Heart of Veridon (14 page)

“Well. Maybe with good reason. Hanging out with you seems to be a world of trouble.”

She was leaning against the bed, her arms crossed, just a crack of a smile leaking across her face. I smiled and put a hand against her elbow. She didn’t move it.

“Hanging out with me has always been trouble. Why should now be any different?”

She smiled a little more, but didn’t move her arms. She turned away and walked to one of the tables nearby.

“I got you some new clothes. Took the sizing from the ones you ruined. I hope the cut’s not too modern.”

“I’m sure they’re fine. Emily, what happened in your apartment? What did you do with the Cog?”

She paused, rearranged the clothes on the table, folding and refolding the pants and vest.

“What’s the story with that Cog, Jacob? What’s the real story?”

“Like I said. Marcus gave it to me, but I think there’s a lot going on with it.” I didn’t want to tell her more than that, yet. I didn’t know what she had to do with all this. Didn’t know I could trust her.

“A lot going on with it.” She nodded and turned to me, leaning against the table, her hands behind her back. “That’s one way of putting it. There were some men, after you left. They must have been watching the place.”

“What men? How were they dressed?”

“Nondescriptly. Perfectly… unremarkable. It scared the hell out of me. They were asking about you, what my business was with you.”

“What’d you say?”

“That I didn’t know you. Never heard of you, or anyone fitting your description. They didn’t pretend to believe me.”

“Did they ask about the Cog?”

She turned back to the clothes. I could see that she had hidden the shotgun among them, and was now refolding the clothes and checking for grease. She set the shotgun aside. “They asked about any strange devices. If you’d tried to sell me anything, or seemed anxious to move any strange property.”

“How the fuck did they know?”

She shrugged and hefted the shotgun, then turned back to me. “Point is, they knew.”

“Who were they?”

“I told you, there was nothing remarkable about them.”

“Who do you think they were?” I asked. I realized I was leaning forward, gripping the bed. My chest wasn’t hurting anymore.

“They were Council. Had to be. One of them was really creepy.”

“Sloane.”

“You know the guy?” she asked.

“We’ve met. And I’ve seen his name around.” I flopped back onto the bed. I wanted to have a little talk with Mr. Sloane, one of these days.

“So where’s the Cog?” I asked.

“I hid it. As soon as they left I took it and went out the dumb waiter. It’s safe.”

“There’s another way out of that place? You could have told me, Em. I had to do some damage to your property getting out.”

She smiled. “Girl’s got to have some secrets, Jacob Burn.”

“Your secret almost got me killed.”

Again, she shrugged. She put the shotgun into a travel bag, along with some food and a knife she produced from her skirts.

“You got out, and then I came and rescued you, and took you to my very competent and expensive friend. So we’re even.”

“I’m going to leave that ledger open, Emily.”

“So what about you? Did the meeting with Prescott go okay?”

“Did it go… my god. No, Emily, it did not.” I was standing and didn’t remember doing it. “Everything about it went exactly not okay. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Did you make the deal?”

“Yes.”

“So that went okay.”

“Except Prescott insisted that the meeting place was a requirement on our side. That Valentine or Cacher or you had required we meet at the party. Was that your requirement, Emily?”

“No, of course not. I just handed you the job.” She finished with the bag and folded it closed. “The details came from Valentine.”

“From Valentine, or from Cacher?”

“Well… Cacher. But he said—”

“Nevermind. Someone set up that meeting, and not for the cassiopia. Strange things happened, Em. Where’s my coat?” I stumbled across the room, the bedclothes clutched around my chest. Emily raised a hand and put it against my arm.

“Oh, no. You’re recovering fast, but you’re not going anywhere.”

“Not yet at least, but I don’t like staying still. Now where’s… here.” The coat was thrown across one of the tables, blood still spotting the chest and arms. I started to rummage through it. The revolver was still in the pocket. I took it out and turned.

Emily had that shotgun of hers out, braced against her hip, the dark little barrel staring at my belly. I held up my hands and let the pistol dangle from a finger.

“Jumpy?” I asked.

“You’re acting strange and pulling guns. I have every reason to be jumpy.”

“Just look at the pistol, Em.”

She grimaced and lowered the gun. “Sorry, Jacob. Strange days.”

“Strangest.” I reversed the grip and handed it to her.

“It’s seen some use, but it’s pretty clean,” she said as she turned it over in her hands. “What am I looking at?”

“Provenance.”

She peered at the inscription along the barrel. “
Glory of Day
? Did Marcus give you this, too?”

I shook my head. “Nope. But someone did, up on the Heights. And if that were the strangest thing that happened, I’d thank the hidden cogs and become a holy Wright.”

She snorted and handed me the pistol. “The monk’s life doesn’t suit you, Jacob. It’d be such a waste.”

I realized I’d lost hold of the blanket, and that most of my chest and leg was exposed. I flushed, and Wilson barreled into the room.

“You’re up,” he said. He turned to Emily. “What’s he doing up?”

“Making a point,” I said, taking the pistol from Emily’s hand and covering myself with the sheet. “Where have you been?”

“Been? I’ve been down the street, trying to find a way in without getting caught. The whole iron-damned Badge is outside. Some kind of big metal carriage trundling around.” He rushed to his table and began throwing things into a belted pouch. “You should get your things together.”

“The Badge?” Emily asked. “I saw that patrols were up, but that’s no reason to go rushing out. Jacob’s still recovering and—”

“Jacob looks plenty recovered to me. Though really, Miss Emily, you should leave the medical examinations to the professionals.” Wilson smirked, then looped the satchel over his chest. Emily tinged crimson then stalked to her bag by the bed. The wiry anansi looked at me and smiled. “Get your things together, son. Badge man is coming.”

“You said a carriage? Iron?”

