Chapter Sixteen
U-Turn
They left Lawan's sniper's nest at the break of a cloudy dawn. The night they'd spent taking turns at keeping watch, with Lawan taking the first round, then waking Kyle from a shitty dream— and then Kyle again, who'd taken one look at Aiden squished up against a wall with the UV light crawling all over him and decided, Nah.
Let the kid sleep.
And let Kyle sidestep his dreams. They were less likely to catch up with him if he paced the kitchen.
Though there'd been different demons waiting in the night. Waiting in the silence. They'd condensed into a living thing; a sensation not unlike that of an animal trapped in his chest. And dear God did it want to claw its way out of there…
Desperately.
Dawn didn't help. Neither did walking back to the Fish Eye in tepid silence, or the drop in air pressure as the clouds teased Villedor with rain. Nothing helped. There was nothing left to do to keep his anxiety anger in check; nothing save for one thing.
Somewhere between leaving the Church's stomping grounds and the Fish Eye, Kyle changed his mind about the days ahead. Forget the solar plant. Forget Waltz's deal. Forget waiting. Every minute he left Fi with the Church was another minute he (Kyle; this here good-for-nothing-dumbfuck) allowed.
And who did that kinda shit, huh?
So. Forget it.
Forget it all.
He could do better. He had to do better.
The Fish Eye had changed overnight. There were buckets now. Lots and lots of buckets. Some were fully functional collectors with funnels made from tarp hanging over them. Others were just, well, buckets, set up in tight groupings atop tables or just out of the way enough so no one would knock them over.
And while Villedor hoped for the clouds to get on with it already, Kyle found himself caring very little. He made a straight line for Shaphan's Lock 'n Key and shoved his True Conviction card through the gap.
"Tall fella is in a mood," Shaphan said once he'd fetched Kyle's gear.
Grunt, Kyle offered back.
He was, yeah. And he had every right to be in that mood in private; to slink into the shack, close the door, and itemise his grief in peace. He would have, too, but then Frank popped out of the Fish Eye and threw him a look that told Kyle he was about to be disappointed (again).
There'd be no peace. No privacy.
He sighed.
Frank poised a finger, gestured for Kyle to hang on a second, then sorted his face into a disapproving scowl before he barked a sharp, "Lawan!"
"Here we go," she said, "I told you he'd freak."
The comment was directed at Aiden. Which was about when it occurred to Kyle that maybe, just maybe, the trip back from the fountain square of horrors hadn't been as silent as he'd thought.
He'd simply had his head up his ass for all of it, hadn't he.
"The Concord? You took them into Church territory to a Concord?"
"Yes, Frank. I did. I thought your new friends needed to be shown what they're getting themselves into. And what they're asking us to risk."
"You could have been caught!"
"Oh, fuck off. I don't get caught."
"What about being seen?" Frank's arms flew up, the cane along with it, angling for the gathering clouds in a threat to rip them open. "One good look at you with these two and the Church has all the excuse it needs to accuse us of breaking the treaty. And then what? We take the knee and hand over our people? Because last time I checked we sure as hell can't defend the Fish Eye if they decide to just come take them."
Kyle idly looked between Lawan and Frank. He should have been feeling something. Anything, really, beyond that living dead thing thrashing in his chest. But it left no room, not even for feeling a bit silly over how he stood there with two sizeable packs hanging off him at awkward angles.
"And you—" Frank turned to face Kyle. He jabbed the cane at him. The clouds above remained untorn. "—I don't give a rat's ass how you decide to risk your life, but you're not pulling her into this. Am I making myself clear?"
Kyle's mouth opened, which was about as far as he got before Lawan cut in.
"Seriously, Frank? Shut up. I'm not your little princess! Haven't been in fucking years! You want to know what I think?" On she went in a language Kyle had no hope of understanding, then snapped around and stormed off, clipping Aiden's shoulder on the way for good measure.
