After I went outside, I had to dodge commuters on bicycles, tourists taking pictures of the river lights, and a party bike holding six inebriated seniors in swimsuits and feather boas, but I finally made it to the falafel cart next to the river bus stop. That was one of the best parts of living in Floodmouth — no matter how late you stayed out at night, there was always someplace to eat.
The falafel wrap with yogurt sauce was overcooked, overpriced, and tasted like heaven. Long experience had taught me that walking while eating one of these would leave me trying to clean sauce from my shirt, so I leaned against the railing and watched the traffic on the river as I ate.
A private water taxi zipped by, well over the speed limit; I hoped their fare was willing to pay the fine. Based on the sirens, the river patrol had already been alerted. Then a rental paddleboat came into view, and I understood why the taxi hadn't been worried. Never meant to be on the river at night, the paddleboat had no lights. If the drunken idiots on board were lucky, the river patrol would pull them off the water before another boat crashed into them. I double-checked the location of the nearest orange lifebuoy, just in case.
But the show was over before I'd finished eating, concluding with the arrival of the river patrol, blue lights flashing. In five minutes, they'd taken custody of the laughing occupants and hitched the paddleboat in tow. When the revelers sobered up, they wouldn't be laughing. The city took river safety seriously, and unlit watercraft were major hazards. Plus, the paddleboat was almost certainly stolen. The culprits would be lucky to only lose a year of weekends to community service.
As soon as the patrol boat pulled away, paddleboat bobbing in its wake, the river bus drew up to the dock. There was the usual confusion of passengers attempting to board while others tried to leave and I waited for the crowds to move out of the way so I could get back to The Vault.
Then I saw Hamilton.
He was seated on the bow deck facing the opposite bank, arms around an overstuffed backpack on his lap. With his hood up over his ball cap, I might not have recognized him if I hadn't seen that sweatshirt and hat combo before.
On any other day, I would have assumed he was going home. But now I knew where he lived — he was headed in the wrong direction.
Calling Simon was the only thing I could think of doing. "Hamilton's here!" I whispered as soon as he answered. "He's on the bus going upriver." Shuffling behind the people waiting to board, I peeked around the man in front of me so I could keep my eyes on my colleague. "What do you want me to do?"
"He's not going towards home," Simon noted. "Has he seen you?"
"No."
"Okay." From the sound of things, Simon was running. "Follow him. I'll let Salt know what's going on. We'll get a team to pull him off in a few stops. Don't let him see you." He disconnected.
The river bus was only a quarter full when I followed everyone on, so I was able to find a spot to stand where I could see Hamilton, yet still be far enough away that he wouldn't notice me. My heart skipped every time he moved, which was ridiculous. It wasn't as if I was in any danger. This was a public place. We didn't even know for sure he was involved. And even if he was, he didn't know that I knew. There was no reason I couldn't sit next to him and strike up a conversation, aside from my face immediately giving everything away.
The river bus had spells for traction on the deck, hull strength, and general floatation. Running into the paddleboat probably wouldn't have damaged it. As we cut through the night air, I studied the designs, looking for anything interesting, but they were standard commercial spells. Still, the practice soothed my raw nerves.
At the next stop, I tensed, ready to jump off at the last minute if Hamilton exited, but he stayed put. The backpack was interesting. It was the same one he brought to work when he rode his bicycle, but I'd never seen it more than half full. With anyone else, it would hold a change of clothes or a few books, but with Hamilton it was unlikely to be anything so mundane. It might be the spells against accidental teleportation that he'd been developing for the past five years. Or his life savings in small denominations. No, wait, if it was his life savings, it would probably be in gold bullion. Hamilton had expressed many thoughts about the dollar and the gold standard.
After loading more passengers, the boat crept away from the dock. A few people glanced at the water ahead to see if there were smaller craft we were trying to avoid. One man checked his watch impatiently. Our slower speed was probably the FBME buying time to get a team in place upriver. I rubbed my arms to stay warm and politely turned down the offer of a seat inside the covered area.
My phone rang. Simon. I stabbed the button so it would stop ringing before Hamilton turned to check. "Please tell me you're close. I'm freezing out here."
"We're setting up at the Carter Street stop. How's he acting?"
In another two blocks, this would be over. "He hasn't moved since I got on."
"Good. Stay alert."
Simon hung up before I could ask what that even meant. Surely he wasn't expecting me to do anything during the arrest. My skills in citing references and researching spell origins wouldn't be much use this evening. Maybe I would look into taking a self-defense class when all this was over, just in case I needed to wrestle with something smaller than a pterodactyl. Tonight, I planned to stand back and watch the professionals do their thing.
Then it all fell apart.