“It’s not locked,” said the girl with contempt.
“Who would disturb the Lord Cardinal?” said the admin, as though defending his honor. “And this is the EP detention center. Nobody would dare—” He cut that one short, and managed to look embarrassed as well as afraid.
She opened the door.
There was a room with a desk, a link, and bookshelves. Three doors led out of it. Tal prodded the admin with his Keith pistol, but the man said, “I’ve never been here before.”
Time was pressing. Tal let the pistol fall and yelled, “Keylinn!”
“Here!” It came from the room on the left.
The cadets were inside almost before he could move, and Tal had always been pleased with his reflexes. For humans, they were far from human. He pulled the admin with him into the other room.
Ennis Severeth Gilleys and Lord Cardinal Amo were there with Keylinn. She looked unharmed. Amo stood up and took a step back. “What do you think you’re doing? These are my rooms! Get out!”
The Graykey all had their weapons on display. Tal stepped forward and said, “Don’t you recognize me in this uniform, Lord Cardinal?”
The eyes seemed to focus suddenly. “The Mercati’s demon.” Then he gave a nervous laugh. “Demon or not, you’ll never leave the Opal. This is excellent, sir—I asked to have you brought here, and here you stand!”
“Be polite,” advised Keylinn, “or they might shoot you.” She stood up and walked around the chair to join the other Graykey.
The Lord Cardinal glared at Ennis. “You handle personal security. How could they get in here?”
Ennis looked sick. “Are you crazy?” he said to his contract-holder, with no respect at all. “They’re Graykey cadets.”
“And I think they’re upset with you,” said Tal.
Ennis moaned very softly. One of the cadets said, “Should we take the shaman as a hostage?” He gestured to Amo.
“More of a burden, I think,” said Tal. “We’ll just knock him out. Try not to kill him, it would probably cause an incident.”
“You think this isn’t an incident?” asked Amo, backing away from an advancing Graykey.
“This didn’t even happen,” said Tal. “any more than Ennis’s bombs happened. How could we rescue someone who was never kidnapped? How could we take a Graykey you’ll never admit to having under contract?”
Ennis said, “Wait a minute. I can show you how to get out of the center. There’s a security station by the lifts—”
“Don’t tell them!” said Amo.
“It controls all the floors,” said Ennis.
Amo said to Tal, “Don’t do this. I give you my word as a man of God that I won’t do anything to stop you.” Tal ignored him, and the Graykey boy hit him with his silver gun. Amo collapsed to the floor.
“Out,” said Tal, and they all headed for the lifts. Once there, Ennis was pulled against the wall by two Graykey. “Well?” said Tal.
Ennis opened a panel near the lift doors. “Emergency backup for security. Cells can be opened and closed from here.”
The Graykey girl inspected the switches. “Ha! They’ve lost their minds from too much religion.” She pushed some buttons. “It’s all controlled by sound. One coded signal, and all the cells will be open—it should keep the EPs occupied for a while. Of course, there’ll still be Special Security and the City Guard to contend with.” She looked at Ennis. “What’s the code?”
He leaned over and punched it in. No one made any threats to Ennis; clearly they felt it was unnecessary. A high-pitched sound seemed to pass through their bones, and they heard shouting.
“Hurry. They’ll close the lifts in a few minutes.”
Two minutes later they were outside.
They hurried through the admin territory corridors, changing routes each time they found the way back blocked by squads of City Guards. They turned into half a dozen new maze-openings. Five minutes later Tal said, “This isn’t on the maps. We’re lost.”
Keylinn dug an elbow into Ennis’s ribs. He said, “I don’t know this part of the City.”
“Well, you did say the maps were old,” said a cadet. “And that Opal lies anyway about where things are.” Another cadet said, “Sir, I feel I must point out that our contract only has eighty-five minutes to run.”
“All right, you’ve pointed it out.” They forged blindly ahead, reaching dead ends, taking shortcuts through suites of offices and passing startled admins at their tasks. “We don’t have time for this,” said Tal. “By the way, I don’t suppose you’d consider staying on past the end of your contract, for sentimental reasons?”
“Actually we would,” said the cadet. “But the Dean was very specific.”
They opened another door and came to a large chamber with a dozen people in white slave uniforms. From the markings they belonged to the Ecclesiastical Council. They were artisans, working on a statue of— “Good god,” said Keylinn, “that’s Amo.”
“For his death memorial, I hope,” said Tal.
A supervisor in a beige suit looked belligerent for a second, then stood back, apparently thinking the better of it. Tal glanced at his little army, shrugged, and strode to the platform in the front of the room. He stepped up to the statue’s pedestal and announced to the room, without preamble, “Excuse our imposition. We are Outsider terrorists, and we’re on our way to Transport. Anyone here who knows the way to Transport and will guide us there, we’ll take away with us. As you know, slavery is illegal in the Empire.”
The artisans stared at them blankly. Seconds passed. Then one of them, a light-haired boy in his late teens, threw down his hammer and chisel. He said, “I’ll take you.”
A girl with curly hair and a pale face grabbed hold of his arm. She said, “Don’t be crazy. The Guard will kill you. Gabriel!”
He shook her off. “I’m sorry, Terry, good-bye.” He didn’t even look at her; his eyes were on Tal, as though measuring him for honesty.
The
