The Sunken City Trilogy Page 34

  “Bloody hell,” Barton heaved, staring at his ankle. “How bad is it?”

  “Apparently,” Pax said, “it’s outside all our expertise.”

  Barton kept staring as Grace shifted up onto an elbow. “Oh, Daddy...”

  “No hospitals,” Barton said gravely. “No phones.”

  “Yes, we got that,” Holly replied. “How about no foot?”

  “Darren?” Rimes said, simply, holding up the glo.

  Barton’s expression grew graver. Holly said, “I told them we’re a few furlongs short of experimenting with magical elixirs. But obviously the choice is yours.” Her tone said it really wasn’t.

  He waited long enough to suggest he respected her view, then said, “I need it.”

  “Darren –”

  “Give it to me.”

  Rimes looked to Holly for guidance, and Holly held off for a few seconds, mouth tight. Pax asked Barton, “Can it really do what she says?”

  “Of course,” he told her gruffly, and Pax felt a little hope, however unlikely it was. It’d be an early win if they could get Barton walking. He could share the burden. Except he complained, “Is that all we’ve got?”

  Rimes was about to answer, her sad face confirming it, when a car engine growled outside, wheels rumbling over the uneven road. The doctor’s eyes broadened in alarm, magnified by her thick lenses. Pax cursed under her breath. “Where’s your defence system?”

  The doctor said, “No – it’s not active, not while we’re in here!”

  Pax’s fists clenched. After finding this reclusive hut and the doctor who’d just admitted to working with their enemies, what did she expect besides a useless security system? Should’ve gone with Letty when she had the chance. She didn’t need to ask to know no one good was visiting. “You have to get rid of them.”

  3

  There was no chance of moving Barton unnoticed, so Pax urged Rimes to greet their guests and keep them away from the bedroom. Pax went with her, wary of the doctor’s inability to lie and her possibly split allegiances. Fortunately, the chaotic mess of Rimes’ workroom was packed with hiding places, including a roomy desk space near the entrance, draped with hanging plants whose leafy branches created a curtain.

  A man coughed outside, louder than was necessary, signalling to the world that he was irritated. Pax imagined the cloud of dust their rapid approach must have stirred; she’d coughed on it too, when her group had arrived in the night.

  The walls were thin enough for her to hear the men’s approach. The first one spoke in a deep, aggressive tone. “Seriously expect me to check the perimeter? I didn’t pack galoshes.”

  “We’ll see what’s necessary,” the second man replied with a younger, more reasonable voice. “She’s one of us, right?”

  “Look at this place. The only thing she is, is abnormal.”

  Definitely Ministry. Pax leant out to watch Rimes’ face as the doctor stood by the door. She had a claw-like hand near the handle, unblinking face tight with nerves. Dammit, she was going to give them away.

  “Dr Rimes?” the low-voiced one shouted, apparently not one for knocking. “You in? We’ve got some questions.”

  Rimes cleared her throat, eyes fixed on the door handle.

  “She’s in. Car over there, no way she owns more than one.”

  Pax tensed at the mention of the car. They had stolen the distinctly old Cavalier from an MEE agent. It was concealed under a tarpaulin, between the trees, in case the MEE had satellites or something looking for it, but all these men needed to do was look under the sheet.

  “Rimes!” the boorish one called out and pounded on the door. The doctor jumped back, before composing herself and opening up. Pax ducked under the desk.

  “Finally,” the man snorted. Almost definitely a terrible person. “Agent Farnham, Agent Devlin. We wake you?”

  “No,” Rimes answered quietly, then cleared her throat and tried again, with all the flatness of someone trying too hard. “No, not at all. I’ve been working since sunrise.”

  “You know what’s happened in town?”

  Rimes didn’t say anything, no doubt affecting an innocent, ignorant look. Pax prayed these men would see her as eccentric rather than untrustworthy.

  The loud one, Farnham, huffed and raised his voice as though talking to a simpleton. “Not got a radio out here? Some way to hear the news?”

  “I have the internet,” Rimes replied, matter-of-factly. “Even on my phone now. I check my emails twice a day –”

  “Dr Rimes,” the younger one said. “Is it alright if we come in?”

