Chapter Twenty
“THERE IS NO REASON FOR THOSE IN POWER TO REACH DOWN FOR US. DESPITE WHAT WE HAVE LEARNED AT THE FEET OF OUR PREACHERS, THERE IS NO OFFERING LARGE ENOUGH TO SECURE OUR PLACE IN THE SKY. EVERY SCRAP OF POWER WE GET WILL HAVE TO BE TORN WITH BLOODY TEETH FROM THE NECKS OF THOSE WHO HOARD IT.”
—EXCERPT FROM TRACTS FROM A REBEL PREACHER
It’s nearly midnight when Dani and I leave her lodgings, headed for the Gentleman’s Rack.
This tends to be the busiest time of the night, with enough foot traffic in and out to back our plan.
I’m dressed as a typical yarder—lightweight layers to disguise my Butcher pants and top, wraps around my hands to shield them from the metal edges and pieces yarders often work with, protective glasses over my eyes, and an oversize neck gaiter pulled up like a hood.
I keep my head down and round my shoulders into a slouch, tucking my hands deep inside baggy pockets as I trail several steps behind Dani down the street.
Ahead of us, the entrance to the Rack glows with naphtha lamps of red-tinted glass, and the music coming from inside is loud and jangling.
I watch from beneath my lashes as Dani swings onto the step and shoulders her way through the door. And just like that, the plan is in motion.
One … two … three …
I’m supposed to do a slow thirty-count and then follow her as inconspicuously as possible.
Just another nondescript yarder looking to drink some moonshine and lose a little cash to the card tables.
Not dressed rich and fancy like the skyliner tourists and not packing enough paper to make me of any interest.
Fourteen … fifteen … sixteen …
I flex my fingers inside my pockets, wishing I had my knives or goggles handy. It feels absurd to walk straight through the front door like this without them.
Twenty-eight … twenty-nine … thirty.
One deep, steady breath. In and out.
Okay, Val. Let’s go.
I keep my slow, shuffling pace as I approach the Gentleman’s Rack and ease my way past the front door.
I don’t stop once I step inside—that might draw too much notice—so instead I keep moving, heading for a far corner of the enclosed bar like I come here all the time and trying to take in what I can as I go.
All the walls have been soldered with extra layers of dark metal, covering even windows and side doors, every inch of space from the ceiling to the baseboards.
I spot Dani way in the back corner, talking intensely with two men who are seated at a round booth set off from the main hall but still overseeing it.
There’s a heavy crowd of folks at the card and billiards tables that encircle the whole room, some in yarders clothes like me, others obviously skyliners wearing different variations of duster gear, costuming themselves as us purely for fun.
I peg multiple Gold Towners judging by the weapons holstered on their bodies.
Still others show some of the telltale signs Orion pointed out earlier of wardens, either off-duty or out of uniform so they blend in better.
At the back is a door that will take me to the offices and rooms beyond, but I can’t make a break for it. Not yet.
“Kinda late to still be wearing those, eh?” The barkeep materializes in front of me, gesturing at the glasses on my face. “Can’t be very relaxing.”
I count out just enough paper for a cheap shot of moonshine and slap it down on the bar top. “Long day,” I mutter, pitching my voice low. “Just give me whatever this will cover, as fast as possible.”
Shrugging, the barkeep sweeps the cash into their pocket and replaces it a moment later with a short, stocky glass with two fingers of clear liquid inside.
The harsh scent of alcohol hits my nose, and for a moment, I’m so tempted to tip it back, to feel the heat of it down my throat, burning away pieces of me.
I spin it gently around in my fingertips, staring at the moonshine swirling inside.
“Lousy cheater!”
The shout from a nearby table is loud and angry enough to cut through the jangling music and hum of other conversations.
A man jumps up from a card table across the hall, knocking his chair to the floor with a clang as he points a finger at the person sitting next to him—an older-looking man with a hunched-over back, webs of papery wrinkles, mottled age spots, and a slouchy hat pulled low over his face.
“Worthless bastard is palming cards!”
The music dies away, and everyone goes still.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the men Dani is talking to start to get to his feet, but the off-duty wardens are everywhere in here—and they’re much faster.
One of them darts over to the accused figure, hauls him up by the arm, and knocks his hat to the floor.
“Well,” the warden drawls, smugness thick in his voice. “Didn’t expect to come across the Skywayman in a backdust hole like this.”
Orion lifts his chin, grinning through the makeup and fake wrinkles Dani layered slapdash on his face as an audible whisper ripples across the crowd. “That’s not a very nice thing to say about your friend’s place, buddy. Obviously, your mama didn’t raise you with any manners.”
I stay very still on my stool, watching the crowd shift closer.
The faces of the skyliners are delighted—imagine all they’ll have to tell their friends after getting to see this.
Over at the back, only Dani is left sitting in the booth; her two contacts are pushing their way toward the confrontation.
Now that they’re both standing, it’s easy to pick out that one seems to be another warden, albeit one with nicer boots than the rest, and the other must be the Gold Towner running this place, judging by the fancy accessories hanging from his vest.
“We’ll take care of this one, Hank,” the fancy Gold Towner says, quickly stepping in front of Orion. “We like to settle with cheaters in-house here at the Rack.”
