He walked slowly back to me. “All right, son,” he said. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.” He gestured back toward the room. “I’ll listen to what you have to say.”
We walked back into the small room amid a few grumbles from some of the others. I was beginning to place the members of the team. Abraham, with his large machine gun and beefy arms—he had to be the heavy-weapons man. He’d be around to lay down cover at Enforcement officers if something went wrong. He’d intimidate information out of people when needed, and would probably work the heavy machinery if the plan called for it.
Red-haired Tia, narrow-faced and articulate, was probably the team’s scholar. Judging from her clothes, she wouldn’t be involved in confrontations, and the Reckoners needed people like her—someone who knew exactly how Epic powers worked, and who could help decipher their targets’ weaknesses.
Megan had to be point woman. She would be the one who went into danger, who moved the Epic into position. Cody, with his camo and sniper rifle, was most likely fire support. I was guessing that after Megan neutralized the Epic’s powers in some way, Cody would pick them off or checkmate them with precision fire.
Which left Prof. Team leader, I supposed. Maybe a second point man, if they needed one? I hadn’t quite placed him yet, though something itched at me regarding his name.
As we entered the room again, Abraham looked interested in what I was going to say. On the other hand, Tia looked annoyed, and Cody actually looked amused. The sniper leaned back against the wall and relaxed, crossing his arms to watch the hallway. The rest of them surrounded me, waiting.
I smiled at Megan, but her face had become impassive. Cold, even. What had changed?
I took a deep breath. “I’ve seen Steelheart bleed,” I repeated. “It happened ten years ago, when I was eight. My father and I were at the First Union Bank on Adams Street.…”
I fell silent, story finished, my last words hanging in the air. And I intend to see him bleed again. It sounded like bravado to me now, standing before a group of people who had dedicated their lives to killing Epics.
My nervousness had evaporated while telling the story. It felt oddly relaxing to finally share it, giving voice to those terrible events. At last, someone else knew. If I were to die, there would be others who had the information I alone had carried. Even if the Reckoners decided not to go after Steelheart, the knowledge would exist, perhaps to be used someday. Assuming they believed me.
“Let’s sit,” Prof finally said, settling down. The others joined him, Tia and Megan reluctantly, but Abraham was still relaxed. Cody remained standing by the door, keeping guard.
I sat down, setting my rifle across my lap. I had the safety on, even though I was pretty sure it wasn’t loaded.
“Well?” Prof asked of his team.
“I’ve heard of it,” Tia admitted grudgingly. “Steelheart destroyed the bank on the Day of Annexation. The bank rented out some of the offices on the upper floor—nothing too important, some assessors and bookkeepers who did government work. Most lorists I’ve talked to assume that Steelheart hit the building because of those offices.”
“Yes,” Abraham agreed. “He attacked many city buildings that day.”
Prof nodded thoughtfully.
“Sir—” I began.
He cut me off. “You’ve had your say, son. It’s a show of respect that we’re talking about this where you can hear. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Er, yes sir.”
“I have always wondered why he attacked the bank first,” Abraham continued.
“Yeah,” Cody said from the doorway. “It was an odd choice. Why take out a bunch of accountants, then move on to the mayor?”
“But this is not a good enough reason to change our plans,” Abraham added, shaking his head. He nodded to me, enormous gun over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful person, my friend, but I do not think we should base decisions on information given by someone we only just met.”
“Megan?” Prof asked. “What do you think?”
I glanced at her. Megan sat a little apart from the others. Prof and Tia seemed the most senior of this particular cell of the Reckoners. Abraham and Cody often chimed in their thoughts, as close friends would. But what of Megan?
“I think this is stupid,” she said, her voice cold.
I frowned. But … just a few minutes ago, she was the friendliest toward me!
“You stood up for him before,” Abraham said, as if voicing my own thoughts.
That made her scowl. “That was before I heard this wild story. He’s lying, trying to get onto our team.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but a glance from Prof made me bite off the comment.
“You sound like you’re considering it,” Cody said to Prof.
“Prof?” Tia said. “I know that look. Remember what happened with Duskwatch.”
“I remember,” he said. He studied me further.
“What?” Tia asked.
“He knows about the rescue workers,” Prof said.
“The rescue workers?” Cody asked.
“Steelheart covered up that he killed the rescue workers,” Prof said softly. “Few know of what he did to them and the survivors—of what happened at the First Union building. He didn’t kill anyone who went to help at other city buildings he’d destroyed. He only killed the rescue workers at First Union.
“Something is different about his destruction of the bank,” Prof continued. “We know he entered that one, and spoke to the people inside. He didn’t do that elsewhere. They say he came out of First Union enraged. Something happened inside. I’ve known that for a while. The other cell leaders know it as well. We assumed that whatever made him angry had to do with Deathpoint.” Prof sat with one hand on his knee, and he tapped his finger in thought, studying me. “Steelheart got his scar that day. Nobody knows how.”
“I do,” I said.
“Perhaps,” Prof said.
“Perhaps,” Megan said. “Perhaps not. Prof, he could have heard of the murders and known of Steelheart’s scar, then fabricated the rest! There’d be no way to prove it, because if he’s right, then he and Steelheart are the only witnesses.”
