ARC: The Buried Life (21 page)

“Figure it out, Malone. You can feel sorry for yourself when they catch you. In the meantime, do what you can for as long as you can. You owe the chief that much.”

Malone felt as though Farrah had slapped her across the face, and she was oddly grateful. “And Sundar?”

“No word on him. They’re after you right now.”

“I have an important lead. I need you to–”

“Don’t tell me. Just get out of here before they start searching for you and lay low. Don’t go home, either.”

Malone nodded. “If Sundar shows up…”

“He’s got a smuggling case waiting for him. Don’t worry about him, just take care of yourself and let Chief Johanssen smooth things out. With any luck, this’ll blow over soon enough.” The tone of her voice did not convince either of them.

Farrah glanced over her shoulder toward her office. Malone pressed the teacup into her hands, and Farrah nodded her thanks, turning back to Johanssen and his inquisitors. As Farrah left her, Malone headed in the direction of a back route, watchful for guards. She followed the hall around its slow curve to the point where it converged with an entry hall, and she saw other inspectors and clerks passing her at a hurried pace, looking over their shoulders. Their agitated murmurs revealed what she should already have guessed: guards checking the exits. These were not the actions of a Council that was only moderately interested in her arrest.

She did not think at this moment that her run-in with the Council would “blow over” any time soon. But later, when there was time to review the events of the past weeks, she would reflect that Farrah was more right about this than either of them could have known.

For now, it was enough to have an idea of what to do next. Turning back down the hall, she set out for the coroner’s office.

Malone passed the pooled offices of the younger inspectors, the desks clustered together and their occupants huddled in conversation. She saw no sign of Sundar. Malone could not afford to wait, nor could she risk leaving him a detailed message. Pressing on, she had to trust that Farrah would take care of him when he arrived. With any luck, he would manage to stay out of trouble and talk to the judges on his own.

After a quick pass through the supply room for traveling equipment, she ducked into the coroner’s office where Dr Brin sat, hunched over his desk. He blinked owlishly when she entered.

“This is an unexpected pleasure, Inspector Malone.”

“I have a favor to ask, Doctor, and there isn’t much time. If you’re willing to help, know that you may spend the next decade in the Barracks if we’re caught. If that sounds like too much, then carry on as if you never saw me.”

He rose, the pale light of the office’s torches shining like a halo on his balding pate. “Inspector, insofar as I can help you, you may assume that I am brittle, ill-tempered, and decades past my prime, but you may not assume that I am a coward. Not another word except for your instructions.”

Malone explained that she needed a way past the guards and out of the station. Brin tapped his shining head.

“Just the thing. Follow me.” He led her out of his office and to a long room lined with metal tables under bright, low-hanging radiance stones. As they crossed into the mortuary, Brin’s left hand darted behind him and shoved Malone back into his office with surprising force.

“David! What are you doing here? Have you any idea what time it is?” Brin’s voice carried all of the hard authority of a schoolmaster, and the unseen David responded to it.

“Sir, I just wanted to get an early start on the examination.” Malone heard a startled quaver in his voice, and she could picture the speaker clearly: young, diligent, and clean-faced, a shock of tousled hair forever obscuring his glasses.

“You know that I cannot concentrate with you banging around in here. Give me an hour of peace, and then you can have as much time as you’d like. Agreed?” Brin’s voice softened as he finished, and David stuttered an apology and retreated to the hallway at the other end of the mortuary. When they were alone, Brin looked back at Malone.

“I dislike scolding him, but I like less the idea of his complicity in this if we’re caught. Now, you’ll go into that cart.”

Sitting in the middle of the room, as if awaiting their purpose, stood a well-worn gurney the length of the tables on either side of the room. Malone pulled a long, white sheet from the top and gazed at the cold metal surface below.

“Not onto it, Inspector, into it. But first, you can help me with the cadaver.” He wheeled the cart next to the nearest table, and she helped him ease the body of an older woman onto it. She felt heavy and strangely unyielding as they settled her into place.

Brin pulled the long shroud over the woman’s face. “And now it’s your turn.”

