Page 67 of The Song Rising

“Hello, Hari.” Her voice made me think of sawdust. Without looking at me, she added, “You must be the Underqueen.”

She garnished the title with a hint of contempt. When she turned to face me, I saw that her skin was the sepia of shadows in old photographs, her lips mulberry red. A bevy of tight black curls erupted from beneath a cap, which was angled to allow her bangs to cover most of her left eye. At first glance, I would have said she was in her early thirties. I removed my respirator.

“And you must be the Scuttling Queen,” I said.

“Two queens of thieves in one citadel. Scion must be petrified.”

There was a moment of sizing each other up. She studied my face, lingering on my jaw. Her cheeks were a patchwork of thin scars. She was only a little taller than me, but she was taking full advantage of the three-inch difference and looking down her nose as she addressed me.

“Who are your friends?” she said.

“These are two of my high commanders. Tom the Rhymer and Ognena Maria.”

Tom took off his hat. “I’ve heard a tale or two of your father, Scuttling Queen,” he said warmly. “It’s an honor.”

“Cheers,” she said.

There was nowhere for us to sit, so we all remained standing. Attard pushed herself away from the mantelpiece. Her muscular legs were covered by soot-smeared white trousers. The boots beneath were brass-capped, with wooden soles. She wore a sea-blue neckerchief, and several belts hung about her hips, each with a polished buckle and sheaths for her many knives.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for demanding a meeting,” she said. “I had a feeling you’d be on the move after that . . . vision.” She closed her eyes briefly, as if the pictures were still unfolding in front of her. “Didn’t realize you’d come to humble Manchester, though. Let’s cut to the chase—what do you aim to do while you’re in this citadel?”

“We’re here to investigate Senshield,” I said. “With the view to destroying it.”

Attard huffed a laugh. “You’re not serious.”

“I didn’t travel two hundred miles to tell jokes.”

“You’re still a fool,” she said.

“We could use allies while we’re here,” I said calmly. “I’d be grateful if you could ask your people to accommodate us as best they can, and to provide assistance if we need it.”

“You sent the vision to scare us into helping you, then?” Without letting me reply, she said, “Well, you’re out of luck. ScionIDEmightcome here, but from what I can tell, they’re in Britain for the sole reason of snuffing out the movement you started. They’d only move into this region if they found any trace of that movement here. Ifyouwere spotted here. By helping you, we’d be signing our own death warrants.”

“No,” I said. “They’re cracking down on voyants and any voyant activity, and that’s going to be a nationwide problem before long. Scion wants to eliminate organized clairvoyance, and here, in its heartland, we might be able to stop it succeeding. The first thing I want to do is stop Senshield.”

“Good for you.”

“Oh, come on. You’ll have it on your streets within a year,” Maria cut in. “It detects four orders now. It’s expanding. Are you just going to wait for it to catch you? You and I are both augurs. We know the risk.”

Attard stiffened. It was clear she wasn’t accustomed to people speaking to her as equals. “There’s no sign that they’re going to build them here,” she said. “Ifthey do, we plan to map their locations and avoid them. That’s how my father always did it. Stay out of Scion’s way.”

“How do you plan to stay out of the way of the portable scanners they’re making?” I asked. “The ones they’re making in this citadel?”

Her lips parted, then pursed. For some time, she stared at the fire with a tensed jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” she said.

“I have evidence that they’re building a handheld version of Senshield in the SciPLO factories,” I said. “I need to see them for myself; to work out how they’re being powered, if possible. If we can locate and neutralize the core—”

“Where is thisevidenceyou have?” she asked. “I’ve not heard of portable scanners being built.”

“I have an insider in my employ.”

“Unless I see evidence, I’m not buying it,” was the brisk reply. I had the feeling she wouldn’t accept Danica’s crumpled note as proof. “Either way, my voyants aren’t going near those factories. SciPLO has round-the-clock security. Nobody in this citadel would be stupid enough to try a break-in, not even with your visions scaring them. These people already know fear. They live and breathe it every day at work.”

“The factory bosses,” Tom murmured.

Attard nodded. “The overseers. Most of all, Emlyn Price, head of said overseers. The Ironmaster, we call him. He became Minister for Industry last year,” she said. “He usually lives in London in his fancy townhouse, but he’s been up here for months now. Even brought his spouse and kids with him. They stay in a gated community in Altrincham.”

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