  Rimes scuttled away from the door. “By all means, by all means.”

  The floorboards groaned under the men’s weight; at least one of them was carrying more than his share of bulk. Pax could guess which. They continued between the workbenches, scanning the room.

  “This place is a dump,” Farnham concluded.

  “Dr Rimes,” Devlin said, “there’s been a number of incidents in town. It started Friday and came to a head last night. You haven’t heard anything about it?”

  “I didn’t receive an email,” Rimes said. “Or a call.”

  “This was on the local news.”

  “National news, now,” Farnham corrected. So they had connected the gas main incident to them. As he creaked through the room, Pax curled tighter into her hiding spot. “You heard from Darren Barton lately?”

  “Darren?” Rimes said, with a peak of volume. Too surprised. “No, not in many years. He cut off all ties with me, you know. He left it all behind him. Everything.”

  Pax squinted through the leaves at the shape of the man passing the other side of a bench. He was big alright, and had a great curly beard like a Viking. He moved towards the bedroom.

  “No visitors lately?” he asked. Rimes laughed nervously. “Something funny?”

  “No – well, yes. I don’t get visitors, Mr Farnham. Who would come here? I don’t even see your people. But – do you want to search the grounds? Do you think someone could have sneaked in?” Her voice rose with worry. Pax hadn’t given her enough credit; Rimes didn’t just sound convincingly scatty, she was playing on Farnham’s clear reluctance to be here.

  “It’s Agent Farnham,” he replied bitterly. He moved away from the bedroom, back through the room, and Pax let out a quiet breath of relief. The other agent started moving, closer to her. His legs came past the desk, right in front of her, and she held her breath again.

  “We’ve got reason to believe Darren Barton is active,” Devlin said. “You will tell us if you hear from him, won’t you?”

  “Oh.” Rimes affected even more surprise. “Active how? His wife would kill him.”

  Devlin scratched a smart shoe down his calf, smearing mud on the suit trouser. Not used to being outside the city. “You’re aware of the rumours that the Fae once had a weapon that could affect the praelucente?”

  The MEE’s word for the minotaur.

  “Rumours,” Rimes echoed, dismissively.

  “Seems someone had access to something like that, and it got set off last night,” Devlin continued, getting a snort of disapproval from Farnham. No doubt angry that it was one of their own, Casaria, who had activated the weapon. “The praelucente is behaving somewhat unusually this morning. Possibly after-effects from the device.”

  “You got any ideas about that?” Farnham said, accusingly.

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Rimes replied. “I haven’t done such research in almost a decade. My primary concerns are in testing Sunken City flora. Do you know I’ve been running some very interesting tests on wading moss –”

  “You used to do other things,” Farnham pressed. “Back when you worked with that bastard Apothel. Before the MEE educated you about the praelucente’s net benefits, right?”

  Casaria had used the same phrasing; the MEE’s dogma that the minotaur, on balance, offered some force of good. Rimes didn’t answer at once, which Pax realised was a genuine falter. Whatever work she’d done wi
th these people, the doctor didn’t believe the minotaur was a good thing. Rimes said, a little testy, “Apothel never found a way to hurt it. He never even got close to it.”

  The Ministry men let that sink in. Farnham was right on the other side of the room now. Near the cloudy-panelled corner space. He said, “What are you working on here?”

  “Oh, that.” Rimes cleared her throat again, quieter. “A weed.”

  “Why’s it glowing? Put some kind of dye on it?”

  Pax tensed. Was it electric weed? The fuel for the Fae weapon? Christ, that would do it – moments from exposure. She could grab Devlin’s shins and yank; in the cluttered confines he might hit his head, be knocked out cold. Break his neck even – shit, why not bite out his Achilles tendon while she was at it, if she was considering murder.

  “It’s – no – it’s –” Rimes pattered towards Farnham. She bumped into something and a glass broke, making Devlin move quickly to the side, out of range. So much for ankle-biting.

  “What is that?” Devlin demanded.

  A noxious smell caught Pax’s nose too, and she threw a hand over her nose and mouth to avoid gagging. It smelt like a broken sewage pipe.