As Malone climbed into the storage space just above and between the four wheels of the gurney, she reflected that, by comparison, resting on the metal bed above would not have been as uncomfortable as it first seemed. Stretched in the compartment with her pack resting over her hips and an assortment of shrouds and sheets covering her, she was safe as long as no one decided to search.

Fortunately for Malone and Brin, no one did. The trickling currents of people in the station parted at the sight of the gurney, and Malone did not feel their progress slow until they reached the exit.

“What’s this here?” a voice above her asked.

“A cadaver. We’re sending it for cremation.”

“Is that so? Pull back the sheet, then.” In a soft rustle overhead, Malone heard Dr Brin expose the face of the dead woman.

“Satisfied?” Brin did not quite keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Now that you mention it, no. Let’s see what’s underneath.” A little more light reached Malone’s eyes through the screen of sheets as Brin lifted a corner of the shroud on top. “Cremating your laundry as well, old man?”

Malone felt a spike of adrenaline, but her nerves cooled at Dr. Brin’s commanding tone. “We’ve used these linens to cover, handle, and clean cadavers showing signs of dysentery. So, yes, of course we’re going to burn them, but if you really want to dig through them first, be my guest,” he said. “I suggest that you use gloves.”

The shroud dropped back into place, and the guard sounded like he had discovered one of the sheets on his own bed. “That will be all. Move along.” Malone felt grateful for Dr Brin’s imagination, but she nonetheless tasted a hint of bitterness rising in her own throat.

The next time they rolled to a halt, it was in a quiet passage several minutes from the station. Brin pulled back the sheets and looked at her through his bottle-thick spectacles.

“You’d better get out here. Unless you really do want to visit the crematory.”

“Not today. I can’t thank you enough for your help, Dr Brin.”

“Don’t mention it. It isn’t often that I get this much excitement before ten. Good luck with the rest of your day, Inspector Malone.” With that, he wheeled the gurney down the empty tunnel, a spring in his step and a meandering tune on his lips.

Shouldering her pack, she set off in the direction of Recoletta’s main train station, almost due south. Avoiding public transportation and keeping an eye out for patrols, she calculated that she could reach the station in an hour.

When the gilded arch of the station swung into view overhead, she glanced at the clock in the center: a quarter of ten. Fairview lay almost halfway between Recoletta and South Haven. With any luck, she could find a train bound for the latter and book passage out. She passed under the arch and into the fog of steam and smoke that, despite Recoletta’s sophisticated ventilation, still managed to choke the train station.

In fact, because of that haze, she did not realize that she had been caught until she was standing in front of the ticket counter, reserving a seat on the steam engine leaving in the next forty-five minutes. She heard a familiar and unwelcome voice.

“Going somewhere?”

She whirled around to see a phalanx of guards already surrounding her. In the middle stood Dominguez, as sickeningly smarmy as ever. In an instant, Malone realized that she almost would have preferred to surrender in Johannsen’s office than face arrest by Dominguez. “Captain Fouchet has issued orders to arrest you on sight for treasonous interference, and here you are at the train station. A coward as well as a fool, then?”

“If you’re going to arrest me, you’ll need some charges to go with your new rank, Interim Director.”

Dominguez reddened. “Which part do you not understand, Inspector: the treason or the interference?”

“The evidence.”

“You received an ultimatum less than two weeks ago, that under no circumstances were you to continue your investigations of the Vineyard murders.”

“So?”

“You questioned Roman Arnault in the hospital…”

“Following up on an assault. It’s standard procedure.”

“…and dug around the Wickery office in the same day. It’s almost like you were looking for attention.”

“Those cases have been closed and filed for ten years. Is there a connection?”

Dominguez began to purple. “Inspector Malone, please. Don’t be so coy.”

“If you want to accuse me of breaking my orders, then you’ll have to link the Vineyard murders to those cases,” she said.

