In reality Paul didn’t have a clue who’d been responsible for the bombings. Surely he’d have been told if something was being planned for the Royal Mile—wouldn’t he? After all, the Resistance had sent him and Steven to investigate the tunnels, so they’d been aware that there were operatives in the vicinity. Furthermore, the Resistance didn’t bomb civilian areas with massive devices. There was too much risk of killing humans. No, this wasn’t right at all.
But the two bombs, one after the other, fitted a certain pattern, just as he’d told the girls: the first bomb drew the emergency response teams—the Military and Securitats—and the second took out the rescuers. There were Resistance bomb teams who worked just that way, but not usually in cities, and certainly not where humans might be injured.
Paul looked around Knutter’s cramped shop, and gave a heartfelt sigh.
“Should we call it off?” said Knutter.
“No,” said Paul. “We go ahead. With luck, the Illyri will have enough to keep them occupied picking through the rubble on the Mile.”
He looked to his brother, who nodded.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Paul turned to Knutter. “You’d better show us the way, then.”
Knutter guided Paul and Steven into the back room of the shop. From there, they descended the rough stairs to the basement.
“Birdoswald,” said Knutter. “Wish I’d been part of that one. That was a hell of an operation.”
Paul nodded as if in agreement, but said nothing. First Birdoswald, and now bombs on the Royal Mile. It looked like someone was trying to put the Resistance out of a job.
They were now in the basement, standing in a weak puddle of spluttering light, and Knutter began pulling boxes aside, revealing a rusty shelf.
“See?” he said.
They didn’t, and the big man giggled like a child.
“Well, of course you wouldn’t.”
With a last theatrical wink at the brothers, he unclipped the catches holding the shelf to the wall and slid it forward on concealed castors. Behind it was a sheet of plywood painted to match the brick, which Knutter shifted to reveal an entrance large enough for a man to pass through without crouching. The interior smelled damp, and when Knutter shone a flashlight inside, Steven and Paul heard a rat scuttling into the safety of the darkness. The light illuminated a small chamber with a curved ceiling.
“You see there?” said Knutter, pointing at the base of the far wall. Steven and Paul squinted, and saw that the cement holding together the bricks in that part of the wall appeared newer than elsewhere. “I’ve been working on it these last few nights, loosening the bricks until I could create a hole big enough to use. Then I re-laid them on a metal support so that the whole section could be pulled out and replaced easily. It’s a neat job. You wouldn’t spot it unless you were looking for it.”
“Cool,” said Steven, and he meant it.
“And that leads directly into the new tunnel?” asked Paul.
“Pretty much. I still don’t know how they managed to dig so quietly. I mean, it’s right underneath my shop, and I never would have known about it if I hadn’t been down here and heard those Toads babbling.”
Paul looked at his brother.
“You ready?”
Steven nodded, and they both shrugged off their thick coats to reveal the short, sharp knives they carried beneath. The knives were the only weapons they had brought to the city center, for being caught on the streets with a firearm was a shortcut to the Punishment Battalions. The battalions, made up of those found guilty of acts of terror and other crimes against the Illyri, were routinely dispatched to work and fight on the most hostile of worlds. Life expectancy could be measured in weeks and months, and sometimes only days.
Paul and Steven attached LED lights to their foreheads, and knelt to help Knutter pull back the section of wall.
Beyond was darkness.
Paul checked his watch. He took a deep breath. The air beyond smelled stale, but there was something else there too, something bad. Knutter handed him a Glock pistol.
“Just in case,” he said. “And I want it back.”
Paul took the gun without hesitation.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s do this.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
S
yl detected the new tension in the corridors as she and Ani passed along them, trying to find out what was happening. There were more Securitats among her father’s Military, the two forces maintaining a discreetly hostile distance from each other. Twice they were stopped by Securitats and asked where they were going, and why, and only the intervention of members of her father’s guard prevented an awkward situation from arising. From what Syl could understand, the Securitats were attempting to put the castle in lockdown for security reasons, and the Military were resisting on principle. The circumstances in the castle had changed, and although it might have been linked in part to the explosions, it was clearly also to do with the red ship that sat beautifully, sinisterly, in the courtyard. Rupe, a sergeant of the castle guard, was advising Ani and Syl to return to their rooms after the second encounter with the Securitats when an Illyri male wearing a black business suit with gold trim on the collar appeared nearby, watching the exchange with grave, humorless eyes. He was frighteningly thin, with black hair cut close to his scalp, and his skin was a sickly, washed-out yellow. He brought to mind a sheathed blade, waiting to be used.
Sedulus.
Syl knew him by name and reputation, although thankfully they had never had reason to speak. Sedulus was Marshal of the Security Directorate for all of northern Europe, one of the most powerful Securitats on Earth. Her father, she knew, disliked him intensely, a feeling that was entirely mutual. Sedulus rarely came to Edinburgh, preferring instead to remain at his own headquarters at the fortress of Akershus in Oslo, Norway, a building that had once been occupied by the Nazis. Syl’s father found this entirely apt.
