Steal the Sky

Chapter 13

The doors to the station house were opened as the sun climbed over Aransa, inviting the citizens inside to file their complaints and concerns. A long line had already formed, and many of them Ripka picked out as sympathizers of Thratia come to put in a good word for the would-be warden in an official manner.

Ripka grimaced and slowed her pace. She was in no mood to plaster on fake smiles for the sake of diplomacy. “Let’s go around back.”

Banch heaved a relieved sigh and they skirted the sprawling building, coming up to the locked door through which prisoners cleared of their wrongdoings were spewed back into the city. Ripka produced the key and led Banch into a dark hallway. It was cool within, the yellowstone still holding onto the chill of night, and the cooking aromas of early morning Aransa had yet to penetrate. Ripka took a deep breath, felt some of the tension ease out of her temples.

They slogged past dozens of wood and iron doors, ignoring the plaintive voices behind them. Banch peeled away from her at the end of the hall, going to check his new notices, while Ripka followed the same weary path she did every morning to check on the late-night intakes. Drunks and domestic disturbers, mostly. The average scum of any city, skimmed from the top for the evening and dispersed back into the system the next morning.

She found Taellen on a stool beside the drunks’ communal cell, his head lolling and his eyes forced wide as he fought off sleep.

“Morning, watcher,” she said, hiding her smile as he jerked upright and nearly kicked over his stool.

“Captain! I, uh, didn’t hear you come in.” Taellen straightened his skewed seat and pulled the loose flaps of his coat tight.

“That’s all right,” she said, and resisted the urge to tell him not to worry – that all of them had dozed off watching the night holds at least once. She’d leave that information for his colleagues to share when they were ready to accept him fully as one of their number. “Any standouts?”

He handed her a stack of files with far more care than was necessary and gave her a tight, albeit belated, salute. “Nothing too out of the ordinary. More than usual, due to Commodore Ganal’s party. The guards down at Milky’s had a rough night, seemed the clients were more interested in fighting than fucking.” A sunset spectrum of embarrassment painted Taellen’s cheeks. “I mean, uh, they were a rowdy lot. Ma’am. Uh. Sir.”

Ripka hid her grin behind an opened folder. “Sir is appropriate, watcher. And as for Thratia, remember she carries no title here. She is no longer a commodore.”

While Taellen stammered an apology she took the intake sheets to a nearby desk, dipped a pen, and began the wrist-aching process of signing off on each morning release. If she got them all out before the eighth mark of the morning, the Watch wouldn’t be obliged to supply their breakfast.

Rabble released, she abandoned Taellen to the task of ushering them back to the street and turned toward the station’s meager break room. There she found a cup of thick black tea fresh from Mercer Agert’s purloined ship awaiting her, curls of steam wafting from the anise-dark surface. Thank you, Banch. She scooped it up and stole into the interrogation room to drink it in silence before anyone else had need of her.

A single lamp was left from the night before, the second missing. Sighing at the negligence of her staff, she struck it to life with her flint and then settled back into one of the two thick chairs. The one with considerably less bloodstains.

Ripka eyed the other, her thoughts drifting to the woman they’d arrested at the warehouse. Banch seemed convinced they would have to make her questioning hard to extract anything of value.

The rusty stains on the back of that chair turned her stomach. Ripka glanced away, pushing such unpleasantness from her mind. Those stains were old, from a time well before her tenure as watch captain. She would not add to them. It would not come to that. They had the sensitive, and he had already proven anxious to be free. It wouldn’t be long before he talked. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and sighed.

“Hullo, Rip old girl.”

She bolted upright, upending her tea, and whirled on the holding chamber door. There, framed in iron and oak, was a face familiar enough to make her whole body tense with tightly reined-in rage.

“What in the sweet skies are you doing in my holding cell, Honding?”

“Why, you put me here last night. Funny, you never did tell me what I was charged with. Mind giving me a recap?”

