within minutes. The skadi would guess who the culprit had been, but the confusion had bought him time.
He kept going, fighting a great flood of weariness, until he saw the sign for a bridge. He urged himself on. Just as far as the next tower. Walking across the closed, windowless bridge he felt trapped and nervous, and hurried through the tunnel as quickly as he could persuade his exhausted limbs to move. In the morning he was going to have to find himself some clothes that would pass in the City, and track down Adelaide’s restaurant-but for now all he wanted was a bolthole to curl up in for the night.
He took the lift. When it reached the first level underwater he felt the hairs raising on the back of his neck, but he doubted the skadi would expect him to go down; they knew the horror underwater held for ex-prisoners. The Undersea station was silent and deserted. Vikram ran down the giant escalators, feeling the damp chill of tunnels blasted out of rock below the seabed. Salt trails ran down the cracks between display boards flashing up taglines for skating exhibitions, electro recitals, the annual gliding race, gold-level Guild ratified Tellers, the annual gliding race. They were all months out-of-date. On the dusty screens, the letters scrambled themselves and fingers beckoned. Adelaide Mystik’s virtual eyes followed him as she lifted a Sobek scarab in the palm of her hand, her lips o-shaped to blow him a kiss.
The dripping walls of the platform were streaked with lichen. The weight of the ocean bore down upon him, and his head pounded. The idea of spending more than a few minutes minutes here was terrifying, but he needed to hide. He jumped onto the tracks and walked into the tunnel.
15 ADELAIDE
It was after midnight, and everything outside the penthouse was the same except for the yellow security bar bisecting the wooden door. Adelaide reached past it and deliberately twisted the handle. It was locked, as she expected. She took out her old key and pushed it into the keyhole. It didn’t fit. Axel had changed the locks. She sat down in front of the door and waited for someone to come.
Two years had passed since she had stepped out of the lift to find this same door, her own front door, wide open, a gateway for the landslide of her possessions. The way in had been blocked with a cabinet. When she clambered over one heel snagged and her foot slipped out of the shoe. She grabbed the door frame for support. The trail continued into the penthouse: shoes, clothes, pictures, cosmetics. She heard glass smash.
“A?” she shouted. “Is that you?”
The tinkling sound reverberated on and on. Then there was silence. Adelaide abandoned her shoes and wriggled into the hallway. Not knowing who she was about to meet, she padded through the ransacked rooms. The door to her bedroom was ajar. She pushed it cautiously.
Her twin crouched in a myriad of broken glass. Shards winked at the ceiling and each other and Axel. He was sucking on one finger. A line of blood ran down his wrist and his shirt sleeve was scarlet. Adelaide looked at the wall where her mirror had hung. The rivets that had held the glass were still there, with clinging fragments of silver.
“Axel?”
He stared at her. Scratches marked his face. For a moment she thought he didn’t recognize her. Then his features bunched.
“What are you doing here?”
“What?”
“You don’t live here.”
She almost laughed. “What are you talking about, A?”
“I said you don’t live here.” Axel raised himself slowly. A shower of glass fell from his clothing.
“You’re bleeding,” said Adelaide.
Axel glared fixedly at the ground. He began to trace a deliberate circle around the room. Each step destroyed another remnant of the mirror. On the floor near the bed, Adelaide saw a hammer.
“I think you’d better go to the bathroom,” she said, louder this time. “Axel. Come on. Get cleaned up, I’ll fix us a drink and you can tell me what happened.”
He stopped pacing. His eyes flicked up. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“This is our apartment, Axel,” she said carefully. “Not yours. Ours. Neither of us had a problem with that before. If something’s changed, now’s the time to tell me.”
He barged past, slamming her into the wall. Anger flooded her. She chased him to the kitchen. He began to pull pans out of the cupboard and throw them onto the tiles in a discordant opera of noise. Adelaide put her hands over her ears.
“For fuck’s sake, what are you doing?”
Utensils and machines followed. A bottle opener flew past her head. The blender cracked on the floor. Axel opened the glass cupboard. Adelaide darted forward and grabbed his wrist. She felt his blood on her skin, wet and slippery.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
Axel shook her off and reached for the nearest glass. She moved-an amalgamation of leap and unkind embrace, pinioning his arms to his sides. They fell to the floor together. Metal struck her elbow. Her entire body twanged with the pain. For whole, excruciating seconds she was paralysed. Axel was struggling to get up. Gathering her strength, she tackled him. They fought viciously, a tangle of limbs, childhood tactics made newly cruel. He yanked strands of hair from her scalp. She got both hands on his arm and twisted. They scratched and kicked. Pots and pans skidded over the floor. Then his hand struck her forehead. The blow sang inside her skull. She grabbed the nearest utensil and thrust it between them in panic.
“I’ll do it, A, I’ll really hurt you if I have to-”
His body went slack. His head fell to one side as though he was listening intently, and his fingers drummed the ceramic tiles. A repeated tattoo, like hooves. Then he got up without looking at her and walked out of the kitchen. She lay gasping on her back. Her face and body smarted with bruises. She stayed there for twenty minutes, listening to the sounds of her twin evicting her. Second by second, her courage seeped away.
“Miss Rechnov?”
Adelaide opened her eyes. The door was obscured by a pair of black trousers, neatly ironed. The shoes beneath them were highly polished, but looked worn-in, comfortable. Sanjay Hanif.
“It’s Miss Mystik,” she said.
“I apologize. According to official records your name is still Rechnov. Would you care to explain what you are doing here? This is an investigation scene.”
“I’m not on the investigation scene.”
Hanif crouched, bringing his face closer to her level. He had dark eyes. Intelligent eyes, she thought. He was a man used to making quick assessments, yet now he was forced to take the long slow path of unmatchable clues. How could anyone make sense of Axel?
“You tried to get in,” he said, and pointed to a high corner behind her.
“I knew it was locked,” she said. “And I know you have a camera there. I’m not stupid.”
“I don’t think you are, Miss Rechnov. Which begs the question once more, what are you doing here? Some might consider trespassing on Council territory an act of extreme stupidity.”
“I was looking for you,” she said.
Hanif clasped his hands, resting them upon his knees. He balanced easily in such an awkward position. She wondered if this was how he interrogated criminals.
“You have my attention,” he said.
“Axel’s my twin. I have a right to know what you have discovered.”
“I understand. But as I have already explained to your father, the family must be excluded from the investigation until we have ruled out the possibility of foul play.”
“You mean murder.”
Hanif’s face remained still. She wondered if he was aware of the underground activities of people like Lao. If he had any inkling that Adelaide had hired her own man. She wondered whether Hanif knew about the airlift.
“It is customary to explore all avenues. In my experience, well-known people do not go missing for no reason.
