The armory was located on a street called Fortore. The wide paved road and well-kept sidewalks marked it as a frequented route, but it held none of the clamor and traffic of a thoroughfare like Tiber or Acis. The quiet street hugged closer to the interior wall of the Third Quarter, its upscale location reflecting this in the form of tidy buildings, mostly residential but dotted with quaint shops. The armory building, obvious due to polished metal numbers on the front, stood three stories tall, three buildings in from a corner whose crossing street bore the lines of a trolley route.
The armory looked nothing like what Laura had pictured. It wasn’t in the Gothic style, of brick and barred windows, and it sat unassumingly between an apartment building and an upscale restaurant, perfectly painted a dark charcoal color with windows made of multicolored glass. The bottom level had no door but a garage wide enough to hold two automobiles. The proper door to the second floor required climbing a flight of decorative metal stairs on the outside of the building, between it and the rosy brick apartments. Small gingerbread patterns lined the edge of the sloped roof.
Laura surveyed this all from the other side of the street, studying the windows, then the apartments, then the restaurant’s sign advertising the best teccinia in the city, then looking back at the armory.
“It looks like a weird house,” she commented at last.
“It’s nicer than the shop.” Okane scratched his nose as he took in the sight. “Aren’t satellite locations supposed to be lesser quality?”
“You’d think.”
They eyed the building a while longer. Laura knew from frequent checking of her pocket watch that it was 10:00 A.M. Okane had arranged for them to meet with Elinor here any moment now; with Laura holding the only key to the premises, there was no other way for their estate administrator to continue her job. Laura felt around in her coat pocket and turned the key over in her fingers. No modern keys had hooks or spirals, but it matched the shape drawn in Clae’s letter, and Okane had confirmed that it was a key of some sort. A key for the armory and whatever was in that box.
“So how does this work? Just like a normal key?”
Okane shrugged. “I only remember people carrying them, not how they work. Maybe it turns the other way? Or maybe it doesn’t even turn?” He muddled this over, and Laura spotted the last person of their group.
Elinor turned the corner and walked along the path, past the restaurant. The Sweepers crossed the street to meet her.
“Hello,” Laura greeted.
“Hello.” Elinor didn’t face her; instead, she squinted up at the building in question. “This is the armory?”
“Judging by the numbers, yes.”
“Haven’t you been here before?”
“Actually, I never even knew this place existed.”
“It’s in his name,” Elinor muttered, opening her folder to check the print inside. “Someone else has been helping pay for expenses on it. It’s been repainted in the time since his death.”
“It has?” The paint looked immaculate, so Laura shouldn’t have been surprised.
“We’ll have to track that person down eventually. In the meantime, let’s see the inside.”
No one moved. Elinor had no key but looked to Okane, Okane watched Laura for what to do, and Laura came to the conclusion she’d have to play leader.
“Come on, then,” she grumbled.
The metal staircase was black, the railing wrought with designs of blooming flowers and curling vines that shone dimly in the morning light. Despite the spring décor, the metal chilled Laura’s hand as she climbed the stairs. Every step produced a loud retort, and the trio made a racket all the way up to the door, which loomed vaguely purple though a coat of black had been painted over it, bronzy knob and strangely shaped keyhole glinting bright in contrast.
Laura pulled out the key, eyed the curl, and leaned in to inspect the keyhole on the door. Thin, rectangular, looked the same size. She tried to fit the key, and it slid in easily. As soon as it fit, a click sounded from inside. The key froze in place, then wrenched ninety degrees to the right, one-eighty to the left, one-eighty right again, and back to its original position. At the first twist Laura tried to jerk back, but her fingers stayed glued to the key. She couldn’t let go. Groaning and clicking came from the door, as if tumblers moved throughout its entire structure. Eventually an odd pop sounded, and the door bounced ajar as if bumped off its threshold. Laura snatched her hand away as soon as she felt the pressure vanish.
“What kind of freakish machine is this?”
Okane had been eyeing the door dubiously, but looked at her in concern. “What do - - - mean?”
“It grabbed my hand or something. I couldn’t let go of the key.” She rubbed the hand in question, rueful.
“Is it okay?”
“Fine.”
Embarrassed, she kicked the door open further. It swung open with a groan. The room beyond was mostly dark, though pale blue and yellow lights glowed in its recesses. They squinted in.
“Do - - - think there’s a light switch?”
“Probably. Where are the windows, though? I swear there should be windows.”
“If you go inside, you might find the lights,” Elinor pointed out.
