transform my sheet into any kind of length, I’d had to tear it into strips only two fingers thick. The knots looked shoddy, even to me. I knew I was light these days, but the rope was still uninspiring. And what Zach couldn’t see was that the rope hung only part of the way down the face of the fort beneath me; from its frayed end, there was still a drop of at least twenty feet to the stone terrace below.
“Listen carefully,” I told him. “You’re going to go out that same door. You’re going to lock it behind you. If I hear you shout for guards, I jump. If I hear you starting to unlock the door again, I jump. Even if I’m halfway down the rope and I see you peering down at me, I jump. You get behind that door and you count to one hundred before you even think about opening it, or making a sound. Got it?”
He bobbed his head. “You’ve changed,” he said quietly.
“Four years in a cell will do that.” I wondered if this was the last time I’d see him. “You could change, too, you know.”
“No,” he said.
“It’s your choice,” I said. “Remember that. Now lock that door.”
Still facing me, his hand groped along the wall behind him and found the door handle. He had to turn to unlock it but spun back to face me as he pulled it open. He was still staring as he stepped backward into shadow and pulled the door closed. I heard the key rummaging for the lock, then the heavy tumbler sliding across.
I counted, too, picturing him pressed against the door, making his way through the numbers in unison with me. Forty-nine, fifty . I realized I was crying, but whether from fear or sadness I didn’t know. Seventy-six, seventy-seven. He’ll be rushing, I thought, with his habitual impatience, but then making himself slow down, not wanting to burst out too soon and force my hand. And already, I knew, he’d be planning: where to position the guards, how to seal the city. He’d come after me, like I’d always known he would.
Ninety-nine . The lock moved slowly, but its age gave it away with a rusted squeal.
The Confessor would have seen through my plan, of course. But Zach sprinted straight to the point from which the rope hung. Half of his body was hanging over the edge, peering down at the prop rope, when I slipped out from behind the door, ran inside, and locked it behind me.
chapter 8
I felt strangely calm. Behind me, through the heavy door, I could hear Zach’s shouts. He was kicking the door, too, but it was solidly braced in its frame and emitted only dulled thuds.
At first, as I ran, I was just tracing the route along which Zach had led me. Then, at a point that I couldn’t quite pin down, I was guided by a different kind of memory. My body was a compass needle, faithfully seeking the tank room, which I could feel more strongly than ever. It was my greatest fear, but it was also my destination. I had to see it, to witness it in the flesh if I were ever to help those people, or even to spread the word. It was also the last place he would search for me. It was in the depths of the fort, far below any of the exits that a fugitive might be expected to seek. More important, if Zach had any suspicion that I knew about it, his most closely guarded secret, I’d have been tanked long ago.
Zach’s heavy bundle of keys, which I’d snatched from the rampart door after locking it, jangled as I ran. At each locked door I closed my eyes and let instinct lead me to the right key. Locking each door behind me, I was heading down again, but into a different wing from the Keeping Rooms. Even so, I hated to feel the fort closing above me once more, to feel the distance between me and that momentary taste of sky and light.
There was a long corridor, narrower than the grander corridors above. It was made narrower still by the network of pipes that ran along its sides. From the low roof hung glass balls, emitting the same sterile, pale light that had illuminated my cell. At the corridor’s end, down a short
“Listen carefully,” I told him. “You’re going to go out that same door. You’re going to lock it behind you. If I hear you shout for guards, I jump. If I hear you starting to unlock the door again, I jump. Even if I’m halfway down the rope and I see you peering down at me, I jump. You get behind that door and you count to one hundred before you even think about opening it, or making a sound. Got it?”
He bobbed his head. “You’ve changed,” he said quietly.
“Four years in a cell will do that.” I wondered if this was the last time I’d see him. “You could change, too, you know.”
“No,” he said.
“It’s your choice,” I said. “Remember that. Now lock that door.”
Still facing me, his hand groped along the wall behind him and found the door handle. He had to turn to unlock it but spun back to face me as he pulled it open. He was still staring as he stepped backward into shadow and pulled the door closed. I heard the key rummaging for the lock, then the heavy tumbler sliding across.
I counted, too, picturing him pressed against the door, making his way through the numbers in unison with me. Forty-nine, fifty . I realized I was crying, but whether from fear or sadness I didn’t know. Seventy-six, seventy-seven. He’ll be rushing, I thought, with his habitual impatience, but then making himself slow down, not wanting to burst out too soon and force my hand. And already, I knew, he’d be planning: where to position the guards, how to seal the city. He’d come after me, like I’d always known he would.
Ninety-nine . The lock moved slowly, but its age gave it away with a rusted squeal.
The Confessor would have seen through my plan, of course. But Zach sprinted straight to the point from which the rope hung. Half of his body was hanging over the edge, peering down at the prop rope, when I slipped out from behind the door, ran inside, and locked it behind me.
chapter 8
I felt strangely calm. Behind me, through the heavy door, I could hear Zach’s shouts. He was kicking the door, too, but it was solidly braced in its frame and emitted only dulled thuds.
At first, as I ran, I was just tracing the route along which Zach had led me. Then, at a point that I couldn’t quite pin down, I was guided by a different kind of memory. My body was a compass needle, faithfully seeking the tank room, which I could feel more strongly than ever. It was my greatest fear, but it was also my destination. I had to see it, to witness it in the flesh if I were ever to help those people, or even to spread the word. It was also the last place he would search for me. It was in the depths of the fort, far below any of the exits that a fugitive might be expected to seek. More important, if Zach had any suspicion that I knew about it, his most closely guarded secret, I’d have been tanked long ago.
Zach’s heavy bundle of keys, which I’d snatched from the rampart door after locking it, jangled as I ran. At each locked door I closed my eyes and let instinct lead me to the right key. Locking each door behind me, I was heading down again, but into a different wing from the Keeping Rooms. Even so, I hated to feel the fort closing above me once more, to feel the distance between me and that momentary taste of sky and light.
There was a long corridor, narrower than the grander corridors above. It was made narrower still by the network of pipes that ran along its sides. From the low roof hung glass balls, emitting the same sterile, pale light that had illuminated my cell. At the corridor’s end, down a short
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