Page 44 of Immortal Longings
“Run,” Calla commands.
They dart into one of the corridors, rushing deeper into the hotel. It was too late to head for the front, so another way out it is, passing room after room—
Calla collides with the door at the very end markedEXIT. Anton skids in closely after her, and curses when he, too, realizes this is no exit at all, but a stairwell.
“Why are they marking doors as exits that aren’t the damned exits?” he bellows. “Why—”
Calla yanks him by the arm, pulling him up the stairs just as the door bangs open again and Seventy-Nine’s security detail bursts through. “Let’sgo, Makusa.”
They climb the stairs and burst through the double doors at the end, emerging into another part of the hotel. The corridor here is dimmer, a soft bulb barely casting any light. Before the men can reach the end of the stairs, Calla lunges for a corded telephone by the stairwell and loops the cord around the knobs of the two double doors, holding them shut. It’ll last seconds at best, but that is enough. They each pause for a breath, pressing their wristbands to stop the ping.
“We can hide in one of these rooms,” Calla instructs.
Anton is already moving, pushing at each of the handles. They’re locked by keypad access, accessible only if the front desk has registered the room to an identity number and that same number is typed in. Just as there is a loud thudding on the stairwell door, one of the hotel rooms opens—unregistered and empty, the keypad unlocked—and Anton waves her over. He darts in and Calla hurries after him, slamming the door shut behind them. She tries to lock it from the inside, but there’s no mechanism. With no other option, Calla takes an ashtray and sets it down to act as a block. It looks ridiculous.
“We’re fucked,” Anton says. “We’re so fucked.”
There’s no window in the room. It’s also probably not an exterior wall onthe far side but another room: most buildings in San-Er carve out their floor plans with maximum efficiency and don’t care about having rooms face outward. Which also means most rooms don’t have alternate routes out. Even if they smashed a hole in the wall.
“Will you calm down?” Calla says, pivoting on her heel and pacing the floor. The security team is banging with greater force at the stairwell door, certainly close to pushing through. She’s almost embarrassed to be hiding like this. She was trained to lead a battalion, and now a measly ten men have her cramped in a musty room.
A creaking comes from the end of the corridor, then: wood breaking and splintering. They have gotten through. Calla listens very carefully, trying to gauge their next move. With some muffled instructions, doors start to slam open and close methodically while the men begin checking along the rooms in the corridor. They must have a way to override the keypad lock. Does Seventy-Nineownthe Evercent?
“We’ve cornered ourselves, haven’t we?” Anton intones. If their pursuers immediately started checking the rooms, then they must know that Anton and Calla are here hiding, that they could not have escaped.
“This corridor must be a dead end, yes,” Calla agrees.
The men will check their way along the floor, barging in on hotel guests one by one.
Anton releases another chain of curses. He plops onto a chair in the corner of the room and opens the newspaper he has picked up, covering his face.
“How’s this?”
“Cut it out,” Calla says. “They’ve already caught a glimpse of us. They’ll attack the moment they come in. Be prepared.”
Anton lowers the newspaper. “We can’t fight well here,” he argues. “We shouldn’t combat first. We should distract.”
Calla considers the suggestion. “How?”
“I don’t know,” Anton answers, unhelpfully. “But if their formation falters, we’ll have a better chance of taking them out.” He sets his newspaper down, seeming to acknowledge it as a foolish disguise. The moment it settles against another ashtray, however, he pauses. “I guess you could pose as a courtesan.”
Calla turns to face him, brightening suddenly. “That’s not a bad idea.”
Anton’s brows shoot up. There’s athuda few doors down, then the sound of yelling.
“What, really?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
Quick as she can, Calla slides her sword on the floor, out of sight but within reach. She tosses Anton her wristband; he shoves it beneath the cushion of his chair.
“Because I didn’t think you were capable of complimenting me, Princess.”
“I said it wasn’t a bad idea.” She unzips the front of her jacket and peels it off, leaving only her underclothes, red silk holding her breasts in place. “I didn’t say you were a genius.”
“You didn’t have to.” Anton is trying very hard not to look. His eyes are pointed to the ceiling, even as he continues winding her up. “I could hear it in your voice.Anton, my hero, I don’t know what I would do without you—”
Another door slams closed, much nearer this time. When Calla puts her hair up and snaps a rubber band on, she looks very different from the player that Seventy-Nine’s security team glimpsed in the lobby.
