Page 62 of The Song Rising

“How did you get here, then?”

“We walked,” Maria said, “hence the ‘dejected snowman’ look we’re all modeling.”

Hari let out a breath. “I’m dead impressed you walked all this way. ’Specially in this weather.”

“Not much choice.” I peeled off my gloves. “What have you been told?”

“Just to assist you however I can.”

It was a forty-minute journey into the heart of Manchester. Hari put on some music. It was good, which meant it had to be blacklisted.

The Underguards had set us back by a day. Another day that the others were stranded in the crisis facility. Another day of ScionIDE hunting those who hadn’t made it into the Beneath. Sooner or later, Vance would begin to wonder why the scanners weren’t detecting as many voyants as she had anticipated, and she would make it her mission to root them out.

“Hari,” I said, “does ‘SciPLO’ mean anything to you?”

It was a while before he answered. “Yeah,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Means something to everyone here. They’re factories. Stands for Scion: Processing Line for Ordnance.”

“Ordnance,” Maria repeated. “Weaponry?”

“Right. Anything that can kill you, SciPLO makes it. Guns, ammo, grenades, military vehicles—anything that isn’t nuclear. Don’t know where they handle that.”

Maria raised an eyebrow at me.

This was promising. It fitted with what Danica had said. Senshield was a military project, after all.

“What about a Jonathan Cassidy, an ex-employee of SciPLO, wanted for theft?”

“Sorry,” Hari said. “Doesn’t mean anything to me, but I can do some digging for you. Anything else you want to know?”

“Are you aware of a link between SciPLO and Senshield?”

“No, but I’ve never worked for SciPLO, so I might not be the best person to ask.”

“Do you know anyone who does?”

“Not personally. Funny you should come here asking about it now, though: they’ve just introduced quotas in the SciPLO factories. The workers used to be able to sneak out the odd weapon, but the whole black market’s dried up in the space of two weeks . . . I never wanted a gun myself, but a lot of the Scuttlers carry them in case they run into Gillies.”

The handle of a knife protruded from his boot. Maria put her feet up on the dashboard. “Scuttlers?”

“The local voyants.”

“Who leads them?” I asked.

“We don’t have a big syndicate like yours. We just have the Scuttlers, and the Scuttling Queen.” He glanced at me with full-sighted eyes, taking in my red aura. “By the way, was it you who sent those images?”

So theyhadreached Manchester.

“Not me,” I said. “Tom.”

Hari shook his head in awe, smiling. “You must be the best oracle in Britain, mate.”

Tom chuckled. “I had some help.”

For the rest of the journey, I questioned Hari relentlessly about SciPLO. Fortunately, he was happy enough to talk. He told us that the arms industry had been based in Manchester for decades, and that SciPLO manufactured weapons for both the Vigiles and ScionIDE. It had always been a secretive division of the government, but particularly so in the last year, when production had increased exponentially. The workhands were now forced to do eighteen-hour shifts or risk losing their jobs, and they could face execution without trial for attempted theft or “industrial espionage,” which included talking to your own family about your work. Hari knew very little about what went on inside, but reassured me that somebody might be willing to share the information I needed.

The crystalline fields soon gave way to the austere buildings of the Scion Citadel of Manchester. High-rise apartment blocks were dotted far apart, like blunted gray digits, stern and monolithic, each a hundred stories high. The lower rungs of the citadel were suffocating under smog—you could hardly see the dingy blue of the streetlamps through it. Jerry-built houses cowered in the shadow of gargantuan factories, which vomited black smoke.

An industrial chimney had fallen on to a dwelling in a slum, crushing it. Every surface I could see was wallpapered with layer upon layer of soot. Most denizens wore a mask or respirator, as did the Vigiles, who had them built into their visors. That would work to our advantage.

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