Peer stood fast, the tall man she called Rufus beside her. Gorham heard her breath coming harsh and scared, and the man seemed to be shedding a tear.
"This way, killer!" Malia said to the man, but Gorham stepped forward.
"Let me," he said. He stood before Peer and looked her in the eye, closer than he had yet been. He inhaled her breath, and it sent a thrill of nostalgia and recognition through him-a warmth that had been missing for so long. "We're not bringing you down here to hurt you," he said.
"Really."
"Things are changing, and the Marcellans think we're finished. We can't let them know otherwise."
"Why?"
"Because there's much to do. I'll tell you all of it soon, Peer, I promise."
"So we're down here for your own protection?"
Gorham almost smiled. There, the strong-minded Peer still lives. But she did not look strong right then, and he remembered the terrible truth he had yet to reveal. There was no way he couldn't, but he dreaded every word.
"And yours," he said. "You and your friend."
"He's more than you think," Peer said.
"Tell me inside."
"Bastard."
Does she know? he wondered. But, no, she could not, because there was no way she'd be able to keep such knowledge to herself.
"I never forgot you," he said.
"Nice way of showing it." Her voice broke on the last word. He went to say something else, but Peer shoved past him.
They made their way down through corridors lined with doors, all of them closed. There could have been anything in those small dark rooms, but the doors had been locked shut for decades, and whatever dwelled inside remained alone. Their echoing footsteps disappeared into the warren of rooms and corridors. The stench of stagnant water and old secrets hung heavy in the still air. It was a place never meant to be empty, and being so filled it with stark potential.
As they neared the center of the jail, Devin ran ahead and went about lighting scores of torches lining the walls. The huge room revealed what had once been an exercise area, three stories high and open to the sky until this part of Course was developed overhead. That was perhaps two centuries ago, according to Gorham's advisers' best guess. They trusted that this place was all but forgotten.
"Over here," Malia said. Peer and her tall companion were edged toward the far wall, and there the Watchers set about tying them fast. At Gorham's request, they sat Peer first, making her comfortable before securing her arms to the wall and her legs to the metal chair.
"I came to you because I trusted you," she said.
"You still can."
"Yes?" She was glaring at him now, and he wondered, What the crap has she gone through these last three years? He had no idea.
"You want me to start right away?" Malia asked. She was keen to begin. She'd already taken a folded leather pouch from her belt, and she was arranging its contents across an old mess table.
Something whispered in a dark corner of the massive space, and Devin and the others shifted nervously.
"Only phantoms," Peer said. "Already seen several today."
"No," Gorham said. "Not yet. I want to talk to her first." And he knelt before his old lover as if seeking her blessing and forgiveness.
But what he was about to tell her would surely damn him in her eyes forever.
"We gave you up," he said. "I was already higher in the Watchers' echelons than you knew. The part you worked with, the political arm, had always been intended as dispensable. It was a useless gesture, trying to give our ideals a political voice. You know the Marcellans: They sometimes allow beliefs disparate from their own, but they'll never grant them any sort of power. So your group was… expendable. A front. Ready to be given away to the Marcellans should they ever move on us. We hoped the time would never come."
Peer was staring at him wide-eyed. She said nothing.
"We were nurturing you and the others. Preparing you. And the time did come, when they heard rumors that we'd started using the Baker again."
"The Baker's dead!" Peer gasped, and Malia laughed bitterly.
"This is the new Baker," Gorham said. "She was killed twenty years ago, yes, but she chopped herself, knowing what was happening. It's how generations of Bakers have continued their line. So now we deal with… well, her daughter. And her mother handed down all she knew."
"So you betrayed me for your cause," Peer said, smiling. There was nothing behind the smile-no humor, no life. It was a rictus grin, and Gorham had to turn away.
"They took you and the others in the political arm. We hoped that dismantling our public face would satisfy them, but they came further. Bad times, Peer. We lost so many. We never suspected the ruin would run so deep. There were betrayals that led to scores of deaths-the Marcellan Canton's walls ran red for weeks afterward, and they announced a two-day feast to celebrate what they called the 'defeat of heresy.' But with you… we never knew-"
"Of course you knew what they'd do!" she shouted, but then she sighed and hung her head. "They tortured me, Gorham," she said, head still dipped.
"Yes."
"They made me hurt, demanded that I renounce my beliefs and accept theirs. And when I didn't, they smashed me."
"I know, Peer."
"You know?"
He nodded. "The tortures were made public knowledge."
"Do you care?"
How did he answer that? Of course he cared. "We need to make sure you haven't come here meaning us harm."
"And that's your answer?"
"That, and I'm sorry."
"Going to torture me now, Gorham?"
"No." And because he could not face watching this, and because he hated himself for not being able to say everything that needed saying until it was over, he turned away and left them all. Devin gave him a torch as he passed, and Gorham found a shadowy doorway and aimed for it.
"I came for you!" Peer shouted behind him. She sounded angry, but he still knew her well enough to hear the hurt.
Gorham could answer only silently and to himself. When I'm sure that's true, I'll welcome you back. The corridor closed around him and he slipped into a room, leaning heavily against a wall, sobbing.
From the large area he'd just left, he heard the hissing of Malia's truthbugs.
"My husband was one of those they crucified alive," Malia said. "You remember Bren?"
"Yes, Malia. I'm sorry."
Malia looked up from the table and stared at her, and Peer could see the sadness in her eyes. Anger tried to hide it, fury closed it in, but the sorrow was unmistakable.
"Thank you," Malia said. "I apologize, Peer. This won't hurt. But what Gorham said is right: We need to know. A lot has changed since you…"
"Since I was sacrificed?"
Malia sighed and came forward, several small bugs flitting across the palm of her hand.
Peer looked after Gorham, but he had not reappeared. Devin and the other two Watchers stood back, glancing around nervously as a whisper passed through the subterranean room once again. "I'll tell you the truth," she said.
Malia nodded, then held her hand flat in front of Peer's face and blew.
Peer felt the bugs strike her skin. They stuck for a while, speckling her face, and then they started moving. Some went for her mouth, some her nose, and one wormed into the corner of her eye. She opened her mouth to scream but could not. The breath was frozen in her throat.
"No," she heard Rufus say beside her, but she could not turn to comfort him. He'd better be what I think he is, she thought, and then something changed abruptly. The pain in her right arm grew distant, the ache in her hip faded, and the coolness of the air misted away into a comfortable warmth. Everything felt fine, and she relaxed down into the chair, her body taking the weight of her tied arms.
"Why have you come here?" Malia asked.
"To see Gorham."
"Why?"
"Because of Rufus."
"Who's Rufus?"
Peer glanced sideways at the bound man.
"Why do you think Gorham wants to see Rufus?"