Page 75 of The Song Rising

“Maybe you’re right. Well, nice work. I didna have any luck on my end,” he said. “I dressed like a beggar and waited outside Establishment D. I couldna get many of the workhands to talk, but those that did said nothing out of the ordinary happened in there. Gillies drove me off after a while, so I went to Establishment A. Same result.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to know,” I said, “unless you work in Establishment B.”

He smiled grimly. “And nobody comes out of there to tell the tale.”

Eliza and Maria returned as he spoke. They had visited the voyant publishing house in Withy Grove, trying to find out what they could about Catrin, to no avail. While theQuerent’s writers were sympathetic to the Mime Order’s cause, they had the same ethos as Grub Street: strictly revolution through words. I updated them on what I had uncovered, then told them to get warm and have something to eat. I needed space to think.

In the attic, I sat alone and marked two locations on a map. The first was that of SciPLO Establishment B, which was in the adjacent section of the citadel. The second was that of Spinningfields Prison, quarter of a mile from here, the current abode of Catrin Attard.

For a long time, I sat in the dark, considering my options.

Leaving aside the botched raid on the warehouse, this would be the Mime Order’s first heist. There was information in that factory, and I meant to steal it.

First, I needed to get inside. I was a dreamwalker, capable of moving through walls and locked doors, but my weakness—my need for oxygen—put me on a time limit. My life-support masks weren’t designed to sustain me for more than a few minutes; I needed longer to investigate the factory, and if it was there, to destroy the core—and I didn’t yet have the mastery of my spirit to stay in someone else’s body for that long without causing damage to my own.

I would have to go to the factory in person. And to do that, especially without alerting Roberta, I would need help.

Catrin Attard was eager to oppose Scion, if her short-lived union with the Vigiles was anything to go by. She would have the level of local knowledge and support, as an Attard, to get me into SciPLO Establishment B. There were a lot of good reasons to approach her. She was about to get acquainted with the end of a rope.

Catrin and Roberta Attard. These sisters were like two halves of Hector: one with his bloodlust, the other with his unwillingness to change.

Terebell would want me to do whatever it took to find Senshield’s core. Something in that factory would lead us there. I felt it.

I got up and restlessly paced the room. As I passed the window, a glint of color caught my attention. A Scuttler was opposite the safe house, watching. Her lavender neckerchief was vivid even in the smog.

Roberta. She had sent her people to keep an eye on me, and she didn’t care if I knew it.

A burst of resolve had me tipping the contents of my backpack on to the floor, searching out my oxygen mask. Despite the injury it had suffered during the scrimmage, my gift had sharpened over the past few months. I might be stronger than I thought. There was one way to find out.

I had learned a hard lesson at the warehouse, going in without any evidence but what Danica had overheard. This time, I would make certain that we weren’t walking into a trap.

I knew the physical location of Establishment B, but it took a while to find it in the æther. When I was sure I had the right place—crammed with weakly flickering dreamscapes, enfeebled by fatigue—I took hold of the first person I encountered.

A warren of machinery surrounded me. Everything was washed in the inimical glow of a furnace. The smell was beyond atrocious: a hot, iron stench, as strong as if the walls were bleeding. And thenoise: a deafening cacophony of gears and mechanisms, a soulless heartbeat that vibrated through my teeth. I was a morsel in the mouth of hell. My host, who I had managed to keep on her feet, was soaked in sweat and hunched over a tray of metal sheets. Hands moved on either side of her, combing through them with quick fingers.

This was a real, working factory, at least—not another dummy facility set up by Vance. I cast my eyes around for any hint of Senshield, any trace of ethereal technology. It always took a while for my vision to clear after a jump, but I could just see an armed Vigile standing guard in the doorway.

“Password.”

I flinched at the rough voice. A second Vigile, with a face concealed by a respirator, moved in front of the workstation. I was so taken aback, I could think of no more eloquent response than: “What?”

“Password, now.”

The other workhands cowered. When I only stared, mute with shock, he said, “Come with me.” The other Vigile’s head turned sharply. “Commandant, suspected unnatural infiltrator.”

“I’m sorry,” I said faintly. “I just—I’ve forgotten it.”

He grasped my host body by the shoulder and shoved her away from her workstation. Panic had me scrambling for the æther—I threw off my borrowed flesh and soared back into my own body. My fingers clawed at the oxygen mask and I rolled on to my side, gasping.

Scion had found a way to stop me accessing their buildings. I should have expected this, after I had walked straight into the Archon in a stolen body, bold as brass, and threatened the Grand Inquisitor. Now they had patched that weakness in their armor. All they had to do was be vigilant. If anyone behaved strangely, they could ask for a password, which would have been agreed upon earlier. If the person couldn’t give it, they were identified as a possible victim of possession.

I felt naked. My gift was the one weapon I had known I could use to hurt them.

This had to be Vance, with Jaxon as her adviser. He knew I couldn’t access memories—that I wouldn’t know a password. He knew the signs to watch for: the vacant eyes, the nosebleeds, the jerky movements. I hadn’t yet learned how to act natural in a host.

I pulled off my sweater and breathed, letting the sweat cool on my skin. The workhand would have fainted when I left her; they might not guess it had been me. Her forgetting the password might be put down to the heat or exhaustion.

It still meant we had to act quickly, tonight.

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