It had taken Yasi and Tecca together to hoist Vincent down to the
Labyrinth. The entrance was close, and even with her odd cargo,
Yasi's footsteps through the darkness were certain. The Gremlins and
the Borrowers were willing to help the Shinobi, mostly out of fear,
but Yasi knew that she was going to catch hell for this.
The Healers didn't care that their patient came from Above. They went
right to work, and Yasi quickly sent Tecca back to the surface. One
glance at Dorcan's expression and she decided to go with the boy.
By the time they reached the surface, it was too late. Wotcha's body
had been discovered, as well as the limb Yasi had personally sliced
off. The Riverfolk had vanished. People were already gathering around
to look. Police tape kept Yasi from getting any closer, and
searchlights were set up to shine on the crime scene.
Their manhole was certain to be noticed if they tried to come up
through it, so the two of them doubled back and found another way,
observing the scene from a rooftop across the street.
Tecca never took his eyes off Wotcha, even as the NYPD swarmed.
Yasi reached out and rested a hand awkwardly on his shoulder, but the
boy flinched away, still scared of her.
Yasi drew her hand back, and wrapped the long black coat around
herself, drawing inward. "You okay?"
"I missed." Tecca said dully. "She was lying on the
ground, and I had the crossbow, and I missed."
"It would have changed nothing." Yasi said seriously. "They
left one behind to finish off her and Vincent, the rest chased you.
You can't reload a manual crossbow that fast. You would have been
chased by two instead of three and it wouldn't have made the
slightest bit of difference."
"I know."
He was still shying away from her. She drew herself taller, casting a
silhouette against the night sky, and she put a little more power
into her voice. It was a perception trick that could make grown men
shudder. Archivist used the technique all the time, and Yasi used it
now. "Tecca." She commanded. "Look at me."
The boy did so, tears still streaming down his face.
"Wotcha loved you, and she had faith in you. I have faith in
her, and so I turn to you. You're The Watcher now. Whatever reason
they had, their plans are only beginning, and I will stop them. The
Riverfolk have forgotten that our Eyes are on them always. And you,
Tecca: You are our Eyes now. Do you understand?"
Tecca wiped his face instantly, getting his eyes clear at once. His
shoulders straightened. "Yes, Shinobi."
"Then keep watch." The New York Ninja commanded. "Sooner
or later, someone will come. Someone that's not a part of the City
Authorities."
"Someone will come for Vincent." Tecca thought aloud.
"When they do, you will follow." Yasi told him. "Whoever
attacked Vincent failed, and their next step will be to find him
again. They'll go to his loved ones."
"Are you sure?" Tecca frowned.
"I would." Yasi said simply. "I'll send backup for
you."
"You think I'll need it?"
"Sooner or later. Probably sooner." Yasi confirmed, and
unslung her katana, drawing it a few inches, so that the blade was
visible. "The Sensei said that this blade was made by the
greatest Master of the last five hundred years. It has passed down
through generations of Kendo Masters, teacher to apprentice. The
Sensei said that this sword in motion was the wrath of the lightning.
For longer than you've been alive, Wotcha and I kept watch, her over
the city, and me over the Underside. When the sword was needed, she
told me where." She paused, drawing the sword and lowering it to
rest the flat of the blade on his shoulder gently. "As her chief
apprentice, and her kin... You are The Watcher now. You direct the
Lightning."
Tecca shivered, and turned his eyes back to the crime scene. "I'm
ready." He declared, turning back to her. "I won't..."
She was gone.
"...let you down."
~oo00oo~
Vincent felt like his brain was disconnected from his body. He felt
movement, but wasn't sure if he was being moved, or if he was
imagining it. He couldn't make his eyes open, couldn't make his limbs
move... But he didn't see any reason why he should. There was a
distant ache, which felt like it should be worse. It was almost a
pleasant feeling, to be apart from his body, and let the sounds of
his surroundings wash over him.
Voices. He heard voices. Familiar voices.
Keeper's voice was sharp
with disapproval. "This is ridiculous. I told you to do it
quietly. This is not doing things quietly. This is the exact opposite
of doing things quietly!"
Another voice answered her, with the familiar balance of whiskey and
promise. "I know what you're going to say…"
"Good. Then I won't waste time." Keeper snapped. "What
the hell were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that if I didn't bring him down here, he would
have died."
Yasi? Vincent
whispered, but only in his own mind.
"But why here?" Keeper demanded. "They have hospitals
up there too!"
