Chapter 21
The message from Lucille came earlier than Eleanor had expected; she’d hoped to put off thinking about the next round of school visits until after her son was born. But Lucille didn’t even know that she was pregnant, and had already pulled together the folders. Daniel tried to persuade her to send someone else, but she wanted to do this one herself. Anyone else might still be stupid enough to ignore the Venncastle names on principle. Besides, it would only be a short trip, and she was seriously bored of being confined to headquarters.
She arrived in Almont late at night and took her usual room under the eaves of the Old Barrel Yard, adjusting the skylight to stop the rain dripping onto the floorboards. Ade looked at her with evident curiosity, but he knew better than to ask what she was doing back in town.
The next morning she took an indirect route out of the rebel district, made a few stops to ensure she hadn’t been followed, and walked to the Marble Quarter. It had all been so much easier when she could just enter Lucille’s office by the window, but she couldn’t climb in her current condition. Pretending she had a normal kind of appointment, she introduced herself to the receptionist.
“Lucille isn’t available today,” the young man said, barely looking up. He tapped his pencil in an irregular rhythm against the edge of the table, watching each bounce.
“She’s expecting me.”
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
“Sorry. She’s indisposed to visitors, with or without an appointment.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
He stopped tapping and considered her for a moment, then leaned forwards and lowered his voice. “Between you and me, I’d find another Assessor to help you with your business. Lucille’s got herself in trouble with the Empress’s special forces. We’re not sure if she’ll ever come back to work.”
“Okay,” Eleanor was careful to hide her emotions. “Thank you for your time.”
She turned to walk slowly from the lobby, feeling sick to her stomach and determined not to show it. The irregular tapping resumed behind her. Special forces? She wondered what that meant. Had her little recruitment exercise drawn the attention of the Shadows?
She walked around the block and stopped out of the way in a quiet alley. Apparently she was going to have to go climbing after all. She looked around for an easy route, settling for a gap between two buildings where she could angle her bump into the corner and find holds on the two facing walls. Since returning to the Association she hadn’t even climbed for practice, and she struggled with the simplest of movements. It was as if all the strength had gone out of her shoulders, and her muscles felt like jelly. When she eventually hauled herself onto the icy tiles she rested on her side to catch her breath. The baby kicked, and she stroked her belly around where she thought his head might be.
“Sorry Martin,” she whispered. “But this is one job that can’t wait.”
She returned to the Assessors’ College over the rooftops, lowering herself awkwardly in through a top floor window and walking down two flights of stairs to Lucille’s corridor. And then, because there were two smartly uniformed city guards standing outside Lucille’s office door, she strode past without casting even a glance in their direction, walked around the building, and scrambled out again through another window. She cursed under her breath. She’d come too late. If the list had been in Lucille’s office then it had fallen into the wrong hands now.
She climbed slowly to the ground and walked to the edge of the Market Quarter where she stopped to exchange pass phrases with a man from Second Corps who was guarding the street. She strode into the Old Barrel Yard, leaned against the bar, and waved at Ade for a glass of water which she finished in three gulps. She couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had happened to Lucille, it was all her fault. It was too close to be a coincidence.
She ascertained from Ade that First Corps were out doing exactly as she’d asked, waging war on the city’s northeast gate. She didn’t know the other units’ strengths so well, but a few carefully chosen questions led her to a tall, muscular woman called Sally who was widely known to be the best climber in Sixth Corps, and possibly in the whole Revolutionary Guard. Eleanor introduced herself, though it was obvious Sally already knew who she was, and briefly explained her predicament.
“And that’s where you come in,” she finished. “I need to go back tonight, and I really need someone to rope me, because climbing with this figure is a nightmare.”
Sally agreed at once and Eleanor sent her to get some rest while they waited for nightfall. She tried to sleep herself, but her old shoulder injury twinged and she found herself staring at the ceiling instead.
Sally returned wearing cropped trousers and a tailored black top which fitted her closely and showed off her curves, with her silver-blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. They set out in the early hours of the night, long after Eleanor was sure even the most dedicated Assessor would have gone home. She knotted a harness around her torso – the kind of comprehensive support she hadn’t relied on since she was a child – and made sure it was well hidden beneath her cloak before leading Sally towards the Assessors’ College. The climb was much easier with a rope, and Eleanor left Sally on the roof while she went in to investigate Lucille’s office.
Thankfully the guards had gone home for the night, so it looked like they’d been tasked to guard against inquisitive colleagues rather than anything more serious. Eleanor still moved on tiptoes and hesitated before trying the door, mindful of a possible trap. As it happened the door swung open easily and without any surprises. The office was in complete disarray: the incoherent scramble of a half-finished search rather than the messy-but-organised piles that characterised Lucille’s normal mode. Eleanor picked her way across to the desk, taking care not to step on any of the scattered paperwork, though the marks of earlier footsteps showed that previous visitors had been less mindful.
She didn’t dare to light even a single candle against the dark; a light in the College at this time of night would bring city guards running at the best of times. And if Lucille was in really deep trouble, it could even be soldiers or Shadows.