Beside Sedulus, Syl was alarmed to note, was Vena. Syl had heard rumors that Sedulus and Vena were lovers, although she found it hard to believe that love would enter into any relationship involving those two. Both now approached their little group. Rupe instinctively stood in front of Syl and Ani, as though to protect them from the two Securitats.
“Step aside, Sergeant,” said Vena.
“May I ask why?” said Rupe.
“Because I am your superior officer, and if you don’t obey my orders, I will have you thrown into a cell.”
“With respect, ma’am,” said Rupe, loading his words with so much sarcasm that Syl was certain he was goading Vena into trying to arrest him, “this is a Military base of operations, and I answer to the Lord Governor. You can take your orders and shove them where the sun don’t shine, begging your pardon.”
Syl saw Vena reach for the pistol on her belt, but Sedulus placed a hand on her arm and she froze.
“There’s no need for trouble, Sergeant,” said Sedulus. He had a voice like honey, but stinging bees were not far away. “Major Vena merely wanted to make sure that these young ladies were safe and well after the recent incidents.”
“Why shouldn’t they be?” said Rupe.
“Major Vena appears to be under the impression that the governor’s daughter and her friend might have been outside the castle walls when the bombs went off. If that were the case, it might be useful if my officers were given the opportunity to question them, just in case they saw anything while they were abroad, so to speak.”
He smiled. His lips didn’t sit perfectly together when he did, and a sliver of white teeth was visible between them. It made him look hungry.
“The major must be mistaken,” said Syl. “We were not outside.”
“I saw you in the courtyard,” said Vena.
“Oh, we were in the courtyard,” said Syl, “but that’s not illegal yet. Is it?”
Sh
e looked at Ani. Ani shrugged innocently. “I don’t think so, but it sounds like the major might like to make it illegal.”
“You were covered in dust,” said Vena.
“We were watching the trucks,” said Syl. “We wanted to find out what was happening. I guess we must have got dirty from being so close to them.”
Vena scowled at them. Her eyes took in Ani’s tight jeans, silver sneakers, and outsize off-the-shoulder sweater that revealed a curious tattoo of a bird with the wings of a butterfly. The twin stripes on Vena’s skull suggested that she enjoyed expressing her own individuality, but she didn’t approve of others doing the same—especially not the spoiled brats of her Military antagonists.
“You dress like a human slut,” said Vena.
“Better that than a Securitat slut,” said Ani. She spoke without thinking, and Syl could see that she regretted her words instantly, but it was typical of Ani to lash out first and think about the consequences after.
Vena’s eyes darkened. A pale pink tongue poked from between her lips, like a serpent testing the air before striking.
“Careful, little bird,” she said, “or I may have to break your wings.”
Even Sedulus appeared to recognize that no good was going to come from any further exchanges.
“Well,” he said, “I believe that answers our questions for now, doesn’t it?”
Vena didn’t look like she’d received the answers she was looking for at all, and would have very much liked to continue the questioning somewhere quieter and more private, but she took the hint.
“If you are content, sir, then so am I,” she said.
“Then we’ll let the governor’s lovely daughter and her equally fetching friend be about their business,” said Sedulus. “Thank you for your help, Sergeant . . . ?”
“Rupe,” said the sergeant.
“Rupe,” repeated Sedulus. “I shall remember that name. Such loyal service to the governor should be rewarded appropriately, and it will be, when the time comes.”
Sedulus and Vena retreated, for the time being. Rupe let out a small, relieved breath.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” said Syl. “I hope we haven’t gotten you into trouble,” although she suspected that they had. Sedulus had a long memory, and Vena didn’t like to be thwarted.
“If you have, it would be worth it just to have gotten in that bitch’s face, excuse my language.”
“Can you tell us what’s happening?” said Ani. “Nobody seems to be know, or seems willing to share it with us.”
“All I know is that we have offworld visitors,” said Rupe. “Unexpected ones, and your father isn’t very happy about it.” He lowered his voice. “I can’t say for sure, but I hear that Grand Consul Gradus is among them.”
This was news. Gradus had never visited Earth before, and he would usually have been expected to arrive with much pomp and ceremony, not in a small ship on a damp day in bomb-blasted Edinburgh.
“Now,” concluded Rupe, “as I was saying earlier, if I were you, I’d find somewhere nice and quiet to wait this out. The Securitats have no love for anyone but their own kind, and I may not be here to protect you the next time. Off you go now.”
They went, but only as far as the next corner. When they were sure that Rupe was gone, Syl stopped.
“What is it?” said Ani.
“Care to eavesdrop?”
“On what?”
“On whatever happens next.”
Ani looked uncertain. “I think we might have had enough fun for one day, don’t you? I mean, we’ve slipped out of the castle and had to sneak back in again, we’ve nearly been blown up twice, we’ve had tea and cake with the enemy, and we’ve managed to annoy the head of the secret police and his nasty little puppet.”
“Indulge me,” said Syl. “It’s my birthday.”
“Where are we going?”
“The Great Hall.”
Ani pretended to scowl, then laughed. “All right, but we leave as soon as it gets boring. Which it will.”
