A Sea of Purple Ink (15 page)

“But you do know why they would want me.”

The pounding turned into a painful burn.

“Reese.” Joplin’s stare was hard as rock. Unmoving. Unrelenting. The look of a warning king.

Time to risk a bit.
Reese returned the king’s stare. “True.” She squared her shoulders. “You were a higher-up in the police force before a writer gave you flight and threw you out on the street.” She swallowed hard.
Any way I say this, he’s going to think we’re enemies.
“I thought maybe they’d want you back alive.”

Joplin tilted his head. “Me? A police captain?”

Not exactly.
Reese turned to face the door and gripped the wrought-iron knob. “Will you come now?”

Candlelight flickered against the wall. Reese closed her eyes.
Just blow it out and follow me.

Fabric rustled. Reese heard a short puff of breath, and the room went dark.

Thank you.
Reese turned the knob and eased the door open a few inches. The sharp smell of the mists hit her, and the moonlight highlighted the shifting, floating mass.
Good thing we have more paint.
Reese peered out at the street, keeping her face behind the door. Nothing seemed to be moving besides the mists. “It’s clear,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

The night air felt colder than usual. The chill swept along the street and clung to Reese’s legs. She shivered. Behind her, Joplin slipped out into the street and latched the door.

Reese rubbed her arms, trying to generate some extra heat.
The nearest canal access is the drainpipe two streets back.
She started walking, keeping half an eye on the dark alleyways.

The king fell into step beside her. Halfway down the street, he spoke. “So I was a police captain, but friends with your father?”

Reese glanced sideways. In the dim light, she couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the skepticism. “Yes,” she said. “He considered you a friend.”

“And you haven’t killed me, even though I’m a police captain,” Joplin said. A touch of curiosity tinged his deep voice. And warning. “How many more secrets are you hiding?”

They turned a corner and started down a dark alley.

Reese watched the mists overhead as they rippled and swirled. “You’re one of us now. You can fly.” She put more force into the words than she felt. “We take care of our own.”

Joplin walked ahead of her, a vague outline in the gloom. A shadow within the shadow. The shadow stopped. “By putting a gun to my head?”

“I told you, that was a mistake.” Reese kept her gaze straight ahead.
If he decides to walk away…

The king hesitated. “I think you know more than you’re telling me,” he said, his voice low in his chest. He moved forward into a patch of moonlight. “I’ve been without memory for who knows how long now. I think I’m entitled to some answers.”

Reese clamped her teeth down on her tongue. She forced herself to take a step forward. Then another. Then another. “We need to hurry,” she said. “Before the mists get too thick.” She could just see the black gash of the canal drain farther down the street. She faced Joplin. “Are you coming with me, or not?”

Joplin stared down at her. His shoulders cast a dark shadow against the moonlight.

His intense gaze sent a chill though Reese.
He wouldn’t try force the truth, would he?
She shifted her weight, ready to dodge.

The silence thickened.

“I’ll come,” Joplin said. He let out a long breath and half turned away. “But if I don’t find answers soon, I’m leaving.”

Relief flooded through Reese. “We’ve found someone who knows about writers.” She started down the road, trying not to think about how stained they would be by the end of the night. “You’ll get answers.”

22

“Seven rings?” Reese repeated. She moved out of the way while Niela gravity-shifted an old metal-coated door.

The shifter gave her a disgusted look and pressed her hands against the corroding handle. “I didn’t say he’d get seven rings. I told him I’d think about it.” With the squeal of decaying wheels, the door slid open, revealing the water-stained foundations of an old shop. “I know this man,” Niela added, stepping through into the basement. “He’ll settle for less. Just push him.”

Flakes of faded paint fluttered down on Reese and the king beside her.

Joplin coughed. “I didn’t think you would know any nobles,” he said, ducking through the cloud of falling dust.

Reese saw Niela tense, then turn away.

“There’s only one noble I’m willing to be acquainted with,” the shifter said, “and that’s Reese.” Her steely tones sounded metal-sharp in the empty space. “The rest can drink rash until they die.”

The musty smell increased as Reese stepped into the basement. “Can we talk him down to three?” she asked. In the faint light from holes overhead, she saw Niela shrug.

“Probably,” the shifter said. She glanced around the room, then walked to the far corner. “I could get him down to one.” Her words sounded more like a challenge than suggestion.

Reese’s mind filled in the rest of her friend’s thought.
“If you would let me come along.”
She joined the shifter beneath the big trapdoor. “I told you,” she said under her breath, “inside has to be just me and Joplin.”

Joplin halted halfway across the room, studying a pile of ruined wood and paper.

Niela shot a glance at the approaching king, then turned back to Reese. “I’m your bodyguard,” she said. Her eyes drilled into Reese.

What do I say?
Reese’s hand fell to the gun at her side.
Think.
She hated keeping back information from Niela. It felt like betraying her own blood.
I can give up a few secrets.
Reese lowered her voice. “Joplin’s the one who’s been written,” she whispered.

Niela pulled back. “What?” Her short, dark hair slid across her temples, hiding one eye.

