Authors: Samantha Shannon
“Michael?” I touched his shoulder. His cheeks were blotched and damp. “Michael, listen. I know this is scary, but I couldn’t just leave you at Magdalen.”
He nodded. He wasn’t quite mute, but he used words carefully.
“You don’t have to go back to your parents, I promise. I’ll try and find you a place to live.” I looked away. “If we make it.”
Michael wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Do you have Warden’s lighter?” I said, using a soft voice. He dug a hand into his gray jacket and pulled out a familiar rectangular lighter. I took it. “Thank you.”
Also
sitting alone was Ivy, the palmist. She was a testament to Rephaite cruelty, with her shaved head and hollow cheeks. Her keeper, Thuban Sargas, had treated her like a punching bag. Something about her twisting fingers and trembling jaw told me that she shouldn’t be left on her own for long. I sat down opposite her, taking in the bruises that bloomed beneath her skin.
“Ivy?”
Her nod was barely visible. A dirty yellow tunic hung from her shoulders.
“You know we can’t take you to a hospital,” I said, “but I want to know you’re going somewhere safe. Do you have a gang that can look after you?”
“No gang.” Her voice was a wasted husk. “I was . . . a gutterling in Camden. But I can’t go back there.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. Camden was the district in II-4 with the largest community of voyants, a busy market town that clustered around a stretch of the Grand Canal.
I placed the lighter on the gleaming table and clasped my hands. Old moons of dirt sat under my fingernails.
“Is there no one at all you can trust there?” I said quietly. More than anything I wanted to offer her somewhere to stay, but Jaxon wouldn’t put up with strangers invading his den, especially as I wasn’t intending to go back there with him. None of these voyants would last long on the street.
Her fingers pressed into her arm, stroking and grasping. After a long pause, she said, “There’s one person. Agatha. She works at a boutique in the market.”
“What’s it called?”
“Just Agatha’s Boutique.” Blood seeped from her bottom lip. “She hasn’t seen me in a while, but she’ll take care of me.”
“Okay.” I stood. “I’ll send one of the others with you.”
Her sunken eyes were set on the window, far away. The knowledge that her keeper might still be alive made my stomach roil.
The door slid open, and the other five came in. I picked up the lighter and walked across the carpet to meet them. “That’s the White Binder,” someone whispered. “From I-4.” Jaxon stood at the back, grasping his bladed cane. His silence was unnerving, but I had no time for games.
“How does Paige know him?” Another, frightened whisper. “You don’t think she’s—?”
“We’re ready, Dreamer,” Nick said.
That name would confirm their suspicions. I focused on the æther as best I could. Dreamscapes teemed within my radius, like a seething hive of bees. We were right underneath London.
“Here.” I tossed Nick the lighter. “Do the honors.”
He held it up to the panel and flipped the lid open. Within a few seconds, the fire alarm glowed red.
“
Emergency
,” said the voice of Scarlett Burnish. “
Fire detected in rear car. Sealing doors
.” The doors to the last car snapped shut, and there was a low-pitched drone as the train glided to a halt. “
Please move toward the front of the train and remain seated. A life-preservation team has been dispatched. Do not alight from the train. Do not attempt to open any doors or windows. Please operate the slide mechanism if extra ventilation is required.
”
“You won’t trick it for long,” Danica stated. “Once it sees there’s no smoke, the train will go again.”
The end of the train was home to a small platform with a guard rail. I hitched my legs over it. “Pass a flashlight,” I said to Zeke. When he did, I aimed the beam at the tracks. “There’s room to walk next to them. Any way to turn the tracks off, Fury?” The switch to her syndicate name came naturally. It was part of how we’d survived for so long in Scion.
“No,” Danica said. “And there’s a fairly high probability that we might suffocate down here.”
“
Great, thanks.”
Keeping a wary eye on the third rail, I let go of the platform and dropped on to the ballast. Zeke started to help the survivors down.
We set off in single file, giving the rails and sleepers a wide berth. My filthy white boots crunched through the trackbed. The tunnel was vast and cold, and it seemed to stretch on forever, dark in the long intervals between the security beacons. We had five flashlights between us, one with a flagging battery. My breath echoed in my ears. Gooseflesh raced up the backs of my arms. I kept my palm pressed to the wall and concentrated on putting my feet in the right places.
