The office of Byron Rhodes was a niche place, a hole-in-the-wall building in the Fourth Quarter that Laura had trouble locating. It turned out to be nestled behind a theater rather than beside it; the only route to the door wound through a narrow alley reeking of paint and strewn with excess set design pieces. Laura mentally cursed whatever idiot thought it a good idea to dump such things in such a narrow path, before pushing open the door. Thankfully, she didn’t put much force into it. The door smacked into something before it fully opened. A loud cuss issued from behind it and Laura jerked back immediately.
“I’m sorry!”
“Nothing! It’s nothing!” came a voice, shrill with irritation. “The damn door just—”
A shuffling sound, and the door was pulled open again. The woman there stood a few inches taller than Laura, brown hair taut in an unraveling bun and lines stark in her face. She looked like she’d been working overtime on something tedious, eyes tired and back slouched, but assumed a horrendously fake smile and ushered Laura inside.
“I suppose you’re here for Mr. Rhodes? He’s on the phone at the moment, but it won’t be long before he can see you.”
The woman bared her teeth in another terse grin and closed the door before retreating behind her desk. The room was truly tiny. Laura felt like she’d been locked in a broom closet. Barely wide as she was tall, the area miraculously contained a heavy secretary desk and two uncomfortable chairs with faded red seats. Two more doors stood dark on the other walls. Laura settled on one of the chairs while the woman fussed over a large rock on her desk. It changed color at her touch. Presumably it worked the same as the little statue at the bank, alerting someone else that she needed assistance.
“This is kind of cramped for a detective office, isn’t it?” said Laura.
“It’s cramped for anything, but he keeps saying it’s cheap, and he loves his hiding spots,” the woman replied.
“It would drive me crazy working here.”
“On breaks I escape to the filing room. Still cramped, but I have enough space to breathe. This whole place is more form than function. Rather like—”
“‘Rather like Mr. Rhodes’?”
Laura jumped at the new voice. Byron leaned through one of the doorways, smiling. “Nice to know I’m appreciated, Miss Heightland.”
“Nice to know you recognize your faults, Mr. Rhodes,” she snapped.
Byron shook his head fondly. “Whatever you say. Ah, Miss Kramer. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
He stood aside, allowing her to walk past. His office, while small, was still bigger than the first room. It allowed more homey touches—the painting on the far wall and statuettes on the desk among them—and ample legroom. The chair in front of the desk proved infinitely better than the one in the waiting room. Byron spoke to his secretary a moment more, then closed the door and circled to his own chair. He sighed as he sat.
“Miss Heightland is convinced I’ve got her living in a mousehole, but she’s the one who insisted on having that clunky desk. I’d let her have this room, but my clients would never have privacy.”
“I’m surprised your clients can even find this place,” said Laura.
“True. I need to invest in a sign. Just nail it up on the theater. For Rhodes, PI, take a hard left.” He raised his hands, tracing the vague outline. “Yes, that’d do. But you went through the trouble of tracking this place down. I could’ve given you better directions over the phone.”
“I didn’t want an operator listening in and gossiping,” Laura admitted.
“Not a lot of people think about that.”
“A school friend became a telephone operator. She keeps quiet about personal things, but others aren’t so considerate.”
Byron nodded. “And what kind of personal things are you coming to me about?”
“You’re supposed to be checking in on us.”
“I am.”
“And you haven’t noticed anything weird?”
“Weird is relative,” said Byron. “A Mad Dogs stakeout could be a move on the Sweepers, or it could be a wayward attempt at getting an interview for the Dead Ringer. A head Sweeper’s sudden, extreme interest in the mobs could be a warning sign, or it could be healthy caution. That same head Sweeper having a surprise guest through Underyear and beyond could be innocent—”
“Or it could be cause for concern.” Laura cracked a smile. “I didn’t realize you picked up on that much. I haven’t seen you around at all.”
“I’m very good at my job,” said Byron. “That said, I’ve only been able to operate on the periphery. I suspect that you, being inside the shop and up close to the action, have more valuable input.”