"I couldn't take him to go to an Above hospital. If I did it
myself, there would have been questions. If I called an ambulance, it
wouldn't have been there in time. He was lying there next to one of
ours, as well as three Riverfolk... if I let his own kind treat him,
there would have been questions he couldn't answer. He recovers here,
and he can tell his people anything he wants when he goes back."
"Would you still have decided that if it was someone you didn't
know?" Keeper challenged.
"I had to make a choice. I could either bring him here, or I
could let him die!" Yasi argued.
"Then why didn't you let him die?" Keeper demanded.
Don't I get a vote in
this?
Vincent wanted to say, but he still couldn't seem to make his eyes
open.
"Why would Riverfolk come to the surface to attack Vincent?"
Archivist asked, his deep voice, like the rolling thunder, was
unmistakable.
"They wouldn't. They can't. Wotcha found bodies over near the
Hudson. They were stripped, but they showed all the physical symptoms
of a fatal case of the Bends."
The voices faded slightly, the tones becoming jumbled. He was having
trouble finding voices, putting them with names and faces. The words
washed over his muddled brain. Except Yasi. Her voice was still
crystal clear to him.
"When was this?"
"Years ago. I told you about it."
"Oh, that. I thought that was a clan war."
"So did I, but apparently not. Somebody cleared out the Lowlands
and the River." Yasi explained. Even in his state, Vincent could
tell she was worried. "Whoever's down there now... It's not us.
Not even Riverfolk."
"As I recall, we couldn't find anything down there to tell us
one way or another. Well. Except for the graffiti."
"And you didn't tell Vincent about that, did you?"
"No." Yasi said calmly. "I also didn't tell him about
Owen. So before you get sore at me for bringing him here, just
remember: Any one of us could have stopped this long before now. It's
my mess to clean up."
"Does Tecca know about Wotcha?"
"The kid's not an idiot. He already knew. I put him back to
work. Dorcan's up there now with his team." Yasi answered. "What
about Connie?"
Vincent passed into oblivion before he could hear an answer to that
one.
~oo00oo~
Connie felt like she was going mad. She had waited at the restaurant
for over an hour, and once she'd decided that something had to be
wrong, she kicked herself for wasting so much time. She phoned home,
and there was no answer. She phoned Vincent, and it had gone to
voicemail, which chilled her blood; because he never missed a call.
She'd called Gill and was told that he'd left the office on schedule
to meet her…
Panicked, she went home as fast as she could. The clothes he'd worn
to the office were there, so she knew he must have come home at some
point…
She called his cell again, and gotten the same response.
It was two in the morning by the time she'd run out of ideas. She
caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and realized how panicky
she had gotten. She was still wearing the black dress, there were
candles surrounding the bed, in preparation for a romantic evening…
And he'd vanished.
Changing clothes quickly, she tried to think logically. She started
by retracing his steps. He'd clearly gotten home, his most expensive
aftershave was on the bathroom counter, and his dinner suit was
missing. He'd come home to get ready for their anniversary…
Like most New Yorkers, neither of them owned a car, so he'd be on
foot. Vincent wouldn't take the subway to the restaurant, so he'd be
looking for a cab… She knew he always walked in the direction of
his destination, waving down taxi's as he saw them. In New York, it
was faster to flag one down than to call for one directly.
Leaving the apartment, she turned to head toward the restaurant,
hoping that she was going the right way.
After a few minutes she saw the flashing lights and suddenly panicked
again. There was a crime scene set up two blocks away. It hadn't been
there earlier when she left for the restaurant so it must have been
recent.
Running for the yellow tape as fast as she could, she pushed through
the crowd that had naturally formed. For a city that was supposed to
be jaded and ready for anything, there was always a crowd gathered
around the scene of an accident.
Or a homicide.
Connie pushed her way through quickly… There was blood all over the
pavement, dead bodies covered by sheets...
There were bits and pieces of things she couldn't guess at marked
with Police markers, lights set up all over the place, shining on the
whole scene...
Connie's eyes focused on a severed arm lying on the pavement. The arm
was still clutching a machete.
"Vincent!" She shouted. "Police! Help me, please! He's
missing!"
She tried to press through the police tape, and found herself stopped
by a wall of police officers...
"Let her through." A voice cut through them all. The police
officer was older, and had a tone of natural authority that came from
experience. He took her by the hand and led her away from the bodies,
over toward the police cruiser. "Ma'am, I'm Officer Grey, and
I'm in charge of this investigation. You feel you have some
information that might help?"
