“Mrs. Evans? I’m hungry.”
She sensed movement ahead, but could not tell which tunnel it came from. Fear welled within her, but adrenaline was stronger. It was the song of the fight, yes, but there was something else at work here. Aisa was doing something important. She didn’t know whether the Caden would have accepted her if they hadn’t had use for a child, dangling bait to draw out the difficult prey. But it no longer mattered. She was helping, helping to save the weak and punish those who needed punishment. The song of the fight was a great thing in itself, but the song of the righteous fight was exponentially more powerful, allowing Aisa to ignore her fear and limp forward a few more feet.
“Hello?”
The shadowy form of a man emerged from the left-hand tunnel. Aisa blinked up at him. Instinct told her to give the alarm, but she held silent. When they spooked the prey, the prey would panic, and that made them more likely to kill the children.
“Mrs. Evans left me,” she told the man, pitching her voice high for the Caden behind her.
He smiled; she could see the white of his teeth in the dim light. But the rest of him was a large shadow, holding out a hand.
This was the most difficult part for Aisa. She would have liked nothing better than to lop his hand off at the wrist, but there were more than ten children down that tunnel. The man could not be given the chance to scream.
She took his hand, grimacing inwardly at the sweaty feel of his skin. The man took the torch from her and held it high, pulling her with him into the tunnel. With her free hand, she reached behind her and grasped the hilt of her knife. The man was much taller, and it would take a movement both sharp and seamless to get the knife to his throat. The people in the Creche, both adults and children, were like animals, skittish and overly sensitive to danger. Merritt said it was the result of a life lived in the shadows, but Aisa wondered. She was skittish herself.
They rounded a corner and Aisa found herself in a small, enclosed chamber with a low ceiling, barely tall enough for the man beside her to stand up straight. The chamber itself was lit by two torches, but on the far wall was another door that led into blackness. The floor was covered with children sitting cross-legged; a quick scan of the room gave Aisa fourteen of them. The oldest could not be more than eleven. Five more men were scattered along the walls, and Aisa marked that three of them carried swords before she halted, dumbfounded, her eyes locked on the fourth: Da, staring right back at her.
His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to shout. Aisa tried to jerk her hand free, but the tall man had already whirled her around and thrown her against the wall. Aisa went down, half dazed, and felt a bloom of pain in her chest as the man kicked her in the ribs.
“A trap!” Da shouted. “Run!”
The children began to scream, and the echo of all of those voices against the tunnel walls made Aisa clap her hands to her ears. The children scrambled to their feet and rushed through the far doorway. The blows to her rib cage stopped, and Aisa looked up to see the last of the men disappearing behind them.
Da, she thought fuzzily. And she wondered why she had not expected him. Pimp or client, neither would surprise her.
The four Caden burst into the room, swords drawn, and she pointed to the far doorway as she tried to sit up.
“You’re all right, girl?” Daniel asked her.
“Fine,” she wheezed. “Go, go.”
They tore through the doorway, and Aisa began the slow process of dragging herself to her feet. Her ribs ached, and her head was cut open where she had hit the wall. She heard the ring of swords in the tunnel beyond and pushed herself up. The Caden could take care of themselves, but later on they might remember that she had not been there with them.
Da here, her mind repeated, and the thought had a sharp edge to it now. She pulled one of the torches from its bracket and cast around until she found her knife, lying across the room. The screams of the children were muted now, growing distant. With her knife in one hand and a torch in the other, Aisa took a deep breath, feeling something pull at her ribs, and charged after them.
The tunnel was narrower on this side, and soon it began to wind, snakelike, ever upward. Ahead, she heard a man shouting, and then there was only the scuffling of her own feet. The closeness increased until Aisa would have given anything for a breath of fresh air. She thought she was gaining on them, but could not be sure. Her head ached. Every few seconds, she had to wipe blood from her eyes.
She skidded around a turn and came to a halt. At her feet lay a man’s body. She crept closer, then used her foot to roll him over: Da, still breathing. He, too, had taken a blow to the head; she could see the beginnings of an ugly bruise on his temple.