81. Sloan
EIGHTY-ONE
SLOAN
It was so early in the morning, the sun was only just beginning to fight back the dark’s hold over the city.
Already Sloan had ordered the capture of Commander Brookhaven.
All around the city, word was being passed that she was to be detained on sight.
Extreme caution was ordered upon her arrest. Even with these instructions, a sick feeling sat in the pit of Sloan’s stomach, whispering to her that many lives would be lost in the process of her capture.
As Sloan crossed the city streets only just beginning to welcome the everyday hustle and bustle of its citizens, she scanned the case document on loan to her from the city police.
The second thing she had done after ordering the warrant for Commander Brookhaven was to request the death certificate and file of Brenda Emerson.
Sloan read the document slowly, ensuring she missed nothing. The report was clear. There was no emotion from whoever had penned the report. Only facts about Aareth’s dead wife covered the page.
Brenda Emerson was pronounced dead on August 29, 1880 at 8:40 am. The cause of death was due to strangulation. She is survived by her husband, Inspector Aareth Emerson.
The indifference of the note drastically contrasted Aareth’s emotion; the page of paper declaring his wife dead was cold and unfeeling. Aareth’s wrath and drive to find the truth was like a roaring furnace ready to consume.
Sloan carefully folded the report and placed it gently into her pocket. She knew it was silly, but it was her way of showing respect to Aareth and the woman he had lost.
In a few minutes, Sloan found herself once again in front of the wrought-iron gates of Livingston Industries. Just like before, guards met her at the entrance. Unlike before, they waved her in without pause.
“Doctor Livingston has been expecting you, Captain.” A barrel-chested guard waved Sloan inside the compound. “He said to let you in without question.”
Sloan’s sixth sense was working on overdrive.
The chances that she was walking into a trap was building rapidly.
The only way Oliver Livingston would know she was coming to see him was if he had had word from an inside source.
Worse, if Commander Brookhaven had told him herself after her escape the night before.
Sloan walked across the grounds, her right hand resting lightly on the hilt of her mage sword.
Her eyes moved on instinct, scanning every inch of her surroundings.
If she was being surrounded or watched, there was no sign.
Most of the guards and workers arriving for their day at the factory were pleasant enough. She was never stopped.
Regardless, Sloan readied herself for a fight. Her preparation would prove ill-conceived. She entered the building where the doctor’s office was found, with still not so much as a dirty look. She passed the construction area and continued on.
As she began walking up the stairs, her ears picked up heavy footfalls.
There were at least four separate pairs of feet, maybe more.
They were coming quickly, and the sound of the heavy boots meant they were guards.
Loud voices fought for precedence over their footfalls.
Sloan readied herself for the conflict. One practiced move brought her sword from its sheath.
A flick of her thumb produced a hiss of steam from her blade as it glowed to life.
Heat reached her hand from the weapon as it hummed ever-so-gently.
The warmth emanating from her sword comforted her in a way she couldn’t describe.
Sloan would give them a warning. Bloodlust was not one of the sins from which she suffered, but neither was cowardice.
If they refused to move aside, she would cut them down with indifference.
The sound built in cadence until they appeared in front of her.
To Sloan’s surprise, they weren’t guards at all.
Four men dressed in overalls and carrying tools stopped dead in their tracks when they saw her.
Their eyes widened and their mouths opened in fear.
One man took a step back, another dropped the bag of tools he was carrying.
“I’m … I’m sorry, I know we should use the front entrance like everyone else, but the back entrance was faster, I—please don’t hurt us.” The man had gone ashen. “I’m too young to die.”
“Please, don’t let me keep you from your work.” Sloan let out an exhale, chiding herself for being so tightly wound. A second move of her thumb powered down her sword. She lowered the weapon, then moved to stand aside. “And there’s no such thing as too young to die. Death doesn’t play favorites.”
“Of course.” The man who had spoken gulped. “Thank you.”
The other men picked up their dropped tools, hurrying down the stairs. Every single one of them refused to make eye contact with her.
Sloan was about to apologize, but the urgency for her visit reminded her that haste was paramount.
Instead of trying to engage the frightened group of workers in a conversation, Sloan sheathed her sword and continued up the stairs.
The blade slid into its sheath like a hand into a perfectly fitting glove.
Warmth from the blade heated her side. When Edison had made her the sheath, he had warned her that the blade needed a few seconds to cool before it was placed in its home.
Although the sheath was created from the same steel as her sword, the blade would still melt it like butter if it was placed inside when still activated.
The massive oak doors leading into the doctor’s office appeared in front of her as she crested the final step. The idea that this could still be some elaborate trap was still at the forefront of her mind.
Sloan raised a gloved hand and firmly knocked on the door. The noise reverberated inward.
“Captain,” the doctor’s voice answered from the opposite side. “Please enter. We have much to discuss.”
Sloan steeled herself for what might come when she entered the room. As if her hand had a mind of its own, it strayed to her sword hilt once more. Slowly, Sloan pushed the door inward. Ready for anything, she entered the office.