“I can’t speak for what we’ll find out in there,” Reese murmured. “His secrets are his own.”
And you wouldn’t like what you heard.

Niela’s face tightened. “I see,” she said. She turned away and braced one foot against the wall.

The king’s voice came from just behind Reese’s shoulder. “I’m going to ask him the questions, Reese.”

Reese glanced at the king. “Some of them, yes.”

Joplin shook his head. “All of them.” He threw his shoulders back. “It’s my memory, so I’m going to ask the questions.”

Tension snaked through Reese’s stomach.
How dare he—

Niela’s boot hit the ground. “You’ll do what Reese says,” she warned. She took a step forward, as if daring the king to strike. “She leads. You follow.”

Joplin’s eyes flashed, and for a moment he looked like an outraged king. “I lead this,” he said, turning to look Reese dead in the eyes. “Or I leave.”

Reese’s heart sank through her gut. Her hands felt cold.
He’s figured it out. If I want to keep him, I have to humor him.
She clenched her jaw, fighting a war of intricate factors. She rubbed her palms against her legs, trying to brush away the sweat. “All right,” she said. “This time you can lead.”

Surprise flickered through the king’s eyes, then a settled confidence.

Niela muttered something low in her throat. A wave of tiny gravity ripples washed across the room as the shifter launched herself into the air. She spun backward, landing a solid kick to the old trapdoor. It burst open in a shower of rotting wood chips.

Reese jumped backward, out of the reach of the spray, as Niela landed on the ground.

“There,” the shifter said. She held out a hand. “Let’s go.”

Reese could see the fight going on behind Niela’s tight features. “Thank you,” she said. She stepped forward and set her hand in the shifter’s. Gravity turned upside down and Reese found herself crawling up through the trapdoor into the abandoned storefront.

“It’s clear,” she called back down. She slid sideways, careful to stay beneath the level of the boarded windows.
What am I going to do about Joplin?
She moved to a crouch and brushed dirt from her hands.
Regardless of what we find out here, do I use him as a bargaining tool with the police? They can have him if they overturn the ban?
Another thought had struck her. One that felt too radical to consider.
What would happen if I put him back on the throne myself?
She paused.
Interesting idea.

Niela and the king emerged from the hole in the floor.

Joplin landed a few feet from Reese. “What now?” he asked.

My question too.
Reese got to her feet. “Check outside, Niela.”

The shifter saluted and moved off toward the door and the cracked, boarded windows, her footsteps a mere whisper in the room.

“One thing,” Reese said, looking up at the king. She felt the dull heat of anger spreading across her face. “You get to ask the questions, yes. But we’re about to go out where people might recognize you.” She paused to let the possibility sink in. “If the situation becomes dangerous, do as I say.”

Joplin’s neck turned red. “I’m not one of your crew yet,” he said.

“Then leave,” Reese said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. She threw back her shoulders and tried to look confident.

Niela’s hoarse whisper cut into the pause. “It’s all clear. Let’s move.”

Reese didn’t move. She stared hard into the king’s eyes. Something was lurking in their depths.
Is he remembering?
She felt her calculations begin to speed.
Or is he just acting like the king he used to be?

Then the king looked down and held an arm toward the door. “After you,” he said in a hollow voice.

Reese hesitated a moment while the factors churned and hummed.
He’ll follow. For now.
She turned away and joined Niela by the half-open street door.

Outside, noontime light flooded down into the street, casting sharp shadows beneath the shop’s crooked overhang. Reese squinted into the sunlight.
No sign of police patrols.
She started down the street, Niela and Joplin following.

A short walk later, they turned the corner onto a fine paved road and approached a three-story building.

Reese glanced over her shoulder. The king walked behind her with a scowl on his face. Reese kept an eye on the windows and doorways as they walked. The rented housing looked fancy enough to house more than one displaced noble.
People who might recognize the king.

Niela hurried ahead of her and pulled the building’s front door open. She ducked inside, vanished for a few moments, then reappeared and beckoned.

“The hallway’s empty,” she whispered as Reese came near enough to hear.

Reese nodded and squeezed past her into the narrow hall. Deep purple carpet stretched to a flight of spiraling stairs, and a glass chandelier danged from above, its many candles unlit.

Niela took up a position just inside the door, next to a wrought-iron coatrack. “It’s upstairs, second floor. Number twenty-seven.”

Here we go.
Reese slid her fingers into her pocket and checked the triple rhydium rings.
Whatever we find out, I doubt it will be good.

“Reese,” Niela said. She folded her arms and leaned her shoulder against the wall. “The last time you went somewhere without me, you nearly got killed and the rest of us ended up in prison.” She nodded toward the stairway. “Don’t do it again.”

A smile tugged at Reese. “I won’t if I can help it,” she replied. A flutter of calculations replayed their last disaster.
I don’t think I could go through that again.

The king brushed past her and started toward the stairs.

Niela gave her a stiff smile. “Hurry. I’ll come up if I see anything strange.”

