Composer go before you,
Through Lyric’s loving grace.
With help of Muse within you,
You’ll see your maker’s face.
Is this what you meant when you said you were going before us?
After a smooth, quiet ride during which Crucible gives us more details about Triumph parties than I ever wanted to know, the train deposits us at another deserted station. The pristine white tiles and squeaky-clean floors tell me this station isn’t used all that often. Gilded crests and accents everywhere add a note of luxury to everything, which makes me nervous. The decor of this place is far too close to the Hall of Love for my liking.
Crucible struts along, firmly in his element. This station looks as familiar to him as it is unfamiliar to me. Feeling like prey walking into the hunter’s lair, I keep my eyes carefully trained on our surroundings.
At the end of the platform where a set of blindingly white stairs ascend to ground level, the dull thumps of the Triumph carnival beat reverberate through the ground. Up there somewhere are crowds and celebrations, and Wil with his murderous intentions.
“You two are in for such a treat.” Crucible’s voice is almost syrupy. “I am so glad you found my target. Wait until the others hear what you’ve done.”
His words send my mind into near meltdown. The others? Is he talking about the Executive? What are we doing here?
Catching my frantic looks to the side, Hodge gives my back a little pat, and I look into eyes that seem to know everything I’m thinking. My thoughts slow. I’m not alone, I remind myself. Hodge twitches his head in Crucible’s direction and we continue following him.
Stepping into a glass-walled elevator, we rise up through the concrete station structure. As soon as we clear the floor, a burst of sunlight nearly blinds us. It takes a few seconds for our eyes adjust to the morning light. We pass over the group of buildings that service the VIP area and ascend higher and higher, until we are looking out over a vast expanse of people, carnival attractions, stages, and laser towers. A panoramic view stretches out before us. The giant Haterman effigy rises above the center of the carnival, surrounded by open space and safety barriers. In all directions around it, the Triumph party spreads in a seething mass of people and party.
Hodge gasps, in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.
I know how he feels. I never knew so many people existed.
The crowds are like a pulsating, living carpet that surges and undulates around every spare patch of ground. Although the lights don’t shine too brightly in full daylight, I can see enough to know that the night parties would be epic. I turn slowly around in the lift which curves around half of the inner concrete service column. I can see nearly all of the grounds.
Just before we move up into the observation deck, I find it. Tucked away in one corner behind the food trucks sits a brightly colored vehicle, covered in images of balloons. I poke Hodge’s arm, and when he sees what I’m focusing on, his eyes widen. Then the lift passes through the solid concrete floor, and we are emerging into the plush, cool opulence of the VIP suite itself.
A wall of glass spans half the tower, giving a full view of the Triumph stage. That view shifts slowly as the deck rotates. Wide couches are scattered across the deep burgundy-colored floor, and a small group of well-dressed people mingles between them, drinking and laughing. To one side is an expansive bar covered in mirrors and black paneling. Dim red and purple LEDs light part of the space, but leave plenty of pockets of shadow around the lounges. There’s no sign of a linen uniform anywhere.
Behind the lifts, the other half of the building is divided into private rooms marked by black velvet-covered doors. As I begin to wonder how I’m going to get back downstairs, we’re approached by a tottering old man wearing a glittering gold-and-green suit that looks as if it was made of jewel-encrusted scales. The man’s white hair is slicked back against his skull, and his skin is stretched across his face in a way that leaves strange puckers around the corners of his mouth.
“Gordy! You’re finally here!” he says loudly and staggers across the room to us. “What are you doing in those ridiculous clothes?” He holds his arms in the air with a slender glass of alcohol in each hand. I hang back as he pounces on Crucible, kissing the air beside the Executive Lover’s cheeks in greeting.
“I am on duty right now, Edvard,” Crucible says with mock seriousness, catching the man’s elbow so he doesn’t careen backward. The green-suited man stares uncomprehending at him, so Crucible makes an overly obvious nod in the direction of Hodge and I. “Apprentices, this is Executive Lover Edvard Munsch. The one in charge of your entertainment.”
Hodge snaps a crisp salute.
I swallow back the contents of my stomach, and give a tight bow to Munsch. “May you follow your dreams and—”
“Yes, yes, whatever.” Munsch gives me a look of utter contempt, then leans drunkenly toward Crucible’s face. He attempts to speak in a whisper, but his volume is a near shout. “I have a bevy of beauties waiting over there for us.” Munsch waves one glass at a small group of people near the observation window, all dressed in sparkling clothes that show rather a lot of skin. “All handpicked by yours truly. Why don’t you ditch the riffraff here and come join the party? Or are you up to your old tricks again, eh? Eh?” Munsch elbows Crucible in the ribs. “Boring old Midgate’ll have your head if she catches you sampling the Nurseries again, you know.”
Hodge is completely still beside me.
A flash of annoyance passes over Crucible’s face. “Edvard, it’s only 1100 hours, and you’re already wasted. You’re talking nonsense.”