Everything was how she remembered seeing it the day before, except for the doctor himself. Oliver Livingston sat behind his desk, tired and worried. Ever since she could remember, he had an air of enthusiasm around him. He was always optimistic and cheerful, but not today.
“Why are you here?” he asked, eyeing Sloan’s blade. “Are you here to kill me?”
“Should I be?” Sloan walked into the room. With every step, she studied her surroundings.
“Contrary to what you believe, I am not your enemy, Charlotte Sloan.” The doctor raised both hands in surrender. “The true enemy we share is knocking at the gates of our city.”
Finally, convinced they were alone and she was in no immediate danger, Sloan relaxed her stance.
She moved to the side of the desk where the doctor sat, giving her a view of Oliver Livingston and the open doors to her left.
Sloan learned a long time ago that an exposed back was an easy target for an enemy lacking morals.
“Did you know about Commander Brookhaven?” Sloan’s question was brief and straight to the point. Like her personality, Sloan gave no merit to witty banter or verbal sparring. “Are you involved with The Order?”
“Charlotte, you need to give me a chance to explain. I?—”
“Don’t call me Charlotte. Answers, now. No more games. Did you know about Commander Brookhaven’s involvement with The Order. Do you know who she really is?”
“Yes, to both of your questions. But there is so much more. Please, hear me out. Give me an opportunity to explain.”
Sloan felt anger’s familiar touch. For years, Oliver Livingston had declared himself a friend to the Crown. For years, he had lied to Sloan, as well as the Queen. He had betrayed the city she loved and made her a fool.
“Get on your feet,” Sloan said through gritted teeth. “You’re under arrest for conspiracy to the Crown.”
“I am not the man you think I am.” The doctor rose, his hands still in plain sight. “There are few allies left to us, while our real enemies grow in strength. Please, if you care about this city at all, give me just a few minutes of your time. I beg of you, Sloan.”
There were a multitude of reasons Sloan should refuse his offer and take him into custody, there and now.
She owed him nothing, and neither was she curious to find out what he had to say.
Still, something in his eyes made her hesitate.
It was a look of sincerity. A tone in his voice told her he couldn’t care less about what happened to him but more about what was in store for her and the city of New Hope.
“You have two minutes,” Sloan agreed against her better judgment. “Make them count.”
“Thank you. Thank you, Sloan. The fate of our city, maybe the entire Outland, could be decided in the next few minutes. The hour is late and the wolves knock at our door.”
“Now you have a minute and a half.” Sloan glared at him with indifference. “Start talking.”
“It all began when Livingston Industries was just beginning to take shape. The knowledge I have gained since then has been staggering. A woman came to me and told me a story that I couldn’t believe.
She told me the Queen and her witch had brought her back from the dead.
She told me she had no memory of her life before, but that death was coming, and with it, the end of the world as we know it. ”
Of all the things Sloan thought the doctor would tell her, lies of a Queen and her witch were not among them. Sloan was trying now to discern whether or not the doctor was actually crazy, or if he was well aware he was lying.
“I know this is hard to believe.” Apparently, Doctor Livingston mistook her silence for interest. With vigor, he continued his story.
“I didn’t think it possible myself, but I have seen things with my own eyes, Sloan, things that belong in books.
Things I cannot begin to explain. The Queen you serve is not who you think she is.
She is bent on destruction of not only our city, but also of the world as we know it.
Everything you believe is a well-placed lie. ”
“You would tell me anything to be free.” Sloan spoke aloud, even as she thought the words. “It’s easy to speak excuses, but providing evidence is another matter altogether. I’m assuming you have proof for everything you’re saying?”
“As much as I can gather,” the doctor sputtered.
His face was a wreck of frustration, not at Sloan, but at his own predicament.
“Tell me, how I can prove this to you? If you give me to her now, everything will be lost. There are only a handful who know the truth. How? How can I convince you of this?”
Sloan raised an eyebrow. The doctor’s story was so unbelievable, it almost made her think it was true.
But the Queen? Her Queen? Queen Eleanor Eckert of New Hope, the Queen she had served for years?
The same woman who had taken New Hope from the gutters of depravity and raised it to the now-greatest city in the Outland, an evil dictator? It was impossible.
“I can’t take this as truth.” Sloan shook her head. “It’s time to go.”
“Please, ask yourself.” Doctor Livingston backpedaled, his hands out in front of him. “You can’t accept this, or won’t?”
“Choose one. Now, I can either bring you in quietly, or this can be as hard as you’d like to make it.” Sloan edged forward. “Choose wisely.”
“Don’t you see?” the doctor said, taking a step back. “This has all been a carefully laid plan since Queen Eleanor’s rise to the crown.”
“Unless you have evidence to back your accusations, we’re done here.” Sloan took another step forward. “Last chance to make this easy on yourself?—”
The doors to the office flew open with a bang. Sloan pivoted in time to see Commander Brookhaven rush into the room, her sword already glowing with blue intensity.
“You’re not arresting anyone, Captain.”