15.
Redemption
When he had cleared the way, he dragged himself slowly back into the sewer and ascended the ladder. Oliver met him in the yard. “Thank Jehovah. Lydia’s already gone home. I was just coming down to find you—you’ve been out here more than two hours.”
“I’m going out again in just a minute,” Emery answered quickly as he took Oliver’s arm and made his way toward the door. “I just need to change into something more appropriate.”
“What?”
“It’ll all make sense soon.” Back door hallway staircase bedroom. Oliver stood outside the door while Emery stripped off his filthy clothes. With shivering hands he dug through his closet until he found a pair of slacks and a dark red button-down shirt—the same outfit he’d worn when he’d gone out with Juliet and Sander. From his vantage in the tunnel it had appeared that the dress code was similar. He left the top button of the shirt undone and donned a black sports jacket for good measure. His hands were screaming in pain as the heat woke his nerves back up. It would be good to stay in until he warmed up, but the cold would not slow him down now, not when he was this close. Taking a pair of leather shoes in one hand, he exited the room.
When Oliver saw Emery’s outfit, he looked as astonished as Emery had ever seen him. “Um, I don’t mean to offend, but I think you’ve finally lost it for real.”
Oliver’s fingers were drumming on his hip the way they did when he was nervous, one-two-three one-two-three. He even breathed in triplets. Emery was present enough to realize that normally these little vestiges of magic practice would warrant a response, but he had no time. “Lost it?” he asked. “No, Oliver, I’ve found it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Redemption. I’ve found it. Down in the tunnel.” He was smiling. He was trembling with fear.
Now Oliver seized him by the shoulders and started shaking, as if being rattled was somehow conducive to clarity of thought. “Emery. I really need you to get a grip, man. Redemption is not down there. There’s some rock and some asphalt and maybe a rat or two and a whole lot of dirt, but I think we would have noticed if a big black market was down there too.”
“Put on a coat and some boots and come see for yourself if you don’t believe me. Think about it: the map of the tunnel is public record. No normal citizen would ever have a reason to look at it, but if you’re specifically searching for a place to move things in and out… I just don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
“Ten rai on you just needing a bit of sleep and a nice long shower,” Oliver replied. “I’m coming, just so when there’s nothing there, I can drag you back before you pass out in the tunnel and freeze to death.”
Emery slipped back into his boots, still holding the dress shoes in his hand, and Oliver donned another pair. They descended the ladder and made the long walk through the tunnel mostly in silence, though Oliver occasionally interrupted it with an implication that perhaps Emery shouldn’t have discontinued his counseling after all—that perhaps, in fact, he might need a trip to the hospital to get some mood stabilizers.
They walked until he was sure they should see it by now. Several times he thought he caught a glimpse, but it was never for more than a second, and finally their flashlights reached the distant wall. Much of it was still covered in rubble from here, but he couldn’t make out—
“See?” Oliver said, glancing at Emery with an expression that did nothing to alleviate his building doubts. “Let’s just turn around. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”
It couldn’t be. “Another minute.” He was sure he’d seen it. He was sure.
“There’s nothing here, Emery.”
“Turn off your light.”
Oliver grumbled but complied, and Emery disabled his own flashlight. The blackness was complete.
“Come on, Emery, let’s get you to bed. Hey—”
Emery seized Oliver by the wrist. He kept trudging forward, desperate. “A little further. It’s here,” he said, “it’s here.”
“Emery, we need…” Oliver trailed off.
In the blackness they saw it, the slightest glow.
“I’m glad you have so much faith in me.”
Oliver was gaping by the time they reached the wall. “What the… ?”
“That was my reaction too. Just wait.”
He’d cleared enough of the wall for a person to crawl through, so Oliver’s view was much broader than Emery’s first glimpse had been. His mouth was open when he turned back to Emery. “I’ll be—”
“You’ll be out ten rai, so I hope you’ve been saving up.” Emery stepped forward. “And here you thought I was going crazy.”
“Well, you have to admit it wasn’t entirely unlikely.”
“Yeah. I would have reacted the same way if you’d told me something like this.”
“No,” Oliver clarified, “I mean it wasn’t entirely unlikely because you’ve been acting a little off your rocker for a while now.”
“As always, your vote of confidence inspires me.” Emery leaned over to peel off a boot. “You can wait for me here, but it might get cold. If you want to go back into the house and come down later, that’s perfectly okay.”
