them in the morning. You’ll follow them up and report to me. Based on this information another set of tasks will be compiled. And so on, until we’re satisfied. We’ll relate your findings to our Public Affairs Division and, in due time, release them to the public. This is all happening independent of the police, mind.”
“Independent?” said Hayes.
“Oh, yes,” said Brightly calmly, returning. “People already suspect we’re somehow puppeteering the Department around. Like anyone could gain control of something so corrupt and disorganized. But this is all going to be about appearances. I don’t want to see anyone with a badge coming near us for a while.”
“That means Garvey, Hayes,” said Evans.
“I know what it means,” he said.
“Naturally, neither of you will be named,” continued Brightly. “The information will be credited to a variety of sources. But your efforts will be greatly appreciated, and you’ll be compensated in your own way. Clear?”
Hayes nodded wearily. “Clear.”
“And you, Miss Fairbanks?”
“I understand,” she said.
“Good. Now, girls and boys, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you all to leave. Evans and I have more appointments today. Many, many more.” Then Brightly went and looked out the far window again, hands behind his back and face carefully kept clear of them both, and did not look at them again until they left.
“God, who could envy us now?” said Hayes as they rode down the elevator together. “If you thought our old work was dull as dirt, this one’s going to be worse.”
“I didn’t think it was too dull,” said Samantha. “It was mostly records work, which I did all the time before. It’s not that bad.”
Hayes studied her with a disbelieving eye, as if she were a strange breed of creature he’d never seen before. “Every once in a while I think you’re pretty smart,” he said, “but then you go and say something like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Exactly what do you think is going to make this new work so terrible, Mr. Hayes? Everyone on the board will be paying attention to us. This is our chance to prove ourselves.”
“But we won’t actually be proving anything,” said Hayes as the doors opened. “Sure, we’re supposed to be looking for any connection, but what would happen if we actually found something that implicates the company in what happened on that trolley? It’s the last thing they want.”
“So what do you think we’ll be doing?” Samantha asked. They crossed the lobby to exit through a side entrance.
“Putting on a show,” Hayes said. “A real song-and-dance routine where we talk and talk and report all day, and find nothing. Just something to make the newspapers feel safe. But it won’t work. They’ll panic anyway. Personally, I’m looking forward to hearing what Tazz has to say about this.”
“Tazz? Why?”
“Because a lot of his problems just got solved, I should think. Several violent undesirables acting in his name just got eliminated, and now they look like martyrs for his union. With blood on McNaughton’s hands and everything. His reaction will be very telling, I’d say.”
Samantha considered this. “Well, for whatever it’s worth, I very much doubt if the company could have ever been involved in something like this.”
“Your loyalty is almost charming,” said Hayes. “But for once I agree with you.”
“You do?”
“Oh, yes. McNaughton’s powerful enough that they don’t need to kill anybody. And Brightly was afraid back there. Terrified. Him and Evans. Neither of them has any idea what’s going on. They’re innocent. Or ignorant, at least.”
As they walked through the hallway they were forced to the side by a crew of men maneuvering an enormous painting up onto the wall. Several of the workers climbed up and stood on ladders to help guide the painting onto the hooks in the wall. Samantha and Hayes stopped to watch, caught up in the stress of the moment.
The picture was a strange one. It showed two men standing in a cave, one off to the side with his arms crossed and his face serenely satisfied. He was short and dumpy, dressed in furs and shabby clothes. Samantha got the impression that the painter had been directly told to make him “rustic.” The other man, who was the primary subject of the painting, was much more civilized, wearing a gentleman’s idea of outdoor clothing and sporting a patrician mustache and sideburns. She immediately recognized him as William McNaughton. He was cradling something in his hands, a delicate device made of frail, silver gears. It seemed to be giving off a faint sheen of light, like it was a holy relic.
“That’s McNaughton,” said Samantha. “And that’s Kulahee there? On the side?”
“It would be, yes,” said Hayes. “They took this one out for touch-ups the other day. Looks like they’re done.”
“What’s that in his hands?”
“Oh, some machine,” sighed Hayes. “I suppose they told the painter just to paint ‘an invention’ and he did the best he could. Or maybe it’s symbolic. McNaughton offering Kulahee’s creation to the world.”
“Why are they in a cave?”
“Kulahee spent a lot of time in the caves around his home,” said Hayes. He grunted, then squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose. “He… he kept some things down in there. Spent a lot of time digging around in them. Famous local myth, the caves of Kulahee.”
“Are you all right, Mr. Hayes?”
“Yes. I’m fine,” said Hayes. “Just… had a headache since we went down into the tunnels.” They began walking down the hallway to the doors. Hayes kept one hand pressed to his temple. “The air down there really got to me.”
“Are you sure you’re well?” asked Samantha.
“Yes.”
“You’re shaking.”
“No,” he said. “No, I’m… I’m…”
He coughed and pitched forward. One knee buckled and he fought to stay upright, but then it failed again and he crumpled to the floor, the other leg askew behind him. Spasms wracked his body and his skin turned the color of bleached bone and something red-black ran from his nose. Samantha ran to him, shouting out his name. She grasped the sides of his head and pulled his mouth open to show his tongue thrashing about in his mouth. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he went still.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Samantha stood over Hayes, not sure what to do. She looked up and down the hallway but saw no one. She wondered if she should call for help. Then a tremor shook through Hayes’s body and he surged gasping back to consciousness. He grabbed her arm and panted, “Get me out of here.”
“What? Why?”
“They… can’t see me like this. They can’t.” He struggled to say more, but then his eyes watered and he shook his head.
Samantha pulled him to his feet and hefted one of his arms around her neck and began to hobble out of the Nail. She worried that the people outside would stop them and demand to know what they were doing, but no one did. They hardly looked at them at all.
“Where am I going, Mr. Hayes?” she asked him.
“Home,” he whispered. He barely seemed awake.
“Home? Yours?”
He nodded and his head lolled back. He raised one trembling finger and pointed down a back alley. “Through there,” he whispered.
She grunted as she maneuvered him into a better position, then began limping down the alley with him. He was extraordinarily light for a man. Underneath his enormous coat and all those clothes he must have been a pigeon-boned thing with hardly a scrap of fat on him. He muttered deliriously as they walked, singing little songs to
