Page 49 of The Song Rising

You may have noticed, over our years of cohabitation, that I don’t like being outsmarted. Vance fooled you through me, which, in my self-centered mind, means that Vance bested me personally, and that I am partly responsible for the deaths of the people on your assignment. Apparently I have a conscience.

I traced the blur where the side of her hand had smudged the letters. She must have been deeply humiliated to admit to any of this.

So I’ve spent my last hours in London doing better investigation. I discovered something very interesting, and this time, it’s not false information. I made sure.

A while ago, I mentioned Scion’s plans for a portable scanner. At the time, I was under the impression that they were still in the early stages of design. I was wrong about that, too. As you read this, handheld scanners are being manufactured for military use in a factory in Manchester, which is owned and controlled by a government department called SciPLO. These scanners will be linked to the core, whatever or wherever it is. My feeling is that you’ll want to pay a visit to Manchester, in the absence of better leads.

I could feel sweat forming on my upper lip. Handheld scanners, and sooner than we had thought. I imagined an army, each soldier carrying one. This couldn’t be happening.

I appreciate that you need somewhere to start in a citadel that’s not familiar to you, so here’s one more breadcrumb. SciPLO’s records indicate that one of their workhands, Jonathan Cassidy, is wanted for theft. It might be a long shot, but if you can find him, he may be willing to give you more information about the manufacturing process.

I hope this makes up for my error. I’d say goodbye, but unfortunately for both of us, we will meet again.

I scrunched the note into my hand.

Portable scanners. A death sentence.

The door opened. I snatched up the knife in my boot, expecting to see a murderous voyant.

“Warden,” I said, lowering it.

He came to sit beside me, and I knew he had followed the cord to my side. He lifted a hand to my face, turning it gently. His thumb touched my cheek and came away bloody.

“What happened?”

“The inevitable.” I pressed my fingers over the cut. “This place is a pressure cooker. They won’t last a month down here without killing each other. Or me.”

“You were right to call for an evacuation,” he said, unruffled as ever. “So long as you find a way to replenish your supplies, the Beneath may serve you better than your original network of buildings. Fortunate that you had mercy on Ivy, or the Mime Order would have no haven. Your compassion has repaid you.”

“For the time being.” I unfolded Danica’s letter and handed it to him. “We won’t be returning to the surface for a while.”

He read it, expressionless.

“If portable scanners haven’t already been issued to the soldiers, they will be soon.” I took back the paper, pocketed it. “This is on me, all of it. If we’d gone back to our lives after we got out of the colony, none of this would be happening. Everyone would have just continued with mime-crime . . .”

My jaw and throat were aching. Warden shifted off the bunk and crouched in front of me.

“Never allow yourself to believe you should be silent.” His voice rumbled from deep in his chest. “If you had been silent in the colony, then both of us might still be there. Even if you had never become Underqueen, Senshield was on the horizon. The scanners might not have come so soon, but they would have come. There is no choice but to fight.”

A tear escaped. I blotted it with my sleeve. “I should never have risked going to that warehouse. I helped make Senshield stronger.”

“You did. It is done,” he said. I lowered my head. “This was the right thing to do, Paige,” he said again. “You will be safe here. Alsafi will reconnect the power as soon as he is able.”

Alsafi. Slowly, I looked up.

“If I were to put together a team,” I said, “could Alsafi get them to Manchester?” When he didn’t answer at once, I continued: “It’s where the scanners are being made. It’s the next step to track down Senshield’s core. And I trust the information this time.”

Warden seemed to consider this. “I am not able to contact Alsafi directly,” he said. “After I requested that he restore the power, he told us to cut off further communication with him, most likely because the risk of receiving our messages has become too high. However, I believe he divulged the identities of certain people in his network to Pleione. She may be able to arrange safe passage. If she is successful, you will have to choose someone you trust as your interim.”

“I didn’t meanIwould go. I’d send a team. The leader of the syndicate never leaves London.”

“Traditionally. You are not a traditional Underqueen.”

“Warden, I can’t go. If you think they’re pissed off with me now, they’ll be murderous if I run away.”

“Consider the alternative. The Mime Order blames you for this state of affairs. While you are here, their anger will remain fresh. Many will resist your orders out of resentment.” His gloved hands cupped mine. “You broke from convention by turning on your mime-lord, Paige. You can do it again.”

He might be right. The time for tradition was gone.

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