He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that Scribe IV didn’t see Dominic seated on the bottom step leading up to his tower until he nearly tripped over him. The boy jumped up, shoving something into his pocket as he did.
“Sir—” he began, but Scribe IV interrupted him, taking the boy’s shoulders as gently as he could.
“Have you seen Agnetta?”
A host of emotions passed through Dominic’s eyes, like a swift flock of birds.
“I…” Dominic looked down, chewed his lip along with whatever decision he had to make, then lifted his head to meet Scribe IV’s gaze.
Tears glazed the boy’s lower lids, but he kept his chin up and did not let them fall, his voice quivering only very slightly as he spoke.
“I was coming to find you, sir. Or…” He gestured at the steps, where he’d presumably been gathering his courage. “Agnetta said she had to go away, and not to tell. I’m scared something bad happened to her, because otherwise, why wouldn’t she take me with her? She’s always taken care of me, and… She gave me this.”
Dominic dug in his pocket for the object he’d stowed there, holding it up in the corridor’s dim light. A necklace, a small, pressed tin medallion spinning at the end of the chain. Scribe IV stilled the small oval long enough to see the image of the saint it bore – St. Jude, protector of children.
“She said it belonged to her mother a long time ago, and it would watch over me once she was—” Dominic’s voice broke, losing his battle against tears.
“You did the right thing, Dominic.” Scribe IV made his voice as soft as he could. “Do you know where Agnetta went? I’ll help her if I can.”
“The lower tunnels.” Dominic scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes and under his nose. “It’s the best place for hide and seek.”
“I’ll make sure she’s safe,” Scribe IV said. He pressed the medallion into Dominic’s hand. “I promise. In the meantime, you hold onto this for her.”
“Can I help you look for her?” The hope in the boy’s eyes pained Scribe IV. He shook his head.
“Go to the kitchen and wait with Seb. You’ll be safe there.”
Scribe IV glanced at Angel and Quin, who’d watched the exchange silently. Dominic looked between the three of them, clearly hoping Scribe IV would change his mind. When he did not, the boy turned, dragging his steps, stalling and glancing back over his shoulder. It was cruel, making a promise Scribe IV wasn’t sure he could keep.
“Can you hold a picture of the tunnels in your mind?” Angel asked once Dominic was no longer in sight. Xe held out xyr hand, voice soft. “I can take us straight there.”
“Yes.” Scribe IV didn’t know exactly where Agnetta might be, but he could picture the ruined maze, the storage areas where moth-eaten tapestries and worn statues lay in repose, eventually giving way to the crypts and then to caves above the sea.
The tunnels might have shifted since he’d last been down there, new sections collapsing and closing off passages. All he could do was hope that Angel wouldn’t materialize in the midst of a spill of rock, or in a sinkhole dropping straight into the sea.
Scribe IV placed his hand in Angel’s. Xe held out xyr other hand for Quin. Space folded around them. Scribe IV was grateful he did not have breath to lose. It was different, being pulled through the Bastion, rather than transported outside of it. He could not quite shed his awareness of the layers of stone, and was grateful when they came to rest in the warren of tunnels on solid ground.
“This is where…” Quin put out a hand to steady himself against the rough stone. “The boy, last time I was here.”
Scribe IV knew he meant the boy who had become a god in the caves above the sea. Perhaps it was the fact of being underground, or letting Angel transport him twice in quick succession, but Quin looked downright haunted.
Scribe IV produced a light, holding it up so shadows dragged along the walls in its wake. He hadn’t been sure where to direct Angel. Agnetta would likely choose somewhere remote, one of the lowest, oldest tunnels, especially if her eventual goal was to descend the cliffs to the sea in hopes of making an escape.
The space felt wilder, more abandoned than the last time he’d been here. The sea felt closer as well, a fist pounding on the walls and demanding entrance. At least he could use the sound to orient himself, and he turned them toward the cliffs and the caves.
The stone was uneven, and Scribe IV moved slowly, Quin and Angel following. There were any number of side tunnels, alcoves, half-fallen passageways where Agnetta might hide herself. He didn’t want to miss one, but he was sharply aware that they were running out of time. They might already be too late.
“You’re doing everything you can.” Angel’s voice reached him, accompanied by a spreading glow, allowing Scribe IV to see the way ahead more clearly.
