Page 47 of The Song Rising

“Oh, yes.” Maria picked a string of tissue from her hair. “Then again, everything seems civilized when you’ve just been getting friendly with other people’s excrement.”

Another bathroom was just around the corner. As far as I could see, everything inside was functional.

“This is incredible,” I said. “Why did we never know about this?”

“Not many do,” the tosher said.

He stopped and showed me a diagram on the wall, titledII COHORT DEEP-LEVEL CRISIS FACILITY, SCION CITADEL OF LONDON. Two cylindrical tunnels ran parallel to one another, each split into an upper and lower deck to provide extra room, and they were linked at several points by smaller passages. Not only were there bathrooms, but there were also side tunnels for use as medical wings, canteens, storage rooms, and so on.

“Does anything work?” I asked.

“Showers, but don’t overdo it. The water collects down below, and it won’t go anywhere unless you get the pumps working. I reckon everything else would function if there was power.”

“We were told that some of our voyants were already here,” Wynn said.

“Yeah. They were choosing their bunks, last I saw.”

“Bunks?”

“That’s right.”

The tosher headed back to the staircase, leaving us to take in our surroundings. After losing half our group in the descent and wading through the dark for hours, good news was a surprise.

I set Jos down and stripped off my stinking oilskin. Alsafi might be able to help us get the power back on if we could get word to him.

“We should set up a meeting room for the commanders,” I said.

“And somewhere secure for you to stay, Paige,” Nick said gently.

The brief exhilaration flickered out. I didn’t need him to spell it out for me; the syndicate would be baying for my blood.

“There’s a supervisor’s post on the other end of the facility,” said Wynn. “That should be secure.” She brushed past us. “I’m going to see who else is here.”

Still plastered in filth, she hurried up the stairs, holding up her drenched skirts with one hand. For her sake, I hoped Vern and Róisín—her family—had made it down here. Ivy hesitated before following her, and Jos, who tended to go wherever she went, stumbled after them.

“Right,” I said to those who remained. “Before we do anything, I suggest we wash.”

The suggestion was met with sounds of approval. If I had to face the music, I might as well do it clean.

Stained curtains divided the bathroom into eight shower cubicles, each of which contained an equally stained towel. I would have recoiled on any other day, but I was already coated in all manner of dirt, so I steeled myself and undressed. As promised, the showers just about functioned. I excavated a bar of soap, which looked about a century old, and scrubbed myself raw, scouring under my nails and soaking my hair until the water I wrung from it was clear. I patted myself dry with the corner of a towel and pulled on some spare clothes from Eliza’s backpack.

There was a water-spotted mirror by the door. With no greasepaint to hand to mask the shadows under my eyes, I would have to appear before my subjects with a naked face. I turned away from the reflection.

After hours of limbo, it was time to see the syndicate.

We took the stairs to the upper deck. Distorted sounds echoed through the tunnel. Lanterns had been set on the floor, showing me that at least eighty voyants had found their way into the facility so far—more than I had expected.

The relief curdled when I saw what was happening. Wynn was shielding Ivy, who looked lifeless, while Vern was locked in a brutal fight with a sensor, bloody at the mouth.

“Stop it,” Róisín was screaming. “Leave him alone!”

They were surrounded. I flung pressure through the æther, scattering the knot of attackers. The sensor let Vern go and clapped a hand to her bleeding nose.

When they found the source of the disturbance, hatred filled their faces. I had almost allowed myself to believe that the discovery of this refuge would soften their fury, but I could see now that I had underestimated it.

Nick placed a hand on my shoulder. “Paige,” he said, “let’s go to the supervisor’s post.”

I brushed him off and crouched beside the bunk. Ivy was conscious, just, her fingers pressed into Wynn’s shoulder. Her other hand was against her cheek, but I could see the blood flowing from beneath it, leaving runnels down her neck. When I guided it away, I drew in a breath. A rough “T” had been sliced into her face. Jos was hiding behind her, shaking.

---