“Ain’t no party like a Triumph party, man!” Munsch raises a glass so swiftly the contents slosh over the side onto his hand. “Oops, how did that happen?” He stares uncomprehending at his glass for a few seconds, then looks back at Crucible with a goofy grin. “Who cares? It’s Triumph, baby! Come on.” He downs the contents of his glasses, then throws them away on the carpet so he can grasp Crucible’s arm. “Let’s get you into some decent outfit that befits an Executive Lover, and you can live it up for the last night.”
Crucible’s eyes devour the “bevy of beauties” on the other side of the room and heads toward one of the private rooms. He looks at us over his shoulder. “Apprentices, go and amuse yourselves for a few hours, will you? I have some business to attend to.”
My skin crawls. When the door to the room closes, I let out a sigh of relief.
“Come on,” Hodge’s voice is strained as he touches my elbow. “We’ve also got some business to attend to.”
I watch the crowds of people ebb and flow as the elevator descends, wondering what Wil is planning. Something spectacular, no doubt. Probably at night when the crowds are thickest and the potential for chaos at its height.
“Let’s take a closer look.” I give Hodge a significant nod in the direction of the truck. We head out into the bustling throng of caterers, security guards, attendants, and wannabes.
The atmosphere is festive but with a kind of weariness. Weeks-long parties must be hard to sustain. Everyone moves quickly, but there’s a tiredness around their eyes. I catch a few glimpses of tense, irritable conversations and wonder how everyone has managed to survive this level of entertainment.
Hodge leads our way through the crowds, passing management buildings, security headquarters, and other serious-looking control centers. It looks like the whole festival is controlled from this single hub. If the aim is to create mayhem and fear in an unprecedented way, Wil’s cohorts have chosen well.
“How could they get through?” I wonder. “Surely they’d have been picked up.”
“Let’s ask questions like that later,” Hodge says.
We head to the outer ring of walkways that pass around the walls of the compound. The crowds are slightly thinner here, but no less purposeful. Hodge keeps up a brisk pace, but as we round a corner, he halts.
He motions for me to hang back. Curious, I peer around him.
At the far end of the rear wall of a building, sitting as quietly as if it was a sleeping creature, is the truck. It looks for all the world like a delivery vehicle waiting to be unloaded.
“That’s going to kill us all,” I whisper in alarm.
“Not if we get to it first,” Hodge tells me. “You wait here. I’ll check it out.”
The thought of waiting while Hodge goes creeping around a bomb-in-disguise is too much. So when he moves, I follow. In a semi-crouch, we scoot down the deserted alley behind the building and stop at the corner as Hodge scouts ahead.
We’re now only a few meters away from the truck. There’s no sign of the driver or Wil, but then I can only see the cab of the truck and the small space in front of it. The rest of my view is blocked by Hodge.
He motions for me to stay quiet. Then he makes a series of Love Squad signals involving two fingers and pointing in various directions that I’m sure makes sense to anyone trained in the right cadre. I just nod as if I understand what he’s saying, but it must be clear on my face that I’m baffled. Hodge looks briefly exasperated, then makes a hand signal I definitely do understand.
You stay, his hand says. I shake my head. His expression grows stern, and I get a glimpse of the intimidating Hodge that scared me back in my first days at Elite Academy. But I know him better now. I shake my head more insistently, and Hodge glares at me.
“Fine,” his whisper is curt. “Just don’t get us killed.”
We go slowly out into the small gap between the building and the side of the truck. Behind the truck, the service crowds bustle to and fro along the path. So many people. What on earth could Wil be thinking? Hodge looks around, then straightens.
“No cameras,” he observes. “They found a blind spot. Nobody would have seen them get out of here.”
We hug the wall, keeping to the end of the truck furthest from the crowds. Hodge lets go of my wrist, and jumps up to peer into the cabin. When he jumps back down, his face is shining.
“They’ve even left the keys in the ignition.” His voice is disbelieving.
I look up at the deserted window. “So they’ve just run away?”
“Let’s take a closer look.”
We squeeze around the front of the truck and come to another smallish gap between the passenger side of the truck and the wall of a service building. A single door sits in the middle of the wall.
“They must have escaped through there.” Hodge checks the door handle.
“Locked?”
He nods. “Give me a sec,” he says, and dives under the truck. Like an experienced mechanic, he rolls underneath, only his shoes remaining out in the open. I wait for tense minutes, until he rolls back out. “There are obvious modifications to the undercarriage.” He picks himself up and dusts off his uniform. “Any Squad member should have stopped this for closer inspection.”
I shake my head. “But I saw the patrol checking the underside of the truck with their detectors. They went over the whole thing.”
“Which gate?”
I nod backward. “West.”
Hodge’s mouth tightens in a grim line. “There’s no way you could think that was standard,” he says pointing at the space under the truck. “There are wires and dodgy welds everywhere. And this suspension, look.” He points at the set of wheels beside us. “If the entire trailer was full of Triumph gifts, the weight would be evenly distributed. But this front end is holding something really heavy. Something that’s a different density to the boxes at the back. It makes no sense that the west gate patrols would see this and not even bother to stop them.”
The blood drains from my face. “Which means . . .”
“Which means there are people on the inside,” Hodge finishes.
We both stare at each other, speechless. The happy thumps of the Triumph carnival swirl in the air and vibrate the ground beneath us. But my mind is a messy whirl of thoughts and worries.
“Things just got complicated.”