  “Bloody hell!” Farnham shouted, marching across the room. “Are you serious?”

  “Ah – oh my –” Rimes said, metal and glass tinkling as she ineffectively dealt with the breakage. “It’s quite harmless but – oh, it smells –”

  Smells was an extreme understatement. Stinks didn’t cover it either. Pax squeezed her nostrils closed but even the traces of the odour made her stomach lurch. As something rose up her throat, a second from betraying her position, Devlin gagged, too.

  “Open a window – Christ!” Farnham boomed.

  Devlin ran groaning for the door.

  “Quite harmless!” Rimes reminded them. Farnham ran, too.

  As the agents got outside they inhaled big, deep breaths of fresh air. One of them coughed and spat noisily.

  “Bloody loon!” Farnham complained. “Living up here among that crap!”

  Devlin was too busy spluttering to agree. Rimes walked after them, unaffected by the smell. Pax’s eyes were tearing, the fumes working through her hand, clamped over her mouth and nose. She needed to run, it was choking her. She’d get caught, reeled in, disappeared – after everything – all because of a smell.

  “You do that on purpose?” Farnham demanded. “I swear, you fucking –”

  “Easy,” Devlin said, hoarsely, then started coughing again.

  “That smell gets in my suit,” Farnham continued, “in my hair? Bloody hell.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Rimes started, anxiously. “But this is – well – I don’t get visitors! Please, wait – let me make a tea? You say something affected the minotaur? We can talk –”

  “Fuck this and fuck you,” Farnham spat, storming away.

  Pax curled over, all but burying her head between her legs. About to explode.

  Farnham stopped, his heavy footsteps coming back. “You’re a goddamned mess, woman. Waste of all our energy, having you out here.”

  “Please...” Rimes replied, sounding genuinely hurt.

  Pax’s mouth forced itself open, trying to inhale, but she resisted. There’d be no coming back from a mouthful of that gas.

  “Disgrace,” Farnham growled. “For Christ’s sake. Come on. We’ve got real work to do.”

  More hurried footsteps, the car doors opening. The engine started. Pax’s vision blurred. Tears flooded her face, seeping through her fingers. As the car pulled away, she let go, taking a quick, sharp breath in – a vile mistake. She gagged, loudly, and coughed it back out, reeling forward. She hit her head on the desk and fell onto her hands and knees. Scrambling up, she shot out, running for the open door in a half-crouch, choking, nose streaming.

  Pax burst through the doorway, shoving Rimes out of the way, and inhaled with a great gasp. Again, again, rolling her eyes back to the sky. Shit, shit. She leaned forward again, hands resting on her knees, and hesitated to look up at the Ministry car.

  The cloud of dust lingered in the road, blocking her view of the men’s exit. She froze, staring as the dark shape of the vehicle turned through the trees. Heading back down the hill.

  They weren’t stopping, weren’t coming back.

  They hadn’t seen her.

  “My,” Rimes commented lightly, at her side. “That was fortunate.”

  Pax straightened up, taking in the frail recluse. She wasn’t sure if Rimes had deliberately broken that canister, but she could draw two conclusions. The doctor was on their side, but Letty was right about this place. They were free from neither prying eyes nor Rimes’ experiments.

  And if they were going to move, they had to risk Barton using that glowing liquid.

  4

  “Tell me again,” Sam Ward said, chair legs squealing against the floor as she sat, “what you thought you heard.”

  The man across the table, Malcolm Joseph, looked nervous.

  He was a few years younger than Sam, dark-skinned and, from the broad curves of his upper body, likely spent more time in the gym than reading. He folded his thick arms over a stained grey t-shirt, hiding Mickey Mouse’s face, and said, “I panicked, okay? But I’m cool now. When can I go?”

  Sam clicked her pen and wrote the date in the top corner of her writing pad. Then the time, 09.32 by her watch. Malcolm Joseph, IP-6, AGa-26. Was this office designation 26 or 27? She turned to Hail. “Is this AGa-26?”

  Hail nodded, standing rigidly by the door. She ignored his look that said she should know. He was hardly one to judge professional standards; he hadn’t even combed his mop of ginger hair.