“What?” Oliver’s eyes were wide. “This is the off-your-rocker stuff I was talking about. Okay, you stumbled upon Redemption, but your plan is to just charge in?”
He slipped into one shoe and balanced on that foot as he removed the other boot. “My plan is to calmly enter with the big bag of rai in my pocket and do business. Like Green said, finding Redemption was only half of it. I have to find this Jacob’s Ladder, the back door, the way from here to the outside.”
“Bad plan. Bad plan. Remember how quickly you got thrown out of the bar at Locust Point? This kind of thing isn’t exactly your inclination, and I’m guessing if you blow your cover in here the penalty will be a bit steeper.”
“You want to go instead? No offense, but on your age alone you’d be way too conspicuous. We can go back upstairs and brainstorm, but in the meantime we have a hole in the wall leading to a long straight tunnel leading to my back yard. This looks like some kind of service area, and no one has noticed the hole yet, but you can bet someone will. I’m going in now, and when I get back we’re finding some way to cover it up. We won’t get another chance.” His second shoe was on.
Oliver put a hand to his forehead. “Sometimes I don’t get how you’re not dead yet. Alright. I’ll try to think of what we can do to cover this gap.”
Emery nodded and gave Oliver a brief hug. A little awkward. “Wish me luck.”
“Your luck is disgusting. Let’s just hope it holds steady.”
He had to double over to get through the hole, clutching the railing to pull himself onto the stairs. The drop below was a good few stories; he tried not to look. He straightened and dusted himself off. The staircase swayed a bit and he saw that he had loosed a bolt as he’d demolished the wall. He descended as lightly as possible.
The floors were stacked evenly, rather than spiraled like Powelton’s, probably because they didn’t reach this wall. There was no light on this side of the space. There was a squat shed below the staircase that Emery thought might be for security or administration; it lacked the bright adornment that flooded every other wall. He could see clearly now: there were four stories, though the area of the room was not as massive as he’d mistook it to be. In each corner, spiral stairways reaching down from beyond the ceiling let off at every level. How many entrances were there to this place? There was only one he cared to find: the far exit, the one that led outside the city. Jacob’s Ladder must be somewhere on the ground floor—but all he could see were neon signs and little stall doors on the opposite wall.
“What are you doing back here?”
He spun to find what looked like a security guard eying him suspiciously. Roccetti. He had thought Redemption was operated by the Vorteil—was it a joint venture?
“Sorry.” He’d tha
nkfully descended the staircase before being spotted, but he was standing in the vacant corner staring at the entrances and exits. He feigned a dazed tone he hoped the guard would understand as a poppy high and continued: “It’s a lot to take in, you know?”
“Yeah, well.” The other Roccetti followed his gaze, which Emery had redirected at the signs. “What are you looking for?”
He remembered what Green had told him and heard himself say, “Not what. Whom.”
The guard grinned. Despite a chipped tooth, he wasn’t unattractive. “I hear you. My favorite is a sweetheart in there—” he pointed at a dim-lit doorway on the first floor, directly ahead— “but if money’s no object, well…” He pointed again, this time to a third-floor front beneath a neon blonde with angel wings. “That’s the place our, umm, fiscally well-endowed clients seem to prefer. It gets the best reviews of any place here.”
“Sounds divine.”
“As it should. Welcome to Redemption, friend.” Emery hadn’t expected him to be so well-spoken; he wondered why.
Emery made his way across the courtyard and ascended one of the spiral staircases. It looked rickety but turned out to be surprisingly solid. How many people were here? He could see dozens in the walkways alone. Many more must be in the market chambers.
“Think you’ve had poppy gum before?” The speaker was a Vorteil, clean-shaven, sharp in appearance. Respectable. “This is the real stuff. Refined to quadruple potency.” He pointed at a glass case in his booth. It housed a pillow on which three syringes lay.
Emery nodded. “Thanks, but I want to be as awake as possible for this.” He nodded toward his destination.
The vendor smiled. “Lucky man. If only we all had your rai purse. Maybe afterward… ?”
“We’ll see how I’m feeling,” he replied, “and how much I have left on me.”
“Grand. You enjoy yourself.” He offered a little bow as Emery strode past.
With an aching arm he pulled open a heavy blue door with a small, circular window whose hazy glass revealed little. The lobby inside was dimly lit, with candles on the low table and a line of red lights that ran all the way around the wall just a few inches below the ceiling. Two Roccetti women were sitting at a front desk to the right of the entrance. “Welcome to Paradisio, the finest purveyor of amour in all of Redemption.” The woman speaking was twice Emery’s age, with waves of black hair and the sort of beauty that had not faded with age.
