Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest (7 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I
t was some hours after the blasts when the two young men eventually managed to slip unnoticed into Knutter’s shop on South Bridge. Paul turned the sign on the window to
CLOSED
, locked the door, and pulled down the canvas shutter so that nobody could see inside.

“You’re late,” said Knutter. “I was worried.”

“We’re okay,” said Paul, “but we were in the area when the bombs went off.”

He went to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water, tossing one to his brother. Knutter frowned. The boys drank deeply to clear their throats, and when they’d finished, Knutter put out his hand for their cash. He was that kind of man.

“Did you see any injured?” he asked, once the boys had paid for their water and the money was safely in his register. Knutter had not left his store that afternoon, not even in the aftermath of the explosion. It wasn’t his job to go helping casualties, not at the risk of being arrested by the Securitats. Anyway, he’d been told to wait for the boys, and that was just what he’d done.

“My guess is that the dead were mostly Illyri,” said Paul, “but two girls told us that MacBride’s coffee shop might have been the site of the first explosion. The second one finished off half of the Illyri response team, I think.”

“I know the MacBrides,” said Knutter. “They’re good people.”

He frowned as he thought about what Paul had said.

“What two girls?”

“Just girls.”

“Did they get a good look at you?”

Paul shrugged.

“What happens if they’re picked up by the patrols? They’ll be able to describe you to them.”

“So what?” said Steven. “We weren’t the only people around. It doesn’t make us guilty of anything.”

“You’re a young fool,” said Knutter. “The Securitats think everyone is guilty. Even if you’re not, they’ll torture you until you confess to something, just to make the pain stop.”

“Leave him alone, Knutter,” said Paul. “He’s right. They were just girls, and they owe us. If it hadn’t been for Steven and me, I reckon bits of them would be scattered over the Royal Mile right now. They almost ran into the second blast.”

Knutter muttered something to himself. An Illyri troop transport passed by, and the three of them quickly retreated from the front of the store.

“Did our lot plant those bombs, then?” said Knutter.

“We might have,” said Paul, tapping his nose as if it was all a wild secret. Knutter tapped his nose in reply and winked.

In reality Paul didn’t have a clue who’d been responsible for the bombings. Surely he’d have been told if something was being planned for the Royal Mile—wouldn’t he? After all, the Resistance had sent him and Steven to investigate the tunnels, so they’d been aware that there were operatives in the vicinity. Furthermore, the Resistance didn’t bomb civilian areas with massive devices. There was too much risk of killing humans. No, this wasn’t right at all.

But the two bombs, one after the other, fitted a certain pattern, just as he’d told the girls: the first bomb drew the emergency response teams—the Military and Securitats—and the second took out the rescuers. There were Resistance bomb teams who worked just that way, but not usually in cities, and certainly not where humans might be injured.

Paul looked around Knutter’s cramped shop, and gave a heartfelt sigh.

“Should we call it off?” said Knutter.

“No,” said Paul. “We go ahead. With luck, the Illyri will have enough to keep them occupied picking through the rubble on the Mile.”

He looked to his brother, who nodded.

“I’m ready,” he said.

Paul turned to Knutter. “You’d better show us the way, then.”

Knutter guided Paul and Steven into the back room of the shop. From there, they descended the rough stairs to the basement.

“Birdoswald,” said Knutter. “Wish I’d been part of that one. That was a hell of an operation.”

Paul nodded as if in agreement, but said nothing. First Birdoswald, and now bombs on the Royal Mile. It looked like someone was trying to put the Resistance out of a job.

They were now in the basement, standing in a weak puddle of spluttering light, and Knutter began pulling boxes aside, revealing a rusty shelf.

“See?” he said.

They didn’t, and the big man giggled like a child.

“Well, of course you wouldn’t.”

With a last theatrical wink at the brothers, he unclipped the catches holding the shelf to the wall and slid it forward on concealed castors. Behind it was a sheet of plywood painted to match the brick, which Knutter shifted to reveal an entrance large enough for a man to pass through without crouching. The interior smelled damp, and when Knutter shone a flashlight inside, Steven and Paul heard a rat scuttling into the safety of the darkness. The light illuminated a small chamber with a curved ceiling.

