Books’s eyes widened with distress. “That’s never going to work. You need to, ah, to…”
“Yes, professor?”
He pounded his fist against the wall. “I’m good in a classroom, I swear.”
“Don’t panic,” Amaranthe said. “I’ll think of something.” Yes, Amaranthe. Think of something. “What’s it doing?”
“It’s looking at me. Technically, I know it’s just a machine taking directions from a punchcard brain automated for a simple task. But I swear it’s looking at me. And it’s rubbing a pair of razor-edged pinchers together. Actually it’s clacking them. I suppose that’s where it derives its name.”
Brilliant analysis. Amaranthe kept the thought to herself. She was just as guilty of nervous rambling at times. She could not do so now though. One of them had to think of something. She looked around, seeking a tool to use, anything.
“Uh oh,” Books said.
“What now?”
“It says Tar-Mech on the back.”
“Larocka’s company?” Amaranthe asked.
“I think it heard you-it’s heading toward that gap in the wall.”
“It can’t hear me, Books. Let’s be logical here.”
“Maybe Mitsy bought an upgraded version with special features.”
Amaranthe froze, hands on the wall. “Like magic?” If Larocka could protect her home with it, what else might she be able to do?
“I don’t know, but it’s coming your way. You’ll be dead soon.”
“Thanks for the optimism.” Amaranthe looked down at her boots and her clothes. “Parka, of course.” She tore off the garment. “Catch the end.”
She swung it up. Books grabbed the hood and let the rest dangle.
“Brace yourself.” Amaranthe jumped and caught the bottom. The thick material supported her weight.
A huge blocky form rolled through the opening in the wall. Reminiscent of a giant beetle on treads, the metal creature had no head, but the back of its carapace reached seven feet. Two sets of arms extended from the front. The bottom ones were hooked, for grabbing. Above them, pinchers with three-foot blades snapped at the air. The clacker paused in the opening, like a wolf sniffing for a scent.
Hand over hand, Amaranthe pulled herself up the parka with new urgency. The smooth wall offered no purchase for her feet. Her arms and shoulders shuddered with the effort.
The clacker rolled toward her. Ten feet away. Five.
She reached for Books’s hand. Their section of the wall lurched into motion. It jarred her and she missed her target. Her knuckles cracked against metal.
The clacker’s pinchers extended toward her.
Books wriggled lower and grabbed Amaranthe’s wrist. He yanked her up.
His efforts tipped him off balance. Amaranthe hooked her arm over the top, and she in turn grabbed him to keep him from pitching backward.
The clacker rammed into the wall. Amaranthe hung on tightly. Metal shuddered, but the wall continued its ponderous route along the track.
She pulled herself the rest of the way up. Books righted himself, and they faced each other, straddling the six-inch wide perch. Amaranthe wiped her damp forehead with the back of her wrist.
The clacker rolled back and forth below, hissing steam and snapping its pinchers. It did seem rather peeved for a simple machine.
Books had managed to retain hold of Amaranthe’s parka, and he handed it to her. Out of immediate danger, he was noticeably calmer. “Now, I see why you had me go first. You wouldn’t have been able to pull me up.”
“I’d like to pretend my plan was that premeditated.” Amaranthe looked for Mitsy, but no one sat on the benches. She must be in her office. “I just wanted you off the ground because you seemed…”
“Distressed? Frantic?” Books grimaced. “Useless?”
Amaranthe hesitated, searching for something more tactful. He seemed to read the answer in her expression though.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not good in stressful circumstances. It was the same way when the enforcers came after me. A bunch of brutes with less intelligence than that thing-” he stabbed a finger toward the clacker, “-and all I could think to do was run. Pathetic.”
Amaranthe held back a comment about enforcer entrance exams ensuring there were no dumb brutes on the force and only said, “Composure during life-threatening situations takes practice.”
“Somehow, I suspect you were born with it.” Books studied his hands. Even now they gripped the wall with enough force to whiten his knuckles. “If the others ask about this, can we pretend it was the alcohol withdrawal that made me nervous?”
“I don’t see how our errand is any of their business.”
The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled. “Indeed. Thank you.”
Their section of the wall clanked into a new home. Amaranthe repositioned her legs to turn around. Ahead of her, the route zigzagged but eventually met up with an exterior wall.
“Time to get out of here,” she said.
She and Books wiggled their way across the tops of the walls. The clacker trailed after them, like a dog still hoping for a treat.
The exterior wall rose only a couple feet taller than the interior corridors, and Amaranthe pulled herself over it without trouble. With his long, gangly limbs, Books made it look difficult. She decided to leave him out of tasks that might require athletic prowess in the future. He was definitely not a field man.
“What are the odds of locating an unlocked door before your chum’s goons find us?” Books asked.
“I don’t know, but I need to talk to her before we try to escape.”
“That didn’t go well last time.”
“She thinks I’m collaborating with Hollowcrest to murder people,” Amaranthe said.
“And does her opinion of you ultimately matter?”
Amaranthe climbed the stairs to the main walkway. “She has a lot of connections in the city. She knows where our hideout is, as evinced by the delivery of the note. If she wants to give us trouble, she could sabotage our cause, maybe end it altogether.”
“You’re not going to emulate Sicarius, are you?”
“Assassinate her?” Amaranthe shuddered. “No.”
From the walkway, she squinted up at Mitsy’s office. Darkness behind the window obscured all interior details. She could not tell if anyone had observed the escape.
“You don’t need to come with me,” she said.
“Someone has to trail after you and pull you up to safety when needed.”
Amaranthe gave him a bemused smile. “Thank you.”
The door behind the bettors’ cage was not locked. Amaranthe paused with her hand on the knob. The last time she entered, Ragos had let her through. She had only known him for a few minutes, but he had seemed a decent fellow. Nice smile. Had the beast killed him or had it been Hollowcrest’s medical zealots from the dungeon? And why did Mitsy think they came from the same source? Amaranthe felt certain Hollowcrest was a traditionalist, not someone who would flirt with the unnatural, and Akstyr believed that creature of magical origins. She shook her head. Only one person could answer her questions.
She pushed the door open. Empty stairs rose to the catwalk. Amaranthe and Books climbed them and crossed to Mitsy’s office. Books leaned heavily on the railing, limping now that his blood had cooled. The rumbling of machinery thrummed through the empty building. Below, pieces of the maze glided about the corridors, making and breaking routes.
At the office door, Amaranthe pressed her ear to the cold metal. Though she heard nothing, her nose caught an earthy scent like decomposing leaves.
Books crinkled his nose. “What is it?”
“Caymay,” she said.
“Which is?”
Mildly surprised he had not explored the city’s drug offerings during his months of depression, she said, “A mood-altering mixture concocted by one of Stumps’s turn-of-the-century gangs. Taken orally, the substance is deadly, but you can burn it to inhale the fumes. It dulls pain, but it tends to leave one volatile.”