The other man studied him, undecided. “I won’t let you bring any weapons inside.”
“I have my staff of office,” Logan said. “Nothing else.”
“You’ll be searched. I’ll need to have you speak with the boy in his holding cell.” The other man shook his head. “I’ll say it again. I don’t like this. I don’t see why I should agree to it.”
Logan folded his staff into the cradle of his arms. “You should agree to it because it is the right thing to do. I told you the truth. I don’t know this boy. I don’t care about the girl or the medical supplies or any of the rest of it. I am here for one reason and one reason only—to find out if this boy is the one I am looking for. I can’t do that if I don’t speak to him. He can tell me what I need to know, and then I will be gone from here.” He paused, staring at Ethan Cole. “Why are you so afraid?”
Cole flushed at the rebuke, looked as if he was about to make a retort, then thought better of it and simply nodded. “All right. Come this way.”
They went back through the doorway and into the compound corridors. Logan allowed himself to be searched, permitted the guards to run their hands over him. It had been a long time since he had allowed anyone to do that. But when they tried to take his staff, he stopped them, telling them that his oath of office wouldn’t allow it. Cole shrugged the matter away, seeing the staff as ordinary humans were meant to see it, and beckoned him ahead impatiently. Having made up his mind to allow this, Cole clearly wanted to get it over with. A phalanx of guards accompanied them as they wound their way down a series of corridors and then descended into the bowels of the complex. Everything was formed of concrete and steel, smooth and functional and indestructible. Logan hated places like this, found them stultifying and deadening, tombs for the living. He found no comfort in walls and gates, gained no sense of peace or reassurance from their vast bulk, and felt disconnected from the world whenever he was inside them.
But he kept his feelings to himself, focusing on what he was here to do, a small excitement beginning to build at the prospect of completing his journey.
He did not allow himself to think beyond the possibility that Hawk was the gypsy morph. He would not worry yet about what he would need to do if he was. The nature of this undertaking, grave and dangerous, required that he not think past the moment. This was difficult for him to do. He had learned to stay alive by thinking ahead. But thinking too far ahead here might result in a mistake that would reveal his intentions to Cole and the others who warded this compound.
They must not be given any reason to look on him as a threat.
They were deep inside the compound when Cole halted before a steel door, one of several that lined the corridor in which they stood. He signaled to the guard on duty, and the man produced a key that unlocked the door. The door swung open, the guard stepped back, and Cole gestured for Logan to go inside. Logan almost hesitated.
“I’ll need a light,” he said. “So I can see after you’ve closed the door.”
Cole handed him a battery-powered torch. “Make it quick. Just call out when you’re done. Someone will be right outside.”
Logan took the torch wordlessly, switched it on, and walked past him into the cell. The door closed behind him with a soft thud, and he could hear footsteps receding into the distance.
Hawk stood directly in front of him, not six feet away, squinting against the brightness of the light. He was slender and not very tall with a shock of ragged black hair and eyes so deep-set they seemed black until the light revealed a hint of green. He wasn’t imposing in any way, didn’t appear at all impressive, and gave no indication that he might be anything other than what he seemed to be. Logan directed the torch beam toward the floor, letting the boy’s eyes adjust.
“My name is Logan Tom,” he said. He turned the beam on himself to let the boy have a good look, keeping it in place as he talked. “I’m a Knight of the Word. Do you know anything of our order?”
The boy shook his head, said nothing.
“Your friends told me where to find you,” Logan continued. “Owl said you had come here to meet Tessa. I guess that meeting didn’t work out.”
The boy made no response, watching Logan closely.
“Your name is Hawk?”
The boy nodded.
“I’m looking for someone. I think you might be him.” He waited, and then gestured at the floor. “Sit down with me. I’ll show you something interesting.”
He sat cross-legged on the floor, and after a moment or two, the boy joined him. Logan placed the light to one side, its beam directed across the floor in front of them so that the pale wash illuminated them both. Then he lay down the black staff, reached into his pocket, and extracted the black cloth and finger bones of Nest Freemark. He spread the cloth on the floor carefully, smoothed out the wrinkles, and looked at the boy.