Armageddon's Children (51 page)

A small, metal-clad door opened to one side of the main gates, and a man stepped through into the daylight.

“Morning,” he called out, walking toward Logan. “I’m Ethan Cole, Chairman of the Compound Directorate. What brings a Knight of the Word up this way?”

His voice was flat and perfunctory, and his manner was brusque. There was no offer of anything to eat or drink, no invitation to come inside and rest, no small talk, and no time wasted. Get it said and get it done. It wasn’t difficult to get an accurate measure of Ethan Cole. He was perhaps fifty years of age, of average size and ordinary looks, nothing unusual about him, nothing odd. But he spoke and walked in the way of a man used to wielding authority. Logan had met men like him before. They were always the same.

Logan leaned on his staff and waited for the other to get close, then said, “I’m looking for someone.”

Cole frowned. “Here?”

Logan nodded. “I’ve come halfway across the country to find him. I think you might have him inside. He’s just a boy. His name is Hawk.”

“Hawk,” the other man repeated and shook his head. “No, I don’t know anyone by that name.”

Logan studied him a moment, letting the weight of his gaze settle. “Something you should know about Knights of the Word. Whatever you might think of us, we always know when we are being lied to. Maybe you have a good reason for doing so here, but I would appreciate it if you would stop wasting my time. I am tired and hungry. I haven’t washed in days. I don’t have a lot of patience for this. What’s the problem?”

Ethan Cole hesitated, and then shrugged. “No problem. I’m just being careful. You say you are a Knight of the Word, but how do I know what you are? Things have been a little uncertain around here. We lost an entire foraging party last week. They went out fully armed and equipped and they didn’t come back. Just disappeared.”

“It happens. I’m sorry about your people, but my presence has nothing to do with them. I’ve been following a trail, and it led me here. I don’t know anything about the boy’s history with this compound or even this city. I just know he’s inside your compound. He is, isn’t he?”

He waited. “All right, he’s here,” Cole admitted.

“Is he a prisoner?”

“He is.”

“What has he done?”

Cole took a deep breath and blew it out in exasperation. “He and one of our young girls stole some medical supplies. They’ve been meeting outside the compound for some time—a violation of our rules, of course. We found out about the girl a day or so ago and caught the boy trying to meet up with her again last night. It wouldn’t matter so much if they hadn’t stolen the supplies. But they did, so it does.”

The way he said it suggested that things were not going to end well for Hawk and the girl. Logan glanced past him to the gates and walls. “I would like to speak with the boy.”

The other man pursed his lips. “I don’t know about that.”

“What is it that you don’t know, Mr. Cole? I told you I’ve come a long way to find him. I need to make certain he’s who I think he is.”

“It won’t make much difference if he is or isn’t. Stealing from our medical stores is treason and punishable by death. He and the girl will be thrown from the walls at sunset.”

Logan hid the twinge of fear that tightened his throat. “Then it won’t hurt to let me see him for a few minutes now, while there’s still time.”

Cole shifted his weight. “We don’t usually allow outsiders inside our walls.”

Logan straightened. “Is that how you see me? As an outsider? I guess I find that hard to understand given the nature of my work. In any case, it shouldn’t matter here. My request is a simple one. You shouldn’t find it difficult to grant.”

“I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you. But I do know something of Knights of the Word. I’m told you possess unusual powers, magic or arcane skills. Given that, letting you inside our walls seems an unnecessary risk. I don’t see what purpose it will serve to let you speak with this boy. You can’t help him. The law is quite clear about what’s to be done in these cases.”

Logan nodded as if he understood, although the only thing he really understood was that Ethan Cole was starting to irritate him. “I’m not interested in your compound laws or what they mandate for offenders,” he said. “I’m here to determine if this boy is the one I have been looking for. It seems he is, but I need to speak with him to make certain.”

“But if he is who you’ve been looking for, what then? Will you then demand we set him free? Will you try to take him by force if we don’t?”

Logan sighed. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. I’m not looking to make trouble. Just let me speak with him. When I’m finished, I won’t ask anything further of you.”

The other man studied him, undecided. “I won’t let you bring any weapons inside.”

“I have my staff of office,” Logan said. “Nothing else.”

“You’ll be searched. I’ll need to have you speak with the boy in his holding cell.” The other man shook his head. “I’ll say it again. I don’t like this. I don’t see why I should agree to it.”

Logan folded his staff into the cradle of his arms. “You should agree to it because it is the right thing to do. I told you the truth. I don’t know this boy. I don’t care about the girl or the medical supplies or any of the rest of it. I am here for one reason and one reason only—to find out if this boy is the one I am looking for. I can’t do that if I don’t speak to him. He can tell me what I need to know, and then I will be gone from here.” He paused, staring at Ethan Cole. “Why are you so afraid?”

Cole flushed at the rebuke, looked as if he was about to make a retort, then thought better of it and simply nodded. “All right. Come this way.”