“You see there?” said Knutter, pointing at the base of the far wall. Steven and Paul squinted, and saw that the cement holding together the bricks in that part of the wall appeared newer than elsewhere. “I’ve been working on it these last few nights, loosening the bricks until I could create a hole big enough to use. Then I re-laid them on a metal support so that the whole section could be pulled out and replaced easily. It’s a neat job. You wouldn’t spot it unless you were looking for it.”

“Cool,” said Steven, and he meant it.

“And that leads directly into the new tunnel?” asked Paul.

“Pretty much. I still don’t know how they managed to dig so quietly. I mean, it’s right underneath my shop, and I never would have known about it if I hadn’t been down here and heard those Toads babbling.”

Paul looked at his brother.

“You ready?”

Steven nodded, and they both shrugged off their thick coats to reveal the short, sharp knives they carried beneath. The knives were the only weapons they had brought to the city center, for being caught on the streets with a firearm was a shortcut to the Punishment Battalions. The battalions, made up of those found guilty of acts of terror and other crimes against the Illyri, were routinely dispatched to work and fight on the most hostile of worlds. Life expectancy could be measured in weeks and months, and sometimes only days.

Paul and Steven attached LED lights to their foreheads, and knelt to help Knutter pull back the section of wall.

Beyond was darkness.

Paul checked his watch. He took a deep breath. The air beyond smelled stale, but there was something else there too, something bad. Knutter handed him a Glock pistol.

“Just in case,” he said. “And I want it back.”

Paul took the gun without hesitation.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s do this.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

S
yl detected the new tension in the corridors as she and Ani passed along them, trying to find out what was happening. There were more Securitats among her father’s Military, the two forces maintaining a discreetly hostile distance from each other. Twice they were stopped by Securitats and asked where they were going, and why, and only the intervention of members of her father’s guard prevented an awkward situation from arising. From what Syl could understand, the Securitats were attempting to put the castle in lockdown for security reasons, and the Military were resisting on principle. The circumstances in the castle had changed, and although it might have been linked in part to the explosions, it was clearly also to do with the red ship that sat beautifully, sinisterly, in the courtyard. Rupe, a sergeant of the castle guard, was advising Ani and Syl to return to their rooms after the second encounter with the Securitats when an Illyri male wearing a black business suit with gold trim on the collar appeared nearby, watching the exchange with grave, humorless eyes. He was frighteningly thin, with black hair cut close to his scalp, and his skin was a sickly, washed-out yellow. He brought to mind a sheathed blade, waiting to be used.

Sedulus.

Syl knew him by name and reputation, although thankfully they had never had reason to speak. Sedulus was Marshal of the Security Directorate for all of northern Europe, one of the most powerful Securitats on Earth. Her father, she knew, disliked him intensely, a feeling that was entirely mutual. Sedulus rarely came to Edinburgh, preferring instead to remain at his own headquarters at the fortress of Akershus in Oslo, Norway, a building that had once been occupied by the Nazis. Syl’s father found this entirely apt.

Beside Sedulus, Syl was alarmed to note, was Vena. Syl had heard rumors that Sedulus and Vena were lovers, although she found it hard to believe that love would enter into any relationship involving those two. Both now approached their little group. Rupe instinctively stood in front of Syl and Ani, as though to protect them from the two Securitats.

“Step aside, Sergeant,” said Vena.

“May I ask why?” said Rupe.

“Because I am your superior officer, and if you don’t obey my orders, I will have you thrown into a cell.”

“With respect, ma’am,” said Rupe, loading his words with so much sarcasm that Syl was certain he was goading Vena into trying to arrest him, “this is a Military base of operations, and I answer to the Lord Governor. You can take your orders and shove them where the sun don’t shine, begging your pardon.”

Syl saw Vena reach for the pistol on her belt, but Sedulus placed a hand on her arm and she froze.

“There’s no need for trouble, Sergeant,” said Sedulus. He had a voice like honey, but stinging bees were not far away. “Major Vena merely wanted to make sure that these young ladies were safe and well after the recent incidents.”