He glanced back. Angel’s skin shone luminous, xyr smile quietly encouraging.
Scribe IV appreciated what xe was trying to do, though it shouldn’t have been necessary. Machines didn’t feel fear. They didn’t feel sympathy for murderers. They didn’t put aside memories they found inconvenient. He might not be a blasphemy, but he had grown beyond the original intent of his programming. He had lived too long and had become, in his own way, a sinner.
The ground sloped gently but steadily downward. The walls pressed in, the way narrower, the ceiling lower, forcing Scribe IV to stoop so he was almost bent double. The back of his robe scraped against rock as he squeezed under an arch of stone that let out into an open space he didn’t recognize. Several walls had collapsed, opening up the formerly honeycombed space of chambers and winding paths into something that almost looked like an underground forest. Or a cathedral. Odd pillars of stone, whittled almost to nothing by the wind and water, growing up from the floor like petrified trees.
Pale green-gray light filtered through the stone forest. At the far end of the cave, the wall had worn away entirely, opening out onto the sea. The waves reached high enough that Scribe IV could see the spray where they smashed against the rock.
Above the boom of the surf, he caught the sound of stone sliding against stone. Quin turned at the same moment Scribe IV did.
His light pinned Agnetta as she caught herself against one of the pillars of stone, loose rocks sliding beneath her feet. She threw an arm up to shield her eyes, dazzled. She was soaked to the bone, uniform clinging to her body, hair trailing in wet tendrils around her face. She must have been looking for a way down and, failing to find one, turned back to try again.
“Agnetta.” Scribe IV took a step forward, hands outstretched in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture as he spoke.
“Don’t,” Agnetta said. Her outstretched hands mirrored his, her voice sharp.
Scribe IV reeled back just in time, understanding her words for a warning. Just beyond the pile of fallen rock he’d been about to step over, the floor had collapsed. Water had flooded the cave below, surging in with the tide. If he’d taken that step, he would have fallen and been swept out to sea.
“We want to help you.” Scribe IV pitched his voice to be heard over the roar of the tide. “I should have helped you sooner.”
Agnetta trembled – whether from cold, from being soaked to the bone, or from anger or fear, Scribe IV couldn’t say.
“I know your mother and brother must have both suffered terribly, and I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll do what I can to help—”
“My mother is dead.” Agnetta cut across Scribe IV’s words, her voice bitter. Her expression fell, her voice growing quieter, but not so quiet that he couldn’t pick it up over the rush of the tide. “At least that’s what my brother told me. He found me here, told me how he’d watched her die, how lucky I was, how miserable their lives had been. He said I owed him my help. I wanted to help.” Agnetta’s voice shook, a sound on the verge of tears. “He was in so much pain. He said he’d wait, we’d leave together once we had the money. We could take Dominic with us, and I could give them the life we never… I don’t know if he meant any of it, I don’t even know if he knew himself. I don’t think my brother was well, but I thought if I could… I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was more than a blackmail note. I—”
Her voice broke. She covered her face with her hands, shoulders hitching. Scribe IV calculated where he might step across to reach her. The floor was riddled with holes, fragile, but she had crossed it so there must be a way.
“Forget it,” Quin said. By his expression, he’d had the same idea as Scribe IV. “Your frame is too heavy. No offense. But the ground won’t hold you.”
As he spoke, Quin moved. Rock shifted dangerously, a slide like the one Agnetta had started. Quin improbably maintained his balance and took another step.
“You can’t guarantee it will hold your weight either,” Scribe IV said. “It’s too dangerous.”
Quin didn’t stop moving, picking his way slowly across the floor. Agnetta hadn’t lowered her hands from her face. She hadn’t tried to move away either, possibly not hearing Quin’s approach or their words over the crashing tide. Scribe IV, however, heard Quin perfectly when he spoke again, along with the grim determination in his voice.
“Lucky I’m an idiot with no sense of self-preservation, then.”
Even as he spoke, he slid again, just managing to catch himself before he fell.
“Can you—” Scribe IV turned toward Angel; not a prayer, but a question.