Laura stepped in, reaching to the right in search of a switch. She found a wooden shelf laden with glass objects she realized were Eggs. While she pondered this Okane walked farther in, and everything brightened dramatically. A multitude of tiny, circular glass lanterns of various colors spanned the ceiling, each slightly bigger than an Egg, so densely packed they hid the ceiling entirely with their glass, metal, and chains. The scattered colors illuminated reinforced shelves upon shelves of Eggs both empty and full that reached from floor to ceiling. Most bore Eggs in rows, though one set of shelves on the left wall contained Pit Egg–size equipment, the parts not yet fit together, along with tiny capsules filled with blue. Laura approached this shelf and picked one up.
“These again,” she murmured. “What are they?”
“They’re called Sinkers.”
Everyone jumped. Laura scrambled not to drop the capsule, Okane backed up into a shelf and rattled the Eggs, and Elinor gasped and clapped a hand to her chest. The newcomer snickered at their reaction. A woman stepped farther into the room—a brunette with gray eyes, a skinny frame, and a limp that made her skirt swish more than normal. Her hair hung longer on the left side of her face, and she pulled this back to reveal nasty scarring along her cheek, just missing the eye and reducing the ear to little more than a shriveled lump. These scars crinkled as she grinned.
“Wondered when you two would stop by.”
She spoke as if they were familiar, and she looked familiar. After a moment Laura recognized her as the one-eared woman who’d been at Clae’s wake.
“Who are you?” Elinor demanded.
“Name’s Amelia. Amelia Huxley, ex-Sweeper. I’m the armory’s warden these days. And you two—” She stepped closer. Laura happened to be nearest of the two Sweepers, so she reached her first to shake hands with a firm grip. “You’re the ex-apprentices! Congrats on the promotion! And the un-promotion. Wow. Shame about the circumstances.”
“I think I saw you at the potluck?” Laura smiled weakly. Was this one of Clae’s apprentices? As far as she could tell, it was a rare one that hadn’t died on the job.
“I knew the Sinclairs pretty well. I was his dad’s apprentice, so I’ve known Clae since he was tiny. It’s weird thinking he trained some fully fledged Sweepers of his own.”
She ruffled their hair with the kind of fondness Morgan used. Laura wasn’t sure what to think of it. Okane immediately leaned away from the woman’s hand. Amelia snorted.
“Sorry.” She pulled her hands away and folded them together. “I’m a touchy person. Most people are used to it, so I keep forgetting around strangers. Anyway, I’m not officially a Sweeper but I’m counted as part of the department and I know the lingo. If you need help with anything, be it advice, equipment”—she tilted her head toward the Sinkers—“you name it, feel free to call me. My number should be pinned up next to the telephone back at the shop. If that doesn’t work, throw something at my window. It’s right next to the door here.”
True enough, there was an open window in the apartment building, directly on the level of the railing. Had Amelia jumped over?
“Are you the one who had this building painted?” asked Elinor.
“It was due for a repaint. Got to keep up to a certain image in this neighborhood. Besides, I thought we might want to impress the new head Sweeper.”
“And you paid for the painting yourself?” Elinor frowned.
“That was the deal: I get to store things in here, but I have to pay for upkeep.”
“You store things here?” Laura echoed, confused.
“I’ve got an automobile downstairs, some furniture upstairs. More incentive to keep an eye on the place.”
Elinor looked annoyed; this probably made everything more complicated. “You’ll have to list your possessions in detail.”
While not the politest person in the world, Amelia seemed very genuine, and the simple fact that she’d been mentioned in Clae’s letter put Laura more at ease. She held up the blue capsule and prompted, “You said this was a Sinker?”
“Yep.” Amelia tapped it lightly with her finger. “I’m not surprised you don’t know about it. It’s a last-resort type of thing because it smashes the root amulets to bits. We don’t want Sweepers smashing amulets all over the place, so apprentices get regular Eggs drilled into their heads so they don’t just rely on Sinkers. Some other cities don’t even make them, they’re so dangerous.”
Elinor’s frown deepened. “Do you not know about all the equipment?”
“Apparently not,” Laura mumbled, somewhat ashamed. Some expert she turned out to be.
“She still knows a lot more than I do,” Okane pointed out.
“That won’t help determine the value of anything.”
“You’re trying to put a price on this?” Amelia laughed.
“That’s my job,” Elinor retorted. “I’m inventorying the estate of Clae Sinclair, so I need to know the value of his possessions.”
“Then I’m your girl!” Amelia laughed. “I know everything in here. What was his, what was city property, what’s mine. I can give you a rundown on anything you’re not familiar with, too.”
“That’d be wonderful.” Laura cracked a smile, which Amelia returned enthusiastically.
“Please do so,” Elinor sighed, rolling her eyes in resignation.
“Right! Well, this building is Sinclair family property. So are the lights”—she pointed at the lantern-strewn ceiling—“and the door and built-in mechanics. Those are specially worked in with Gin amulets, so they’re useless unless you sell the whole shebang, in which case it’s priceless.”