"Sheesh?" Aiden went before he finally got up to the Lock 'n Key's front window to pick up his pack. "I don't get it, I thought you're the guy who sends her after thieves and whatever? Isn't that a lot more risky than—I don't know—scouting?"
"Of course she'd say that." Frank leaned onto his cane with a sigh. The way he deflated after that puff of air gave Kyle the impression he might have regretted confronting Lawan like that. Especially in the open, where everyone could hear.
And, hey. For a second Kyle even caught a tickle of emotion. Something else than the aforementioned thrashing in his chest. A bit of guilt, maybe. Over how he hadn't seen who Lawan was to Frank; or more accurately how Kyle had chosen to ignore it.
The Nightrunners had been Lawan's family, she'd told them that much.
Ergo, Lawan was Frank's family.
Ergo, Kyle should have known better.
"Come on in," Franke said before Kyle could inspect his guilt. "There's someone here to see you."
"Us?" Aiden asked. He had his pack open and was snooping through it, while at the very same time following Frank back into the Fish Eye.
And Kyle? Well, Kyle didn't want to go. He wanted to walk away. Least until Aiden glanced over his shoulder and raised a puzzled brow at him, giving Kyle no other choice but to suck it up, put on his big boy pants, and be miserable by his lonesome later.
The canteen was empty. And dark. Real dark. They'd shut off most of the lights, leaving the place filled with a grimy kind of shade. Dusty sunlight sliced up some of the gloom, but there weren't enough windows in the Fish Eye to fill its main hall with daylight.
A design flaw, Kyle thought.
Even the UV bulbs were dormant, save for the ones by the bar, allowing the barkeep to do his work without having to step out ever so often, and the lone visitor at a nearby table to sit around looking sufficiently foreboding.
"Crane," called that very same visitor once they'd approached him.
"Aitor." Kyle hauled himself and everything he owned to the table. "Am I glad to see you, or are you about to make my ass day even assier?"
"This solely depends on what you have to show me," Aitor said and nodded to a chair. "Sit?"
Old Villedor's new peacekeeping commander-in-chief-or-whatever had grown out a few day's worth of scruff on his cheeks; a tell-tale sign of a man who either couldn't have been bothered, or who'd simply not had the time to spare. Kyle sympathized and gave his chin a testing scratch before he dumped the packs on the table and pulled out a chair.
Aiden followed suit.
"I heard you didn't torch down Carl's Bazaar."
"A decision I might yet have to answer for, believe me. But enough about the possible end to my career. Frank told me Waltz paid you a visit and blackmailed you into helping the Church."
"Ah, yes." Kyle dug for Fi's journal. "That shit keeps happening to me lately. First, there's this weirdo back in Old Villedor who's got me locked up and thinks he can pressure me to trade my freedom for a bit of spy work. And then Waltz threatens my wife like that? Yeah, you know what, I don't like this trend." He opened the journal—gingerly as always—and collected the letters she'd found in the water tower. "Your proof."
"Thank you." Aitor took them with a brief incline of his head. He didn't waste much time and immediately began to read; though rather than silently absorbing the lot, he kept looking up, regarding Kyle with… what? Concern?
"Frank also filled me in on your plan," he eventually said, just as the very same Frank set down a trio of glasses. A whiff of sharp alcohol curled Kyle's nose hairs. "And how he's eager to help?"
Frank scoffed. He plonked down a fourth glass, then grabbed himself a chair, all while he muttered something about how eager wasn't exactly the word he'd use. In the meantime—while Kyle leaned back and swung an arm over his chair's backrest as he stared at Aitor reading the pages over and over—Aiden inspected his own glass. He gave it one quick sniff before he set it back down, his face scrunched up.
It took for-fucking-ever afterwards until Aitor finally shuffled the pages back together neatly. A for-fucking-ever that, realistically, might have only been two minutes or so but which dragged on like crusty play dough.
Then the fucker sighed.
Fighting the urge to lean forward and puff himself up, Kyle asked, "What? This not enough proof for you? Those are orders, Aitor. Directions. And that bit right there, that's a manual on how to set up the explosives in the tower. What else do you need?"