Hank—the warden with the nice boots—bristles. “You must be kidding. That man is a criminal wanted across Trinity. My people will arrest him and take him in according to the law.”
Slowly, casually, I inch off my stool and amble around to a different spot.
It looks like I might be trying to get a better look at this showdown, but I’m actually here for the small black rucksack that Orion secreted away underneath the far back corner of the bar top when he drifted in with the crowd an hour ago.
“Gentlemen.” Orion clears his throat loudly, leveling a look at the wardens and Gold Towners around him.
“I’m sure ol’ Hank here is aware of how much trouble the Skywayman can be when he’s cornered.
Maybe he even heard about how my recent ride on a prison train turned out.
” He jerks his chin at the watching crowd.
“Would be quite a shame if any of the pretty tourists from up top got hurt in the cross fire. Might make them think twice about coming down here to spend their paper.”
The Gold Towner in charge looks anxiously around at the crowd, no doubt noticing how the thrilled glee of the skyliners is starting to shift into nervousness, leaching the color from their skin, turning them as pale as the cloths they wrap corpses in.
Gold Town can’t afford to lose the steady stream of cash they get from the rich folks coming through here, and if word gets out that the Rack is legitimately dangerous and not just fun-dangerous, they’ll find themselves with empty tables.
“You let all these people out,” Orion says, “anyone who doesn’t want to deal with this nasty business between us, and I give you my word that I will behave.”
There’s a heavy beat, and then Warden Hank nods at one of his folks, who goes and throws open the main door.
Almost immediately, the barkeep, the yarders, the skyliners, and even some low-level Gold Towners start filing out, more than happy to be out of the line of fire.
Dani is nowhere to be seen, likely already headed for the naphtha hub farther into the building.
I’ve already tucked myself deep into the shadows beneath the bar, the layers of my disguise shed into a pile at my feet as I silently empty the rucksack Orion hid for me.
We’d originally tried to layer everything under my disguise, but the effect had been bulky and visibly suspicious, so this was our next best bet.
The main door shuts with a clang, and I wait till I hear them drop the bar into place across it, bolting it from the inside, before I make my move.
“There.” Warden Hank’s voice is slick and sneering. “They’re all gone, and there’s no one left to witness what happens to the infamous Skywayman next. You’re trapped.”
“Sorry, Hank,” Orion sighs, and there’s none of his usual empathy in his voice. “I’m not trapped in here with you.” He points behind them. “You are trapped in here with them.”
They whip around—every warden, every Gold Towner, maybe twenty or so in total, all with pistols out—and they have just a heartbeat to register the sight of the Butcher, crouching on top of the bar.
Then Dani cuts the naphtha and all the lights go out, plunging the billiards hall into total darkness.
Chaos erupts. Pistol fire, wardens and Gold Towners yelling, using people closest to them as shields.
Hank tries to grab Orion, but Orion is already gone, slipping past the melee like a ghost as he heads for the door at the back.
It’s impenetrably black in here with all the windows covered and the doors sealed shut, but my goggles pick everything out just fine.
And knives work well in the dark.
By the time the lights kick back on, I’m the only one left standing. Just me and the blood dripping from my blades.
Dani swings past me, not even batting an eye at my handiwork as she bends down to scoop up a pulse pistol mid-stride and follows Orion’s path toward the back door.
“Come on, ghoulie. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”
I’m right on her heels, stepping out into a narrow hallway with a few doors leading off it and a set of stairs heading up to higher levels above.
The vault room, though, is down on the ground floor, and it doesn’t take us overly long to find it.
Through one office, around a corner, and there it is.
A nicer, thicker, more ornate door than any of the others, sealed up tight with a red crystalline lockpad.
Orion is already there, an ear trumpet pressed against the door as he works his fingertips over the smooth crystal in fine, delicate shapes.
I pull off one of my gloves, pressing my bare hand against the engraved surface, and take a deep, slow breath, counting by the beat of my pulse as it pounds in my ears.
Halle and Kelda are behind that door. They have to be.
They have to. But I need to breathe through that feeling because otherwise I’ll throw my whole body against that door until it gives out—or I do.
“How bad is it?” I ask him.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Orion mutters. “It’s just going to take a minute here.”
“An actual minute? Or a metaphorical minute?”
He hushes me with a look. “I’m working as fast as I can, V. I promise. A little elbow room might help.”
His voice is a soft reprimand. But I can’t help but feel the weight of every moment that passes. I pace the little office, wearing a circle in the floor around Dani, who’s flipping through the desk drawers, scanning metal tablets and tossing them when they prove uninteresting.
It’s definitely longer than a literal minute. It’s two minutes. And then it’s five. It might as well be forever as the tension stretches tighter and tighter across my skin.
Suddenly, Orion straightens, pumping a fist triumphantly.
The crystal pad flashes and then there is the click of a lock.
Leaping past him, I wrap my fingers around the handle of the door and haul backward, pulling it open, my heart pounding wildly in my ears.
The instant I have enough space, I squeeze through into the vault room.
All the joy drains from my body.
The vault is empty.
Halle and Kelda aren’t here.