“Priceless?” Okane gave the lanterns a skeptical look. They did look cheap.
“This is actually a complex system to keep the armory secure. You have the key and you’re authorized. Otherwise you’d get nasty magic backlash and the building would go into lockdown, in which case it seals itself up and gets impossible to crack. If somebody unauthorized with the key gets in, it goes on semi-lockdown and sends a distress signal to registered Sweeper rings.”
“Is that a spell?” Laura asked.
“One of the very few that can be utilized, and only by certain people,” Amelia replied.
Okane shifted his weight uneasily, and she decided that “certain people” meant Magi.
“And the other objects in this room?” Elinor was writing on a pad.
“The Eggs are all city-owned. Council money pays for them. If you’ll follow me.”
Amelia led them through another doorway, into a much larger room that took up the rest of the floor. As they entered, a grand rectangular lantern flared bright pink in the middle of the ceiling, flanked by miniature versions in the corners. On the far wall were doors to two staircases, left one going down, right up. The left wall bore shutters for the windows, and strewn all over in a vaguely organized mess lay Sweeper weapons. Guns, cases of bullets, Bijou, empty Eggs, staffs of varying sizes with patterns carved into them, more staffs topped with enormous nets, bows and arrows, lightweight armor with intricate designs, bandoliers, bags and belts and straps, and worn trunks whose weathered locks hid smaller troves of gear. All of this lay scattered over tables and floor, though many staffs were propped up in a rack. Pinned to the walls between framed pictures Laura could see scraps of paper, articles, more photographs, stray leaves and ribbons from events over the years.
“I’m sure this is what you’re most interested in.” Amelia leaned over a table full of gauntlets to yank the shutters open.
Colored light spilled in, brightening the room further, glinting over the metallic pieces and lending a festive atmosphere. Even full of weapons the place seemed bright and welcoming. Okane wandered to the middle of the room and turned slowly in place, taking it all in.
“This is amazing,” he breathed.
“The Sinclairs got to be pack rats when it came to supplies. I could’ve sworn at one point I saw old Rosemarie stockpiling food, too,” Amelia laughed. “I haven’t seen half of this used, but they clung to it all just in case. Maybe they expected a Sweeper revival?”
Laura picked her way around spools of wire to inspect the rack of staffs. She lifted one and found it lighter than expected, though top-heavy with the gnarled end.
“I saw one of the Puer Sweepers using this. What is it?”
“It’s a staff. Pretty self-explanatory, right? It’s got Gin on top so you can use it like a spear, and then there’s the fog it creates when active. That protects you, since you have to get up close and personal to use it. The nets work the same way,” Amelia explained.
“There are a lot of them.”
“Used to be a Sinclair specialty. Clae and Anselm—you know he had a brother, right?—they had their own staffs, and Clae used his until he got to be head Sweeper. It’s the little one on your right, with the crappy writing on it. After Anselm died he got skittish and wanted distance, so he switched over to guns. Speaking of which, these rifles—”
She kept going, but Laura turned away to look for Clae’s staff. She found it easily, as it happened to be one of the two smallest and actually had his name sloppily carved into it. She picked it up in one hand and raised it to get a better look at the carvings.
“How do - - - think it works?” Okane lifted the one with Anselm’s name and weighed it in his hands.
Laura pursed her lips and angled her staff so it clacked against the other like a wooden sword. “Like that?”
“They’re in good condition for that kind of treatment.”
Amelia kept talking to Elinor, who drank in all the information and jotted notes. Laura gleaned from the chatter that nothing in here would be easy to price, and once you gave a price, that could easily be changed: the whole was far more than the sum of its parts, but to Amicae citizens it would only be junk, and if you tried selling it to other Sweepers they’d pretend it was all garbage and only pay a fraction of its real value. With no way to sell them fairly, they were most valuable to Amicae as they were.
Laura drifted over to the doors. The left-hand door wouldn’t open, but the right one swung open easily and soundlessly. Laura started up the stairs.
“Should - - - really be doing that?” Okane whispered.
“He gave me the key, didn’t he?” said Laura. “And it’s your building now. Why not check it out?”
He glanced back at the others before shaking his head. “Fine, but let’s be fast. I don’t want them to think we’re sneaking.”
The next floor had no walls or separate rooms, but the entire expanse stretched open for the length of the building. More lanterns lit the room, illuminating scattered mounds of covered furniture. Laura looked around, a smile slowly forming.
“Hey, Okane. Don’t you think the Kin could fit in here?”
It took a moment for him to catch her drift, to understand that yes, this was a Sweeper building with limited access and a potential ally already keeping guard. He began to nod. “Yes.… Yes, I think it would.”