Wren held the knife, turned it over and over in his hands. He remembered when Three first gave it to him outside the Vault. The first time Three had needed his help. How Three had called him a soldier. A soldier. Soldiers didn’t sit crying in their beds. Soldiers did whatever they had to do.
Three was in trouble. And Mama wasn’t here. She wasn’t going to come back and fix everything. It was up to him, now.
He slid off the bed, and put his coat on. Slipped the knife into his belt, where it wouldn’t poke. Took a deep breath. And then stretched out beyond himself, from the place of his brain that did things he didn’t understand, things he just did without knowing how. Someone was sitting in the hall outside his door. One of the guards that wore black. Wren could feel him. Could see him. And the door. The door was locked.
And then it wasn’t.
Three’s vision cleared again, and he made a mental note. Guard to the right had a weapon. Asher had leaned back into his chair again, was watching with some mix of amusement and judgment.
“It’s a shame we got off to such a bad start,” Asher said. “A man of your talents… I could’ve had use of you.”
Three rolled his head to the side, popped his neck in the spot that always seemed to need it. Tried to relax his shoulders. The burn was intense, muscles screaming for relief from the way his arms had been contorted behind him. He’d managed to get his hands around so his palms were touching, which helped ease the pain and improve the blood flow. He could tell now that the binding was some kind of brittle synthetic. He rolled his hands into fists, knuckles together, increasing the tension on the bands around his wrists.
“Didn’t expect you to try to cross the Strand. I’m amazed that any of you survived. I would’ve guessed you’d all end up like Haven.”
So he did know. Asher seemed to read Three’s thoughts.
“I didn’t have the heart to tell Dagon. Figured he’d discover it on his own at some point. And until then, his obsession was useful. I was kind of hoping he’d blame you for it. I assume he’s dead too?”
Three didn’t answer, but flicked his eyes to Ran. Dagon’s trusted friend. Ran made no hint of response.
“Just as well, I suppose,” Asher said casually. “I think he might’ve gone mad if he’d known what happened to her.” Asher ran a hand through his hair. “He was the one that reminded me of Underdown, you know. I’d almost forgotten him completely. He was only with us a few months. Didn’t get on too well with my father.”
Three felt the back of his chair with his thumbs, found a ridge where two joints met to connect the back to the seat. He positioned the cuffs over that raised point.
“If we’d known what kind of man he really was, I think we may have kept him around. Spinner’s father, you know. Speaking of which. Ran.”
For the first time Ran took his eyes off Three, and looked to Asher.
“Go get him,” Asher said.
Ran stood motionless for a moment, staring back at Asher without any discernible emotion.
“Go on!” Asher said, louder. Ran dipped his head and turned to go. But as he did, his eyes slid across to Three, and the two exchanged the briefest of looks. Three had no way to interpret that look, didn’t have the information to know what was going on, but he had the distinct impression that something significant had just happened. Some kind of momentary breakdown of Asher’s hold over Ran, or the first signs of its erosion. Asher watched him as he exited, and then turned his attention back to Three, shaking his head slightly.
“Dagon was the one who guessed it, when I found out you were headed to Greenstone,” he said. And then added with a wolfish grin, “Your friend at the Vault wasn’t much for keeping secrets.”
Three remembered Jackson, imagined what Asher must’ve done to him. Burned with anger.
“I suppose Haven thought Underdown might remember her?” He shook his head again. “Women and their fantasies. I can imagine it now, the way she must have. Underdown learning of his precious son, Spinner. Falling in love with her again. Bringing them both in as his own. And I wonder what she expected of you, then. Maybe the three of you, living here together under his protection. Ha!” He spat a laugh.
Three tightened his fists. Reminded himself.
Guard on the right has a weapon.
And with a sudden motion, he swung his arms behind him, away from the chair, and then slammed them forward again. Already flexed tight, the binding on his arm impacted the ridge of the chair and split. The captain of the guard’s eyes were just going wide when Three crushed his fist into the groin of the guard on his right. The man reacted, and Three rocketed up, wrapping one arm around the man’s head and snatching the weapon from him with the other hand. Three whipped down and whirled, snapping the guard’s neck and dumping him to the floor as the others converged. Continuing the motion, he struck the closest guard across the temple with the rod. Two down, four to go. The captain of the guard leapt from the dais as the two guards from the door rushed towards Three. But the captain hesitated, as if he’d just remembered he had Three’s gun. He fumbled to get it out of its holster. Three closed the gap before he could draw it.
Three snatched the man behind the neck, forcing the guard’s head down into his shoulder, and whipped him around, putting the captain between Three and the other guards. With his free hand, Three trapped the pistol, and pressed its barrel against the captain’s stomach. Lined it up, and squeezed the trigger. The shot thundered in the room, tore through the captain, and dropped one of the guards from the door. Three slung the captain’s body to the floor and leapt at the next guard, intercepting the man’s jaw with a flying knee. Three rode him to the ground. As they landed, Three bounced the man’s skull off the floor, knocking him out cold.
Three whirled back to his feet, facing the throne with the rod in one hand and his pistol in the other. Its bulk was comforting. He’d missed it. Asher was sitting bolt upright in the chair, but his face was more one of disappointment than fear or surprise. The last guard stood trembling by Asher’s side. Asher looked at him.
“Well. Go on,” he said. The guard looked at Asher, and then at Three. And then back to Asher again. Asher sighed. “Useless.” He looked hard at the man, and the guard suddenly cried out sharply and collapsed to the ground as if his muscles had simply switched off.
Asher stood then, casually, confidently. “I told you I could’ve used a man like you. Too bad, really.”
“Bring Wren to me, and I might not kill you.”
“Oh… no, I don’t think I’ll do that,” Asher said. “The people of Morningside thought Underdown was something special, you know. Allow me to show you why.”
The guard had been asleep when Wren had quietly opened the door. A lucky break. Wren didn’t know what would’ve happened otherwise, and he hadn’t wanted to kill the man, after all. He’d shut the door behind him quietly and locked it back. For at least ten minutes, Wren had wandered the halls, listening for people approaching, sometimes hiding. The place was vast, with confusing hallways and passages, and voices seemed to come from funny places.
There was no way for Wren to track Three, and he didn’t dare risk trying to pinpoint Asher. So he did what Three had taught him to do.
When in doubt, trust your gut.