"No, no— this is— this is convincing. Unfortunately."
. . .
"Unfortunately," Kyle echoed, his voice flat.
"No one wants to go to war with the Church, Crane. It would have been simpler for us all if all we'd had to deal with was the Bazaar holding a grudge over how Lucas treated them. But let's table this for a moment. You—" Aitor pointed to Kyle. He used the stack of papers, their ends drooping. "—you no longer want to take the power plant. Do you?"
While Kyle's clung to his poker face, Aiden blurted a startled, "Huh?" The kid leaned aside, throwing Kyle a puzzled look. "Of course we are."
Kyle's mouth twisted.
"He's changed his mind," Aitor said. He tightened the grip on the paper, folding them, and pointed them at his own nose. "He has that look on his face. You know the one."
"Enlighten me," Kyle said. He didn't bother denying it.
"The look of a man about to do something very, very idiotic."
Aiden's voice rose in pitch. "What's he talking about?" Ah, bless this kid.
"I can't wait for everyone else to get their shit together," Kyle relented. "I need to get her out. Yesterday."
Nodding, Aitor set the pages back down. "And how do you propose you'll do that?"
"I figured I'd find a Hound," Kyle said, then grabbed the glass Frank had put him front of him to kick it back in one motion. The booze was strong and bitter and went down like molten razorblades. "Then I ask him nicely for his boots, his jacket, and his stupid-ass mask, and I walk right in. Easy, hm? With any luck—" And remember the days when you were such a lucky guy, huh? "—I'll pick the right place on my first try. But if I don't, then all I have to do is keep my head down, try again, and repeat for however long it takes until I find her." He slumped back. "What do you think I'd have done if Waltz hadn't shown up? Stick it out until you come around and convince your PK buddies to—what—barter a deal? Shit, if it hadn't been for my fucked up arm I'd have crawled up Waltz's ass the second I made it over here."
"You'll get captured," Aitor argued. Very quietly, in a tone so understanding Kyle wanted to box him in the nose for no other reason than I feel like shit. "Maybe not on the way in, but the moment you find her your cover will be blown and after that? Crane, there simply is no way you will both make it out alive."
"Yeah, well, heading into a Volatile infested solar plant that's guarded by a Night Hunter isn't much safer. But if I go for the plant, I'm—" Kyle's voice momentarily failed him, catching on the way up. He took a deep breath. "Look. I can't leave her in there any longer. I just… can't. And if that means I punch out while I'm with her? Well." The thrashing in his chest made room for an agonizing squeeze. "Then at least I'm there and not walking into the other fucking direction while she's alone."
What he'd found out about the Lady Séraphine, Kyle left unsaid.
Why?
Mostly because he was tired and didn't have it in him to try and explain how he knew about the delicate details of her ability to boss around a bunch of Infected. That, and there was a pretty high likelihood no one at this table would react well to hearing it in the first place.
"When were you going to tell me about our new plan?" Aiden asked.
"I wasn't."
"You weren't going to go with him," Aitor observed. Aptly. "He was going to quietly slip out and you'd probably never see him again because he'd be dead as a doornail."
"Oh, Aitor." Kyle did his absolute best to put a light-hearted spin on the words. (He failed.) "We've only just met and you already know me so well."
"It's what I would have done." Pausing only long enough to take a sip from his own drink, Aitor added, "If I didn't have the Peacekeepers at my back and had to do it alone, of course."
"Well, see, I don't—" Kyle's posture abandoned its depressed slouch. Hold on a second. "Wait. Are you saying the Peacekeepers are stepping in?"
"And help you infiltrate the Church? No." With the booze swirling lazily, Aitor tipped the bottom of his glass against the papers. "Until Command has seen these I won't be able to commit any of our forces to move against the Church. Whether that's by actively assisting you in attacking their holds or even just giving you intel on which hold your wife is in."
