He exhaled sharply. He’d had enough of this spiky oldster. He moved back up to the peephole, close enough that he and Tindall were eye-to-eye.
“What’s wrong with you?” he hissed, pressing his mouth right up against the grate. “Keep your voice down! There’s something patrolling the halls out here, and I don’t want it coming after me!”
Tindall grinned, a crooked twist of his mouth through a thicket of beard that hadn’t seen a trim in some time. “Oh, that’s old Steel Toe. He’s just a keeper of the cells, not a guard. Heard him scraping along, did you? He lost his foot and most of a leg a while back when he worked the crystal mines. Had to replace it all with metal. Cost him his job and brought him here to find work. He’s almost deaf, too.”
Shea didn’t care if Steel Toe could hear him or not. Someone else might. “Stand away from the door. I’m going to open it and get you out.”
He waited while Tindall moved back, then stuck a wad of the clay on the lock and spit on it. Once again, the clay hissed and steamed and bubbled, and the lock’s fastenings melted away. Quick as a cat, the boy pulled the door open.
Tindall stood in the middle of his cell, watching him. He was old and bent, all in rags with a huge bristle of gray beard that hung down to his chest. His face was weathered and lined with age, but his eyes had a sharp, predatory look. He was clapping his hands softly as the boy entered as if pleased by something.
“That’s my invention!” he crowed, pointing to the ruined lock. “I developed that substance. Gets through anything, doesn’t it? Smart of you to bring it, although I’ll warrant that was more Rocan’s doing than yours. How old are you, anyway?”
Shea glared at him. “How old are you?”
The sharp eyes blinked. “Point taken. So what do we do now? This whole building is locked down from cellar to rooftop.”
Shea pulled the cell door closed behind him and walked over to the barred window. The last of the clay went to removing its four bars, then, without asking, he went over to Tindall and ripped a piece of fabric from the tattered rags of the old man’s clothing.
“Hey!” Tindall protested, but Shea just glared him into silence. He hung the cloth out the window, then turned back to the single piece of furniture in the room—a narrow-slatted bed—and sat down.
“Now,” he icily informed Tindall, “we wait.”
* * *
—
Although Tindall repeatedly asked for more details, Shea did not bother to reply beyond assuring the man they were following Rocan’s instructions. After all, he didn’t really know any details; all he knew was how he got from the gates of Assidian Deep up to the old man’s cell, and he didn’t feel like talking about that.
None of this discouraged Tindall—even after being rebuffed—from striking out on his own narrative journey.
“Been here almost two months. Picked up by that Federation oaf Zakonis—who got lucky, I might add, ’cause normally he couldn’t find his way out of a closet—and he brought me here for interrogation. Did a few unpleasant things to parts of me, but nothing that won’t heal in time—except for that one finger, maybe. Anyway, he wanted to know where Rocan was, and I couldn’t tell him because fortunately I didn’t know for sure—not that I would have told him if I did. Or maybe I did tell him where he lived. Yep, I did give that one up. Anyway, we danced about for a time, but then he lost interest and just left me locked up here.”
He sighed. “Spent years in service to the Federation, you know. And this is how they repay me. Helped them develop all sorts of useful devices for their military—some of which really should belong to the public. Handheld communicators, for one. Not fully developed yet, but close enough. Everyone could have one of those. But, no, they want it all for themselves, to keep it for the soldiers, and the common man be damned. That’s how they think in this dictatorial government. Used to be a more open, democratic bunch, the Coalition Council, but that went away a while back. Ketter Vause likes it just how it is these days—him in charge and everyone else scrambling for a seat at his feet. Dangerous way to live, though. One day, some of those sitting at his feet will work around to his back and it will be all over for our Prime Minister.”
He shrugged. “But I suppose they’ll just select another snake to feed on the chickens. Isn’t that how it always happens? You go from bad to worse and nothing changes? Doesn’t matter to me, though. I’m old and my time in this hellish world is almost done.”
Shea rolled his eyes. Why did old people feel it was necessary to talk all the time?
“Don’t say much, do you?” Tindall asked suddenly.
The boy shook his head. “I don’t have that much to say.”
“Neither do I, but I say it anyway.” He laughed at his own humor. “Enlighten me—what’s going on out there in the world? A few rumors leak through these walls, so I know there’s been some sort of invasion. What do you know about that?”
Shea shrugged. “I hear it’s an army of magic users. They can make themselves disappear in battle. I guess they destroyed Paranor.”
“Ohhh, Ketter Vause won’t like that one bit! He’ll send that army of his out there to smash them. Magic users or not, he’s going to want to make them disappear permanently. Is Rocan involved in all this?”
Shea shook his head. Let Rocan tell Tindall if they ever got out of here. He was tired of talking, tired of this cell, tired of waiting, and tired of Tindall. He glanced at the door, checking to be sure it was still closed. He wished he knew how much longer Rocan was going to keep them waiting. He wished he knew something about how Rocan planned to get them out of Assidian Deep. It would be morning before long.
“How long did it take you to build Annabelle?” he asked impulsively.
Tindall looked startled and took what appeared to be a menacing step toward Shea. “How do you know about Annabelle? Has Rocan been talking out of school? Telling you things he ought not to be telling? You forget all of it. None of it is your concern, boy!”
Shea gave him a look. “Whether it is or not, old man, I’ve seen your machine and Rocan has told me a few things about it. So it’s way too late for you to be acting as if it’s some sort of state secret.”
“That machine is special!” the old man sputtered. “It has the capability to change everything. It might even change—”
“I know, I know.” Shea cut him short. “It might even change the world.”
“Well, it might. Annabelle can work miracles, and I’m the only one who knows how to make her operate. I built her, I tested her, I gave her life. She’s one of a kind, and no one thought for a minute I could build something so perfect!”