Prof nodded slowly.
“Hitting Steelheart would be near impossible,” Abraham said. “Even if we could figure out his weakness, he’s got guards. Strong ones.”
“Firefight, Conflux, and Nightwielder,” I said, nodding. “I’ve got a plan for dealing with each of them. I think I’ve figured out their weaknesses.”
Tia frowned. “You have?”
“Ten years,” I said softly. “For ten years, all I’ve done is plan how to get to him.”
Prof still seemed thoughtful. “Son,” he said to me. “What did you say your name was?”
“David.”
“Well, David. You guessed we were going to hit Fortuity. What would you guess we’d do next?”
“You’ll leave Newcago by nightfall,” I said immediately. “That’s always what a team does after springing a trap. Of course, there is no nightfall here. But you’ll be gone in a few hours, then go rejoin the rest of the Reckoners.”
“And what would be the next Epic we’d be planning to hit?” Prof asked.
“Well,” I said, thinking quickly, remembering my lists and projections. “None of your teams have been active in the Middle Grasslands or Caliph lately. I’d guess your next target would be either the Armsman in Omaha, or Lightning, one of the Epics in Snowfall’s band out in Sacramento.”
Cody whistled softly. Apparently I’d guessed pretty well—which was fortunate. I hadn’t been too sure. I tended to be right about a quarter of the time lately, guessing where Reckoner cells would strike.
Prof suddenly moved to stand. “Abraham, prep Hole Fourteen. Cody, see if you can get a false trail set up that will lead to Caliph.”
“Hole Fourteen?” Tia said. “We’re staying in the city?”
“Yes,” Prof said.
“Jon,” Tia said, addre
ssing Prof. His real name, probably. “I can’t—”
“I’m not saying that we’re going to hit Steelheart,” he said, holding up a hand. He pointed at me. “But if the kid has figured out what we’re going to do next, someone else might have too. That means we need to change. Immediately. We’ll go to ground here for a few days.” He looked at me. “As for Steelheart … we’ll see. First I want to hear your story again. I want to hear it a dozen times. Then I’ll decide what to do next.”
He held out a hand to me. I took it hesitantly, letting him pull me to my feet. There was something in this man’s eyes, something I didn’t expect to see. A hatred of Steelheart nearly as deep as my own. It was manifest in the way he said the Epic’s name, the way his lips turned down, the way his eyes narrowed and seemed to burn as he spoke the word.
It seemed like the two of us understood each other in that moment.
Prof, I thought. Professor, PhD. The man who founded the Reckoners is named Jonathan Phaedrus. P-h … d.
This wasn’t just a team commander, a chief of one of the Reckoner cells. This was Jon Phaedrus himself. Their leader and founder.
8
“SO …,” I said as we left the room. “Where’s this place we’re going? Hole Fourteen?”
“You don’t need to know that,” Prof said.
“Can I have my rifle magazine back?”
“No.”
“Do I need to know any … I don’t know. Secret handshakes? Special identifiers? Codes so other Reckoners know I’m one of them?”
“Son,” Prof said, “you’re not one of us.”
“I know, I know,” I said quickly. “But I don’t want anyone to surprise us and think I’m an enemy or something, and—”
“Megan,” Prof said, jerking his thumb at me. “Entertain the kid. I need to think.” He walked on ahead, joining Tia, and the two of them began speaking quietly.
Megan gave me a scowl. I probably deserved it, for yammering questions at Prof like that. I was just so nervous. Phaedrus himself, the founder of the Reckoners. Now that I knew what to look for, I recognized him from the descriptions—sparse though they were—that I’d read.
The man was a legend. A god among freedom fighters and assassins alike. I was starstruck, and the questions had just dribbled out. In truth I was proud of myself for not asking for an autograph on my gun.
My behavior hadn’t earned me points with Megan, however, and she obviously didn’t like being put on babysitting detail either. Cody and Abraham were talking ahead, which left Megan and me walking beside each other as we moved at a brisk pace down one of the darkened steel tunnels. She was silent.
She really was pretty. And she was probably around my age, maybe just a year or two older. I still wasn’t certain why she’d turned cold toward me. Maybe some witty conversation would help with that. “So, uh,” I said. “How long have you … you know, been with the Reckoners? And all?”
Smooth.
“Long enough,” she said.
“Were you involved in any of the recent kills? Gyro? Shadowblight? Earless?”
“Maybe. I doubt Prof would want me sharing specifics.”
We walked in silence for a time longer.
“You know,” I said, “you’re not really very entertaining.”
“What?”
“Prof told you to entertain me,” I said.
“That was just to deflect your questions onto someone else. I doubt you’ll find anything I do to be particularly entertaining.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I said. “I liked the striptease.”
She glared at me. “What?”
“Out in the alley,” I said. “When you …”
Her expression was so frigid you could have used it to liquidcool a high-fire-rate stationary gun barrel. Or maybe some drinks. Chill drinks—that was a better metaphor.
I didn’t think she’d appreciate me using it right then, though. “Never mind,” I said.
“Good,” she said, turning away from me and continuing on.