“Well, if we need more evidence, perhaps we should arrest your partner as well. Of course, we were hoping to avoid complications.” Subdued, Malone glared at him. “Then again, you could always accompany us to the Barracks, and we could keep this simple.” He drew himself up beside her, speaking directly into her ear. “Are you going to give us trouble, Inspector?” Dominguez waited, watching her. He stepped away from her and addressed the nearest guard. “Lock her up. She’s coming with us.”

Malone held out her wrists and allowed herself to be cuffed and marched back into the city. The small crowd that had gathered to watch from a distance dispersed as Malone and her captors filed into a prisoner transport carriage, heavy with bars and bolts.

#

Inspector Malone had escorted many a criminal to justice by similar means, but this was her first time on the other side of the shackles. She found it distinctly unpleasant.

She sat on a hard bench, the bars that separated her from the guards just inches from her knees. There were six in the carriage with her, and they gazed at her with hostile uncertainty as their conveyance bounced along the cobblestones. The bars that spanned the windows cast shifting shadows across the guards’ faces, and they seemed to constantly weave and whisper as they slid from darkness into light. Ahead, Dominguez and his own contingent rode in a grander carriage befitting their triumphant return.

As the carriage slowed to a stop, Malone tilted her head to peer between the bars. Before her rose the impenetrable facade of the Barracks. Whereas Callum Station housed Recoletta’s law enforcement, the Barracks was home to Recoletta’s military – the guards and agents under the direct control of the Council. Like a massive, geometric octopus, it rose up and spread grasping bastions into the open cavern around it. The veranda was a formation of obelisk towers that emerged over the horizon like thick fingers.

Nearby was the political seat of Recoletta, Dominari Hall, which overlooked the underground networks from its rise at the western terminus of the Spine. Its gleaming marble surfaces seared the eyes after the dull grey of the Barracks. Majestic spires punctured the earth to mark the capitol building above ground. Dominari Hall and the Barracks made up the control center of Recoletta, with political grace backed by brute force.

Malone could not help but look up as she was led across the featureless stone courtyard to the Barracks. So solid was the building and so ingenious its construction that it did not appear to have any entrances at all, only square faces and block arms that seemed to absorb and emit guards at random.

Inside, her escorts directed her through several corridors and finally down many flights of stairs until they arrived at what, for its cultivated gloom and memorable odors, had to be the dungeon. The guards relieved Malone of her possessions and undid her shackles, shoving her into a lone cell.

Dominguez followed them, stopping just inside the cell. From the way he looked around him, Malone guessed that he didn’t feel comfortable going farther than that, guards or no. “I’m going to leave you here a little while to reflect on your actions,” he said, recovering some of his bluster. “But don’t make yourself too comfortable. We’ll call on you soon enough.”

Malone did not break her gaze. “For my trial?”

He cocked his head. “What trial?”

“The one where you demonstrate the evidence against me. So you can keep me in jail.”

He tented his fingers in front of his lips and smiled indulgently. “Inspector Malone, I’m afraid you’re looking at this all wrong. We’re not charging you as a criminal, we’re charging you as a traitor, and you’re not being jailed, you’re being held. Indefinitely.”

“When will you inform my department of my arrest?” she asked quietly. Chief Johanssen would know that she had escaped the guards at Callum Station, but he would not know that they had apprehended her an hour later. If he believed that she was in hiding, it could be quite some time before anyone came looking for her here.

“I really don’t think that will be necessary. Your Chief Johanssen has enough to worry about without having your treason on his mind, do you not agree?”

Malone glared back at Dominguez.

In the doorway, his silhouette lowered its head. “Now Malone, bitterness does not become you. If you’ll quit being so selfish, I know you’ll come around in a few days. If not, I’m sure we can help you with that.”

Malone felt the futility of argument, but she feared what would happen inside her if she stopped fighting. “When the Council gets word of this, you’ll lose more than your title.”

The guards backed away and stood behind Dominguez. He glanced at them as the space between him and Malone cleared. “And where do you think I get my orders? Your fate has been decided by the highest authority, and after your imprudence, I’m afraid you’re out of allies.” He paused, sighing and straightening his jacket. “I cannot waste any more of my time like this. Should you require anything, you may summon room service with a shout.” Dominguez turned and strode out of the cell, a pair of guards slamming the heavy door and locking it with a disheartening series of thuds and cranks. Malone flew to the door’s barred window and pressed her face to it as she watched the men retreat the way they had come, leaving a lone guard to monitor the cellblock.