“I might.” Laura hesitated, then said, “I think Juliana’s in league with the Silver Kings.”
She launched into the story. She told him about the MacDanels’ suspicions of a “secret weapon”; about the rumored oral history and Juliana’s sudden interest in Okane at Underyear; about Lester inviting Haru as a distraction, Haru’s proposal, and the Silver Kings’ concern. She told him about the red Egg. She pulled out Clae and Basil’s letters, setting them on the desk for him to read. Byron listened, nodding along. At the end Laura tapered into silence. She watched anxiously as he studied Basil’s letter.
“Well?”
Byron slid the letter aside. “A red Egg, you said?”
“That’s right,” said Laura. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. Puer is green, our Eggs are yellow, our Sinkers are blue … it seems so starkly different. It doesn’t fit. And if it’s not made by a city’s Sweeper department, if it’s illegal like Basil says … surely it has to be one of the local mobs? I’ve never seen them in action.”
“Ah, but you have,” said Byron.
It took a moment for Laura to remember. “I suppose I did, back in the Falling Infestation. I didn’t even realize they weren’t with the Puer group. But those were Mad Dogs, and they already made it clear that they don’t like Juliana. If the red Egg is from a mob, it has to be from Silver Kings.”
“Silver Kings doesn’t make red Eggs.”
“How would you know? You’re not part of them.”
“I’m good at my job,” Byron repeated, and his easy smile became rigid. “The mobs are a favorite subject of mine. You could say I specialize in them. It’s why Heather chose me to look out for you, despite my being fired from the police force. I know how a negotiator’s mind works.”
Laura went quiet a moment. “You keep calling her by her first name.”
“We’re old friends,” said Byron. “Or maybe she keeps me around as a relic. It comes in handy at times like this. I’ll say it again: the Silver Kings don’t make red kin, and neither do the Mad Dogs. Nobody in Amicae makes them.”
“Then where did it come from?” said Laura, exasperated.
“Rangers sometimes deal in illegal trades,” Byron said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “They’ll take things the trains don’t. Maybe a rogue satellite town is supplying her with their own concoction in exchange for something. But if it’s as powerful a mix as you say, they could copyright it instead. Sell it to any city they want, for an astronomical price. It doesn’t make sense to treat it this way.”
Not everything can travel by train. Secrets. Valuable things.
Laura sat straighter. “It could be carried by couriers?”
“Rangers take a lot of different job titles,” said Byron. “Although, they don’t tend to leave the bottommost Quarters when they visit cities. Have you had contact with someone suspicious?”
“At Underyear, there was a man at the temple. A man in—”
In red robes. Red beads in his hair. God, it was so obvious. How had she missed it?
“Did he identify himself as a Ranger?” said Byron.
“No, just as a courier. His name was Theron. He said he carried secrets. I don’t know much beyond that, but I think Okane knew more. He wouldn’t tell me why, but he was scared after we spoke.”
“Okane Sinclair,” Byron said slowly. “His record is shoddy at best. Do I understand correctly that the Sullivans once employed him?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” said Laura.
“You don’t think there might be a link here to the Falling Infestation? An outside group, well-versed in Sweeping methods and therefore infestations, interested in steering our future? I’ve confirmed that Sullivan didn’t orchestrate that, but whoever was behind that had to know how his company worked, down to intricate details. They were probably present at the Sullivan household or offices in the months before the infestation, possibly right under his nose. Also…” He tapped his finger three more times, mulling over his thoughts before finally saying, “I’ve found other allusions to Okane. Frightening ones.”
“There’s no way he’s involved,” said Laura, appalled. “He’d never—”
“I think he was another target.”
“What?” She drew back, horrified.
“I cornered a drunk Mad Dog recently. I was hoping to get information on why their rivalry with Silver Kings turned into such a powder keg right now, but he was a fringe member and didn’t know much about that. What he did know was that a certain individual came to the mobs looking to do business, and their boss laughed this man out of the building.”
Laura frowned. “He knew his boss’s opinions, but not where his group was headed?”
