“For what?” I breathe, not daring to take my eyes off the Mariner closest to me. She stares right back.
Crance’s voice is a deep, sorrowful croak. “For you, lightning girl. It’s not just the officers and the armies looking for you. It’s us too. Every smuggling ring, every thief company from here to Delphie. You’re being hunted, Miss Barrow, in the sun and in the shadows, by Silvers and by your own. I’m sorry, but that’s the way of it.”
His apology isn’t for me, but Farley and my brother. His friends, now betrayed. My friends, in grave danger because of me.
“What kind of trap did you set?” Shade growls, doing his best to look menacing despite the crutch under one arm. “What are we walking into?”
“Nothing you’ll like, Rabbit.”
In the strange light of Cal’s fire, my sparks, and Crance’s flashlight, I almost miss the flicker of his eyes. They dart to the left, landing on the support beam right next to me. The ceiling above it is cracked and splitting, with bits of dirt poking through the shards of concrete.
“You son of a bitch,” Shade growls, his voice too loud, his manner exaggerated. He looks liable to throw a punch at any moment—the perfect distraction. Here we go.
The three Mariners raise their guns, aiming for my brother. For the fastest thing in existence. When he raises a fist, they pull their triggers—and their bullets cut through nothing but open air. I drop into a crouch, deafened by gunshots so close to my head, but keep all my focus where it must be—the support beam. A blast of lightning splinters the wood like a detonation, charring straight through. It shatters, collapsing, as I throw a second bolt at the cracked ceiling. Cal vaults sideways, toward Crance and Farley, dodging falling slabs of concrete. If I had time, I’d be afraid of getting buried with the Mariners, but Shade’s familiar hand closes around my wrist. I shut my eyes, fighting the squeezing sensation, before hitting ground a few yards down the tunnel. Now we’re ahead of Crance and Farley, currently helping Cal to his feet. The tunnel on the other side of them is collapsed, filled up with dirt and concrete and three crushed bodies.
Crance spares one last look for his fallen Mariners, then draws his hidden pistol. For one brief, blistering moment, I think he might shoot me. But instead he raises his electrifying gaze, staring down the tunnel as it quakes around us. His lips move, forming a single word.
“Run.”
FOURTEEN
Left, right, left again, climb.
Crance’s barked orders follow us through the tunnels, guiding our pounding footsteps. The occasional echoing boom of another collapse keeps us moving as fast as we can—we’ve set off a chain reaction, an implosion within the tunnels. Once or twice, the tunnel collapses so close to us I hear the sharp snap of cracking support beams. Rats run with us, twisting out of the gloom. I shudder when they dash over my toes, naked tails whipping like tiny ropes. We didn’t have many rats at home—the river floods would drown them—and the waves of greasy black fur make my skin crawl. But I do my best to swallow my revulsion. Cal isn’t keen on them either, and swipes at the ground with one flaming fist, pushing back the vermin every time they get too close.
Dust swirls at our heels, choking the air, and Crance’s flashlight is all but useless in the gloom. The others rely on touch, reaching out to feel along the tunnel walls, but I keep my mind fixed on the world above, on the web of electrical wire and rolling transports. It paints a map in my head, fixing over the paper one I’ve nearly memorized. With it, I feel everything with my growing range. The sensation is overwhelming, but I push through, forcing myself to take in everything I can. Transports scream overhead, rolling toward the initial collapse. A few careen through alleyways, probably avoiding sunken roads and twisted debris. A distraction. Good.
The tunnels are Farley and Crance’s domain, a kingdom made of dust. But it falls to Cal to get us out of the darkness, and the irony is not lost on us both. When we dead-end at a service door, welded shut, Cal doesn’t need to be told what to do. He steps forward, hands outstretched, his bracelet sparking—and then white-hot flame springs to life. It dances in his palms, allowing him to grip the door’s hinges and heat them until they melt into red globs of iron. The next obstacle, a metal grate clotted with rust, is even easier, and he peels it away in seconds.
Again the collapsing tunnel shudders like a thunderclap, but from much farther away. More convincing are the rats, now calm, disappearing back into the dark they came from. Their little shadows are a strange, disgusting comfort. We’ve outrun death together.
Crance gestures through the broken grate, meaning for us to follow. But Cal hesitates, one scalding hand still resting on iron. When he loosens his grip, it leaves behind red metal and the indent of his hand.
“The Paltry?” he asks, glancing down the tunnel. Cal knows Harbor Bay much better than I. After all, he’s lived here before, occupying Ocean Hill every time the royal family came to the area. No doubt Cal’s done his share of sneaking through the docks and alleys here, just like he was doing the first time he met me.
“Aye,” Crance replies with a quick nod. “Close to the Center as I can get you. Egan instructed me to take you through the Fish Market, and has the Mariners ready to grab you, not to mention a squad of Security. He won’t expect you to go through Paltry Place, and won’t have anyone on lookout.”
The way he says it sets my teeth on edge. “Why?”
“The Paltry is Seaskull territory.”