ARC: The Buried Life (24 page)

“In the hopes that we could work something out. That we could talk more outside the city.”

“All alone. How very commendable.” She stopped and looked up at him with the most frightening Cheshire cat smile Malone had ever seen.

“Only my civic duty. Which, at this moment, is to discover your purpose here.”

“My purpose, as you so aptly put it, is to recover and guard the secrets that have survived, to restore the knowledge around us to proper use and authority, and to piece together a history that was forged long before your oldest memories and that will persist beyond your pitiable life… which may not be very long.”

A familiar crease crossed Sundar’s smooth brow. “What?”

At that moment, a guard who had been waiting in the wings materialized behind Sundar and jabbed a dagger into the young inspector’s back. Sundar’s eyes flew wide in confusion and pain, and a scream rattled pitifully in his throat. He sank to his knees, the guard easing him down. “I am sorry, Mr Sundar,” Hask said. “But it’s a pity you didn’t read more.” None of the researchers looked up from their work as the guard dragged him out of the reading room, a trail of blood smearing beneath his limp legs.

Malone knelt in her spot behind the banister, frozen. A scream stuck in her throat, leaving her as helpless to free it as she had been to save Sundar. She looked up at the statues, as if hoping that their eyes had witnessed a different scene. Suddenly, the sight of the statues, the faded paint, the musky desk and forgotten books filled her with an unspeakable revulsion. Numb, but for the tremors zipping through her body, she crawled back to the rockslide and clambered up the debris and back through the window. Malone gasped at the brisk morning air as sunlight hit her face and clawed her way out of the pit, which now felt like a grave. Reaching the surface, she hunkered down on her hands and knees and vomited. Her face was already wet with tears, and frozen in her mind was the final image of Sundar’s face as he fell to his knees, stricken with terrible understanding.

“I truly am sorry for your loss, but believe me when I tell you that he was gone the moment he set foot in that place.” Malone stumbled around to face a man she had never before seen. He was thin and tall, though it was hard to tell how tall, crouched as he was. His wispy, bright red hair framed an elegant face, but what caught her attention were his eyes, shrewd and motionless. “Almost no one who has discovered Project Prometheus has lived to tell about it,” he said, seeming to hold back a conspiratorial wink, “and I believe you’ll understand why.” She dimly realized that she was still bent over a pile of her own sick, trembling.

“I suppose that you’ll require an explanation. Sit down, let’s get you out of that mess… that’s better.” Pulling her away from the dome, he sat across from her in a fresh patch of grass and tilted his head with the matter-of-fact air of someone about to share common knowledge. “Inspector Malone, we’ve much to talk about. Yes, I know who you are, and my name is Jakkeb Sato.”

Chapter
1
5

The
Revelations

Jane fought her way through the crowds and headed toward the Vineyard. Confusion swept the streets as the masses swarmed in panic tides, and scattered squads of the City Guard attempted to stem them. She had rushed from the restaurant, deaf to Olivia’s protests and Fredrick’s questions. Foreseeing Jane’s destination, Olivia had gone so far as to try and stop her, but Fredrick had restrained Olivia as Jane set off at a swift jog.

Her mind whirled as she pushed her way through streets and tunnels. Olivia’s latest revelation had left Jane dazed, but she was inclined to believe it. If Roman had really assigned Olivia to eliminate her, the savvy maid could have easily done so, and she certainly would not have bothered to treat her to lunch and a safe haven that afternoon. But as much as she wanted to feel gratitude toward her protectors, she was appalled by the implication of their role in the bombings. She did not want to believe that Roman himself was responsible for the murders… or could it have been Olivia, making outings at strange hours? Jane needed answers and she only knew of one person to ask. She would only have to hope that she could overcome his usual predilection for dodging questions.

As she raced through town, she wondered about the actual damage of the bombs. So far, she had only seen the secondary effects manifest in city-wide hysteria, but a dark corner of her mind dreaded the moment that would thrust her up against the bloody face of the tragedy. Rounding a corner and rushing directly into a knot of panic, she saw the cause of the uproar.

Nearly half of the block ahead of her was smashed. Where once a hive of offices had stood, a pile of smoking rubble and bodies now lay. Ordinary citizens and whitecoat medics alike heaved moaning and screaming bodies from the wreckage and lay them in what open space they could find, no doubt praying for the swift arrival of the ambulance carriages, while a crowd of useless onlookers stood by in shock. The area where the offices had stood was cleft open like a cross-section, showing halls and rooms that now led nowhere. Jane hoped that the bombs of “various sizes” had been mostly smaller.

When she neared Carnegie, she slowed her pace. The crowds had thinned drastically as she approached the Vineyard, leading her to believe that the whitenails and their associates had either fled or hidden in their mansions. Stranger still was the sudden absence of guards. The few Jane had seen had been busy redirecting the crowds. Jane covered the last leg of her journey at a lope before that could change.

