The Lostkind (61 page)

Owen spoke again, quietly. "Vincent was with them. We caught them in motion. They fought their way off the ropelines and we lost them there."

Silence.

"They weren't in hiding, they were going somewhere." Vandark thought aloud. "Vincent's not a warrior, not even Lostkind. So what would he be looking for? What would his move be?" He tapped a finger on the arm of his chair; and focused his gaze on Yasi, who stared back evenly. It wasn't the first of these long unsettling stares he had given her, and she wondered briefly if he could read her mind.

"What are you planning Yasi?" Vandark wondered out loud quietly. "What's he doing?"

Yasi said nothing, but inwardly she was relived.
As long as Vandark thinks it's my plan, Vincent's odds might be improved
.
Maybe. A little.

Vandark turned to his men. "Post extra guards in sensitive areas. Yasi used explosives to collapse the tunnels on our way in, I want them guarded heavily; I want the cross passages sealed, and the Labyrinth is to be closed. Nobody in or out." He turned to Owen. "And you. I have a special mission for you."

~oo00oo~

Vincent stayed with the Borrowers. His face was grimy enough after his tumble that he could blend in. He was stiff and hobbling, so nobody noticed that he didn't have a pack. It was the posture of someone carrying a heavy load, so he fit right in with the small group that trudged toward the labyrinth.

When the movement stopped, Vincent realized faster than anyone why the labyrinth was closed again. They were keeping anyone from going out, or coming in.

Already past the point of no return, Vincent checked the baskets they were carrying, and took an oil-cloak. It had a hood; and he pulled it up to cover his face; putting the coat in it's place.
Borrowing, not stealing.
He told himself.
There's a difference.

We have a way of finding things when we need them.
Yasi's voice came to him, and he smirked.

The Riverfolk were checking everyone, looking for him, looking for Dorcan... Vincent chose his moment and branched off from the group he was hiding in. one or two of the Borrowers looked at him as he left, but most of them knew instinctively what he was running from, even if they didn't know who he was. He was confident they wouldn't turn him in... Or at least, that most of them wouldn't.

He still wasn't moving as fast as he should, but secretly, he considered that an advantage. Owen would take a closer look at someone in a hurry, but with the hood up and his back bent he was an old man.

It got him halfway to his destination, and he was suddenly aware of how much bigger the place was on foot than he had considered. It really was a small city, laid out in three dimensions.

His progress was slowed further by the Riverfolk. They weren't all identical, but they all had the same uniform. Grey, form-fitting wetsuits, mottled enough that it could be mistaken for skin, large red goggles that gleamed, and muscular bodies crossed with bandoleers and weapon slings. They had the run of the Underside, and every few minutes, Vincent had to blend in with a crowd, or brazen it out and hope he looked like he belonged there.

Rule One.
He told himself.
Be Invisible.

When he reached the old antique elevator, he knew his luck had run out. There were no guards, but there almost certainly would be in Archivist's old room. And the only way he had left to get there was an elevator with see through iron grates for walls. He would be a sitting duck.

He checked his watch.
Thirty two minutes until Gill's Press Conference.

With Dorcan MIA, he had no other options. He could try creeping around looking for another way in, but he knew he'd get caught by then. The Underside was running out of time...

Trying not to think about it, he boarded the elevator, and started it moving.

~oo00oo~

Gill was pacing the length of the Archives Room, looking at his watch every two seconds. He kept fiddling with his suit as a nervous habit. It was the first time he'd worn a suit in a while.

"You look good."

Gill turned around swiftly and found Connie coming in the door. "People are going to start wondering what's so interesting down here. Vincent was the first one to open that door since the office went to computer records."

Connie nodded. "Yeah. They probably think you're growing mushrooms down here."

"Mushrooms or something else." Gill commented. It was nervous, thin small talk. The things they said because they had nothing to say and didn't want to think.

"Thought you'd be halfway to your mom's." Gill said finally.

"I did too." Connie admitted. "But I couldn't. Vincent, Drew, Tecca... Everything in the world that I love is here. I can't leave. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I have to be here."

Gill nodded. "So. You think this is going to work?"

Connie shrugged.

Gill looked miserable. "It's all on me when the clock hits zero. Nobody's ever trusted me with something like this before."

Connie put a hand on his shoulder. "Vincent has faith. You can always tell the ones that do. You see Vincent with the homeless, at the clinic… People who haven't eaten in weeks leave the Kitchens smiling on days when he's there; because they know he cares. He walks through the world with hope; and people respond to that." She smiled impishly. "I did."

Gill smiled a little. "So did I. There was a day when I gave up on everything, and Vincent was able to give me justice, give me hope, even saved my job."

"That why you're doing this?" Connie asked. "Because you may not be down there, but you're taking a risk too."

"If this works, I'm out of a job." Gill said finally. "If it fails... We'll have rewritten every book ever written about New York... and Vincent is most likely dead."

~oo00oo~

The Whisper Gallery reminded him of the Archives Room, with its endless miles of shelves and plenty of huge hardcover volumes. But the ceilings were a lot higher, there was no dust on anything... and at the opposite end of the chamber was the Steam Pipes.

Vincent crept through the huge room, and his instincts were screaming. The room was empty; and that just didn't make sense. He was creeping along the shelves, peeking around corners, expecting an ambush any minute... But there was nothing. Just him, the shelves, and the whispers.

No guards. Why are there no guards?
Vincent thought bleakly to himself.
There's something going on...