If xe couldn’t transport Agnetta without her consent, xe could at least transport xemself to her. Angel’s expression kept the rest of Scribe IV’s question unasked. Xe stood very still, xyr already pale skin even whiter somehow. Xe trembled, not the way Agnetta did, not with cold or fear, but with what Scribe IV could only think was restraint. A coiled spring, waiting to be released, holding xemself forcibly back from… something.
Angel’s eyes had taken on the aspect of smoked glass, cracked, looking somewhere far beyond the cave. If xe had been human, Scribe IV would have said xyr eyes were rolled back in xyr head, like someone dreaming.
Scribe IV could almost feel it, though he couldn’t describe it. A sound that wasn’t a sound, like the tolling of the Sisters’ bell, but deeper. A voice, calling, words that crawled across Scribe IV’s skin but that he couldn’t hear, because they weren’t meant for him.
“Angel.” He made to reach for xem. At the same time, Quin spoke from across the cave, drawing Scribe IV’s attention.
“Agnetta.”
Agnetta dropped her hands at the sound of her name. Quin reached for her. She batted his hand away, tried to move away. Her heel caught, tipping her too far backward. Quin lunged as her arms pinwheeled. The motion overbalanced him as well, and Agnetta was already falling. Their combined weight was too much. The rock gave, and Quin and Agnetta dropped out of sight.
A shout of alarm, a warning too late, locked in Scribe IV’s throat. He whipped around to Angel, to pray if needed. Angel’s trembling had grown worse. Xyr eyes were no longer smoked glass, but a color Scribe IV couldn’t name. Xyr expression was of stark fear and sorrow, all wrapped in one.
“I’m sorry,” Angel said.
Shame washed xyr features. Scribe IV stared at Angel, uncomprehending.
“We have to—” He made a move toward where Agnetta and Quin had fallen, but Angel caught his arm in a violent grip.
“You can’t,” Angel almost shouted the words, voice rising dangerously close to a wail. “Only I can…”
Xyr expression crumbled, fingers digging harder into Scribe IV’s arm. Wisps of smoke rose from beneath Angel’s fingers. Scribe IV pulled back, and Angel let go.
“Why wouldn’t they pray?”
Quin knew what Angel could do, knew xe could save him.
But Scribe IV knew the answer. It crouched in his mind, an ugly thing he couldn’t deny. The pain in Agnetta’s eyes. The shadow that had been haunting Quin since he’d arrived in Scribe IV’s tower. Neither Quin nor Agnetta had wanted to be saved. In their hearts, neither believed salvation was possible for them, or that they were deserving of an angel’s grace.
“We have to get down to where the cavern washes out,” Scribe IV said.
He didn’t want to contemplate what might be waiting for them. He should have acted. He should have at least tried. He shouldn’t have put his memories aside in the first place.
Angel placed xyr hand on his shoulder, gently this time. No smoke rose, but the fabric of Scribe IV’s sleeve was singed from xyr earlier touch. There was a whump of displaced air and Scribe IV was pulled inside himself, reappearing with Angel’s hand still on his shoulder on the rocky shore. The tide boomed, salt spray filling the air and settling on his metallic skin.
They were too late. Again.
The leviathan slithered forward, water sluicing from its riveted skin. Two coiled limbs burst free of the waves, each holding a dripping form. Quin and Agnetta. Scribe IV couldn’t tell if they were alive.
Spotlight-eyes bloomed on the ship-creature’s surface, silhouetting Agnetta and Quin. A foghorn voice tolled the Drowned Sisters’ proclamation loud enough to be heard over the surf.
“Aquinas St. John. You have been found guilty of interfering in a murder investigation and thus abetted and aided in the perpetrator’s escape from justice.”
The limb holding Agnetta twitched, as if to illustrate the voice’s point. The light beaming from the leviathan showed Agnetta’s bare feet. She’d lost her shoes. Scribe IV registered the angle of her neck. Dead – either in the fall or in the churning waves.
But the Sisters, whatever else they might be, were not frivolous. They had not addressed Agnetta, merely recovered her corpse. They wouldn’t bother pronouncing sentence on a dead man. Quin confirmed as much with a feeble kick, but the limb wrapped around him held tight.
In the next moment, Scribe IV’s hope dropped out completely.
“For these crimes, Aquinas St. John,” the Sisters intoned, “you will be Drowned.”