"I… I don't know about that, but my boyfriend is missing. He
was supposed to meet me earlier tonight, and he didn't show, and
nobody knows where he is, and he would have come this way…"
Connie was babbling, and she knew it. Her voice stopped instantly
when she saw the phone.
On the ground, a few feet away from the bodies, was a cell phone with
a cracked screen. It was Vincent's. "That's his phone." She
said sharply. She didn't recognize her voice.
"Are you sure?" Grey asked her.
"I'm positive. That's his phone." Connie's voice was flat
and dull with horror. It wasn't a coincidence. He really was here. He
lost his phone in the fight. "Where is he? Where's Vincent?"
"Now don't assume the worst. We haven't found any other
bodies..." Grey led her to the phone, practically holding her
up. "Has CSU photographed all this?" He called out to
someone. Connie didn't see who he was talking to, or what the answer
was. She couldn't take her eyes off the phone. She had proof positive
that something horrible had happened to the man she loved.
Grey picked up the phone and pushed a few buttons. "Battery's
nearly flat…" His voice changed suddenly. "Oh my."
Connie saw the screen. It was cracked but still working, and there
was the photo she had sent earlier, of her picking a dress. She
flushed, despite the tension of the situation.
Grey lowered the phone, and turned to her. "When did you last
hear from him?"
"Earlier tonight, about seven. He answered that message, texted
me back."
"Are you sure it was him?" Grey asked.
Connie froze, feeling a terrible nausea creeping up. If Vincent had
been attacked early, she could have been dressing up for the thugs
that attacked him…
Immediately, she shook that
thought out of her head. "No. I came this way in my cab when I
was on my way to the restaurant. He made it home after
that, I know it. If he'd been attacked before I sent that photo, I
would have seen him."
Grey checked the time on the phone. "That narrows it down. Can
you think of anyone who might have had reason to hurt Vincent?"
"No, of course not. If there was someone, he hadn't mentioned it
to me." She bit her lip. "And even if there were… where
the hell did the severed limbs come from?!"
~oo00oo~
Vincent awoke to a kind of numb lethargy. For a time, he thought that
he was back in his bed, and was just taking his time to wake up. He
lifted a hand to rub his eyes and fire raced through his limbs.
Memory came back then. The mugging, the pain, the alley, the rain,
the cold...
He had no memory after that...
Then he saw The Angel.
It had to be at least thirty feet tall, made of ornate carved stone
and marble. It's wings were light blue stained glass, and it was
beautiful. It's unmoving form stood at the head of the room, watching
over it protectively, as two elaborate ascending staircases curved
around it, leading behind those widespread wings.
The light behind it shone through the stained glass giving the whole
room a blue glow by the ethereal light of an unmoving Angel's wings,
and Vincent stared at it blankly, his concussed mind wondering where
he was for a very long time.
A large figure moved over him, and in his half-awake state he was
convinced he was dreaming. The figure wore a long blue robe and a
wide-brimmed hat, and a large full-face mask in the shape of a bird.
The costume beak extended out from the figure at least two feet,
almost touching his face as the cloaked figure ran practiced hands
over Vincent's bandages. Vincent breathed in automatically at the
proximity, and caught the scent of herbs and medicines. The figure
moved out of sight and Vincent went back to staring up at The Angel.
"Where am I?" He whispered, without planning or thought.
"The Chapel." A warm feminine voice responded. "At
least, that's what we call it. It's the oldest part of the
Underground. Over the decades, we found other ways in and out, and we
stopped using this one... It's something of a shrine for us, for all
the Lostkind that need comfort and protection and healing."
"I know that voice." Vincent smiled at last and rolled his
head a little to the left.
Sure enough, Yasi was sitting there, with her feet up on the end of
his cot. It had been two years since he'd seen her last, and she
hadn't changed much.
"Hey." He slurred.
Yasi grinned. "Hey yourself." She leaned over and brushed
her fingers over his forehead, and Vincent was suddenly made aware of
more bandages around his head. "What the hell did you get into
the middle of, Vincent?"
Vincent passed out again.
~oo00oo~
In the early hours, just before dawn, the downstairs door buzzed, and
Connie threw herself out of her chair to answer it. "Hello?"
"Connie, it's me." Owen's voice called back. "Can I
come up?"