Leaning into a corner, Malone surveyed her new accommodations. The cell measured about nine by seven feet with no apparent outlet except the heavy iron door through which she had entered. Smooth and without a handle, it sealed the wall, and she could discern no way to pry it open, pick its lock, or remove it from its hinges, and certainly not without alerting the guard outside. The barred window at chin level was barely wide enough to see through, and the slit for the food tray was secured from the other side.

A straw cot with a single moth-eaten sheet sat in the farthest corner of the room. Malone searched the large, rough-hewn blocks that formed the walls with stretched palms and probing fingertips and then their counterparts in the floor on hands and knees, but she found nothing except a thick layer of grime. Every block was solid and every seam filled flush with the rest of the wall. Listening in the near-darkness, Malone heard only the intermittent pacing of the lone guard echoing in the otherwise empty cellblock. Even here, she was alone. She slumped onto her cot and sighed, feeling defeated for the first time since Cahill’s murder.

Lying on the hard plank and staring at the ceiling, Malone listened absently to the stirring of the guard outside. As she counted his steps, she thought she heard them double. She sat up and realized that another guard had joined the first and that the two were conversing. She silently slid off of the cot and crept to the door, poised just under the window to listen.

“…between you ’n’ me, but I’m a bit nervous about it,” said one guard.

“What’s to worry about? It’s just another job.”

“It’s my first time out at the site, you know.”

“Oh, I get it. Look,” the other said, “just keep to your post and stay on alert. And mind you stay out of everyone else’s way.”

“Nothing I’d like more.”

“If you see anyone unfamiliar approaching the site, kindly escort them to the captain on duty. No sweat, easy as pie.” Malone did not like the sour emphasis that the guard put on the word “kindly”.

The first guard shifted as he worked up a response. “It’s just that, well, I heard they caught someone snooping around last week…”

“And?”

“And what happened to him?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to. The site’s a secret for a reason,” said the second, quickly. The direction of his voice wavered, giving Malone the impression that he was looking around as their conversation lingered on the subject of the mysterious site.

“But why?” asked the first. “Do we even know what this place is?”

“Look, mate, that ain’t for you or me to know, alright? You’re asking too many questions. Just keep your mind on the job and forget about the rest,” the second man said. “Hey, they’re paying us enough for that, don’t you think?” he asked, trying, with minimal success, to lighten the mood.

The other guard mumbled something in reply, and when they concluded their conversation, Malone shuffled back to her cot and returned to counting the first guard’s footsteps. In a matter of moments, her eyelids drooped shut and she fell soundly to sleep.

She awoke suddenly with a mixture of guilt and surprise. Blinking, she guessed that several hours must have passed, and she listened for sounds of the guard outside. Silence. She rose from the lumpy cot, ignoring the kink in her back, and tiptoed to the door to listen again. Still nothing. She straightened her knees to peer through the tiny window.

“Malone.”

A husky whisper startled her, causing her to jump back half a foot. She returned to the narrow window and peeked out from all directions, but she couldn’t see anyone from her angle. “Who’s there?” she whispered back to the empty hall.

“Quiet. Listen carefully, Malone. The guard rotation begins in two minutes. For now, the cellblock is empty. When I open the door, climb the stairs by which you descended and take an immediate right at the top.”

“Hold it. Who are you and what are you doing?”

“No questions. That tunnel will lead you out of the Barracks, and from there you will skirt the complex until you reach the passage running south. This will take you back to the train station, and from there, you can…”

“What makes you think you know where I’m going?”

The disembodied voice on the other side of the door chuckled. “I certainly know where you were arrested, and there’s only one place you would have been headed from there. I can only assume you mean to finish what you started. And I suggest that you do it quickly.” He cleared his throat and continued.