“We’re in the business of dreams,” the other said, leaning forward. Younger, with shorter hair and a slighter build; equally pretty. “What’s yours tonight, sir?”
He put a small smile on. “Just the basics. Young, pretty, enjoys engaging conversation.”
The younger woman laughed at the last bit. “Now, when you say young, do you mean young, or… ?”
“Oh, no,” he quickly clarified. “My age.”
“Of course. Clean or dirty?”
“Pardon?”
“Purebloods only, or are you open to our more… exotic stock?”
He wouldn’t get the answers he needed from someone who’d never been outside the city. “Exotic is preferred, actually.”
“Good, good, that gives us some options. Now about the matter of compensation…”
Emery set the purse on the desk. “That’s what I have to work with,” he answered.
The older woman counted out the three hundred rai and smiled. “I know just the one.” She turned to her associate. “Could you go see if Tessa is ready to take her next client?”
She nodded and strode into the corridor, casting a smile over her shoulder. Emery reclaimed the empty purse while he waited; a brief moment later she reappeared. “Come right this way.”
He followed her past rows of little neon angels, one floating over each room. A few of them were switched off, indicating, Emery guessed, that those rooms were vacant. The corridor ended in a T-intersection. The matron opened the door on the left, and Emery stepped through into another hallway.
This stretch was darker, lit only by lines of red light along the ceiling and little neon devils hung over each door, complementing the previous corridor’s angels. The differences did not end there: these doors each had a heavy steel deadbolt and a peephole with a sliding cover, both positioned to operate from the corridor side. The hinges were on this side as well: these doors could not be opened from inside the rooms. Emery and the short-haired Roccetti woman stopped at the sixth door to the left; there were two more on either side. “Take your time,” the matron said as she opened the door. “You’ve bought an hour.” She flipped a switch next to the door, the neon devil above batted her wings.
He stepped slowly inside. Like the lobby, this room was lit by candles on the table and the strips of red light running around the walls. He heard the bolt slide shut behind him.
The girl was wearing little makeup and a little nightgown that he did not observe at length. She was indeed very pretty, with porcelain skin and freckles and long red hair that corresponded to no recognized race. She lay on the bed with her legs hanging off, feet resting on the floor, eyes looking up at him. There was a half-full glass of water on the nightstand and an empty one on a table by the door, which also held a tall stack of dining plates. Days and days of plates. The only utensils were soft wooden spoons.
The door to the bathroom opposite the foot of the bed was half-open. A drain in the floor and faucet set high in the bathroom’s wall allowed the shower and toilet to occupy the same four-foot square: the layout wasted no space. He took two steps toward the bed. He was lost for words.
The girl on the bed caught his eye, smiled mechanically, and coyly turned away, arms thrown backward over her head.
“Hi,” he began. “I’m Emery.” He thought he’d have something to say after that; he didn’t.
He took another step forward, stopped. Apparently tired of waiting for him, Tessa rose unsteadily to a sitting position. She took him by the wrist and pulled backward with her; he fell onto the bed. Her fingers crossed behind his neck, pulling him toward her as she kissed him. She tasted like Miren. Emery felt her body beneath him, naked under the thin slip.
He pulled away, as gently as he could, and sat beside her on the bed. Her glassy eyes slowly registered confusion.
He was excited; he was disgusted that he was excited. “I’m sorry, this is my first time, and… Can we talk a bit first?” If he let on that he was here as a spy, he was sure she would give him nothing.
She pursed her lips. It seemed this wasn’t a typical request.
“I mean, do people ever ask to do that?”
Tessa nodded slowly. “Th’ strange ones.”
“Okay.” He wasn’t surprised to find himself among the strange ones. “Umm, where are you from?”
“Th’ Farm,” she said matter-of-factly.
“The matron told me your name is Tessa,” Emery continued. She nodded. “What’s your real name?”
She said nothing at first. “Tessa,” she finally answered. Her voice was thick with fear and gum.
There was a cuff about her right ankle, leather-covered steel. The other end of the chain was affixed to the leg of the bed; its length was just enough to allow freedom of the room. “You’re smart, Tessa. I know that outside you only give your real name to people you trust.” She hadn’t expected that. He tried to think of a convincing cover story for his request, but only the truth came to mind. “I know this isn’t common, but I’m trying to figure out how you got here. It would really help a lot of people if you could tell me. When you came here, what did it look like coming in from outside? Where was the entrance?”