Connie let him in. Owen was more Vincent's friend than hers, but she
was glad to have familiar faces around. Her family lived out of town,
and would take a while to get to her, and Gill was probably still too
hungover to have got the message…
She opened the door for Owen and he came in, full of concern.
"Connie, are you okay?" He said first thing, gentle and
worried for her.
She shrugged helplessly. "I'm fine… I just need to know where
he is."
"So you haven't heard from him?" Owen looked around the
room like he expected to find Vincent under the couch.
"No." Connie shook her head. "Have you?" She knew
it was a pointless gesture, but it was about the only thing left she
could try.
"Not since last night." Owen said. "Officer Grey tells
me you were able to identify his phone."
"Yeah. It was at the…" Connie stopped short. "Officer
Grey? The cop in charge? He spoke to you?"
Owen nodded. "I asked him to keep me updated… see who got
involved. Connie, where did Vincent go?"
Connie's head was spinning, trying to keep up. "I… I don't…"
She blinked suddenly, forcing herself to think. "Huh. I guess
this is what going crazy feels like."
Owen's head tilted. "What do you mean?"
"Officer Grey spoke to you before three am, and you came
straight here?" Connie challenged, feeling nervous for a reason
she couldn't immediately place. "That doesn't seem right to me.
So either I'm going nuts, or there's something else."
Owen met her gaze. The concern dropped away from his face, and she
felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "Clever
girl." He commented.
Getting her act together,
she turned on Owen viciously. "What the hell is going on here?!"
She demanded. "What the hell do you mean, you
asked him
to keep
you updated?!"
"Connie, do you know where Vincent is?" Owen pressed, cold
and lethal.
"No! If I knew, I'd be there with him!" Connie shouted, her
fingers gripped the first thing she touched on the table behind her,
a hardcover book. "Now it's your turn. Talk!"
Owen studied her face for a moment. "I believe you." He
decided finally. "I called around to the hospitals and a few
morgues. They don't have him… Which means there's only one place he
could be."
Despite that, Connie felt herself tense slightly further. "Where?"
"A very dangerous place, Connie." Owen told her, drifting
back toward the door. "A place where there is no law, and nobody
sees."
"Quit the fortune cookie crap, Owen. If you know something, then
you have to-"
SMASH!
Her windows exploded inward, and she ducked automatically. Despite
the fact that they were on the third floor, the apartment was
suddenly invaded. Connie looked up from the floor at them, and felt
her stomach drop. There were three of them, dressed in trenchcoats
and leathers, with tribal tattoos on their visible skin. They were
armed with various close quarters weapons. A short sword which would
have been at home in a gladiators arena, a crossbow, a mace...
They were a mixture of New Yorker Chic, and medieval soldiers. They
took in the room with a glance, and focused their eyes on Owen.
Connie followed their gaze. Owen was suddenly filled with a dangerous
energy, practically vibrating with anger. He moved, faster than
Connie could follow, something slipping from his sleeve to his
fingers.
The three Urban Warriors prepared to defend themselves, but it wasn't
a weapon.
It was a dog whistle.
Owen lifted it to his lips and blew hard. Connie didn't hear
anything, but it was clear that somebody did, because a millisecond
later, her apartment door was ripped off its hinges, and in boiled
another group. They had gray skin that covered their whole bodies,
and featureless faces, except for huge red goggle-like eyes.
"Riverfolk!" One of the Warriors yelled in horror. "Yasi
was right!"
The tallest of the ninja held out a hand and stepped forward, putting
himself between Connie and Owen. "I am Dorcan of the Shinobi.
Stand down, and we won't hurt you."
Owen looked to the Riverfolk. "Kill them all." He said
coldly, and walked out of the room.
"Protect the package!" Dorcan shouted at his people and all
hell broke loose.
The Riverfolk and the Shinobi leaped at each other across her dining
table. One of them flipped it up and used it as a barricade,
exchanging blows across it. One Riverfolk Warrior caught Dorcan in a
full tackle, and slammed him into the wall. The picture-frames fell
as the wall crumpled under their combined weight, and Dorcan wasted
no time slamming his attacker with two-fisted blows, over and over.
The Shinobi with the gladiator sword took a swipe at the nearest
enemy and missed, his target throwing everything he could reach,
books, pillows, couch cushions, coffee cups... The Shinobi slashed
them all out of the air with his blade, knocking them aside as he
methodically moved closer, trying to get within range...
Connie was nearly hyperventilating, wondering how the hell her living
room could turn into a warzone so fast at four in the morning. She
pressed into the corner of the room, being as small as she could get.
