This was a risk. There was nothing wrong in her being there, but if she were suspected of snooping, she’d lose whatever credit she’d gained in the last month. After taking the long route through the less-frequented common rooms and staircases, she caught Keeper Deridden’s deep baritone, Keeper Lijjen’s decisive declarations and other voices she didn’t know. But Patzer’s booming lay atop all other voices. She tracked them down carpeted hallways where bulbs hung on walls between large oil paintings of historic Sumadan events, into the administrative wing’s heart.
She stopped. They were headed toward Holder Mathra’s joint office and residence. Whatever Patzer’s involvement with Sumad Reach, it went to the very top.
Stop, Terese. You’ve learned enough.
It was common sense speaking, sending a cold finger up her spine. She turned and retraced her steps, running when she found the corridors empty.
She turned the key in her door for the first time in a month. A home away from home, despite everything, was still a home. After so long outdoors, her room’s stale air made her nose wrinkle, and she opened her window. This had been her longest field excursion, ever. It was a privilege to have a room as large as this to herself, though she wondered if she deserved it, given what she’d done back in Polis Armer.
She looked about. Her room had been searched! An expert would know to replace the papers on her desk exactly as she’d left them, or to look for head hairs strung in unusual places. Instead, Terese examined the slight folds she’d memorized on her well-made bed, rumpled just a little differently to when she’d left with Jools and Toornan a month earlier. The haphazardly stuffed clothes in her tall dresser, which she’d measured with a spread thumb and forefinger, had moved slightly. So had her cosmetic pouch.
She almost whimpered when she saw the pouch had shifted. Hopefully whoever had searched her room hadn’t closely examined the pouch’s contents.
Thank you, Gods! Her vial of nail lacquer and her perfume bottle hadn’t been disturbed.
She didn’t consider herself a ‘nails and perfume’ type of woman, and she’d worried that suspicious eyes may have noted that inconsistency. But no. For all Sumad Reach’s spies knew, Head Saarg’s cosmetic bottles were benign beauty accessories, submerged amidst her nail clippers, combs, earrings and hair ties.
Finally, proof she wasn’t paranoid.
She fell back into the padded chair next to her bookstand, kicked off her boots and flexed her hot, cramped toes. She sighed and closed her eyes while her mind raced.
If he could speak so casually to Keepers, Patzer somehow ranked close to the Holder of Sumad Reach. His return to Sumad Reach had been more important than hers to Lijjen, if he’d gone straight into a meeting upon Patzer’s arrival. Patzer had been given bad information about the renegades from a reputable source. For some reason, Patzer hadn’t been curious about her, which made no sense. Just that initial round of questions during the trek to his waste hideaway, and that had been it. Why had she spent a month in the wastes? And why had his odd friend Drool been there? Something was ‘off’ with Drool. The tall man hadn’t made her feel ‘watched’ in the way men often would, but ‘studied’, instead. He’d been gone the next morning, when she’d awoken with the mother of all hangovers. She would’ve asked more about Drool, had she thought she’d get a decent answer.
And then, there was her certainty that Patzer knew the renegades.
Someone knew a lot more about what had gone wrong in the Immersion Chamber than she did. If that person wasn’t on a first-name basis with Patzer, she’d eat her helmet.
Her mouth dropped open. She couldn’t speak to herself out loud—she was likely still under surveillance even in her own room—but she could laugh. A long despairing guffaw. The only people with any helpful answers, her only possible allies, were the renegades.
Was she now on their side? Did that make her a renegade also? A secret renegade, perhaps. One a little more removed from the Seekers than before she’d entered the Wastes.
She stood at attention in Lijjen’s office, her face neutral. She studied his closely shaven face. Had his opinion of her changed from a month ago? He was still in uniform, over three hours since her return. It was perfectly permissible for him to dress casually at this hour, so he mustn’t have returned to his rooms. A bachelor, Lijjen didn’t reside in the married officer housing complex on the fortress’s other side. She’d been waiting outside his office for hours. So, he’d been busy with Patzer up until minutes ago.
Still unchanged from her skinleaf plate and loose waste clothing, she knew how she smelled. She would have taken a steam bath had she known how long he’d keep her waiting.
The Keeper’s eyes looked through and past her during her recounting of the past month.
“You’re back two days early,” he interrupted.
“Yes, sir. Patzer wanted to consult with his informants once he finally determined the monk hills were a bad lead.”
“No further leads on this dark workshop operation your two Missionaries informed me of?”
“No, sir. I’m reluctant to claim it was one, as evidence is circumstantial. Patzer had us mostly in settlements and populated areas.”
“And you came back unsuccessful. Why, Head?”
“Patzer’s contacts are not as reliable as he believes, sir. We wasted four weeks, convinced the renegades were at a monk hill somewhere near Chastity Territory. Patzer couldn’t be reasoned away from it.” She spread her hands. “When he finally decided his leads were erroneous, the trail was cold.”
Lijjen sighed and ran a hand through his gelled hair. He slumped in his chair. “Very well.”
Months, she’d stood in this room, answering idiotic questions, her judgement criticized every time she opened her mouth, and he’d never relaxed around her until now. She didn’t move a muscle.
“Your mission has not borne fruit.”
“No, sir.”
“Considering your lack of progress under optimal conditions, I