She pounded on Roman Arnault’s door, struggling with the possibility that he might be elsewhere. The tide of recent events – from the bombings and Olivia’s subsequent revelations to her own intrigues and attack (which now seemed distant and minute by comparison) – had left her with enough to sort out through many sleepless nights, but the thought of bearing it without any idea of what it all meant was too much. Out of breath and shaking with nerves, she leaned against the doorpost and continued beating an irregular rhythm on the door. She relaxed when Roman opened it, looking, if possible, even more surprised than he had at her first visit.

“Roman, I–”

“I warned you against coming back.” He sighed, sounding more weary than angry. “Quickly, before someone sees you,” he said, taking her arm and not waiting for a response. He guided her back to the drawing room with neither the hospitality nor the wrath of before, but with a sense of urgency. He brought her once again to the crackling fireplace and turned her to face him. “Jane, I cannot tell you what a mistake you’ve made in coming here. What can I say to make you understand that you have to stay away?”

“You lied the other night, didn’t you?” Jane said. Roman blinked, mystified. “You didn’t send Olivia to kill me.”

“Oh, that… is that what you came all the way to tell me? Thoughtful, but I’m afraid this was unnecessary,” he said, a strain of emotion coloring his dark voice. “You’ve put yourself in more danger by coming here.”

Jane dropped into the chair next to her. “Danger from what? The Council?”

Roman grasped her hands and gently pulled her to her feet again. “No, it’s much worse than that. For you, anyway. The Council will soon be among the least of your worries, and for that reason you must leave. Tonight.”

“Leave where?”

His eyes flew wide and he leaned closer to her, his hands shaking hers with emphasis. “The city! Recoletta. After tonight, this place will no longer be safe for you.” He watched her eyes for understanding and continued more calmly. “I have exercised what little influence I have, but you know too much, and they will kill you for it if you remain. I wanted you to stay out of the murders and the rest of this mess, but you’re too close to be safe,” he said, awkwardly, avoiding her eyes.

“Who are ‘they’? And what could I possibly know?”

Roman hesitated. “The Council’s replacements. And you know that the Council didn’t break down on its own.”

“There was a murderer. Everyone knows that.”

“Do they?” Roman raised an eyebrow. “People believe it because they’ve been told so. But when this is all over, they’ll be told another story: that the Council cannibalized itself, and that the councilors and their most corrupt cronies turned on one another when their machinations spiraled out of control.”

“And that’s how the murders happened?” said Jane.

Roman nodded. “And the replacements figured it out and came to clean house.”

“People will never believe that.”

“People allow themselves to believe a lot of things, Jane. And once this all plays out, it will make more sense than you think. But you’re one of the few people in Recoletta who know better.”

Jane bit her lip. “I could go along with it.”

“Not convincingly.”

“No one knows who I am,” Jane said. “No one even knows I was in Mr Fitzhugh’s house.” She paused, wrinkling her brow. “Well, almost no one.”

“These things have a way of getting out. We can’t take that chance.”

“But this doesn’t make sense! If ‘they’ wanted me dead, the real murderer could have easily killed me two weeks ago.”

He still held her hands in a surprisingly warm and soft grip. “It was not the murderer who drugged you,” he said, watching her. He looked down at his hands and quickly dropped them to his sides. “Don’t make me say it.”

She hesitated and regarded him. “You mean that you…? It was you in the house that night?”

“You said that you had more errands in the Vineyard, and of course I knew what had already been arranged at a certain address and time,” he said. His gruffness sounded as artificial as Jane now knew his threats to be. “The assassin only had one target, but any complications would necessarily be eliminated. I followed you and, after some difficulty in that darkness, incapacitated you.” He cleared his throat and looked away, frowning. “I later explained that I had followed the assassin to keep an eye on things, which, after the way he nearly bungled the first job, was not unreasonable,” he added crossly, “and that in his carelessness, a young housekeeper had followed him in… and was no longer a threat. By the time they learned that you were alive, it was too late to do anything. They had been convinced that it wasn’t worth the effort to get to you.” Roman did not have to tell Jane who had done the convincing. The faint color in his cheeks said everything.

Jane rubbed the smooth edge of a thumbnail, letting the information sink in. “You left the door open.”

“Of course I did,” he said, eying her oddly. “You might not have been discovered for another day or two had I not.” Given the tangle of mysteries, she was pleased to have answered at least one question almost by herself. Another soon occurred to her.

“What about Hollens? How did the assassin kill him without any complications?”

“Hollens kept a staff.” He looked at her, waiting.

Her eyes widened as realization dawned on her. “And you’ve had people on the inside.” He only nodded. “People like you.”

“It wasn’t me. But yes, people like me.”

She frowned, deep creases lining her forehead and the area around her mouth. “You didn’t do it, but you knew about it. All of these people dead, and you let it happen.”

He stared back at her. “You assume they were innocent, Jane. Don’t.”