“Mad Dogs is a conundrum like that. They idolize their current boss, so anything involving him gets passed around and blown into tall tales,” said Byron. “Something surrounding that story, though, was the man’s demands. He wanted Okane. Not by name, but not many of Sullivan’s house staff match his description. Mad Dogs took that to mean an arranged assassination. You don’t demand a hit on someone for no reason, so Okane must have information they don’t want to get out. He may be the key to the whole incident.”
“But the Mad Dogs refused to help that man,” Laura checked.
“They did,” said Byron. “But they’ve left him to his own devices. If this man, this Theron, has allied with the MacDanels … that doesn’t look good for Okane. They might follow through where the Mad Dogs refused. If this story about Lester is true, I’m worried.”
Laura bit her lip, mulling over this new information. “But if Theron is hoping to get something out of Amicae, why would he have set up the Falling Infestation in the first place? Anything he’d gain would be gone.”
“Deeper we travel down the rabbit hole.” Something in Byron’s eyes hardened, but he smiled anyway. “Perhaps it was meant to be contained after all?”
“And that’s what he said,” she finished with a shrug.
“I’m not surprised,” said Okane. He didn’t look at her, too busy trying to thread a needle; a torn shirt lay draped over his knee. “I told - - - Sullivan dealt with mobs. It stands to reason that he dealt with more rotten people.”
He seemed completely content with the thought that someone wanted him dead, and for the life of her Laura couldn’t understand why. Did he not care about dying if it wasn’t by infestation? Had he always suspected this?
“But you don’t remember anything that ties in?” she asked, plunking herself down in the old rocking chair. It creaked ominously and tipped, and she gripped the handles hard as it swung back upright. Okane snorted at her reaction, and she snapped, “Take this a little more seriously! Our new boss may have agreed to kill you!”
“Hush,” he scolded. “They might hear - - -.”
“As if,” Laura scoffed.
She’d arrived late this morning, only to find Juliana and Lester cornered outside the shop by a strange woman in a long, dark coat. Neither noticed her slip inside, and the woman hadn’t seemed ready to let them go anytime soon. In any case, it gave Laura ample opportunity to dash upstairs and relate the whole Byron incident.
“Juliana’s been acting very familiar, for someone ready to kill me,” said Okane. “She invited me to lunch today.”
Laura shot up straight. “Did you accept?”
“No. I don’t exactly feel comfortable around her. I said I already had plans with the Keedlers.”
“Good. She might’ve been leading you to your assassination.”
“I’m not important enough for an assassination, Laura.”
“You are so stupid,” she groaned.
“Noted,” he hummed.
She watched him start stitching, brooding before finally asking, “You’re not scared of this at all. Why?”
“If Theron’s really behind this, and if he’s really who I think he is, then he doesn’t want me dead,” said Okane.
“So you do know something,” said Laura.
He pulled the thread extra slowly, studying the fabric. The single stitch took far longer than it should, as did the one that followed. Eventually he glanced up, as if checking whether she’d lost interest. She gave him an unimpressed look. He ducked his head again, defeated.
“He’s something I don’t want to acknowledge.”
“So he is Magi?” said Laura.
“No,” said Okane. “Yes.”
“He can’t be both,” said Laura.
“He can, actually,” said Okane.
Laura opened her mouth to ask how, but snapped it shut again at the sound of the door opening.
“Mr. Sinclair, are you still here?”
Lester? Frowning, Okane stood to meet him. Laura leapt up behind him and glowered at the intruder. Lester stood halfway through the doorway, partially cast in shadow. When he saw Laura, he stiffened.
“Ah. Miss Kramer. I didn’t realize you were here this morning.”
“That’s me,” said Laura. “Always here.”
“Can I help - - -?” said Okane.
“I hoped so,” said Lester. “Miss Kramer, Juliana’s speaking with a client outside. Could you go out and help her?”
“No, I think I’ll stay right here,” said Laura.
Lester’s eyes narrowed. “The matter is a private one.”