Reese nodded. Then she let her calculations increase.
I hope this ex-noble is going to tell the truth.
She walked to the staircase, the weight of three rhydium rings pressing against her leg. Wooden stairs creaked beneath her feet.

A few steps ahead, Joplin hovered close to the carpet, working his way upward without a sound.

I have to decide.
Reese laid a hand on her pistol.
Do I try to get his cooperation or use him as a tool?
The questions swirled through her thoughts.
And could I get his cooperation if I wanted it?
Reese tried to ignore the warring factions.
After Sea Level, I owe him some respect.
She let out a long, slow breath.
All right. We’ll try it that way.

They moved down the second hallway to a wide, brown-painted door with numbers engraved in tarnished silver.

The king-turned-flyer hesitated for a moment. Then he hit the door twice with the palm of his hand. The door rumbled under the heavy knocks.

A muffled voice called something. The latch scratched open and the door swung inward, revealing a young, pale-haired man in black clothing.

The man’s gaze moved from Joplin, to Reese, and back again. His loose shirt, black vest, and deep velvet pants looked carefully tailored. “What can I do for you?” he asked. His voice held the polite skepticism of an upper-class servant.

Reese stepped forward. “We’re here to ask about some information.” She felt Joplin tense.

The manservant’s eyebrows rose. He pushed the door almost closed and muttered something on the other side. Then he reappeared. “Come in.”

Joplin followed him, head held high.

Reese edged after the men, taking in her surroundings. Bookshelves covered the walls of the small sitting room. Lamplight glimmered on rich leather bindings and silver knickknacks. At one end of the room, a small cluster of wooden chairs stood around a table. At the other, beside the cold fireplace, two armchairs faced each other across a high chess board.

An old man sat in one of the armchairs. His dressing gown hung in faded folds of green and gold, and his bald head looked dull in the light from the curtained window. “Well, well,” he rasped, pushing himself forward in the chair. “And who are you?” His hooked nose glistened with sweat.

Joplin stepped forward. “You agreed to tell us about the writer,” he said.

Reese winced.
That was too direct.
She lingered in the background while the servant closed the front door.
Joplin, take this slowly.

“Oh, did I now?” the old man asked. A cunning look glittered in his eyes. “And under what terms would that have been?”

Reese stifled a laugh.
That’s a noble’s line if I’ve ever heard one. Ask for proof without admitting any guilt.
She stepped sideways, out from Joplin’s shadow. “You asked for seven rhydium,” she said. She pulled the three rings from her pocket and twirled them in her fingers. The rings caught the light and flung it back in a dazzling display. “But you’re only getting three.”

The old nobleman frowned at her.

“Three,” Reese repeated, turning to bring the gun holster at her side into better view, “and no one else will ever know we were here.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw the manservant stiffen and grip the doorknob.

The nobleman glowered at her for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat—a wet, rasping sound. “Very well,” he said. “Anblin, bring me my coffee.” He flicked a ringed finger toward the inner door.

The manservant gave him a short bow and edged around the room.

Reese held the rhydium rings toward the informant. The nobleman snatched them from her grip and stowed them in his own vest pocket.

Reese made a mental note of his swiftness.
He’s farther down on his luck than I thought.
There were only two reasons a noble ever moved from the Inner Circle. One was when they fell out of favor with royalty. The other was when they ran out of money.
Something tells me it’s the latter.

“Sit,” the man said, making it sound like a groan. He waved a hand toward the other armchair.

Joplin lowered himself onto the padded seat. He squared himself toward the older man and rested an elbow on the arm of the chair, unknowingly assuming the king’s signature thinking look. “What do you know about writers?” he asked.

The question hung in the air for a long moment.

Then the nobleman steepled his fingers across his waistcoat. “A good bit, young man.” He flashed the king a bitter smile. “I may not look it, but I was a scholar in my youth. Writers haven’t been recorded for many years…” His smile drained away. “But, from your interest, I take it there have been signs of one?”

Joplin frowned. “That’s beside the question. Tell me what you know.”

Reese kept her face a studied blank.
That was actually a pretty good dodge. He must have some faint memories of how to deal with intrigue.

The nobleman shrugged elaborately. “There’s the usual bits everyone knows. Writers act as if people were their blank papers. Erase and rewrite at will.” He grunted. “There are even some records of a writer being able to cheat death, but I don’t see how that’s possible.”

The inner door creaked and Anblin eased into the room, a white cup and saucer in his hands.

“Apparently, back in the old days,” the noble went on, “some writers made a pretty penny selling… abilities…” He licked his lips as if the word made him nervous. “Questionable at best, but rather lucrative.” He smiled.

Reese caught the faintest hint of something hiding behind that smile.
What is he really saying?
She let her gaze wander around the room and focused on the old man’s voice.

Anblin slid the cup onto a small side table next to the noble’s chair, bobbed a half bow, and began a slow circle of the room. Toward the front door.

“That must have cost a lot,” Joplin said.

The nobleman picked up his cup. “Oh, indeed.” He took a short sip, then spoke over the still-raised drink. “Although, apparently they could rent the merchandise, as it were.”