ARC: The Buried Life (5 page)

Chapter
3

The Directorate of Preservation

If the Spine was the backbone of a long-dead monster, the bureau district was its cold, hardened heart. The passers-by here were few and discreet, ducking in and out of featureless doorways and offices with their heads down. In their black attire, the inspectors blended in. Uniformed members of the City Guard with rifles and polished short swords stood at every corner. Their dead eyes scanned the pedestrians and lingered on the two inspectors. Malone glanced at Sundar, who looked like a young bloodhound on a scent.

It was easy to forget how close the bureau district was to the opulent Vineyard. Even the councilors and other whitenails who oversaw the directorates seemed to shed their colors here, like butterflies turning into moths.

The inspectors turned a corner, approaching a fifteen-foot high rectangular tunnel set in a plain rock facade at the end of the street.

Malone searched Sundar’s face. “Let’s hear this plan of yours.” The dank air clung to her skin.

He smiled. “Charm and invention, Inspector Malone. With the right measure of both, you can worm your way into – or out of – anything.”

It sounded like an audition strategy. Malone thought of the other possible leads, Cahill’s neighbors and friends, their usefulness melting into fear and forgetfulness while she and Sundar wasted time. Knots formed at the corners of her jaw. “Don’t tell me this is how you got by in your procedures class.”

“One chance, Inspector. If I don’t get us in, you won’t hear another peep from me for the rest of our investigation.”

Indeed, Malone thought.

Proceeding in silence, they reached the subterranean entry to the Directorate of Preservation.

Sundar stopped and lifted a hand, motioning for Malone to wait. Frowning, she watched as he slipped off his gloves, pocketed his seal, and buttoned his overcoat, obscuring his fitted black shirt. He looked up, and Malone followed suit. Nodding, he pulled a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles from his breast pocket and adjusted them on his finely arched nose, affecting a studious air. It was all Malone could do to repress a sigh.

“Are you serious?”

He winked. “Trust me.”

The dim hallway ended in a small reception room where an elderly secretary scrawled behind her desk in the faint gaslight. Miraculously, she was surrounded not by armed guards, but by cracked walls and decades-old gas lamps. It amazed Malone that even the most mysterious directorate in Recoletta carried a whiff of mundane bureaucracy. Every office lobby in the world must feel the same. The secretary looked up at the sound of their boots, blinking her mole-like eyes at them.

Sundar clasped his hands and rested his forearms on the desk, and Malone glimpsed a thin, red cord hanging to the side. A panic alarm. Sundar would have only one chance to bypass her, and he would have to choose his words carefully.

And he predictably began with polite nothings. “Good day, ma’am.”

The secretary squinted at him. “Your business?”

He swallowed. “You’ll kindly pardon my confusion, but we’re looking for the Directorate of Preservation. Could you, by chance, show us the way?”

“You’re standing in it,” the secretary said. Malone bit her tongue and hoped that Sundar had more to his act than this.

“How fortuitous. Not too many markings on the streets in this area, I’m afraid.”

“Most people who come here know where they’re going.”

Sundar flashed a radiant smile. “Never said better.” He reached up to scratch a spot behind his ear. “Now, to business. We’re here as–”

He did not finish. A shining disk arced through the air between them, landing somewhere below the secretary’s desk. Malone winced, waiting for the secretary to dive for the panic alarm.

“My lens!” Sundar felt the empty space in his frames. “How terribly embarrassing. I knew I should have had these mended. I do hope you can find it down there, I’m positively helpless without my glasses.” Malone caught the thespian’s flourish as he recited his lines. It felt like Sundar was overdoing it, but even so, the secretary didn’t seem to notice.

Busied and thrown off balance by the distraction, the secretary bent over the floor, patting it for the missing lens. Malone peered over the counter and looked at her ledger.

At last the secretary stood up again. “Here.” Sundar slipped off his glasses and gave them to her. When she had pressed the lens into place, he leaned forward to allow her to slide the glasses onto his face.

“Thank you so much,” Sundar said. “I’m afraid I can never see straight to pop it in myself.” The secretary’s hand brushed his cheek.

“But my, what soft hands you have,” he said.

Malone could not believe her ears.