“Whether they were innocent is a different question from whether they deserved to die, Roman. Who deserves to be murdered?”

“Those who allow others to be murdered.” His nostrils flared, but his voice lacked the fire of a zealot’s conviction. Instead, Jane heard controlled reason and exhaustion.

“Does that mean you’d count yourself in that group?” Jane asked. The question sounded peevish when it left her lips, and as soon as she saw Roman’s sad smile, she regretted it. Jane shook her head. “But what about the bomb victims? Or do you expect me to believe that they were also guilty of something?”

Roman’s features darkened with a quiet fury. “There weren’t supposed to be any. The bombs were intended to scatter the guards and force people indoors… and they were supposed to detonate on the outskirts of town. I suppose I was a fool to believe that the plan would be so clean.” He stared into the fire, fidgeting with something in his right pocket.

She hesitated, watching Roman’s fierce distraction before deciding on another line of questioning. “And the other night…”

He looked up again, his features almost relaxed. “An attempt to drive you away. Unsuccessful, apparently,” he said with a rueful smile.

“And your attack was staged?”

He rested a hand on the mantel, gazing back into the fireplace. “Olivia realized after speaking with you and that reporter that my name was under suspicion, and something had to be done to remove it. The attack was staged, but the wounds were real,” he said, drawing a finger across his side and turning the fading bruise on his face to her. “It had to be convincing.”

Jane winced. “That’s quite a commitment to your cause.”

“Only what was necessary. They have the plan, and I’m prepared to see it through to the end.”

Jane shook her head, feeling her impatience build. “But I still don’t understand who ‘they’ are or what your part in all this is.”

“Keep your voice down,” he said. Roman held a hand to her and waited, listening. “You’re dead if they catch you here, do you understand?”

She gritted her teeth. “That’s why I’m leaving tonight, remember? Leaving home for a place where I’ll have no money, no job, and no ties to anyone. And since I am, you might as well tell me all of it.”

He took a deep breath. “I’d hate to send you away with unanswered questions, especially knowing how far you’ll go to resolve them. This begins fourteen years ago with the deaths of Councilor and Lady Sato, which I trust you are old enough to remember.”

“Yes.”

He looked slightly relieved. “The Council had, through the research of its historians, learned of an ancient library from antebellum civilization. The Library of Congress, as it was called, was reputed to have the largest collection of books, essays, and information in the world at the time of the catastrophe, and its stores included all subjects: history, philosophy, science, technology. It was the latter category that interested the Council most. The Council learned that the Library, if it still existed, would not be far from Recoletta. Less than two hundred miles, among the ruins of a forgotten capital.

“The majority of the councilors, under the leadership of the already powerful Ruthers, were in favor of finding this Library and its hidden stores of knowledge. The only opposition came from Councilor Sato, who not only resisted the plan, but forbade it. As Councilor Sato was the head of the Directorate of Preservation and highly respected among peers and citizens, this posed a problem for Ruthers and the other seven.” Roman pawed a stubbled cheek before continuing.

“They tried to persuade him, but he declared that if they pursued the project, he would announce it to the public. His decision was final, and the rest of the Council realized that there was no way to excavate the Library with Sato in place. So, a handful of councilors, led by Ruthers, arranged for his assassination. The others turned a blind eye.”

That pit of suspicion in her stomach hardened like a stone. “They killed one of their own?”

He nodded. “For a secret which they saw fit to use and he wanted to keep buried, yes. And they covered their tracks. They insured the speedy execution of their instrument and proceeded with the excavation. But there was one figure they grossly underestimated.”

“You?”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Hardly. Jakkeb Sato was the councilor’s only child, and suspicious of a plot, Councilor Sato broke his oath of secrecy and told his son of the Library and the dispute. Days later, Castor and his wife were assassinated, and Jakkeb was left with his grief and knowledge of the betrayal that had caused it.”

Again, Roman smiled joylessly. “We had been friends since boyhood, but his behavior was inscrutable to me. He accepted no comfort and ceased speaking almost entirely. I didn’t know what to say to him.”

Jane frowned. “You mean he didn’t tell you about his plan?”

“No. I don’t even know exactly when he figured it out. But one night, he walked into a burning storehouse and everyone, including me, took it for a suicide.

“He was far too shrewd for that, and I should have known it. But I remembered the pain of losing my own parents and believed him dead until he reappeared to me seven years later.” In Roman’s wide eyes, Jane detected a hint of mingled fear and respect. “Jakkeb explained the truth behind his parents’ deaths as well as how he had spent his time since then, wandering and mixing with a resourceful breed of lowlifes: smugglers, assassins, thieves, and rabble rousers. He was already planning his retaliation against the Council, and he wanted me to know about it. Since that time, he has been growing in strength and using his considerable influence to build a following. He’s advancing to take Recoletta with his army tonight. They’re surrounding the city and moving on Dominari Hall, where most of the Council will have holed up.”