I squeezed her hand. “Say it again.”
Steering clear of police patrols, we hurried to the blocks of factories that hulked over the houses and shops, silhouetting starlight. As a child, I’d never been permitted east of Castle Street. Coming here now—even years older and having seen the worst parts of Skyvale—sent thrills of disobedience through me. “Which one is it?”
“Water processing and filtration. There.” Melanie pointed to a large square building with pipes running along the roof and walls. Rusted metal gleamed with water droplets.
“Let’s look around and meet on the far side in ten minutes.”
She nodded.
The darkness was a curse and blessing. I crept around the north side of the building, feeling my way along the crumbling stone wall. I kept my steps silent on the gritty flagstones—heel, ball, toe—hyperaware of every scrape and hiss of gravel. Though I listened hard for voices or breathing, there was only me. The only scents were salt and water and waste.
At last I came to a metal door. In the darkness, I felt out the shapes of a lock and knob, but I didn’t test them. I continued on, counting three more doors. There were no windows on the ground floor. No evidence of Red Militia occupation.
Melanie was already at our meeting place. “Anything?” she whispered.
I shook my head. “Doors. No guards.”
“Same.” Her frustrated sigh was barely perceptible. “No sign there’s anyone here.”
There might be footprints or scrapes on doors or walls, but those would be visible only during the day. And they wouldn’t necessarily be from Red Militia.
“I saw a few windows up high, but Patrick would have warned them to stay out of view.”
Definitely. If we couldn’t hear voices conveniently plotting the next insurgency, that left one option.
“We go in.” We had to be sure this was their hideout before we brought in police or soldiers, and alerted the Red Militia of information leaks.
She blew out a breath. “All right.”
“Any idea of the layout?”
“Very little. I didn’t spend much time away from Patrick.” She jerked her chin to the south side of the building. “But I found what looks like a loading area. There might be people holed up near there, but I bet it gets drafty.”
So they’d likely find an office or someplace closed off. I followed her around the corner.
Faint light glimmered as the moon began its descent; it was just enough for me to make out the paved drive wide enough for three wagons, and several sets of double doors. Definitely a loading area—and a well-maintained one, considering Aecor had stopped using industrialized magic a hundred years ago.
The trouble with using these doors was that they were so big. Wind would howl in and alert occupants to our presence.
Well, we didn’t have much of a choice.
The second door we tried was unlocked. We slipped into a vast, echoing chamber, careful not to let the metal door slam behind us.
In the dim interior, I cocked an eyebrow at Melanie with a question. Had she noticed the silent way the door swung open and closed? Granted, we hadn’t opened it very far, but it’d had the ease of movement that came with often-oiled hinges.
She tilted her head, and understanding dawned on her face.
Someone very careful had been here.
Melanie and I pressed our backs against the wall, taking in the expanse of the room.
Rows of cleaning stations filled the space, some so high they required two ladders to reach. When the factory had been functional, salty or marshy water was pumped into cisterns, which radiants cleaned and purified. Good water was pumped out, into the city for general use.
Dust and grime covered every surface, but not a hundred years’ worth. Someone had been here. Maybe not now or yesterday or a year ago, but I’d lived in the old palace more than half my life. I knew what a century of neglect looked like, and this wasn’t it.
Unease gnawed at me as I scanned the area, but I found no movement, no sign anyone had noticed our entrance. If there were occupants, they were beyond the double doors at the far side. A chair held one open, and yellow light fell across the stone floor in a narrow banner, angled away from us.
Definitely suspicious.
As Melanie and I made our way through the immense room, I imagined the noise of water rushing through the pipes, radiants working in unison, and supervisors’ shoes tapping the stone floor as they marched through to keep everyone on task.
I forced my breath long and even as we approached the next set of doors and the lit room beyond them. Hopefully, we could get in, see any signs of Red Militia, and get out.
“I’ll go first,” I mouthed. Because she was my friend, but also one of my people. My heart beat hummingbird fast as I drew my sword and a dagger.
Melanie nodded and followed suit.