The pipes went upward, and then split up into many directions. The omnipresent whispers were all coming from the city above. He knew that the pipes could carry echoes; he'd been told all about it. He had to figure out how to open or seal the pipes to carry his voice. The largest pipes led straight down; they would be the loudest. He opened them. The iron pipes, they weren't copper; they were part of the Underside, something the Lostkind had built to bring warmth to their rooms. He opened them carefully... Every City Planner knew enough about engineering to do their jobs, and it took everything he had to figure out how to set these pipes right.

"You're pretty close."

Vincent spun in horror, and found Owen had walked into the room, with a full team of Riverfolk guards behind him. Owen smiled smugly as Vincent paled. "You didn't think it was a little strange that we had nobody in here?"

~oo00oo~

Limping after the battle, aching from a dozen gashes and cuts; Dorcan looked up swiftly at the sound. It was Owen, speaking in whispers from the pipes. His voice was quiet but clear. "We knew you were here, but none of us believed you had it in you to try a doomed rescue. There were maybe three things you might be doing without access to the surface... and Archivist tipped your hand. He tried it already; and failed. You think we were going to fall for that twice?"

"Stay back!" Vincent's voice came next.

Dorcan started running.

~oo00oo~

Vincent tightened his grip on the crossbow, sweating bullets.

"You think you have it in you to pull that trigger?" Owen didn't seem that worried, despite the arrow pointed at the middle of his forehead. "I'm betting you don't."

Owen moved forward silkily, one step in front of the other. Unhurried, and perfectly at ease, Owen held out a hand. "Give me the weapon Vincent; this is almost over."

And behind him, were three Riverfolk, weapons drawn and muscles bulging as they stalked along behind Owen patiently.

"Two years, Vincent. It the two years we worked together, you never so much as raised your voice to anyone; let alone shoot dead an unarmed enemy." Owen scorned. "You're not a killer Vincent. You just don't have it in you."

"Willing to bet your life on that?" Vincent challenged, with a strength he really didn't feel.

Silence.

"Yes." Owen decided, and strode forward.

One step; Vincent was looking back and forth between Owen and his guards. Two steps; Vincent felt his grip begin to shake slightly. Three steps, Owen was way too close for anything else...

Too late. Owen had grabbed the bow straight out of his hand. Disarmed, Vincent tried to back away, as both Riverfolk charged forward, and took him by the arms. Owen made a quick methodical search of him for any concealed surprises and found nothing.

Owen stepped back and took the moment to step back and just stare at Vincent. "Two years Vincent, and not one thing you've ever done has surprised me. But I
am
surprised you came back. So what the hell is happening here?"

Vincent gave him nothing.

Owen just glared. "Fine. You can tell me... or you can tell Him."

Vincent shuddered. In a few minutes, Vandark would be grilling him personally. A few minutes after that, Gill would go ahead with the contingency plan and... A great sense of calm washed over Vincent suddenly. It was over. There was never really much of a chance, but as long as there was one, Vincent was on the hook. But now it was finished; the plan had fallen apart.

But even so, Vincent couldn't help but glance at his watch.
Twenty five minutes left.
He told himself, as he was taken to meet Vandark.

NINETEEN: Rule Three: Be Beautiful

Vincent's head was forced down. He was dragged the length of the Tunnels, with one Riverfolk on each arm, dragging him along low enough that his nose was six inches from the floor the entire way; no leverage, his feet trailing along uselessly behind him…

There was the sound of a heavy door opening and suddenly the stone ground below his nose was covered in a thick carpet.

A moment later he was dropped, and forced himself up as far as his hands and knees. He was in the Throne Room, at Vandark's feet. Yasi was at his left, surrounded by three guards, her hands cuffed together; looking down at him in horror.

Vandark looked disappointed. "I kept Yasi alive because I was expecting a trap. I thought there'd be some tricky, clever turnaround that would make trouble. Yasi was my insurance. And now I found out, it was just you?" He turned to Yasi. "You're not seriously telling me
he
was your last hope?"

"Ohh, I'd be scared right now, if I was you." Yasi said with biting scorn.

Vandark looked from her, back to Vincent. "Why?"

Yasi sighed as Vincent slowly dragged his way back to his feet. "I don't know, I'm just trying to buy time until I can figure out what the hell is going on here."

Vincent felt hammer blows strike at his elbow, his kneecap, and his ankle. A millisecond later he was on his hands and knees. Owen brought his knee up and Vincent felt his head snap back at the blow, suddenly on his back and moaning in pain.

Vandark laughed, finding the whole thing to be a huge joke.

Yasi squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear it any more.

Vincent rolled over to his hands and knees slowly, as Vandark came over, still chuckling. "What did you think you were going to do?" He demanded in open disbelief.

Vincent leaned up enough to raise himself from his hands, and looked up from his knees at the intimidating Warlord. The battered Vincent, actually seeming a lot calmer now, coughed back an answer. "Stealing all the Medieval battle gear was a mistake. You broke Rule Number One."

"Oh, don't you start. I get enough of that from this one." Vandark jerked a thumb at Yasi. "The Rules are whatever I say they are now."

"Back on the surface, we had people like that coming into the Office. Thought they could change the entire way the city moved through streets and bridges and tunnels because it suited them. The people that have been there for as long as I have... we know that we can't do that. We try to change that Rhythm, there's chaos to follow."

"Then you should know... you have some chaos of your own coming." Vandark raised his voice. "Owen? Go to the surface. Find everyone that is friends with Vincent... and make sure our surface team knows where to find them."