“A bag,” she said. “I had a bag over my head, like all th’ girls. We came all th’ way from th’ Farm like that.”
The floor was linoleum. The air was cut sharply with ammonia, masking faint traces of other odors. “And since you’ve gotten here? Have you seen where anyone from the outside is coming from?”
She shook her head. “They don’t let?
?? I mean, I don’t leave my room much.”
“I see. I… I don’t guess there’s anything else you can tell me, then.”
She shook her head. “It was dark for a long time and then it was warm. They took us down some stairs and through some doors and when th’ bag came off I was here.”
“Alright.” Damn. “Thanks.”
“Are you ready?” she asked, lying back down.
“Oh, no, I won’t be staying.” He rose to leave.
“You already paid,” she reasoned, confused.
He was suddenly nauseous. “I did. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“G’night.” Behind the water cup on her nightstand was a poppy glass, bell-shaped and stained from long use; she reached for it as he made to exit the room. It was only then that he noticed the door’s surface, covered in small metal spikes like those used to keep pigeons off building ledges. He tapped on the wall next to the door.
The deadbolt slid back and the younger attendant let him out. When Emery had stepped through, she put a little plate with a ball of gum on the near table and then locked up behind him. “That was quick,” she said with a tone of curiosity that bordered on suspicion.
He forced a sheepish grin and cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, first time. In this setting, I mean.”
“Just so you know, we retain the full sum regardless.”
He made a show of checking to ensure that his shirt was buttoned. “That’s perfectly fine.”
They entered the lobby. “How did you enjoy yourself?” the older woman asked.
He smiled. He swallowed back vomit. “You may see me again in the near future.”
They watched him out. He had a few minutes, maybe, before they gleaned from Tessa that he’d been fishing for information—he would need to be gone by then. He staggered down the aisle, waving the empty purse at the vendor with the needles. “Sorry, friend, they sucked me dry in there.”
“I’m sure. You know where to find me if you come back feeling more prosperous.”
He needed to get out. Half dazed, he dragged himself to the spiral staircase and was halfway down when he stopped, eyes on the dark space where the hole in the wall must be, with Oliver waiting on the other side. Down some stairs, Tessa had said. He’d been looking for an exit on the ground floor, but Redemption wasn’t elevated, it was laid deeper into the ground. Stupid. The way outside the city would be on the top floor, directly opposite that hole. He adjusted his grip on the railing and sprinted up the staircase.
There. A pair of closed, windowless double-doors, recessed unassumingly between two stalls. If Emery hadn’t known to look, he would never have noticed the small unlit doorway, eclipsed on both sides by the bright lights of the vendors. The stall on the near side sold fine wines from Belmont Arbor. “Do you have a thirst, sir?” the vendor called.
“Yes, but not for what you’re selling, thanks.” He walked quickly past, checking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being watched before he stepped into the alcove and gave the doors a pull. Locked, and apparently reinforced. To force it open without attracting attention would be impossible.
Maybe there was a side entrance somewhere. He turned and kept walking until a metallic scraping assaulted his ears and shook the floor. Emery ducked into the storefront of the next shop to avoid being seen. What were they selling here, rocks? He lowered his head and waited; the footsteps of whoever had just passed through the door were growing closer. There were two voices he could swear he recognized, but he couldn’t place them yet—
“… and with haste, if you would be so kind. You should be less than astonished to discover that your den of thieves makes me nauseous.”
The shopkeep offered Emery a boisterous greeting, but he didn’t respond. He knew that voice.
“That makes us even, then.” Dogeye slouched into view, a step ahead of his companion. “I don’t wanna be within a mile of whatever you’re doing, and hell, Doc, even I know that’s saying something. But we both get our orders from the same place, so you’re stuck with me just like I am with you.”
“As if I required any reminder of the fact,” Dr. Hanssen hissed. Emery glimpsed his face for only the smallest moment as he stepped forward, but it was more than enough. The resemblance to Sander was striking, having met the nephew, but the uncle’s countenance was lethal. Dogeye looked like half a man next to him; it was hard not to. Emery shivered and spun on his heel. He wouldn’t walk out of here if the doctor saw his face.
“That stone,” the shopkeep declared, “will increase your luck tenfold. Just wear it when you play cards at Powelton, and in a week you’ll be a rich man!” He wore a costume cloak and had grown a ridiculous beard; this, presumably, was what he imagined a wizard must look like.