“Why shouldn’t they be?” said Rupe.

“Major Vena appears to be under the impression that the governor’s daughter and her friend might have been outside the castle walls when the bombs went off. If that were the case, it might be useful if my officers were given the opportunity to question them, just in case they saw anything while they were abroad, so to speak.”

He smiled. His lips didn’t sit perfectly together when he did, and a sliver of white teeth was visible between them. It made him look hungry.

“The major must be mistaken,” said Syl. “We were not outside.”

“I saw you in the courtyard,” said Vena.

“Oh, we were in the courtyard,” said Syl, “but that’s not illegal yet. Is it?”

She looked at Ani. Ani shrugged innocently. “I don’t think so, but it sounds like the major might like to
make
it illegal.”

“You were covered in dust,” said Vena.

“We were watching the trucks,” said Syl. “We wanted to find out what was happening. I guess we must have got dirty from being so close to them.”

Vena scowled at them. Her eyes took in Ani’s tight jeans, silver sneakers, and outsize off-the-shoulder sweater that revealed a curious tattoo of a bird with the wings of a butterfly. The twin stripes on Vena’s skull suggested that she enjoyed expressing her own individuality, but she didn’t approve of others doing the same—especially not the spoiled brats of her Military antagonists.

“You dress like a human slut,” said Vena.

“Better that than a Securitat slut,” said Ani. She spoke without thinking, and Syl could see that she regretted her words instantly, but it was typical of Ani to lash out first and think about the consequences after.

Vena’s eyes darkened. A pale pink tongue poked from between her lips, like a serpent testing the air before striking.

“Careful, little bird,” she said, “or I may have to break your wings.”

Even Sedulus appeared to recognize that no good was going to come from any further exchanges.

“Well,” he said, “I believe that answers our questions for now, doesn’t it?”

Vena didn’t look like she’d received the answers she was looking for at all, and would have very much liked to continue the questioning somewhere quieter and more private, but she took the hint.

“If you are content, sir, then so am I,” she said.

“Then we’ll let the governor’s lovely daughter and her equally fetching friend be about their business,” said Sedulus. “Thank you for your help, Sergeant . . . ?”

“Rupe,” said the sergeant.

“Rupe,” repeated Sedulus. “I shall remember that name. Such loyal service to the governor should be rewarded appropriately, and it will be, when the time comes.”

Sedulus and Vena retreated, for the time being. Rupe let out a small, relieved breath.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” said Syl. “I hope we haven’t gotten you into trouble,” although she suspected that they had. Sedulus had a long memory, and Vena didn’t like to be thwarted.

“If you have, it would be worth it just to have gotten in that bitch’s face, excuse my language.”

“Can you tell us what’s happening?” said Ani. “Nobody seems to be know, or seems willing to share it with us.”

“All I know is that we have offworld visitors,” said Rupe. “Unexpected ones, and your father isn’t very happy about it.” He lowered his voice. “I can’t say for sure, but I hear that Grand Consul Gradus is among them.”

This was news. Gradus had never visited Earth before, and he would usually have been expected to arrive with much pomp and ceremony, not in a small ship on a damp day in bomb-blasted Edinburgh.

“Now,” concluded Rupe, “as I was saying earlier, if I were you, I’d find somewhere nice and quiet to wait this out. The Securitats have no love for anyone but their own kind, and I may not be here to protect you the next time. Off you go now.”

They went, but only as far as the next corner. When they were sure that Rupe was gone, Syl stopped.

“What is it?” said Ani.

“Care to eavesdrop?”

“On what?”

“On whatever happens next.”

Ani looked uncertain. “I think we might have had enough fun for one day, don’t you? I mean, we’ve slipped out of the castle and had to sneak back in again, we’ve nearly been blown up twice, we’ve had tea and cake with the enemy, and we’ve managed to annoy the head of the secret police and his nasty little puppet.”

“Indulge me,” said Syl. “It’s my birthday.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Great Hall.”

Ani pretended to scowl, then laughed. “All right, but we leave as soon as it gets boring. Which it will.”

“Fine,” said Syl, but she had a suspicion that the meeting wasn’t going to be boring at all.