“However do you manage?” he said. “All that paperwork must suck the moisture right out.”

To Malone’s astonishment, she saw blooms of color rising in the secretary’s wan cheeks, and she realized that the woman was falling under the persuasion of that graceful nose and those delicately curved lips.

“Almond oil and beeswax.” She smiled. “I keep a little jar of it under my desk.”

“Too clever! And it’s those little acts of inventiveness that say so much about a person, don’t you think? Well, I’m sorry to have gone on so,” he said. The secretary didn’t appear to mind. “But we’re here for research. I’m Professor Stewart, and this is my supervisor, Professor Donner. I believe we have an appointment?”

The secretary shifted through her papers, frowning. “You’re not listed anywhere.”

“I’m afraid this whole matter was rather last minute,” Sundar said. “I don’t mean to seem difficult, but this appointment is quite crucial to our trip here, and as we’re obligated to return tomorrow, we really won’t have another opportunity.” The secretary glanced up, a doubtful expression creeping back into her face. “We’re visiting from South Haven, you see,” he added.

Recognition flashed in the secretary’s small eyes. Seizing the advantage, Malone jumped in. “If you’ll check with Councilor Hollens, or with Dr Hask, I’m certain one of them could clear this up for us.”

The secretary pursed her papery lips, wavering. After a moment’s hesitation, she rose. “Wait here,” she said. “Ten minutes.” She scuttled through the door beyond her desk and disappeared with a quickness that belied her age. Not wasting a moment, Malone darted behind the desk and skimmed the directory. An instant later, she motioned for Sundar to follow her toward the elevators.

“Good work,” she murmured. “How did you know to mention South Haven?”

He shrugged. “A hunch. The Council’s hosting a delegation from South Haven at the gala next week, so it seemed as reasonable as anything. Why do you ask?”

“There’s a party here from South Haven.”

“Really?”

“No one’s scheduled to visit today, but there are five appointments throughout the week.” She looked at Sundar’s wide eyes. “You might have noticed if you hadn’t been busy flirting with the secretary.”

He smiled. “But then you wouldn’t have gotten to peek behind her desk.”

“Anyway, all of these delegations meet with Dr Charley Hask.” They stopped at the end of the hall.

“Where can we find him?”

“Level 4. Straight down.”

Sundar started toward a stairwell, but Malone whistled and pointed to the elevator shaft. Empty as it was, the inspectors could see the bare stone walls, ribbed with steel tracks and pocked with access tunnels. Producing a collapsible metal lever, Malone pried open the safety gate as Sundar watched, mouth agape.

“Is that regulation, Inspector?”

“The Directorate will post guards on every landing of the stairway, and they won’t be as gullible,” she said before leaping into the shaft and grabbing the cable. “I’d put those gloves back on if I were you.”

“Are we supposed to be doing this?”

“We’re supposed to get answers. Besides, you just impersonated a foreign official and lied to a directorate representative.”

Sundar gave Malone time to slide down several feet before jumping in after her.

“By the way,” he said, attempting not to wheeze as he adjusted his hold on the cable and wound his legs around it, “how’d you know to mention Hollens?”

“He’s supervised this directorate for years,” she said. “That’s where the experience comes in.” Loosening their grips, the two slid down the cable, their hands protected by the long black gloves.

As she reached the fourth floor, Malone slowed to a halt. She leaned and stretched her arm, grabbing one of the rungs just below a small service shaft, and swung toward it. Crawling into the narrow chute, she heard the elevator below lurch into motion. Sundar dove for a rung and, smacking gracelessly into the wall, pulled himself into the shaft with a grunt. After a short crawl, they reached a deserted corridor and extracted themselves from the ductwork, brushing the dust from their coats.

“We have maybe five minutes before the secretary realizes we’re gone,” Malone said.

Sundar nodded, still catching his breath from the crawl. “Then does she come looking for us or assume we gave up?”

“If she starts a search, that’s another five minutes, tops.” The room just beyond their hall was almost silent, but the draft puffing around the corner suggested a large cavern and, both inspectors knew, much to search.

“How lucky do you feel today?” Sundar said.

