"I doubt it has to do with that." Harper's head was beginning to throb with tense pain. Somewhere in the very back of his thoughts, a count was beginning. He was already two days too late to save Edward. Every passing moment brought Edward closer to breaking down into a forced confession.
"Why else would they take Edward in?" Joan asked. "He's never done anything wrong in his life."
"It's not your fault, Joan. If anything, it's mine." Harper pressed his fingers up against the sides of his temple as if he could some-how just push the sharp bursts of pain back from his awareness. "I'll have to leave right away."
"We can go right now if you want. I'll need a fresh horse, but there should be several in the stable—"
"No. I need you to stay here." Harper dug into his pocket and handed the keys to his handcuffs to his sister. "Look after Belimai for me. He's going to need someone to be here with him. Just, whatever you do, don't tell him about Sariel, all right?"
"I haven't even agreed to stay," Joan protested.
"Joan, please don't make me waste time arguing with you about this. Edward is in a House of the Inquisition. If I get to him quickly, I might be able to do something, but I can't just leave Belimai here alone."
"Fine. I'll stay."
"Thank you." Harper hugged her once quickly. He turned to go and then stopped for a moment to watch Belimai shift in his sleep.
"Tell him I'm sorry," Harper said to his sister, and then he left.
Chapter Seven
Rust
Harper drew in a last drag from his cigarette, then flicked the short butt into a murky stream of rainwater trick-ling past his feet. The ember extinguished with a hiss that was almost inaudible beneath the wail of the city alarm. Searchlights flared through the dark sky, illuminating the ornate faces of the nearby buildings. The lights swept over the carved facade of the High Cross Library and then shot through the crystal dome of the Water Works Building. All along the Civic Plaza, Inquisitors rushed from building to building, evacuating workmen, academics, and public servants. Teams of acolytes raced back and forth, shutting off the gas lines.
Harper watched as the last engineers were hustled out of the Water Works Building. He ducked back into the alley beside the Notary Building as an elderly Sister of Scriptures was dragged shrieking from the library. Two angry Inquisitors carried her away.
Just ahead of him, the glass housing of a streetlamp exploded. Flames burst up through the pipes. Blinding blue light arced into the air as the lime filament seared to vapor. Harper pulled his cap low over his eyes and rushed out from the narrow alley. He strode purposefully past two white-faced acolytes who gaped at the geyser of flame.
"Don't just stand there with your gobs open! Get clear before the gas main blows!" Harper shouted over the howling siren. The acolytes immediately fled back behind the fire-barricades. Harper strode ahead into the Water Works Building.
"This is the last warning!" Harper shouted as he walked across the marble foyer toward the pump rooms. Shafts of light splintered and flashed around him as another searchlight swept across the crystal dome above. Shadows twisted and jumped, then the search-light passed and darkness enveloped the room. No one seemed to have lingered. Harper continued to call out as he walked to the maintenance stairs, just in case.
"We need everyone out of this building. There's been a rupture in the street gas line. This is the last warning." As Harper descended the winding iron staircase, the noise from the plaza faded. A deep thrum pulsed out from the turbines. It vibrated through the massive pipelines and through the rungs of the stairs spiraling down around them.
With all the gas lines shut down, the only sources of illumination remaining were dim phosphor lamps that hung from the handrail. They bathed Harper in a dull green glow. He unclipped one of the cylindrical lamps and continued down. As he descended, the air grew thick and stagnant.
At the bottom of the staircase, Harper entered a long concrete corridor. Heavy iron hatches, each leading to a maintenance shaft, lined the walls. Harper checked the letters and numbers engraved above each of the hatches. Mt 22-21, Mrk 1-14, Mt 10-8.
"Matthew, Mark, and Matthew again," he whispered.
One of his first assignments in the Inquisition had been in these maintenance shafts. Harper had spent nearly a week searching for a lost Prodigal child. Eventually he had found her, but in the intervening time he'd learned how completely the maintenance shafts infiltrated the city. Anywhere a major water pipe existed, a maintenance shaft ran alongside it. And there were water pipes everywhere. The only problem was finding the right one.
Harper held up the phosphor lamp and read the encoding over the hatch he had just reached, Deut 15-6. "Deuteronomy, chapter 15, verse 6. 'Lend unto many nations, but borrow of none, so shall thou reign over many.' Pipes for the Banker's rows, I'll bet."
He turned and walked past three more hatches. At last, he found the one marked Deut 19-18. Harper smirked at the wordplay of the chosen verse: And the judges shall make diligent inquisition.
The hatch screeched a sharp protest as Harper forced the rusted bearings of the hinge to swing open. Rank yellow water dribbled out from the open shaft. The air smelled both stale and putrid. Clearly, the water pipes leading to the Brighton Inquisition House hadn't been checked in a few years. Harper ducked inside, pulling the hatch closed behind him.
The shaft was narrow and tall. Water seeped from the pipe running overhead and spattered down onto Harper's cap. A stagnant stream of water rippled around his ankles. Harper moved fast through the dank pools, his phosphor lamp casting an eerie green glow over the water. Where the maintenance shaft split into a Y juncture, he scanned the concrete walls for the few short letters that indicated the streets far above him.
Movement soothed his mind. It almost drowned out the incessant count of seconds that ran through his head. He had, perhaps, another half hour before the Inquisitors completely evacuated the Civic Plaza. After that, it would only take a quarter of an hour be-fore one of them discovered that the gas lines were fine. Harper had simply tampered with the intake valves of a few streetlamps to ensure that their explosive displays set off the city alarms.
Harper broke into a run. It eased him to finally take action. Forced to watch and wait for Belimai to surface from his private torture all of the previous week, he had felt helpless. It had drawn him perilously close to prayer, and Harper knew he no longer had the faith for that.
But motion fed him. His muscles devoured the space between himself and his desire. He poured himself into the pure sensation of his body. He leapt up onto an access ladder and climbed into an adjoining shaft. He raced through the second shaft, ducking and jumping the smaller water pipes that cut across his path.
At last he stood directly under the Brighton Inquisition House. He clipped the phosphor lamp onto a narrow pipe and gripped the rusted entry hatch with both hands. Even through his gloves, the metal felt rough. Harper shoved hard against the hatch, feeling the ragged metal bite into the palm of his right hand. The thick seal of rust cracked with a low scrape, and the hatch swung open. Harper crawled forward through the series of tiny chambers that buffered the Inquisition House in case of a burst pipe. He climbed a narrow rung ladder up to a final hatch, forced it open, and pulled himself out onto a cracked tile floor.