After ten minutes the rails trembled and we threw ourselves against the wall. The empty train we’d taken from our prison came hurtling past in a blur of metal and lights, heading for the Archon.
By the time we reached a junction signal, where a single green lamp shone, my legs were shaking with exhaustion.
“Fury,” I called, “know anything about these?”
“Says the track ahead is clear and the train was programmed to take the second right turn,” Danica said.
The left turn was blocked. “Should we take the first one?”
“We haven’t got much of a choice.”
The tunnel widened around the corner. We broke into a run. Nick carried Ivy, who was so weak I marveled that she’d reached the train at all.
The second passageway was illuminated with white lights. A filthy plaque had been drilled on to a sleeper, reading WESTMINSTER, 2500M. The first tunnel yawned before us, utterly black, with a plaque reading TOWER, 800M. I held a finger to my lips. If there was a squad waiting on the Westminster platform, they would have received an unoccupied train by now. They might even be in the tunnels.
A slim brown rat darted through the ranks. Michael recoiled, but Nadine shone the flashlight after it. “Wonder what they’re living on.”
We
found out, of course. As we walked, the rats multiplied, and the sounds of chattering and teeth clicked through the tunnel. Zeke’s hand shook when the flashlight beam found the corpse, rats still feeding on the last of its flesh. It was clad in the sorry rags of a harlie, and the ribcage had clearly been crushed by a train more than once.
“The hand’s on the third rail,” Nick said. “Poor bastard must have come without a flashlight.”
One voyant shook her head. “How did he get so far on his own?”
Someone let out a quiet sob. He’d so nearly made it home, this harlie who’d escaped his prison.
At last the flashlights fell upon a platform. I stepped across the rails and pulled myself on to it, my muscles throbbing as I lifted the flashlight to eye level. The beam cut through the crushing darkness, revealing white stone walls, a hygienic strip-sprayer, and a storage unit full of folding stretchers: a mirror image of the receiving station on the other end. The stench of hydrogen peroxide was eyewatering. Did they think they’d catch the plague off us, these people? Did they bleach their hands once they’d dumped us on the train, scared clairvoyance might rub off on them? I could almost see myself pinned to a stretcher, racked with phantasmagoria, manhandled by doctors in white coats.
There was no sign of a guard. We swung our flashlights into every corner. A giant sign was bolted to the wall: a red diamond chopped in two by a blue bar, with the name of the station written across it in tall white lettering.
TOWER OF LONDON
I didn’t need a map to know that Tower of London wasn’t a registered Underground station.
Beneath the sign was a small tablet. I leaned closer, blowing
dust
from the embossed letters. THE PENTAD LINE, it read. A map showed the locations of five secret stations under the citadel. Tiny lines of text told me that the stations had been built during the construction of the Metropolitan Railway, the old name for the London Underground.
Nick came to stand beside me. “How did we let this happen?” he murmured.
“They keep some of us in the Tower for years before they’re sent down here.”
He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Do you remember being brought here?”
“No. I was fluxed.”
A gust of tiny spots crossed my vision. I raised my fingers to my temple. The amaranth Warden had given me had healed most of the damage to my dreamscape, but a faint sense of malaise hung around my head, and from time to time my vision faltered.
“We need to get moving,” I said, watching the others climb on to the platform.
There were two exits: a large elevator, big enough to accommodate several stretchers at a time, and a heavy metal door marked FIRE EXIT. Nick opened it.
“Looks like we’re taking the stairs,” he said. “Anyone know the layout of the Tower complex?”
The only landmark I knew was White Tower, the keep and heart of the prison complex, run by an elite security force called the Guard Extraordinary. In the syndicate we called them Ravens: cruel, black-clad Vigiles with a limitless number of torture methods.
“I do.” Nell raised her hand. “Some of it.”
“What’s your name?” Nick said.
“It’s 9. I mean, Nell.” She resembled my friend Liss enough to have fooled the Overseer with a mask and costume—curling black hair, the same sylphlike build—but her face was made of harder
lines.
Her skin had a deep olive tone, and where Liss’s eyes had been small and very dark, Nell’s were a limpid aqua.