“In a place like this, not at all.” Turning at the end of the hall, they reached a cavern partitioned by bookshelves. Men and women bent over hardwood desks, skimming texts and scribbling notes while their lips mouthed silent words. In fact, the only noises were the scratch of quill on paper and the whisper of ancient pages. The austere white lighting, undecorated walls, and straight corners contrasted with the stacks of books: colorful and chaotic-looking rows framed by ladders.

“Not a good place for firelight,” Sundar said. Malone snorted. “I still don’t get it, though,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“A place like this. You’d think they’d have a little more security up front, right?”

“They don’t need to. How many people do you think wander into the bureau district, let alone this directorate, without a good reason?”

“I see your point.”

“Not all of it.” Malone picked up a slim hardback from the table nearest her. She thrust it out at Sundar, who instinctively stepped back and pulled his hands away.

“Afraid of a paper cut, Inspector?”

“The penalty for owning unauthorized books…” He trailed off, his eyes widening. Other than the murder of a whitenail, the possession of unedited, unapproved texts was the most severely punished, and certainly the rarest, crime in Recoletta.

“Never mind that you’re an inspector on an investigation,” Malone said, “your response is automatic. Now imagine that for everyone who doesn’t have a silver seal.”

No sooner had the inspectors taken stock than slapping footfalls and shrill wheezing broke the near-silence.

“Just what are you doing down here? This is a confidential study, no visitors allowed!”

“Roane and Rodriguez. We’ve come to see how the work is progressing,” Malone said, cutting him off with a cold stare.

The man’s face underwent a staggering series of transformations as he flipped between apology, confusion, and suspicion. “I had no idea you were here, Doctors. Pardon me, but we were not expecting you until–”

“Yet here we stand,” said Sundar, relishing his new role. “And as you are aware, we’re on a tight schedule. Now, if you please.” He gestured vaguely down the stacks.

The man bobbed his head. “Many apologies, sir and madam. Allow me to take you to Dr Hask, who must be expecting you.”

Falling in behind their escort, Sundar leaned close to Malone. “Not too shabby yourself, Roane. Or are you Rodriguez?”

“Quiet.”

As they passed between the desks and inhaled the room’s strange, musky perfume, Sundar craned his neck to see the scholars and their books. Even Malone was surprised. These were not the anemic, fusty bookworms one usually envisioned, cramped between parchment stacks and chamber pots. They looked lean and driven. She glimpsed a few titles in recognizable script: names like
Behemoth
,
Art of War
, and
Heart of Darkness
. As they continued, Malone fixed her eyes down the hall, monitoring every bend and corner in their path. Sundar’s lingered just a little longer on the mysterious titles.

The bookcases reached from the floor to the ceiling, where chain link gates hung. Expressionless supervisors with lists and medieval key-rings manned the shelves, and whenever a scholar requested or returned a book, the nearest supervisor jotted a note. Malone pitied the overseer whose job it was to account for every book at the end of the day. She turned to their guide.

“I hope that Cahill’s death will not impede progress unduly.”

“His loss will be felt, since he was heavily involved with the project. But I doubt that this inconvenience will cause too many setbacks.”

“What are the chances of this sort of ‘inconvenience’ happening again?”

“Well, ma’am, I guess that depends on who you ask. The higher-ups are assuring us that this is just a nasty coincidence, but between you and me,” he said in a lowered voice, “a few people look worried.”

Sundar glanced around the tables. “They look pretty calm to me.”

“Hm? Oh, most of them don’t know the half of it – not yet. It’s some of the upper echelon that’s looking real twitchy.”

“How is the directorate going to cooperate with the authorities?” Malone asked.

“You mean the Municipals? I wouldn’t know about that. That’s a question for Dr Hask.”

Footsteps approached again, rapid and determined. Pages rustled and flapped as the newcomer and his palpable rage drew near.

“Badge, badge, badge, Gowlitz! Do you see a visitor’s badge? On either of them?” The interloper’s mustache was waxed to a thin pair of upward-pointing clock hands.

“Sir, they’re part of the panel from Sou–”

The smaller man rounded on him. “It’s a rhetorical question, you idiot. That means no talking from you. Or perhaps you’d like to explain this to Dr Hask?”