“Only if you treat it well,” he said, his hand over his heart, “and take it off before somethin’ unlucky happens, as to not break its lucky streak.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, eyeing the tunnel that extended onward from the bottom of the shaft. “But let’s cut the chatter—as much as I love learning whatever has metastasized in your brain lately, we can’t afford to be overheard.”
He dimmed the lantern again and they continued along the tunnel. People at the constabulary offices gave her sympathetic looks on occasion for putting up with Wayne—but the truth was, he could be a really good constable when he wanted to. And he usually did want to.
Case in point, at her request he kept his mouth closed and concentrated on the job. Wayne could lack decorum, and could be painfully un-self-aware at times, but he was a good partner. Even excellent. So long as you got past his bubble—not his Allomantic one, but his personal one. Wayne was a fort of a man, with outer walls and defenses. If you were one of the lucky few he let in, you had a friend for life. One who’d stand with you against literal gods.
We’re going to find you, Trell, Marasi thought, creeping forward. She’d first heard that name uttered by a dying man, years ago—and she was increasingly certain Trell was a god of vast power like Harmony. You can’t hide forever. Not if you want to keep influencing the world.
Wayne grabbed her arm, stopping her without a word. Then he pointed at a tiny light shining far along the tunnel ahead. They crept the final distance, then peeked around the corner and were rewarded by the exact sight she’d been hoping for: a pair of men in vests and hats only a few feet away, playing cards on an overturned box. A small lamp flickered on their improvised table.
Marasi nodded backward. She and Wayne crept away again, far enough to not be heard whispering. She looked to him in the darkness, wondering at his advice. Should they poke forward further, or was this enough of a confirmation to go get backup?
“Tragic,” Wayne whispered.
“What?”
“Poor sod’s got a great hand,” Wayne whispered. “One in a million. And he’s playin’ against his broke buddy on guard duty? Rusting waste of a full-on Survivor’s suite…”
Marasi rolled her eyes, then pointed to a small darkened side tunnel splitting off the main one. “Let’s see where this goes.”
Behind them, a cursed exclamation echoed in the tunnels; sounded like the fellow with the good hand had just revealed it. This smaller tunnel wound around to the right of the guard post, and they soon saw why it wasn’t guarded; it hit a kind of dead end. Though some light did spill through a two-foot-wide hole in the rocks there.
They sidled up to it, then peeked through into a midsized cavern—roughly as big as a dock warehouse—full of men and women boxing goods or lounging on improvised furniture. The hole appeared to be part of the natural rock formations; dripping water from the ceiling had covered the wall with odd protrusions and knobs, covering up what might once have been a larger opening. Marasi and Wayne were maybe fifteen feet up.
She let out a long breath and surveyed the operation. It was here. Months of work. Months of promising Reddi her leads were good. Months of connecting theft records, witness accounts, and money trails. And here it was. A large-scale smuggling base set up directly underneath the city, funded by—best she could guess—a mix of Outer Cities interests and the Set.
It was actually here. By Harmony’s True Name … she’d done it.
Wayne looked to her with a wide smile on his face, then nudged her in the shoulder. “Nice,” he whispered. “Real nice.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“When you tell the constable-general about this,” he said, “leave out the part where I whined because of the sewage.”
“And the bad jokes?”
“Nah. Leave those in. You gotta give people what they expect, or they won’t believe your lies when you tell them.”
Marasi took in the sight. Thirty-seven people, counting the two guards, all armed. Even the menial workers wore holsters. Judging by the leads she’d been tracing, those boxes would be full of military supplies—with a frightening number of explosive components. The gang had tried to cover their tracks by making some more mundane thefts as well, but she was confident she knew what was really happening here.
Elendel had been squeezing the Outer Cities by refusing to let certain items—including weapons—be shipped out of Elendel, which was a central hub for all the train lines. This group was acting like an ordinary gang with their shakedowns and the like, but she was almost a hundred percent certain their purpose was to funnel weapons toward Bilming, current capital of Outer Cities interests.
She didn’t like the Outer Cities being forced to work this way—but these gang members had killed innocent people on the streets. Plus, they were likely collaborating with some kind of evil god bent on the subjugation or destruction of the world.
“Right, then,” Wayne whispered, pointing. “See that fellow near the back in the nice outfit? He’s a Set member for certain. Maybe the new Cycle.”
Marasi nodded. Cycle was the lowest level of real officer in the Set. They were local bosses that operated gangs of hired muscle. Miles Hundredlives had been a Cycle, reporting to the Suit above him. This man was dressed in an upscale way—visibly more decorated than the others in the cavern. He was also lean, muscular, and tall. As a Cycle, he might be Metalborn. So they’d best not underestimate him in a fight.
“You plug that fellow in the head with a nice rifle shot,” Wayne said, “and I bet the entire group will fold to us.”
“That isn’t how things work in the real world, Wayne,” Marasi whispered.
“Sure it is,” Wayne said. “If that’s the guy payin’ them, those other sods got no reason to keep fightin’.”
“Even if you were right—and I sincerely doubt you are—that’s not how we’re going to do this. Confirmation, coordination, backup, and proper authorization. Remember?”
“I try not to,” he grumbled. “Can’t we do this one my way? I got nothin’ against some blokes just doin’ their jobs, but I’d hate to hike through all that muck again, then return here and find this lot gone. Let’s bring ’em in now.”
“No,” she said. “Your way involves too much chaos.”
“That’s a bad thing because…”
“Well, there’s the whole officers of the law thing.”
“Right, right,” he said, then checked in his coat to reveal a shiny badge. It wasn’t something they used in the city, preferring their paper credentials.
“Is that … Wax’s old badge from the Roughs?” she asked.
“He traded it to me.”
“For?”
“Half a meat-’n’-ale bun.” Wayne grinned. “He’ll find it eventually. They get real hard to ignore.”
She shook her head, waving him back down the tunnel. They had to keep their lantern darkened though—and that made it difficult to see. So despite being careful, as they returned to the main tunnel they surprised a guard who had stepped that direction to relieve himself.