“I’m a rich man already,” he answered, “but it would seem I’ve forgotten my rai in Paradisio.” He strained to hear what Dogeye was saying.
“It will be well worth it for you to return with a full purse.” The shopkeep picked up another stone and pressed it into Emery’s hand. “If you pledge to buy, I’ll set one aside for you. This one is my finest, straight from the conjurers in the forests of Washington Circle. With its dark magic in hand, you can breathe fire!”
“Here’s your key,” Dogeye was saying as the man finished his pitch. Emery turned just enough to note its design: a copper Anselm key. He’d seen a hundred just like it. Hanssen slipped it into the breast pocket of his overcoat. “Don’t forget to give it back when you’re done with this mess. We can’t have extras floating around unaccounted for.”
“That’s absurd,” Emery said to the shopkeep. “You’re asking me to believe I could just magically breathe fire.”
“Of course it sounds extraordinary: it is! The Yankees’ magic powers are like nothing in Rittenhouse—and they are nothing to be scoffed at, young sir.”
“… will transport the shipment into the corridor one box at a time. None of your fine colleagues here…”
“Show me. If you can really breathe fire with that thing, I’ll come back with a full purse.”
“Preposterous,” he declared in a tone that led Emery to refer he was proud of his vocabulary. “Redemption is warded against magic!”
“How convenient. Well, I have no reason to believe such an absurd claim without proof,” Emery said testily. Dogeye was pulling a reluctant Hanssen into the shop. He needed a distraction, now.
The black marketeer-cum-magician’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re saying you have reason to doubt my word, you needn’t spend another moment in my place of—”
Emery covered his face with one arm, snatched the amulet with his other hand, and threw it to the ground a few feet in front of him. The magician’s claim turned out to be legitimate: the amulet burst in an enormous fireball. The magician was thrown to the ground, and the shop counters capsized in a confusion of flame and force. Emery, on his knees with the heat of the blaze on his face, scurried blindly backwards through the chaos. But in his haste to escape, he had forgotten something he should have known: they were surrounded by similar charms, charms that could be triggered by the nearby use of another spell.
One by one, they began to erupt.
Shadows flew great and ghastly through the smoke. Emery was on his belly now, trying to stay below the thickest of the smoke as he crawled for the exit. He saw Dogeye’s and Hanssen’s legs as they struggled through the chaos; the blackened air hid everything above their knees. He heard a chorus of howling, inhuman voices behind him, rising in the dark. As he crawled, the floor of the tiny shop was warping and stretching, the distance to the door impossibly far. Hands or claws tore at his legs and back, but when he turned there was no one behind him. Desperately, he increased his pace, coughing up each lungful of smoke and debris. And finally, he crossed the threshold of the shop.
He looked upward. He was surrounded. He was caught.
“Are you alright?” the nearest pair of legs asked. It took Emery a moment to realize that the people around him had no idea w
hat had happened: he was safe until the magician, or Dogeye or Hanssen, emerged.
Several people were extending hands; he accepted the nearest and climbed to his feet. “I think I’ll be okay,” he managed between coughs. “I don’t know what happened…”
The frightened black-market shoppers parted to let him pass. Emery took the opportunity and stumbled into their midst; they moved back into the gap behind him when he had gone. “What’s going on in there?” a Chukwu woman asked, still clutching her mug from the poppy teahouse next door. He offered a confused shrug, and she turned back to the storefront, where strange lights and voices still poured from the smoke screen. Redemption’s security guards were approaching, fire extinguishers in hand.
When the crowd had forgotten him, Emery made for the stairs, lungs burning. He took the spiral staircase as quickly as he could, shivering at Paradisio’s angel still waving her wings.
The others were finally emerging from the shop, too late. He faintly heard the magician’s hysterical scream of “Thief!” but was already crossing the ground-floor courtyard, which had been left vacant as everyone had rushed to the site of the explosion. Only as he was climbing the service staircase did he dare look back: the whole level was chaos. Hanssen was visible, doubled over.
Oliver was holding a hammer poised as Emery approached the hole, but the boy identified him and lowered it. Oliver had fetched a tarp and nails, as well as a blanket that was wrapped around his trembling shoulders. “Took you long enough,” he said in greeting. “I’m figuring we just hang the tarp on that end, shovel some rubble back into the gap, and hope nobody important enough to know better uses that staircase for the next few days. How’d it go? It looks like a total mess from here.”
Emery reached for words and came up empty. The darkness of the tunnel stared dully back at him with glassy, heavy-lidded eyes.