She found nothing that looked like her list. A couple of complex charts plotted students against test scores, with potential assignment notes jotted in the margins, but they were assignments to areas like trade and manufacturing. Nothing even military; that wasn’t Lucille’s field. Somewhere, in some other office, would be charts that plotted the strength and agility and speed of the Empire’s physical elite, against their skills with weapons and hand-to-hand, against their temperament and other personal qualities. In theory if she had all that information she could reconstruct the list for herself, but she didn’t know anything about the methodology. If she had to attempt it, her results would be little better than guesswork.
Eleanor looked around again. Student folders were scattered across the room. If Lucille had already had all the folders waiting for her, was it possible that the relevant files could still be here despite the search?
She picked up the nearest example and flicked through it. A carpenter, the cover sheet proposed, although it hadn’t yet been signed off and confirmed. Boring. Eleanor threw it back onto the pile, trying to maintain the haphazard appearance.
The next two were equally dull, but the third had ‘Shdw?’ scribbled in a curly hand that contrasted with Lucille’s neat print. The report gave details of a youth called Daryl, at Venncastle. Eleanor turned the pages quickly: impressive physical scores, high intelligence, good apothecary, exceptional integrity. She was almost certain she’d found one of the records she was looking for. He’d do, in any case.
She worked her way around the room, and found four more folders that seemed to match her mental image of a good Association recruit. If Lucille had kept them in one pile in her office, the search had muddled everything together. At least it seemed to mean that whoever was searching hadn’t known what to look for.
Eleanor gathered up the files sh
e was interested in and considered taking them with her, but documents missing from the archives would look very suspicious. Instead she let herself into a few of the corridor’s other offices and, whenever she found one that looked busy enough that an extra file wouldn’t be noticed, slipped one or other of the folders into high piles of works-in-progress. She hoped it would be too late for anyone to connect the dots – or too late for it to matter – by the time the files turned up again.
And then, with her head full of names and numbers, she went to collect Sally from the roof and headed back to the tavern to think. Once she had a drink in her hand she turned to address herself to the tavern’s assorted patrons, daring to speak with relative freedom now that access to the whole district was so carefully controlled.
“Okay, everyone.” She clapped her hands to silence the room. “I need to find a new contact in the College of Assessors. Does anyone have any friends who work there? Preferably someone who might be sympathetic to our cause?”
“No honest worker could ever support such an artefact of the Imperial tyranny,” said a young woman with an infant strapped to her back. “You’ll never find a sympathetic Assessor.”
Eleanor slammed her hand into the bar and the woman jumped, startled.
“That’s short term thinking,” Eleanor said. “And the process of revolution is a long one. If we don’t have a tame Assessor right now, we should be working on turning one or two to our side.”
“But assessment is the poison at the heart of the Empire,” the woman said once she’d recovered from the initial shock. “It’s the very symbol of everything we want to destroy.”
“I won’t argue with that,” Eleanor said. “But that’s precisely why we need to be able to attack from within.”
“I had a friend in the College,” said a man from the other side of the room. “I even thought I might marry her, before all this, but she was afraid of what the revolution might mean for her job.”
“There are plenty of promises we can make,” Eleanor said, though she was painfully conscious of the way she’d failed to protect Lucille when the wrath of the Empire came. “If she’s only worried about her role under the new order, we can negotiate something suitable.”
“I’ll try to get back in touch,” the man said. “But I don’t know how she’ll take it.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate it. Anyone else?”
“There’s one old friend I could try,” Ade said. “Just let me know exactly what you need.”
“Which of the Empire’s other organs should we be looking to subvert?” another man called across the room.
“Good question. The palace guards are an obvious target, as is anyone who works in the Imperial household. The police and the city guard. Maybe even the prisons.”
“And the Shadow Corps.” The young woman who spoke was petite with delicate features, and despite the heat of the fire she was wrapped top to toe in a heavy woollen cloak with a cowl that covered her head and threw shadows across her face. A few wisps of black hair had escaped to stray across her eyes.
Something in her voice suggested she’d had personal dealings with the Shadows, and Eleanor wondered what story lay behind her venom, but it seemed an unwise time to ask. Instead, she said, “We’ve tried infiltrating the Shadows. Though with all the new recruits it could soon be time to try again. We’ll keep an eye on it.”
The young woman nodded. “You should.”
The crowd gradually thinned, and Eleanor was about to go up to her room for the night when the cowled woman approached her. “You’re Eleanor, aren’t you? Can you spare me a moment?”
Eleanor nodded. “Shall we have another drink?”
“I’d prefer privacy.” She glanced towards the tavern’s few remaining patrons, and then at Ade who was cleaning up behind the bar. “Could we step outside?”
“It’s cold out there. Come up to my room, we won’t be disturbed.”
The girl followed her up the stairs, the soft fall of leather soles echoing behind the thud of Eleanor’s riveted boots.
“What’s your name?” Eleanor asked as she put a match to lanterns around the room. The air was damp, and every wick took long moments to dry out and sizzle into life.
“Lauren.”
“Sit down.” The attic room had a warm bed but no chairs; hospitality was supposed to happen in the bar downstairs. Eleanor sat cross-legged beneath the skylight, and waved for the girl to sit on the floor in front of her.