One of the Riverfolk seemed to notice her and aimed a spear-gun.
Connie froze, like a small animal about to be run over, when one of
the Shinobi jumped in the way, putting his body between her and her
attacker. Connie could see the moment of impact on his face, as
something speared heavily into his body. Staggering, he pushed Connie
toward the hallway, out of the room. She caught a glimpse of the
spear sticking out of his back. He had taken the hit for her.
Dorcan said to protect
the package... A
clinical part of her mind thought distantly. They're
protecting me. I'm the package. They're after me? What the hell is
happening?
The sounds of war continued behind her, and she grabbed for the hall
phone, dialing 911 immediately.
There was no response, and no dial-tone. One side or the other must
have cut her phones on the way in...
Connie felt something go over her face, and a foul smell filled her
senses...
Darkness closed in instantly.
~oo00oo~
Owen had made it to the downstairs entrance, and ran out of the
building as fast as he could. A moment later, something slammed into
his body from above. He crumpled under the blow at once, feeling at
least one of his legs crack.
Cold steel touched his Adam's Apple a moment later. Dorcan had jumped
out of the apartment window and landed on him. "You should have
taken my offer."
Owen didn't respond.
~oo00oo~
Vincent came back to himself and looked around the Chapel. Keeper was
sitting where Yasi was the last time he was conscious.
"Keeper." He groaned. "Would you believe I missed
you?"
"Nope." The old woman said instantly, sharp as a
whip-crack. "The things you'll do to see Yasi again."
"Damn, my evil plan is foiled." Vincent groaned
sarcastically. He shifted on his cot, trying to get a little more
comfortable, and he found himself staring up at The Angel again. New
York was full of statues, but none that big and elaborate.
"Many years ago, a property developer found an artisan's concept
design of The Angel, and the Chapel." Keeper told him, like she
was reading him a bedtime story. "They thought to investigate. I
think they wanted to make a tourist spot of it. Archivist's father
was that man. He was the one that found the way down here, and we
showed him this place. He came to understand as we did, and he told
his investors that he couldn't find it. We went out from under their
feet and slipped into patent offices, city planners... We tracked
down any sign of us, and destroyed it. It was the first time we chose
to be non-people."
"And before that?"
"Before that we just... lived down here. That was the day we
agreed never to go back. He sent his kids up to the surface, to give
them a normal life. Archivist was seven when he found his father's
journal, and a full adult when he followed the trail down here."
Keeper dropped the 'folk tale' tone and hit him with a sub-zero gaze.
"So. What happened?"
"I don't know." Vincent admitted. "I was on my way
to..."
"Vincent!"
He almost spun around before the muscles in his neck rebelled, and he
cried out in pain. A moment later, he saw Connie weaving toward him
on wobbly legs. Her eyes were glassy, but fighting to focus on him.
Dorcan was right behind her.
She almost fell against his bed, and he was more than happy to hug
her back, even with his weakened limbs. He sniffed. "You smell
like chloroform."
Keeper sent a glare at Dorcan, who shrugged. "Yasi said to get
her here quickly." He defended.
"Are you okay?" Vincent said into her hair.
"I'm fine, but... We're gonna have trouble explaining to our
neighbors what happened to our door."
"Our... door?" Vincent tried to process this.
Connie chuckled, her head still clearing, just glad to see him alive.
"Owen!" Connie whispered to her boyfriend. "It was
Owen. I don't know how or why, but he's behind this."
Vincent held her tightly, and spoke up, directing his words to
Keeper. "Owen knows Connie..."
"And we know Owen now." A familiar voice declared. "Owen
is no longer a problem you need to concern yourselves with."
Vincent lifted his face from Connie's hair, and found Yasi striding
in to stand with Dorcan. "It was him?" Vincent repeated in
shock. "The whole time?"
Yasi nodded. "The whole time."
"Is he alive?" Vincent demanded of the Shinobi Captain.
"He's not comfortable, but he's more or less in one piece."
Yasi promised.
"Tell him." Keeper said impatiently to Yasi.
"Tell me what?" Vincent asked Yasi.
Yasi sent Keeper a glare. "I was trying to ease into it."
"Tell me what?" Vincent repeated.
"You've never eased into anything." Keeper retorted.
"Tell me what?!" Vincent shouted.
"About Wotcha." Keeper sighed finally. "They got her,
Vincent."
