Wicked Gentlemen (21 page)

From a distance he caught sight of Miller. As usual, Reynolds was beside him. Harper dropped back, pacing himself along-side an acolyte. He kept his gaze averted as Miller and Reynolds passed him.

Just ahead, Harper noted a shock of red hair amidst the sea of black caps. Captain Brandson had forgotten his cap again. Harper whispered silent thanks for that. Miller and Reynolds might not have been watching for him, but Brandson would be.

Harper quickly turned down the hall and took a back corridor to the witness holding cells. He couldn't get past the heavy security in the Prodigal section, but at least he could try to free Edward.

Harper didn't know the young man standing guard, and he hoped that the man didn't recognize him either. Harper stopped himself from pulling his cap a little lower.

"I need to take one of the witnesses down to the engines." Harper paused as if the name weren't burning on his lips. "Talbott. I believe the first name is Edward."

The young guard hardly looked beyond the shining silver insignias on Harper's collar. He scanned through the ledger of the prisoners and then pushed the book and a cell key to Harper. Harper paused only an instant as he glanced at the previous sig-natures in the prisoner ledger. He signed in Brandson's initials, took the key, and went to Edward's cell.

Two cells down another Inquisitor was checking in on a witness of his own. Harper hoped that Edward was still cognizant enough to keep quiet. He unlocked the door and stepped into the small cell.

Edward crouched on a narrow cot with his legs drawn up and his face pressed down into his knees. The confessor had not been gentle with him. His right arm was bandaged from the elbow down. Splints jutted out from under his first two fingers. Edward didn't even glance up.

"Don't take me back there," Edward whispered. "I'll sign what-ever you want. Just don't take me back."

Harper closed the cell door and strode to Edward. He clamped his hand over Edward's mouth and tilted his head back. Edward looked up into Harper's face. His eyes went wide and he gave a muffled gasp against Harper's gloved palm.

"I can get you out of here," Harper whispered, "but afterward you're going to be a wanted man."

Edward nodded. Harper drew his hand back. He was shocked when Edward lunged forward and gripped him in a hard, desperate embrace.

"Will, thank God you came! Thank God," Edward whispered against Harper's neck.

It felt good to have Edward so close against his body, but for all the wrong reasons. Harper returned the hug briefly, then pulled back. "We're not out of here yet. You have to keep calm, all right?"

"Yes, of course." Edward swallowed a deep breath of air and nodded.

"Are you hurt anywhere aside from your arm?"

"Some bruises, that's all."

"Good." Harper unclipped his silver handcuffs and closed one of the cuffs around Edward's uninjured left hand. He locked the other around his own right wrist, but so loosely that he could easily slip his hand free.

"One last thing. The old woman I left with you, do you know where they took her?" Harper asked.

"They didn't take her anywhere." Edward closed his eyes for a moment. "They killed her."

"Of course. She was the only witness." A chill rushed through Harper as he realized how effortlessly Abbot Greeley disposed of the people who opposed him.

"We have to go." Harper opened the door and walked Edward out into the hall. He had been worried that Edward might give them away, but Edward kept his head down and walked with the slow dread of a prisoner on his way to the prayer engines.

Harper handed the cell key to the guard and took the prisoner ledger. As he glanced over the ledger, he noticed that Captain Brandson's initials appeared only a column below where Harper had signed them. Brandson hadn't noticed that he had already been signed in. The same initials twice weren't that noticeable, but a third time would be apparent, even to the careless young guard. Harper copied another three initials from higher in the ledger and then slid the book back to the guard.

Without waiting for the young man to respond, Harper pulled Edward forward and headed down the main hall of the Inquisition House. He had to fight his own urge to move fast. It was the sheerest luck that Brandson hadn't noticed the forged initials when he signed the ledger. Harper had no doubt that Brandson would notice them when he left the cells.

Once they reached the back stairs, Harper slipped the hand-cuffs off and urged Edward ahead.

"No matter what happens, keep going until you reach the pump room. There'll be a maintenance hatch open there. The shafts are coded to the streets overhead, so you'll know where you're going," Harper told him as they went.

"But—"

 
"Just in case," Harper whispered. Far down the hall, he heard the distinct sound of Brandson's voice rising over the quiet. It would only be a moment before Brandson raised the alarm. Then the entire Inquisition House would be locked down and searched.

"Run," Harper told Edward.

They took the stairs fast and then tore across the distance of basement to reach the pump room. Just as Harper pulled the pump room door shut, the alarm began wailing through the halls. Harper helped Edward into the maintenance shaft.

"It's pitch black in here," Edward whispered.

"Keep climbing down through the next two hatches. I left a lamp there." Harper pulled the hatch above him shut and twisted it closed as tightly as he could. So long as no one thought to connect this escape with the maintenance shafts, he and Edward had a chance of escaping. Harper was betting that Brandson would search the building and surrounding streets first, assuming that the only escape could be above ground.

Despite his lack of faith, Harper prayed he was right.

Chapter Eight

Steam

Harper led Edward through shaft after shaft. For the first hour, they traveled in silence. The only noise came from the packs of water rats that scampered over the water pipes and scattered as Harper and Edward approached.

At last Edward whispered a few questions to Harper. He wanted to know where they were and how Harper knew. He asked why Harper had brought the old woman to him and why she had been killed. Harper gave him short, quick answers. It was the way they had always conversed.

Even in college, when he had been deep in his anatomical studies, Edward had been an extrovert. Silence was foreign to his nature. In the past, Edward's constant flow of conversation had annoyed Harper. Now Harper felt relieved to hear Edward's voice. The sound reassured Harper that he had not come too late. The Confessors had hurt Edward, but not destroyed him.