  “Sorry you’ve been kept waiting, Mr Joseph,” Sam said, unapologetic. She was feeling, she imagined, more put out than him. She was three days late to all this. Saturday night, she had endured a date explaining why he had fallen out of love with eight different women. Sunday, she had watched Attenborough documentaries and eaten ice cream. This morning, even, she’d taken an extra ten minutes for her run. Meanwhile, the Fae had fired on humans in two separate incidents, an untested weapon had been set off, and now this. No one had told her about any of it until she got into the office. She wasn’t sure if it was the weekend staff’s incompetence (they were only in it for the overtime) or the general fear that her involvement created more work for everyone (because, oddly enough, she noticed details that others missed). Thankfully, Malcolm’s case had given her a rare, if tenuous, opportunity to broaden the scope of her department, InterSpecies Relations.

  “You can go as soon as we’ve covered a few questions. You did agree to be interviewed, didn’t you?”

  “Sure, well – of course I want to help, but it’s been hours, see – and this is pretty strange. Are you people even legit –” He cut himself off as Sam offered what she hoped was a friendly expression. Not a smile, as you had to be taken seriously, but a calming look.

  “What he heard,” Hail said, impatiently, “was the sound of –”

  “Thank you, Agent Hail,” Sam said. She’d heard Hail’s take on the way over, and he was toeing the Ministry line: atmospheric sounds caused by the movements of the praelucente and the creatures surrounding it (caused by a broken pipe, as far as the public was concerned). But in the online video of his outburst in the street, Malcolm Joseph had used words to describe those sounds. “I’d like to hear it from Mr Joseph.”

  Malcolm shifted in his seat, almost unfolding his arms then quickly folding them again, remembering what he was wearing. He must’ve grabbed the t-shirt in a hurry; it didn’t match the work he’d put into his physique. He started defensively, “I’m a COO, you know. Gold Hat Enterprises. Public-facing and B2B relations, tech and PR management.”

  Sam guessed he managed a couple of clients, if any. She knew the smell of embellishment; the Ministry was full of people who described work rather than did it. “You ran out into the road shouting that you heard something. What happened?”

  “Okay,�
� Malcolm said. “Here’s why I did that. The building was shaking like an earthquake. Woke me up. The wall cracked, there was dust, a sound like everything was falling apart. This big chunk of ceiling almost hit me on the way out. I didn’t know what was going on. It happened fast, everyone was panicking.”

  “You felt light-headed? Did you smell anything?”

  “Smell?”

  “Gas?”

  “Is that what it was? I mean, I don’t remember a smell – but that’d make sense, wouldn’t it? Because what I heard, I know what it sounds like now, but at the time it shit me up.” A hand shot to his mouth. Even strangers were cautious in front of Sam. Was it her fringe? Too square? She didn’t actually begrudge cursing; should she swear more herself, to relax people? “Sorry,” he went on. “I was in a strange state, that’s what I’m saying.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen the YouTube video,” Sam said. “You shouted that it spoke to you. Gave you a rather specific message?”

  “Um. It started like a groan. Then it sounded like speaking. Like words, almost, but all twisted, distorted.” Malcolm slowed down. “I – I know how it sounds. What I said before, I mean, that’s just what it sounded like.”

  “A dinosaur trying to speak,” Sam quoted his own words back to him.

  “Hey, it was nuts. I was half asleep?”

  “A gas pipe burst, under the block. Is it possible that caused the sounds?”

  “A splitting pipe?” Malcolm exclaimed. “Making those sounds?” The instinctive response showed he’d heard something unnatural, even if he quickly changed tack. “I inhaled some gas, is that it? Makes sense.”

  “I’m interested in exactly what you heard,” Sam said.

  “I wasn’t with it, was I? I was high as a kite –”

  “Please, Mr Joseph, what did this voice say?”

  “Kind of…like…‘Greg...you lost.’”

  “Greg you lost. You heard these words distinctly?”

  “Yes. Well, no, they were kind of rolled together, but that’s what made sense, I guess? It seemed important at the time. I must’ve inhaled some fumes.”