to get through this alive.”

I stared at him a while. Did they have eyes on us, right now? Made sense. If they cleared the streets, if the shops were empty and the cadets tucked into their barracks, if they went to that much trouble, why not guards on the approaches? That’s what I’d do. So, yeah, they’re probably watching us right now.

“You think too much of me, Wilson. I’m not that noble.” I pulled my jacket free and started back up the street. “We’ll get through.”

I didn’t hear him for a dozen steps, then he sloshed through the gutter to catch up.

“I need more than optimism,” he hissed, his face really close to my ear. “I need to know what you’re planning.”

“You think they’re watching us, Wilson? You think they have people watching out for us?”

He stopped again, falling behind. When he came back he was lurking, one of the Badge’s stolen shortrifles in hand.

“Cuz I think they’re watching us,” I said, when he was behind me again. “So that’s why I haven’t told you.”

We were getting close to the base. Its bulk loomed up against the sky, eclipsing the storm for a second. Wind whipped around the stone walls. There were lights inside, bright eyes in the night. There were a couple of guard houses and a bridge that zig-zagged from the main path, each bend passing through a tower’s watchful gate.

I hopped up onto the railing of the first bridge. It was iron and stone, and the rain had made it slick. Wilson followed nervously. I swung my leg over the edge, then tucked the ammunition into various pockets of my coat. I got the shotgun over one shoulder then turned to Wilson.

“Follow close.”

I inched farther out onto the bridge’s structure, keeping three points secure all the way out. The supports blossomed out into the open air, running to the towers and the other two bridges beyond.

“This is the plan? We’re going to climb in?”

“They’re watching every door, Wilson,” I grunted, then crawled a little bit further. “Every window. Just stay close.”

He had no trouble keeping up, obviously. He kept a couple protective spider arms hovering behind my back, another over my head. Halfway across the wind picked up, and the storm hit us. We were out of the Academy’s lee, and I cursed and hunched close to the bridge. The iron was slick. Below us the Dunje was a foggy smear, the tiny lights of barges winking up at us like reflected stars. I paused to secure myself.

“Jacob, I’m not sure—” Wilson said, then I fell.

My lead foot skittered off the metal and I stepped into open air. Wilson’s arms wrapped around me, too quickly, and I overbalanced and slammed against the structure of the bridge. My hands fell off their holds. I slapped at the bars, missed, slapped and ended up on Wilson. He swore in the tearing, shrieking language of the anansi. The wind pulled at us. I was kicking at the bridge, trying to find purchase. Wilson’s arm came free, then his foot. I sagged against his body, completely away from the bridge now. Both his lapels in my fists, I dropped, he dropped, and the wind took us. Screaming, we cartwheeled out into sky, into the storm, and we were falling.

The rope caught about ten feet down. I thought it was going to tear me in half. I barely held on to Wilson and his clambering arms. The rope snapped taut, the movement of our fall arcing us back down under the bridge. I slapped at the dry understructure, felt it slip out from under my fingers. Wilson grabbed on and dragged me in. We climbed on to one of the supports, nestled against the stone and lay there, panting and breathing and staring at the rain.

“Think they were watching?” I asked.

“You fuck. You could have fucking told me.”

“I wanted your reaction to be authentic.” I held the rope up and pulled a section of it tight. “Cut me off this thing, will you?”

He squinted angrily at me, then worked his knife free of his belt and sliced through the rope.

“That’s not even climbing rope,” he said. “It’s just a fucking rope.”

“All I could get.”

“We could have died.”

“Yeah, well. If I kept track of all the times I could have died the last couple weeks, Wilson, I’d get bored.”

He shook his head, then leaned back and rested against the stone.

“Is there some kind of secret entrance under here?” He craned his neck around to look at the craggy stone. “A hidden door that leads to the wine cellar or something?”