Raych Rynax ran up the stairs, but Satrine reached into the pouch on her belt. She had long maintained the habit of keeping dried meat and nuts on hand for Minox. “Here.”
Delmin ate that greedily, and then took a cup of water from Verci. “I’m sorry, it took me so long—I screwed up, it took everything I had to figure out how to get normal-sized, so I had to walk so far.”
“Don’t worry about that, Del,” Kaiana said, stroking his head. Satrine remembered him now—Delmin Sarren, the witness she had interviewed in the fake Thorn attack. Of course, he was the Thorn’s associate.
“Mister Sarren,” Satrine said. “Can you tell us what’s going on?”
He nodded. “There’s a machine down there, that the Brotherhood has built. It’s science and magic and who knows what else. Those statues . . . they’re part of it. They channel the magic, through the spikes—”
“Spikes?” Satrine asked. Saints, were they the same spikes from the Plum murders? “To do what?”
“I don’t know, but it feels . . . twisted. Tainted.”
“I’m confident in thinking nothing they plan is good,” Verci said.
“Same,” Satrine said.
“Where’s Veranix?” Kaiana asked, before covering her mouth.
“I already knew,” Satrine said gently. “What happened down there?”
“Asti was able to stop them using the machine on two people, at least for a bit . . .”
“On two people?”
“Two people were shackled on a platform. And there were two cages with . . . with children in them.”
“Why?” Verci asked.
“I’m not sure, but the numinic flow seemed like it was going through the cages, to the platform. At least what I saw.”
“And Asti?”
“Last I saw, he was held captive. Same with the Thorn, and that big Tarian fellow.”
Raych Rynax came back down with bread and cheese and wine, which Delmin happily took. “Thank you, Missus Rynax.”
“Least I can do,” she said. She looked to her husband. “And what are you going to do?”
He started loading the copper balls into the device he had been working on and gathering a few other tools and gadgets. “I’m going to go after my brother, unless there’s another message from God that says I shouldn’t.” He looked upward. “So this is the moment, huh? Let me know!”
The ground rumbled for a moment.
“Well, then,” Satrine said.
Delmin placed his palms on the ground. “This . . . they’re starting it. And there’s something more going on now.”
“More?” Kaiana asked.
He nodded. “Like . . . like the night of the Winged Convergence. But . . . different. Uglier.”
Verci started packing things in his satchel. “I’m going for my brother.”
“With a plan,” his wife urged. “And not alone.”
He sighed. “Inspector?”
“We both have partners in this,” she said. She took out her crossbow and checked it was loaded.
“Well, then,” he said. “Let’s give you something proper.” He went under one worktable and came up with a case. “A Rynax Boltsinger Mark II. Only one of its kind.”
He opened the case, revealing a gorgeous piece of work. He took the crossbow out and handed it to her.
“Half over again the range of that Constabulary issue, with double strings and triggers. Faster cocking and reload, and steel reinforced enough that you could crack it over someone’s head and not move the aim alignment a hair.”
Satrine looked it over, liking the weight of it in her hands. Even though it was heavier than her usual, it felt right, and she could still use it one-handed.
“Then let’s not dally,” he said, getting his shirt on. He then went into a satchel and pulled on a heavy leather coat, like the ones the patrol used for riot patrol, and draped his bandolier of darts over it. “Girl, you coming?”
“You call me girl again . . .” she groused. She helped Delmin to his feet. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on this one.”
“Back to the tunnels?” Verci asked.
“I don’t think so,” Delmin said. “It’s a lot of twists and turns down there. We . . .”
“Can you lead us to where their machine is from up here?” Satrine asked. “Maybe there’s a more direct way down from there.”
Verci put the satchel over his shoulder, and then put the one device over his left hand, like a gauntlet. “Then let’s be direct.”
Dayne felt nothing but burning shame. What had he become? How had that happened?
And why was the clarity of Crenaxin’s touch so . . . seductive? He almost craved it compared to the confusion and guilt he felt now. Under the man’s influence, everything was simple.
Which meant this power—the same sort of power that he had seen Ret Issendel use, he was certain—was dark and unholy, and must be stopped. He was certain of that. How many of the zealots down here, the people and the altered grotesques alike, were good folk whose souls had been twisted by Crenaxin.
He had to be stopped, and brought to justice.
“Do you know what he’s got planned?” Asti Rynax asked. Dayne was impressed that this small man was undeterred from moving forward, despite the beating he had taken at Dayne’s own hands. He was going through the storeroom, claiming his own weapons, as well as the army sword he had found among the gear.
“Put Welling into the machine?” the Thorn asked. He looked the worse for wear, but he had gathered his weapons and gear, and was back on his feet, eating a sandwich.
“How many of those did you bring?” Dayne asked him.
The Thorn looked at the sandwich. “This was, I think, in Inspector Welling’s bag. Acserian spiced pork. Highly recommend. He might be upset I ate it, but if I can’t get him out of the machine, he won’t care.”
“Put him in what machine how?” Jerinne asked.
“Do they want to change him?” Asti asked.
“Or do they need his hand?” Thorn asked.
“What about his hand?” Jerinne again.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Dayne said, holding his head. “I’m still . . . everything is a mess in here.”
“Yeah,” Asti said, coming up to Dayne. “Listen to me. That mess, you have to just accept that it’s there. You focus on it, you’ll lose everything. Find the thing you can focus on, keep that in front of you. Get the job done, drive forward.”
Dayne understood. There were people