"You know where she is?" An involuntary growl carried Kyle's words up his throat.
"Me? No. But I wouldn't be surprised if our spymaster could tell you exactly where Waltz took her." The glass tipped towards Kyle. "He might even be able to draw you a map."
"Aitor. I am not going to sit here and wait."
"I don't want you to sit. I want you to do as you'd planned. To help us. To help yourself, help her, and the entirety of Villedor. Because even if Command likes the papers, they might not like the thought of going to war immediately. Matt might decide he'd rather wait, build his forces, and attack when he is well and ready, not now, when you need him to. But do you know what would go a long way to make him notice you? To convince him you're worth the risk?"
"Taking the solar plant."
"Correct. Now, we both know Waltz won't let your wife go. If anything, he'll keep squeezing you until you're of no more use to him and then he'll send however many of his Hounds or Hands he'll deem necessary so he can finish what he started and get his key. Do we agree on that?"
Kyle nodded.
"Which means you'll need local talent and you need our intel, both of which Matt will be exceedingly more inclined to give you once he's seen what you have done for Villedor. Not only for the Bazaar, but for every hold across the city. Including Peacekeeper territory."
Kyle had kept his eyes locked with Aitor's through the whole damn speech, all while his head swam with too much shit going on in there. Aitor was right. But Aitor was also wrong. Fi needed help now. But Fi also needed to make it out of this alive, and no matter which way Kyle tried to grab, every plan he snatched up ultimately told him he'd fall short and Fi would be the one paying for it.
"I'm not going to lie," Aitor added after a beat of silence. He, too, wouldn't look away. "We need the electricity."
"We so do," Frank cut in and now Kyle did glance away, catching Frank pointing at the dark. "Especially with winter coming. The ice freezes up the windmills, breaks them. Last year we had to evacuate three holds and two of them were run over by the time we got enough juice to get their UV lights back online. It cost us seven lives and half a year to recover them."
Nodding along, Aitor continued, "And you just so happen to be the key for us to solve that problem. Or, rather, you have the key, as it so were."
God, he was so confused. And angry, mostly with himself over one stupid decision made on the road: Go north, not south.
Not yet ready to commit his voice to anything more than a quiet grunt, Kyle reached over to the side and swiped up Aiden's glass. He rolled it in front of him, his eyes now fixed on the liquid sloshing around in there.
"Now, as for what you and Frank agreed to..."
Kyle's eyes flicked up. "Yeah?"
"You're being delayed because Frank doesn't have the people or resources you need. I do."
"What, I thought you can't commit?"
"To an official offensive, no. But you've made friends in Old Villedor and with a bit of creative bookkeeping I'll be able to divert gear into theirs and Frank's direction without anyone being the wiser. Which—" Aitor's head bobbed left and right. "—I've already taken the liberty to discuss with him."
"He's offering exactly what we were missing," Frank said. "Portable UV rods. Armor. Weapons. Yesterday I would have told you we're a week out, but now?" He frowned. Not a sad, discouraging frown, but the kind you put on with a slight tilt of your head and underlined with a promising upwards kick of your brow. "Believe it or not, but we're ready."
"So, Crane." Aitor raised his glass. The invitation was blatant. "What do you say?"
Gears turning and catching on nothing over and over again, Kyle closed his eyes, where he saw a million things go wrong, no matter the choice he made.
"It sounds good to me," Aiden said, only to prompt the malignant, thrashing thing in Kyle's chest to lash out and almost have him bite back with, Yeah and I don't give a fuck what you think.
He choked it down, opened his eyes, and glanced at the obligation he'd picked up. (One going by the name of Aiden.) Somewhere along the line, Kyle had forgotten about Aiden having his own demons to fight. And his own reason to march headfirst for Waltz, only to ultimately agree it'd get him nowhere.
"Okay," Kyle finally rasped. He raised his drink and met Aitor's glass with a light clink. "I'm convinced. But if this is going to work, you'll need to know the whole plan—"