“You cold?” Wilson asked.
“Nah. Just never seen this place like this.”
“Yeah.” Wilson stretched his arms, walked nervously nearly against the wall, trying to get a little protection from the storm’s assault. “I don’t get up here much.”
“You? Scared of heights or something?”
“Scared of Pilots, actually,” he smiled at me apologetically. “Pilots and the Corps.”
I didn’t ask. The Corps had done plenty in its time, during the various wars and skirmishes that kept Veridon in power. Resentment was natural.
“So how are we getting in?”
“I haven’t really decided yet.”
“I thought you had an idea,” Wilson said. “A clever trick.”
“I do. A brilliant trick,” I said. I bunched my coat up around my neck, then grudgingly moved over closer to the wall opposite Wilson. “But that’s for getting out.”
We walked in silence for a while. I had the box of shells Valentine had given me tucked against my belly. I hoped the powder wouldn’t spoil in this deluge. I wasn’t real sure I’d get to use any of this kit, with Sloane’s crew expecting me. But if I needed it, I’d rather it work.
“So, uh. How are we getting in?”
“You figure it out. I don’t care. We go up to the door and knock. They’re waiting for us, Wilson. We’re not going to be able to sneak in.”
“So what the hell are we doing up here, Jake? I’m not in this to walk in and get shot. Hey,” he grabbed the back of my jacket and spun me around. “I’m not going to be happy just shooting a couple Badges, Jacob. I intend to get through this alive.”
I stared at him a while. Did they have eyes on us, right now? Made sense. If they cleared the streets, if the shops were empty and the cadets tucked into their barracks, if they went to that much trouble, why not guards on the approaches? That’s what I’d do. So, yeah, they’re probably watching us right now.
“You think too much of me, Wilson. I’m not that noble.” I pulled my jacket free and started back up the street. “We’ll get through.”
I didn’t hear him for a dozen steps, then he sloshed through the gutter to catch up.
“I need more than optimism,” he hissed, his face really close to my ear. “I need to know what you’re planning.”
“You think they’re watching us, Wilson? You think they have people watching out for us?”
He stopped again, falling behind. When he came back he was lurking, one of the Badge’s stolen shortrifles in hand.
“Cuz I think they’re watching us,” I said, when he was behind me again. “So that’s why I haven’t told you.”
We were getting close to the base. Its bulk loomed up against the sky, eclipsing the storm for a second. Wind whipped around the stone walls. There were lights inside, bright eyes in the night. There were a couple of guard houses and a bridge that zig-zagged from the main path, each bend passing through a tower’s watchful gate.
I hopped up onto the railing of the first bridge. It was iron and stone, and the rain had made it slick. Wilson followed nervously. I swung my leg over the edge, then tucked the ammunition into various pockets of my coat. I got the shotgun over one shoulder then turned to Wilson.
“Follow close.”
I inched farther out onto the bridge’s structure, keeping three points secure all the way out. The supports blossomed out into the open air, running to the towers and the other two bridges beyond.
“This is the plan? We’re going to climb in?”
“They’re watching every door, Wilson,” I grunted, then crawled a little bit further. “Every window. Just stay close.”
He had no trouble keeping up, obviously. He kept a couple protective spider arms hovering behind my back, another over my head. Halfway across the wind picked up, and the storm hit us. We were out of the Academy’s lee, and I cursed and hunched close to the bridge. The iron was slick. Below us the Dunje was a foggy smear, the tiny lights of barges winking up at us like reflected stars. I paused to secure myself.
“Jacob, I’m not sure-” Wilson said, then I fell.
My lead foot skittered off the metal and I stepped into open air. Wilson’s arms wrapped around me, too quickly, and I overbalanced and slammed against the structure of the bridge. My hands fell off their holds. I slapped at the bars, missed, slapped and ended up on Wilson. He swore in the tearing, shrieking language of the anansi. The wind pulled at us. I was kicking at the bridge, trying to find purchase. Wilson’s arm came free, then his foot. I sagged against his body, completely away from the bridge now. Both his lapels in my fists, I dropped, he dropped, and the wind took us. Screaming, we cartwheeled out into sky, into the storm, and we were falling.
The rope caught about ten feet down. I thought it was going to tear me in half. I barely held on to Wilson and his clambering arms. The rope snapped taut, the movement of our fall arcing us back down under the bridge. I slapped at the dry understructure, felt it slip out from under my fingers. Wilson grabbed on and dragged me in. We climbed on to one of the supports, nestled against the stone and lay there, panting and breathing and staring at the rain.
“Think they were watching?” I asked.
“You fuck. You could have fucking told me.”
“I wanted your reaction to be authentic.” I held the rope up and pulled a section of it tight. “Cut me off this thing, will you?”
He squinted angrily at me, then worked his knife free of his belt and sliced through the rope.
“That’s not even climbing rope,” he said. “It’s just a fucking rope.”
“All I could get.”
“We could have died.”
“Yeah, well. If I kept track of all the times I could have died the last couple weeks, Wilson, I’d get bored.”
He shook his head, then leaned back and rested against the stone.
“Is there some kind of secret entrance under here?” He craned his neck around to look at the craggy stone. “A hidden door that leads to the wine cellar or something?”
“Nah. We’re going to have to climb.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say.” He ran a wide, thin hand over the stone, picking at the cracks with his sharp little talons. “Could we at least look for a secret entrance, please?”
“There’s no secret entrance, Wilson. Stop being such a whiner.”
There were feet on the bridge above us, and soon rifles were poking down over the railing. Voices yelled all up and down the road. I pointed, then led Wilson around the edge of the tower’s wall to the next bridge. Not long after we made the second bridge the guards were hooking up climbing harnesses and throwing down belay lines.
“They’re going to find your rope,” Wilson whispered.
“Then we better get moving,” I said, and clambered off into the rain.
The guards were slow and careful, and the climbing harnesses were difficult to use in the rain. We were almost to the Academy before they found the rope. We were inside before they figured out what had happened.
We ended up in the wine cellar, as Wilson had hoped. There was a service winch with corresponding iron door. The lock had rusted away years ago. I wrenched it open then collapsed inside. Wilson crawled over to the near wall and started poking around behind the casks. Looking for his damn secret passage.
“Stop fucking around, Wilson.”
“Just hoping. I was going to laugh if I found it.”
“You’re not going to find it,” I said. I lay the shotgun and pistol out on the ground, then took off my coat and shook it off. Water sheeted out onto the floor. Once it was as dry as it was going to get, I put it back on and rearranged my arsenal. “Can we get on with this?”
We pulled the service door closed and secured it as well as could be expected. There was food by the door, I saw, and a dozen cigarette butts. There had been a guard here, probably pulled away to conduct the search up on the bridge. We had to get moving.
“They’re going to be putting people on every door and window again,” Wilson said, nodding to the guard’s leavings. “We’d do well to get to the girl.”
“Not yet. They’ll see we were here. We left water everywhere, and the door’s obviously been forced.” I hurried up the narrow stairwell to the kitchens. Those clean white rooms were empty. “Once they figure that out, they’re going to post guards around the girl. Probably already have.”