“Once you have left, don’t stop or turn back for any reason. You will have five minutes from the time you leave this cell before someone returns and finds you missing. If anyone sees you along the way, I trust you know what to do. The door is unlocked,” Malone heard a rattle and a muffled thud as her mysterious benefactor turned the key and unbarred the door, “and you may count to twenty once I leave.”

He hesitated. “And one more thing. At all costs you must avoid being seen at the site. There’s a river fifty minutes after leaving the third farming commune – Fairview. Jump the southbound before the train crosses the river and follow it southeast until you reach the ruined veranda with the giant man, then follow the broken arrow another two miles east. You can observe from an elevated position, but stay away from the main entrance.”

“Wait! What do you expect me to do once I get there?” she asked, still craning her head to get a view of the stranger.

“Start counting, Malone.” She heard the soft rustle of fabric as her nameless ally hurried away, still out of sight. Resisting temptation, she dutifully counted down before slipping out of her cell and into an empty hallway. No one stood at the guard desk, and she replaced the keys on their nail in the wall. Her things were scattered on the desk. She quickly threw on her coat and secured her equipment, turning up the stairs and ignoring the wrenching of nerves in the pit of her stomach.

She passed no one on her ascent and, after a much longer journey than she remembered, she reached the level from which her captors had led her. To her right, as promised, was a narrow passage, which appeared virtually unused. Malone decided to take advantage of her opportunity while this was the case.

Guiding flames set on parallel tracks in the walls led her through the winding tunnel and, amazed at her good fortune, she passed no one. A grayish blob of an exit appeared as she rounded the last bend.

Malone stopped when she reached the end of the tunnel, her nose not quite flush with the open doorway, and listened. Someone paced twenty-five feet above her head. Another pair of footsteps joined the first: the new guard on duty coming to relieve his predecessor. Looking up, she saw that the walls rise straight to the polygonal ridge where the exchange was taking place. She glanced over her shoulder as she heard footsteps echoing down the previously-deserted hall and heading in her direction. There was no cover from the guards up top, so she would have to hug the walls and ease around the corners as her unknown friend had instructed her, hoping that the guards would not wander any closer to the edge of their lookout.

She edged along the wall, pressing herself as close to it as possible. She moved steadily and silently, sliding along the stone. Malone heard a choking sound from above and froze, prepared to bolt, when a wad of phlegm landed inches from the toe of her boot.

Not daring to crane her head upwards, she remained still for a moment more before stepping over the spot on the ground and continuing her shuffle.

Another set of footsteps echoed in the direction that she had come from, spurring her to creep faster. When she reached the south edge of the building, she knew she was free. A crude tunnel ran up to the side of the Barracks where the walls of the building merged with the cavern. She sprinted for the tunnel and traced a maze of half-empty passageways back to the transit station without incident.

The honeycomb of streets and passages merged into a hub of activity as Malone reached the station, where the damp tunnel walls glistened as the night sky surely did outside. Instead of returning to the ticket desk, she made her way to the back cars of the southbound lines where laborers were loading freight destined for South Haven, Morsefield, Juny, and beyond. Riding in the passenger cars up front was no longer an option, so she would again have to content herself with the cramped company of crates and cargo.

Ducking between the hulking boxcars and in and out of plumes of steam, Malone located a series of linked cars carrying cargo marked for South Haven. Securing passage unnoticed was simply a matter of slipping into a half-packed car while the laborers were otherwise occupied and settling into a nook between the boxes, sacks, and barrels. When the door to her car rolled shut with a clank and the angled diamond of light disappeared from the wall next to her, and Liesl Malone breathed a sigh of relief.

She emerged from her cranny as the train slid to life beneath her feet. Steadying herself against the walls, she weaved to the other end of the car, where clouded windowpanes conveyed the ghost of movement. Malone sat on a burlap sack of something that felt like grain, watching the flurry of twinkles outside as the train rushed through tunnels with gleaming dewdrop points, an imitation sky. When the metal behemoth lurched out of its warrens and into the natural night, she could only tell the difference by the stillness. She settled onto her sack, watching the dark patches of scenery fly by and aware for the first time that she had never before seen so many trees.