“Fine,” said Syl, but she had a suspicion that the meeting wasn’t going to be boring at all.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
P
aul and Steven were in the sewers. Paul had been there before. The sewers had provided useful ways of moving arms around the city—and even a means of escape from patrols—but the Illyri had learned of what was happening, and had laid motion sensors along the routes most frequently used by the Resistance, as well as minimum-charge, infrasonic antipersonnel mines capable of killing a person without damaging the sewer system itself.
Now the Resistance tried to avoid the sewers; they didn’t have time to sweep for sensors and mines, and it was only in the most desperate of cases that they made their way below ground. Paul had seen what happened to the insides of Resistance soldiers caught by infrasonic mines. It wasn’t pretty, and he tried to keep images of it from his mind as he and his brother tramped through the filth of the city. His only reassurance came from the knowledge that the Illyri were unlikely to plant mines in areas used by their own troops. Just as long as Knutter hadn’t simply been hearing things, they should be okay.
“Which way?” asked Steven.
“Left,” said Paul.
“Why left?”
“Why not? Would you prefer to split up?”
Steven shook his head. He didn’t like being below ground, and already the tunnel was giving him the creeps. Although bulbs were strung irregularly along its length—another indication that the sewers were in use by the Illyri—they gave out only the dimmest of illumination, and there were great pools of darkness between each one.
Paul looked at his younger brother with only barely concealed admiration. Steven was just a kid, but then so were many of the Resistance’s bravest operatives. The Illyri tended to concentrate their strictest surveillance efforts on adults and older teenagers, not children. Even at the best of times, children were difficult to police, and consequently there were kids walking the streets of Edinburgh with guns and plastic explosives hidden in their schoolbags. It wasn’t what any parents might have wished for their children, but there was a war on. Steven was braver than most of his peers, but he would always be Paul’s little brother, and Paul tried to protect him as best he could.
“Didn’t think so,” he said. “Quietly now.”
Together they headed south, their knives clutched in their fists. Their headlamps cast disorientating shadows on the tunnel walls, making them both jumpy, so they chose instead to switch them off and rely on their eyes and the lights on the walls.
Paul had a pedometer attached to his hip, and he checked the distance as they walked, comparing it with the map in his hand. The tunnel seemed to run beneath South Bridge and Nicholson Street, then turned northeast at Lutton Place, heading in the direction of Queen’s Drive and the Salisbury Crags. As they drew nearer to the Crags, a stink assailed their nostrils, and Steven had to stop himself from retching loudly. It was the smell of burning, and worse.
“The crematorium,” said Paul. “We must be close to it.”
The Illyri had declared that burials were unsanitary in major urban areas, and had decreed that the remains of all deceased humans should be burned at a central crematorium built specially for that purpose to the east of Queen’s Drive. The order had caused some dismay, but not as much as might have been expected, since cremations had begun to outnumber burials even before the arrival of the invaders. People simply resented being told what to do, even if it was something that they had been doing anyway. It was the principle of the thing.
They reached a T-junction in the tunnel, and a collapsed wall was revealed to their right. The bricks had been moved away, and supporting joists added. Paul and Steven moved in for a closer look, and saw that a hole had been bored into the sewer wall. A length of pipe, about fifteen feet long and wide enough for a man to move through o
n his hands and knees, connected the sewer with a second, better-lit tunnel beyond.
“Stay here,” Paul told Steven.
He hoisted himself into the pipe and shuffled along on his elbows, making as little noise as he could, until he reached the other end of the pipe. His hands were shaking, but he tried to remain still as he listened for any noises from beyond before risking a quick glance.
The tunnel was perfectly round, with rubber pads set along the ground to provide a grip. Paul was baffled as to how the Illyri had managed to construct it without being noticed, until he recalled being told of the massive lasers they sometimes used to tunnel through mountains in order to build new roads or hide their bases. Yes, he thought, one of those lasers would do the trick if it could be assembled below ground, and it would explain why the tunnel walls were so smooth. The Illyri had simply burned their way under the city.
To his right, the tunnel came to a dead end in a patch of near darkness. Some machinery was stored there, but Paul didn’t recognize any of it. To his left, the tunnel intersected with another of similar smoothness and size.
He turned onto his back, slid most of his upper body from the pipe, then gripped its sides and dropped into the tunnel. He could see Steven at the other end, waiting to join him.
“Come on,” he said.
Steven climbed quickly into the pipe, and Paul helped him out. At that moment, they heard the burbling sounds of Galateans communicating, and Paul dragged his brother into the shadows, where they blended in with the piles of machinery and plastic. Paul drew Knutter’s gun from under his jacket. If they had to fight their way out, they would. If it got really bad, he hoped he could hold the Toads off while Steven escaped, but he prayed it wouldn’t come to that, both for his own sake and also because he knew that he’d have a hard time convincing his little brother to leave without him.
A Galatean appeared in the mouth of the Vault. It stopped in a pool of light and stared down the tunnel into the shadows where the boys had flattened themselves against the wall. Steven held his breath, afraid that if he sniffed even one more molecule of the tunnel stench, he would throw up.