“I tend to share everything with Laura, so not much is private,” said Okane. “I thought - - - and Juliana liked transparency among Sweepers?”
“Does she know everything about you?” said Lester.
Okane tilted his head, wary. “That’s a strange way to phrase it.”
That response confirmed something. Lester moved, and somehow that shift changed him from mundane to dangerous.
“I think it’s time we stopped pretending,” he said. “Miss Kramer needs to be cut out of the deal before things get worse.”
Okane raised an arm as if to shield Laura from sight. “I don’t know what - - -’re talking about, but - - -’re not doing anything to her.”
“Drop the act,” said Lester.
He bore down on them. Laura didn’t know what he was planning, but it wouldn’t be good for either of them. She grabbed at Okane’s belt and yanked the gun from its holster. The pictographs flared on its sides as she pulled the hammer back. Lester froze as he found himself looking down the barrel. For a moment they all stood still as statues, silent and tense.
“Well,” said Laura, letting out a shaky breath. “I don’t think Eliza had a gun. What’s your move now?”
Lester’s expression contorted. “What was that?”
“Eliza,” Laura said louder. “You know, the friend Juliana talked about? Dead in an infestation? Once I heard what you did to Joan, it’s not hard to connect the two. Is this what you do, Lester? Act all quiet and nice until someone trusts you, then club them over the head? Sabotage their equipment?”
“You do like to talk about things you don’t understand,” said Lester.
“So you don’t deny it.”
“And how long are you going to stand there?” Lester glared at Okane.
“I don’t know what - - -’re talking about, but I’m not on - - -r side,” Okane retorted.
Lester snorted. “Still covering your own ass.”
This at least gave them some information: if Lester assumed any Magi he saw was involved, Theron couldn’t be working alone. Laura opened her mouth to demand answers, but another click sounded from the stairwell.
“Well, what have we here?” said Juliana. She stepped into view with her own kin gun, aiming it directly at Laura. “That’s bad manners. Didn’t we teach you basic gun safety already?”
“So much for Sweeper solidarity,” Laura grumbled.
“She knows too much,” said Lester.
“Well, we can’t just shoot her. With the Mad Dogs ranting the way they are, she’s high-profile.” Juliana regarded them a moment before a smile slowly grew across her face. “Miss Cherry!” she called. “I think I have a solution for you!” Quieter, she ordered, “Put that away and follow our lead.” When Laura didn’t react at first, she rolled her eyes and turned to Okane. “You’re the one who wants her alive, right? Get her to play along.”
“Let’s do what they say,” Okane said quietly.
“What?” Laura hissed.
“We’re at a disadvantage.”
Laura didn’t like dropping what felt like their only defense, but she wasn’t eager to shoot a man in the face, and with the second gun she didn’t like their chances much either. Scowling, she lowered her arm. Juliana stood away from the door and jerked her head toward the stairwell.
“Go downstairs, and be polite. Our guest won’t appreciate any attitude.”
The woman waiting in the shop was the same one who’d been talking to Juliana outside. She stood rigidly, arms crossed and expression severe. Now that Laura paid more attention she noticed her clothes looked utilitarian: riding boots, coat to keep out the elements, a wide-brimmed hat hanging down her back. A Ranger. Her eyes didn’t flash like Theron’s, but she shared their dark color, the black hair slicked back into a severe braid.
“Allow me to introduce you,” Juliana said brightly; she’d brought the gun behind her back, but Laura had no doubt she’d pull it out again at the slightest provocation. “This is our newest client, Cherry. Cherry, these are two of Amicae’s best Sweepers. I think they’ll work wonderfully for your job.”
Cherry looked them over, unimpressed. “You’re not passing it up the line?”
“I’m confident in their abilities,” said Juliana. “So long as you keep them in line, they’ll be no trouble.”
Cherry clicked her tongue. “If you say so. Nature of the job means we should leave immediately. How long will it take them to prepare?”
“No time at all.” Juliana turned her too-wide smile on Laura. “Grab as much equipment as you need. You’ll need some firepower out in the wilds.”