‘You do,’ I said. ‘You just don’t want to believe it.’
Scion’s motto had always been ‘no safer place’. They strove to create an impression of peace; they had relied on it for two centuries, to prove to their denizens that the system worked, that they were safer than anyone else in the world. It was a silent bargain they made: let us remove unnaturals, no questions asked, and in return you will be protected.
A gun-mounted Senshield scanner heralded a new age. Martial law had never been intended to be a temporary measure while they dealt with the Mime Order; Scion wanted to turn Britain into a truly military state. They were ready to declare open war on unnaturals, if need be, and they now had a way to fight us without risk of collateral damage.
‘Paige,’ Eliza said, ‘look at this.’
She indicated a label on the lid of a crate. Above the Senshield symbol and the data, there was a destination. I ran my finger over the precious letters, the reason we had infiltrated this factory.
ATTN:
H. COMM. FIRST INQ. DIVISION
PRIORITY:
URGENT
PROJECT REF:
OPERATION ALBION
SHIP FROM:
SCIPLO ESTABLISHMENT B, SCION CITADEL OF MANCHESTER, NORTH WEST REGION
SHIP TO:
CENTRAL DEPOT, SCION CITADEL OF EDINBURGH, LOWLANDS REGION
‘Edinburgh. They’re being sent to Edinburgh. That must be where they’re connected to the core.’ Eliza loosed a breath. ‘That’s it, Paige.’
The feeling in my heart wasn’t quite hope. It was hard to feel hope in a room filled with war machines, with danger closing in. I looked again at all the towers of crates, at the level of organisation and preparation that Scion had attained over the years, while we had occupied ourselves with mime-crime and ignored the growing shadow.
There was only one way to stop it now.
Maria reached into the crate. ‘Quickly,’ she said. ‘Grab one each.’
We fumbled with the weapons, wrapping them in our coats. Suddenly the alarm sounded again, making us all flinch. Bands of red light arced through the loading bay.
‘Now might be a good time to mention that Catrin killed Price,’ I said. ‘I imagine we’re about to feel the consequence of that.’
‘Come on!’ Tom was by the exit, punching in the release code as the sound of a door opening grated through the loading bay. ‘Underqueen, hurry!’
He didn’t need to ask twice. We crossed the loading bay at speed, weighed down by our plunder, and reached the outer door.
Maria ducked through. Tom was on the other side, holding the colossal door open with nothing but his own strength. Sweat poured down his face as he forced his shoulder against it. Eliza scrambled under next, almost losing the rifle as it slipped from the crook of her arm. As the Vigiles opened fire, Tom let go of the door. I threw the rifle ahead of me and slid through the gap, into the snow, just before a teeth-rattling crash of metal against concrete made me throw my arms over my head. I gathered up the rifle as Tom hefted me to my feet.
The factory gate was ajar; Major Arcana’s contact had left us one more chance for escape. We ran, our boots sliding on fresh snow. When a Vigile sprang out on our left, Maria threw a knife into his thigh. Tom slowed, panting heavily, as we closed in on our exit.
‘Tom—’ I pulled his arm around my shoulder. ‘Come on. You can make it. Just a bit farther . . .’
‘Leave me, Underqueen,’ he rasped.
‘No. Not this time.’
More gunfire from behind us, and the ever-growing peal of the alarm. Maria flung open the gate. A few more desperate, staggering steps, and we were through it, into the van that awaited us on the corner. It was only when Major Arcana slammed his foot on the accelerator that I realised who was in the front seat, still smothered in the blood of Emlyn Price.
Catrin Attard caught my eye in the rear-view mirror.
‘Pleasure working with you, Underqueen,’ she said softly, taking in the scanner-gun I was hugging to my chest. ‘I’m glad we both got what we wanted.’
15
The Grand Smoke
6 December, 2059
Another night, another journey.
This time, we were on our way to the Lowlands.
Hari had helped us escape the citadel. It was best that he didn’t know exactly what we had done, or Roberta might think he had been involved, but he knew something had happened. He had wished us the best of luck, kissed Eliza on the cheek, and passed us into the care of another member of Alsafi’s network, who had stowed us into the back of an armoured Bank of Scion England vehicle bound for Edinburgh. I stayed close to the stolen scanner-guns, like an animal guarding its young.
Sweat pearled on my neck and forehead. Catrin might work to protect her people if Vance retaliated, or she might just continue the cycle of violence that had left her with that scar. I had no way of knowing. I might never see what I had done to that citadel.
We had to keep moving – following the next clue in our seemingly endless pursuit of Senshield’s core. Following crumbs cast into the wood.
‘Tom,’ I said into the darkness of the moving vehicle, ‘does the Lowlands have an organised voyant community?’
Tom had been quiet since our escape. I heard him take a deep breath before he spoke.
‘I’m not sure. There was a group in Edinburgh that sheltered people during Vance’s reign. They were mostly osteomancers, led by a person called the Spaewife. If they’re still there, they might help us.’
His voice was slower than usual. ‘Tom, are you all right?’ Maria asked.
‘I’m fine. Just need some sleep.’
I couldn’t imagine ever sleeping again. My head was heavy, my thoughts mired in fatigue, but Vance’s face was engraved on my vision. It floated in the darkness, disembodied and all-seeing, like something a dose of flux would summon. I felt too watched to close my eyes.
Vance would know where we were heading, I was sure of it. She knew I was on Senshield’s trail. She would discover that the rifles had been taken – rifles marked for shipment to Edinburgh. That was more than enough to send her after us, but I saw no other choice but to chase the next lead.
Eliza drifted off first, followed by Tom, whose sleep was restless. I lay on my side with my head pillowed on my arm, trying not to think about how many crates had been in that loading bay. How many guns.
A rustle of movement came on my left, accompanied by the glare of a torch. Maria was unwrapping one of the scanner-guns.
‘I didn’t get a chance to examine this properly in the loading bay,’ she said, by way of explanation. Her fingers skimmed over the barrel. ‘SL-59. The “S” stands for Scion. As for the second letter, that’s usually the designer’s initial.’ She inspected different parts of the gun. ‘Ah, there it is . . . Lévesque.’
‘Someone you know?’
‘Only by reputation. Corentin Lévesque, a French engineer.’
‘And aside from the space for a Senshield . . . connector, there’s nothing unusual about the gun?’