They went back through the doorway and into the compound corridors. Logan allowed himself to be searched, permitted the guards to run their hands over him. But when they tried to take his staff, he stopped them, telling them that his oath of office wouldn’t allow it. Cole shrugged the matter away, seeing the staff as ordinary humans were meant to see it, and beckoned him ahead impatiently. Having made up his mind to allow this, Cole clearly wanted to get it over with. A phalanx of guards accompanied them as they wound their way down a series of corridors and then descended into the bowels of the complex. Everything was formed of concrete and steel, smooth and functional and indestructible. Logan hated places like this, found them stultifying and deadening, tombs for the living. He found no comfort in walls and gates, gained no sense of peace or reassurance from their vast bulk, and felt disconnected from the world whenever he was inside them.

But he kept his feelings to himself, focusing on what he was here to do, a small excitement beginning to build at the prospect of completing his journey. He did not allow himself to think beyond the possibility that Hawk was the gypsy morph. He would not worry yet about what he would need to do if he was. The nature of this undertaking, grave and dangerous, required that he not think past the moment. This was difficult for him to do. He had learned to stay alive by thinking ahead. But thinking too far ahead here might result in a mistake that would reveal his intentions to Cole and the others who warded this compound. They must not be given any reason to look on him as a threat.

They were deep inside the compound when Cole halted before a steel door, one of several that lined the corridor in which they stood. He signaled to the guard on duty, and the man produced a key that unlocked the door. The door swung open, the guard stepped back, and Cole gestured for Logan to go inside. Logan almost hesitated.

“I’ll need a light,” he said. “So I can see after you’ve closed the door.”

Cole handed him a battery-powered torch. “Make it quick. Just call out when you’re done. Someone will be right outside.”

Logan took the torch wordlessly, switched it on, and walked past him into the cell. The door closed behind him with a soft
thud,
and he could hear footsteps receding into the distance.

Hawk stood directly in front of him, not six feet away, squinting against the brightness of the light. He was slender and not very tall, with a shock of ragged black hair and eyes so deep-set they seemed black until the light revealed a hint of green. He wasn’t imposing in any way, didn’t appear at all impressive, and gave no indication that he might be anything other than what he seemed to be. Logan directed the torch beam toward the floor, letting the boy’s eyes adjust.

“My name is Logan Tom,” he said. He turned the beam on himself to let the boy have a good look, keeping it in place as he talked. “I’m a Knight of the Word. Do you know anything of our order?”

The boy shook his head, said nothing.

“Your friends told me where to find you,” Logan continued. “Owl said you had come here to meet Tessa. I guess that meeting didn’t work out.”

The boy made no response, watching Logan closely.

“Your name is Hawk?”

The boy nodded.

“I’m looking for someone. I think you might be him.” He waited, and then gestured at the floor. “Sit down with me. I’ll show you something interesting.”

He sat cross-legged on the floor, and after a moment or two, the boy joined him. Logan placed the light to one side, its beam directed across the floor in front of them so that the pale wash illuminated them both. Then he lay down the black staff, reached into his pocket, and extracted the black cloth and finger bones of Nest Freemark. He spread the cloth on the floor carefully, smoothed out the wrinkles, and looked at the boy.

“This is how I found you,” he said.

He tossed the finger bones onto the cloth, and they scattered like bleached sticks. For a moment, they lay where they had fallen. Then they began to move, forming up into fingers and a thumb, taking shape as Nest Freemark’s right hand. Logan saw the boy start in shock, then settle back to watch, wonder on his lean face.

The bones came together, a slow connecting of joints, a fitting together of pieces until the entire hand was in place.

The index finger extended, pointing at the boy.

Logan took a deep breath and held it, waited a moment to be sure, then moved the cloth so that the finger was pointing away. As soon as he did so, the bones shuddered and began to move again, readjusting so that they were pointing at the boy once more.

Logan exhaled softly. “There you are,” he whispered.

Hawk looked at him, uncomprehending. Leaving the bones where they were, Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Let me tell you a story, Hawk,” he said.

IN THE HALLWAY
outside, the guard stationed on watch was pressed against the door, his ear at the crack between door and jamb, listening. Ethan Cole had told him to do so, to try to learn what this man wanted with the street boy. Ethan didn’t trust him, even though he had agreed to let him come inside the compound. Ethan didn’t trust any outsiders, which was probably what had helped keep the residents of the compound safe. Best not to trust anyone you didn’t know; the guard knew that much about the world. When it came to outsiders, you could never be sure.

He listened hard in the near silence, but all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. The steel door was too thick; it muffled all sound from within. It would have been better if they had left it open a crack. Then he might have been able to hear something. But Ethan would never agree to take a chance like that. The door had been opened to let the man in and it would be opened to let him out again, and those were the only times it would be opened until sunset.

The guard shivered as he thought about what would happen to the boy and the girl when the sun dropped. He thought about how they would be taken to the highest walls of the compound and pushed off into the fading light. He thought about how they would scream helplessly as they fell. He thought about the sounds they would make when they struck the concrete at the base of the walls. He had seen and heard it all before, and he had hoped not to have to do so again.

He waited a moment longer, and then stepped back impatiently. Trying to listen was a waste of time. He walked a few yards down the corridor to where his folding chair waited and sat down.