"I think Raddly might put us up for the night," Edward whispered as they crawled through a low shaft.

"Raddly...Didn't he vomit in a deacon's memorial urn?"

"Yes. But I think the port was to blame for that. He's a nice fellow."

Harper tilted the phosphor lamp back so that he could read the letters above an intersecting tunnel.

"We're directly under Bluerow Street," he whispered back to Edward.

"Lottie Hampston lived on Bluerow, didn't she?" Edward asked.

"I don't recall." Harper swung down into the larger shaft and then helped Edward through. The once-white bandages on Edward's arm were now soiled with grease and mold. Spots of blood seeped through.

 
"What about Waterstone?" Edward asked.

"Who?" Harper glanced back.

"Richard Waterstone. Don't you remember? He could go on about poetry for years."

"Was he covered with moles?" Harper had a clear memory of catching a young man named Richard in the showers. He had had a beautiful back with a line of three moles just above his ass.

"Beauty marks," Edward replied. "Yes, that was him. Why don't we go look him up?"

"I don't recall enough about him to think of why we would look him up, so I doubt I can speak to why we shouldn't," Harper replied.

They reached another hatch, and Harper crouched down to work it open. His arms were aching. Edward hunched down beside him.

"Waterstone's father is the owner of the Daily Word. Richard's got a position as chief editor. We could go to him with the story. He'd publish it, I'm sure."

"We don't have a story, Edward. We don't even have a witness right now." Harper tried not to sound angry. None of this was Edward's fault. Harper vented frustration on the hatch, twisting it open with a vicious jerk.

"Fine, then." Edward followed Harper through the hatch. "I give up. Where are we going?"

"Down." Harper smiled as he at last caught sight of the ladder he had been looking for. He tested his weight against its corroded iron rungs. It still held.

"Do you think you can climb one-handed?" Harper asked.

"I think so," Edward replied.

Harper went first. Edward followed. The phosphor lamp swung from side to side as Harper climbed. Its pale green light swept through the shadows of the ladder, casting patterns of crosses and rungs down into the darkness below. Distantly, Harper heard the hiss of steam pistons.

"You know, Waterstone used to have this theory that you were half-Prodigal," Edward said from above him.

"Really?" Harper snorted at the thought. "What in the name of God gave him that idea?"

"I think it started with the gloves."

"Hmm." Harper slowed his descent, realizing that the climb was harder for Edward than he would admit.

"You always seemed to be keeping something back. You know, all the other lads were so desperate to talk their heads off, and you never seemed to want to tell anyone anything. You always stood out that way. Waterstone was still rolling the idea around last time I talked to him. Not seriously. It just settled into a private joke between the two of us."

"I wish he were right," Harper replied. "Then I might have some Prodigal power to call on instead of just climbing down from here."

"Being able to fly would be rather handy right now, wouldn't it," Edward agreed.

The cut in Harper's palm throbbed each time he gripped a rung of the ladder. He glanced up to see how Edward was handling the climb. He moved slowly but smiled when he noticed Harper watching him.

"It's funny," Edward continued, "that Waterstone never said a thing about Joan."

"What?" Harper almost lost his grip. The lamp hanging from his forearm rocked wildly, flashing green light up into his face.

"He never suspected Joan, even though he met her dozens of times. She hid it so well, I don't think anyone would have suspected."

"How long have you known?" Harper asked.

"It took me a while to work the whole thing out. But after our honeymoon, I was pretty sure. There are some things that just can't be hidden when the two of you are...close."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Harper asked.

"I suppose I was waiting for her to confide in me." Edward shook his head. "If I had known how little time we would have together, I wouldn't have waited. It was so easy to imagine her being with me forever. I thought we had all the time in the world."

 
"I'm sorry." It was all Harper could say without betraying Joan's trust. He continued climbing down. He went slowly, making sure that Edward didn't fall too far behind him.

"I always wondered if you knew," Edward said. "I thought you did, but you never let on at all."

"If it had been my choice, I would have told you."

"I know."

They continued climbing. Harper couldn't think of anything to say. Edward always began their conversations, so Harper remained silent until Edward spoke again.

"I always wondered how you worked in the Inquisition and had a Prodigal sister at the same time." Edward's voice was quiet, almost tentative. He rarely spoke with such caution. Harper glanced up at him to see if something was wrong.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't feel like it," Edward said, catching Harper's curious glance.

"There's nothing much to tell. Joan never got into much trouble. The two halves of my life rarely crossed each other."

"I didn't mean directly." Edward paused as he shifted his arm awkwardly from one rung down to the next. "I guess I was wondering more about how you thought of Prodigals. On one hand you're a priest, and they are devils. On the other, your sister was one of them, and I know you loved her."

"I still do," Harper replied.

"Yes, I do too." Edward continued climbing in silence for several minutes. Harper said nothing. It seemed kinder to let Edward have his privacy. It was easier on Harper this way too. So long as Edward said nothing, Harper could not be tempted to comfort him with the truth.

But Harper knew the silence would not last. Edward had never been a private man. He had never had to disguise his desires as abstinence or crush his outrage to silence. Edward lived a life of shameless honesty.

"Isn't it strange," Edward said, "how you can know someone's gone, and yet you can't stop feeling as if they were still with you? Every Tuesday evening I still wander into the bedroom as if I need to remind her that the Pipers are going to be arriving for bridge. I know she's gone, but I don't quite feel it. I keep expecting to see her or hear her in the other room. At night when I'm just drifting off to sleep, I'll keep reaching out to put my arm around her..." Edward stopped for a few moments. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just keep rambling on."