Nick’s voice softened. “Tell us what you know.”
“It was ten years ago. They might have changed it.”
“Anything’s better than nothing.”
“They didn’t use flux on a few of us,” she said. “I was pretending to be unconscious. If those stairs come up near the elevator doors, I think we’re going to be standing right behind the Traitors’ Gate, but it’ll be locked.”
“I can deal with locks.” Nadine held up a leather pouch of picks. “And Ravens, if they want a fight.”
“Don’t get cocky. We’re not fighting.” Nick looked up at the low ceiling. “How many of us are there, Paige?”
“Twenty-eight,” I said.
“Let’s move in small groups. We can go up first with Nell. Binder, Diamond, can you keep an eye on—?”
“I hope very much,” Jaxon said, “that you are not presuming to give me orders, Red Vision.”
In the blur of getting off the train and finding the platform, I’d scarcely noticed him. He was standing in the shadows, his hand on his cane, straight and bright as a newly lit candle.
After a moment, Nick flexed his jaw. “I was asking for your help,” he said.
“I will stay here until you clear a path.” Jaxon sniffed. “You can dirty
your
hands plucking feathers off the Ravens.”
I took Nick by the arm. “Of course we can,” he muttered, not quite loudly enough for Jaxon to hear.
“I’ll watch them,” Zeke said. He hadn’t spoken for the whole train journey. One of his hands was clamped over his shoulder, the other wrapped into a white-knuckled fist.
Nick swallowed and beckoned to Nell. “Lead the way.”
Leaving the prisoners, the three of us followed Nell up a flight of
steep,
winding steps. She was quick as a bird; I found myself struggling to keep up. Every muscle in my legs was burning. Our footfalls were too loud, echoing above and below us. Behind me, Nick’s boot caught on a step. Nadine grabbed his elbow.
At the top, Nell slowed down and cracked open another door. The distant howl of civil defense sirens came rushing into the passageway. If they knew we were missing, it was only a matter of time until they worked out where we were.
“All clear,” Nell whispered.
I took my hunting knife from my backpack. Using guns would draw out every Raven in the keep. Behind me, Nick took out a small gray handset and punched a few keys.
“Come on, Eliza,” he muttered. “
Jävla telefon
. . .”
I glanced at him. “Send her an image.”
“I have. We need to know how long she’ll be.”
As Nell had predicted, the entrance to the stairwell was opposite the deactivated elevator. To the right was a wall of enormous bricks, sealed with mortar, and to the left, built under a sweeping stone archway, was Traitors’ Gate: a solemn black construction with a latticed lunette, used as an entrance during the monarch days. We were low down here, too low to be seen from the guard towers. A flight of stone steps stretched beyond the gate, lichen-splotched, with a narrow ramp for stretchers.
The moon illuminated what little I could see of the White Tower. A high wall stood between the keep and the gate—something we could hide behind. A powerful searchlight beamed from a turret. The sirens roared a single, unbroken note. In Scion, that signaled a major security breach.
“That’s where the guards live.” Nell pointed to the keep. “They keep the voyants in the Bloody Tower.”
“Where will the steps take us?” I said.
“The innermost keep. We have to hurry.”
As
she spoke, a unit of Ravens came marching up the path, directly opposite the gate. We flattened ourselves against the walls. A bead of sweat trembled at Nick’s temple. If they saw that the gate was secure, they might not check it.
Luck was on our side. The Ravens moved on. Once they were out of sight, I pushed myself from the wall with trembling arms. Nell slid to the ground, swearing under her breath.
Above our hiding spot, several more sirens joined their voices to the warning. I tried opening the gate, to no avail. The chains were held together with a padlock. Seeing it, Nadine knocked me out of the way and took a tiny flathead screwdriver from her belt. She slid it into the lower half of the keyhole, then pulled out a silver pick.
“This could take a while.” It was getting hard to hear over the noise. “The pins feel rusty.”
“We don’t have a while.”
“Just get the others.” Nadine didn’t take her eyes off the padlock. “We should stay together.”
As she spoke, Nick held the phone to his ear and whispered, “Muse?” He spoke to Eliza in a low voice. “She’ll be here as soon as she can,” he said to me. “She’s sending Spring-heel’d Jack’s footpads to help us.”