I breathed out, then chuckled. “For a moment there I thought you’d shoot me.”
“I only shoot people when the job calls for it,” she said. “You’re trying to make small talk; you’re simply not very good at it. That’s not a shooting offense.”
“Er, thanks.”
She nodded, businesslike, which wasn’t exactly the reaction I’d have hoped for from a pretty girl whose life I’d saved. Granted, she was the first girl—pretty or not—whose life I’d saved, so I didn’t have much of a baseline.
Still, she’d been kind of warm to me before, hadn’t she? Maybe I just needed to work a little harder. “So what can you tell me?” I asked. “About the team, or the other members.”
“I’d prefer to discuss another topic,” she said. “One that doesn’t involve secrets about the Reckoners or my clothing, please.”
I fell silent. Truth was, I didn’t know about much other than the Reckoners and the Epics in town. Yes, I’d had some schooling at the Factory, but only basic kinds of stuff. And before that I’d lived a year scavenging on the streets, malnourished, barely avoiding death.
“I guess we could talk about the city,” I said. “I know a lot about the understreets.”
“How old are you?” Megan said.
“Eighteen,” I said, defensive.
“And is anyone going to come looking for you? Are people going to wonder where you went?”
I shook my head. “I hit my majority two months ago. Got kicked out of the Factory where I worked.”
That was the rule. You only worked there until you were eighteen; after that you found another job.
“You worked at a factory?” she asked. “For how long?”
“Nine years or so,” I said. “Weapons factory, actually. Made guns for Enforcement.” Some understreeters, particularly the older ones, grumbled about how the Factory exploited children for labor. That was a stupid complaint, made by old people who remembered a different world. A safer world.
In my world, people who gave you the chance to work in exchange for food were saints. Martha saw to it that her workers were fed, clothed, and protected, even from one another.
“Was it nice?”
“Kind of. It’s not slave labor, like people think. We got paid.” Kind of. Martha saved wages to give us when we were no longer owned by the Factory. Enough to establish ourselves, find a trade.
“It was a good place to grow up, all things considered,” I said wistfully as we walked. “Without the Factory, I doubt I’d have ever learned to fire a gun. The kids aren’t supposed to use the weapons, but if you’re good, Martha—she ran the place—turns a blind eye.” More than one of her kids had gone on to work for Enforcement.
“That’s interesting,” Megan said. “Tell me more.”
“Well, it’s …” I trailed off, looking at her. Only now did I realize she’d been walking along, eyes forward, barely paying attention. She was just asking things to keep me talking, maybe even to keep me from bothering her in more invasive ways.
“You’re not even listening,” I accused.
“You seemed like you wanted to talk,” she said curtly. “I gave you the chance.”
Sparks, I thought, feeling like a slontze. We fell silent as we walked, which seemed to suit Megan just fine.
“You don’t know how aggravating this is,” I finally said.
She gave me a glance, her emotions hidden. “Aggravating?”
“Yes, aggravating. I’ve spent the last ten years of my life studying the Reckoners and the Epics. Now that I’m with you, I’m told I’m not allowed to ask questions about important things. It’s aggravating.”
“Think about something else.”
“There is nothing else. Not to me.”
“Girls.”
“None.”
“Hobbies.”
“None. Just you guys, Steelheart, and my notes.”
“Wait,” she said. “Notes?”
“Sure,” I s
aid. “I worked in the Factory during the days, always listening for rumors. I spent my free days spending what little money I had buying newspapers or stories off those who traveled abroad. I got to know a few information brokers. Each night I’d work on the notes, putting it all together. I knew I’d need to be an expert on Epics, so I became one.”
She frowned deeply.
“I know,” I said, grimacing. “It sounds like I don’t have a life. You’re not the first to tell me that. The others at the Factory—”
“Hush,” she said. “You wrote about Epics, but what about us? What about the Reckoners?”
“Of course I wrote it down,” I said. “What was I supposed to do? Keep it in my head? I filled a couple notebooks, and though most of it was guesswork, I’m pretty good at guessing.…” I trailed off, realizing why she looked so worried.
“Where is it all?” she asked softly.
“In my flat,” I said. “Should be safe. I mean, none of those goons got close enough to see me clearly.”
“And the woman you pulled out of her car?”
I hesitated. “Yeah, she saw my face. She might be able to describe me. But, I mean, that wouldn’t be enough for them to track me, right?”
Megan was silent.
Yes, I thought. Yes, it might be enough. Enforcement was very good at its job. And unfortunately, I had a few incidents in my past, such as the taxi wreck. I was on file, and Steelheart would give Enforcement a great deal of motivation to follow every lead regarding Fortuity’s death.
“We need to talk to Prof,” Megan said, towing me by the arm toward where the others were walking ahead.
9
PROF listened to my explanation with thoughtful eyes. “Yes,” he said as I finished. “I should have seen this. It makes sense.”
I relaxed. I’d been afraid he’d be furious.
“What’s the address, son?” Prof asked.
“Fifteen thirty-two Ditko Place,” I said. It was carved into the steel around a park in one of the nicer areas of the understreets. “It’s small, but I live alone. I keep it locked tight.”