Vincent stared blankly. "What do you mean they 'got' her?"
Yasi sighed hard, and spelled it out for him. "It means,
Vincent, that the men who attacked you killed Wotcha."
"Wotcha?" Connie whispered. "From the Kitchen? She's
involved in this?"
"Not anymore." Keeper said bitterly.
Connie shivered. "Vincent... We have to get back."
"Vincent isn't well enough to move yet." Yasi countered.
"People are going to notice we're gone." Connie protested.
From somewhere in her leather vest, Yasi drew a picture. The
photograph of him and his girlfriend, taken off his desk, right out
of the frame. "Vincent, when we met, I promised I wouldn't let
any harm come to you. I haven't forgotten."
Vincent looked to Connie, feeling open sympathy for her. The poor
woman looked overwhelmed. He sent Yasi and Keeper a look. "Can I
have a few minutes?" His eyes went to Yasi, seeking
understanding. "I never told her about you. Any of you."
Yasi bit her lip, but Keeper nodded slowly. "No, that's fair.
Yasi, I know there are questions that need answers, but Vincent was
invited. Connie was kidnapped. Give them a moment."
Yasi and Connie were staring at each other openly. Finally, the ninja
gave a curt nod, and strode away. "Rest. Both of you. We'll talk
soon."
She left them then. Connie looked borderline terrified by her
surroundings.
~oo00oo~
The only light that shone underground was what they made for
themselves. The Underside was not a dark or dreary place, but every
light was there by design. The deepest point of the New York
Underside was The River, and if there was anything below that, nobody
had ever come back to talk about it. But even there, the lights were
always on for those that needed it. The only part of their world kept
forever in darkness was the Labyrinth, the maze that sat between
their world, and the entrance to the world above.
Yasi had told Vincent of the Rhythm of the Underside, the natural
flow of movement at any given time of day. There were no cars, but
there was constant traffic. Everyone lived somewhere, and they worked
somewhere else. Hidden from the sky, there was no day/night cycle, so
the Underside never slept, never went quiet. The most trafficked
places had the most light. Where Lostkind went, there was light, and
where there was light, the Lostkind followed.
But there was one corridor, carved in the strongest stone, that had
few lights. It was the only place in the Underside that was
important, isolated, and kept in the dark.
Archivist made his way to this, the darkest part of The Underside,
letting his footsteps, and the tap of his cane echo off the smooth
walls. The only features in the dark hallway were the large, round
hatches in the floor. The heavy oaken circles were seven feet across,
on huge brass hinges, with heavy iron rings, like large door handles.
"Has he said anything?" Archivist asked.
"Not a word." Dorcan promised, standing guard over one
hatch in particular. "We put a splint on his leg, and chained
his good one to the floor."
"Where's Yasi?"
"Checking in on her pet."
"You don't like Vincent, do you?"
"It's not that. It's just... he's not Lostkind. He doesn't
belong here."
"Not all of us are Natives, Dorcan. You and Yasi were born here,
but a lot of us weren't. And this place owes a debt to Vincent. We
can afford to give him our protection for a while." Archivist
glared. "Especially since, at this point, we're protecting
ourselves as well."
Dorcan nodded, accepting that. He was still Shinobi, and protecting
his secret home was what he did for a living. "Riverfolk in New
York. I thought they couldn't go up to the surface."
"They can't." Archivist agreed. "They'd never survive
the pressure change. When they were building the Brooklyn Bridge in
1871, the workers who had to go underground to lay the foundation got
the bends. We're used to it, and we've rigged the Labyrinth to ease
the transfer from here to the surface; but the Riverfolk have been
too deep too long."
"Then who the hell killed Wotcha?" Dorcan demanded. "If
they weren't Riverfolk, then who were they?"
"I don't know, but they were very serious about making sure we
didn't recognize them." Archivist declared, clearly bringing the
conversation to an end.
"You want to talk to him?" Dorcan jerked a thumb back at
the hatch.
Archivist shook his head. "Let him sweat a while. Yasi gets to
have first crack at him. Security is her jurisdiction."
Dorcan nodded. "He couldn't have been working alone." He
said finally. "Whatever he was after, it was for a reason."
Archivist nodded. "No prizes for guessing that one."
"So this was round one." Dorcan said seriously. "Wherever
this goes... They've been planning it for three years at least. The
first shot just got fired. That was round one."
"Yes." Archivist agreed darkly. "It was."
~oo00oo~~oo00oo~~oo00oo~
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