As she bent to her knees the light fell across her face and Eleanor could see her features clearly for the first time: olive skin, dark eyes, full lips, and a jagged, deep scar along her jaw. She noticed the focus of Eleanor’s eyes and dropped the cloak from her head as she sat. She pushed her hair back, clearing her face. In so doing she revealed more scars: across her left temple, along her hairline, and at the side of her neck. A small chunk was missing from the top of her right ear.
“Mine aren’t the first battle scars you’ve seen,” she said when she caught Eleanor examining her face. “They won’t be the last.”
“What brought you into the revolution?” Eleanor asked. She thought of Lauren’s earlier words, and the hatred behind them. “Did the Shadows do this to you?”
“No.” She hesitated; looked sideways at the lantern, then down to the floor. “I’m in the Shadow Corps.”
Eleanor caught her breath sharply, sliding her knife from its wrist sheath as she exhaled. How had one of the Shadows infiltrated their innermost sanctuary? These days the Old Barrel Yard had passwords on the door, as well as those protecting the whole district, and if one Shadow had tricked her way inside then there was no reason to believe there wouldn’t be more.
“Let me speak before you kill me,” Lauren said. There was no fear in her voice, but also no threat.
“I think you’d better tell me your story,” Eleanor agreed. She folded her hands on her lap but kept the knife in one hand, ready. “And quickly.”
“I was in the Specials, to begin with. And very, very good at my job. I was one of the first military reassignments into the new unit when the Shadows were formed.”
“When did that happen?” There’d been no military transfers when Eleanor had seen the inside of the Shadows.
“Half a year ago.”
“And then what?”
“I’m just like every other revolutionary. An idealist, if you favour that term. I didn’t like the way it was going, I hate the things the Empress asks of us... just like you, if you’re Association. I’ve heard enough about the rift to know what I missed.”
“But you’re still in the Shadows.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about. I could leave, of course. I’m often tempted. But I thought... you’re the one with the plan, the vision, you see. So when I heard you were back in town...”
Eleanor watched her without comment, letting her falter, waiting for her to fill her own uncomfortable silences.
“I thought it might be more useful if I stayed where I am,” Lauren said, composing herself again. “With your permission. If I could be part of your plan.”
She searched Eleanor’s face for any clue to her thoughts while Eleanor continued to study her in return, giving her another long moment of silence to be sure she’d really finished. Then: “How long have you been playing this game?” Eleanor asked, her attention suddenly focused on practicalities.
“What game?”
“How long have you been sneaking out at night to drink in rebel bars?”
“Just a few weeks. Only a couple of times really. I wanted to see what was what. And then I heard you were here. I knew I needed to see you.”
“Well, you were right about that. And you’re certain you’ve never been followed?”
Lauren’s expression hardened. “I may be ex-military, but I’m not an amateur.”
“Okay, okay.” Eleanor held up her hands in a small conciliatory gesture – though she still held her knife against her palm. “Relax. My friends will tell yo
u I’m a perfectionist, but I’m only doing my job. We can’t afford a single mistake.”
Lauren nodded her understanding.
“It’s for your own safety, anyhow. They already know where to find the rest of us.”
“Yes, I see that.”
“Do you? Well, we could do worse than talk about safety. If you want to do this properly, there won’t always be a safe way out. I’ll understand if you change your mind, but you’d better change it quickly.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
“I hope you’ve had enough experience to say that and mean it. I know what you’re taking on – I’ve been there. I know how hard it can get.”
“Maybe you could... I mean, maybe if you had any tips. Was there anything you learnt the hard way?”
“You just promised me you weren’t an amateur.”
“I’m not.” She straightened a little; chin up, shoulders back, pouting with offended pride. “I’m professional enough to recognise the value of experience.”
“That’s more like it.” Eleanor allowed herself a genuine smile for the first time since the shock of learning she had a Shadow in her room. “None of this stammering and pleading. Act as if you deserve my respect and you’ll get it. Ask me straight for my advice, and I’ll happily give it.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Good. And we have more logistics to discuss, but it’s getting late. Can you meet me at sunset tomorrow?”
“Of course. Here?”
“No. After you leave the rebel district tonight, you won’t be coming back.”
“But–”
“You’re a Shadow and you need to act like one. The pass phrases will be changed just in case you’re ever tempted – you can’t compromise your position just because you feel like an evening with friends.”
“You still don’t trust me.”
“You’ve asked me for a difficult assignment. I’m just doing what I’d do for anyone in that position: protecting you, and protecting the rest of us. It wouldn’t do for anyone to notice one of the Shadows coming and going between rebel districts.”
“It’s okay, I understand. I wouldn’t trust me, either.”
“I trust you as much as I trust anyone on the day I meet them.” She turned her wrist outwards to make a point as she slid her blade back into its sheath, though in reality unsheathing her knife would add only a couple of heartbeats to her reaction time. “And probably a little more: it takes guts to say the things you’ve said. So, you’ll meet me tomorrow on the roof of the tannery, where the cattle road crosses the river, and we can talk.”
“I’ll be there.”