“Yeah,” Wilson said. “We can chat about it later.”

“How close did you get? Was it cold?”

Wilson paused and turned to me. “Could be. Thinking about it, yeah. There was frost on the iron, and the closest Badgemen wore heavy gloves. What about it?”

“I saw the same carriage, outside your apartment, Em.” I turned to her. “I think that’s how they’re finding us.”

“Some new trick?” she asked. I shrugged. Wilson stared thoughtfully up into the rafters.

“Well, it could be—”

“Figure it out later,” Emily snapped. She tossed me my new clothes and pushed Wilson back to his work bench. “Mystery later, kids.”

I caught the clothes and, doing my best to forget the lovely lady in the room, pulled them on. I shrugged into my jacket, slipped the revolver into the inside holster strap and turned. The others were waiting.

“Out the front?” I asked. “Or is there a back door?”

“There are many doors, but by now all of them will be watched. I barely got in.” Wilson looked uncomfortable, then shrugged in complicated ways. “Forgive me, but there’s only one way to do this.”

He stepped forward, his back lurching as he moved. He seemed to writhe in place, his shirt bunching and crawling around his shoulders. Eventually the shirt tore free and the rest of him, the spider part of him, came out. Rising like wings gutted of their feathers, eight thin legs fanned out from Wilson’s back. The legs were hard carapace, the color of bone, and about as thick as a naked arm bone as well. They clicked as he spread them, the hard talons at their tip scraping against the tile wall. Wilson sighed contentedly, stretching and flexing the legs.

“Hate tying them up,” he whispered. “Hate binding them down. But what’s to do, in people town, hm? What’s to do?”

“Well, enough reminiscing,” I said. “We getting out of here or what?”

Wilson looked at me sharply, his placid face suddenly hard and wild. I was reminded that the anansi were not all tame and kind. Wildness still surged in their blood. He grinned with his rows of pointed teeth. “Of course, of course. My apologies.” He made it sound like a curse, then sprang up onto the wall and scuttled out of sight, into the darkness high above.

“Well,” Emily said, craning her neck to look up. “That’s good for him. What are we supposed to do?”

“Oh, that’s nothing, Em,” I said. “We’ll just fly. Sprout wings and fly.”

She snorted, but her hands were still white on the gun.

“Wilson,” I yelled. “You got a ladder up there or something? A way up?”

There was silence, then the cycled whining of metal. The sound was coming from the door Wilson had entered moments earlier. Emily and I looked at each other, then took cover behind the bed.

The whining stopped, but seconds later came the
thud-thud
of boots in the hall. The door kicked in, and the iron masks of Badge in full storm gear peeked around the corner. We didn’t move.

“This is it,” the lead guy said. He didn’t sound too sure, more like a question than anything. He poked his shortrifle in then crept into the room. Others followed. He wasn’t ten feet away when Emily started shooting.

She had the shotgun low, braced on her shoulder as she lay under the bed. The shot went out through the metal framework of the bed, cutting a bright red line through the Badgemen. A couple fell, their knees pulpy red, screaming. Their mates fired back, grabbed the downed officers and dragged them out. The door closed again.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

“It worked, right? They’re gone.”

“They’re going to come back, lady. They’re going to come back with more people.” I stood up and slid one of the tables so it blocked the short hallway to the door. “They’re not going to take any chances with sneaking in or clearing the building. They’re going to burn us out.”

“I think not,” Wilson said from high above. “They have enough people out here. They seem intent on taking us alive.”

A heavy rope fell in the center of the room, its end trailing up into the darkness. I grabbed my bag.

“Get up,” I said to Emily. “They’ll take a few minutes before they try again.”

“After you,” she said. “I won’t have you looking up as I go.”

“Godmercy. The daintiest whore in Veridon. I half think—”

She really stepped into the blow. She put the heel of her palm into my jaw, twisting my teeth into my tongue and spinning my head. I sat down on the floor.

“Watch the fucking door,” she spat, then hiked up the rope with her satchel across her back. I waited until she was good and clear of the floor before I followed. My mouth was leaking blood.

On the roof, Wilson seemed to have resumed his civilized demeanor. He still had his legs out, and his eyes were wild and free, but when he talked it was with a reasonable voice. He was perched at the top of a steeple, his legs pinched down on the windvane, his hands clutching a long rifle. The rope came out from a skylight that ringed the steeple, the panes blackened with pitch. The whole roof slanted precariously to the street. I held on to the rope and hunkered down.

This collection of buildings was on a narrow terrace between broader districts. All the stone had settled like tired soldiers at the end of a century of marching. The narrow, crooked streets were full of Badge. Wilson’s building fronted a tiny square, part of the old academic district, from before the Algorithm’s dominance. The walls were all close together, the streets shadowed by stone and mossy eaves. They weren’t built for the large automated carriages that dominated traffic in modern Veridon. The Badge had all the routes blocked. I could see two whole fists of the gray-coated officers standing in bunches or knocking on doors in the district. The sky above was slate, a low cloud cover that threatened rain.

“What the hell are we supposed to do? Fly?” Emily whispered.

“We’ll go by roof, until they see us. If the zeps get involved, we’ll just have to bite the bullet and find a way out by street.” Wilson checked the load on his rifle then scampered down the roof. We followed, but carefully.

Wilson led us to what looked like a warehouse. His building was part of an academic complex, the whole block seemingly abandoned. Getting to the warehouse was a trick, but it looked like Wilson had practiced this route before. He scuttled down the roof then pounced across the alley and rolled behind a chimney. Emily and I waited at the gutter, looking at each other nervously, until the thin man reappeared with a board. It wasn’t wide enough to make for a comfortable crossing, but we made it. He was pulling the board back when he stopped, his face pale.