She scowled and righted the still dribbling teacup, gave the wood a perfunctory swipe with her sleeve, then abandoned the effort. Another stain on the desk wouldn’t matter. “I did no such thing. How did you get in here? If one of my watchers brought you in they’d throw you in with the rest of the night intakes.”

“Special treatment just for me? Oh Rip, you shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t.”

A heavy knock sounded on the door, followed by an equally heavyset watcher. Ripka clenched her teeth. It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing – Belit was heavy with child, the sharp edges of her coat pushed wide by the swell of new life. How long had Belit been working like that? Ripka had known the woman was pregnant, but things had clearly progressed faster than she’d anticipated. Or had she simply forgotten? Blue skies, she really was losing her connection with the Watch as a whole. Ripka forced herself to calm.

“What is it, Belit?”

“Pardon, captain, I didn’t know you had a man in the box.”

“Neither did I.”

Belit frowned at that, confusion wrinkling her forehead. Ripka sighed and snapped her fingers twice to move her along. “What do you need?”

“Banch sent me to warn you that Mine Master Galtro demands you speak with him right away.”

“Yes, fine, thank you.”

“Do you need anything, captain?”

She scowled at Detan. “Yes. The intake records for this room from last night.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Belit?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Talk to Banch and arrange for someone else to take over your patrols until well after the child is born – whatever you need.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” A real smile flitted across the woman’s face as she saluted and stepped back into the hallway.

“Nice lass. Bit big for the ole uniform though, don’t you think? I bet it costs the city extra, all the fabric.”

“None of your business, Honding. Now tell me what happened last night.”

“Why? You know it! You picked me up on Thratia’s airship and marched me in here like a common crook.”

“You are a common crook.”

“I am not common.”

She was considering the merits of throwing her teacup at him when Belit returned with the files. She shooed Belit away and flipped through, looking for the number of Detan’s current cell. Sure enough, there was his name neat and clear, and on the appropriate line a signature that looked very much like her own, but most certainly wasn’t. Her jaw clenched. She snapped the folder shut and strode closer to the cell door.

“I’m afraid you were detained by an imposter.”

His brows furrowed. “Are you sure? She looked an awful lot like you. Well, she smiled more, but I just figured you were drunk.”

“That. Was. Not. Me.” She slammed her palm against the door, the impact startling her back into calm. Detan just blinked at her.

“Oh!” He slumped forward and let his forehead rest against the bars, then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Was it the doppel?”

“Quite possi– wait. Who told you about a doppel?”

Detan poked her in the face.

She jumped back a step and brought her hand up to her cheek, feeling the spot, and found nothing at all changed. “What in the pits was that for?”

He shrugged. “Just making sure. And rumors are wild about a doppel loose in the city, haven’t you heard them?”

“More than rumors, I’m afraid.”

“It is true then! Marvelous! I can’t believe I met one and never knew it. She was just like you Ripka, all pissy and… er, nevermind.”

Tapping the folder against her thigh, she crossed back to the desk and sat on the edge, facing him. He smirked a little, privately amused by some trivial nonsense, and she ignored it. What did the doppel hope to accomplish, putting this rat in her nest? Was it just out to prove it could do what it liked, or was it a personal threat? She frowned while she thought, wondering if she’d rustled the creature with her interviews the previous morning.

“Did she say anything at all to you?” Ripka asked.

“Not much, just the usual niceties of being arrested. Speaking of, can I get some breakfast?”

“Not now.”

He looked positively defeated by that, and she wondered at the depth of the stomachs of men.

“She’s the suspect in the warden’s murder, isn’t she?”

“It’s possible. It’s a she? Are you sure of that?”

Detan deliberated for an infuriating moment. “Yes. Well, she looked very womanly… It’s possible otherwise, but I would lean toward it being a woman. Why? Have you interviewed anyone?”

“Too many. The whole seventh level is filled with retired sel workers and none of them have seen anything at all. Not that they’d tell me about it if they did.” She caught herself before she could divulge more information. Detan may sport a charming demeanor, but he was a scoundrel of the highest order. For all she knew, he was working in league with the doppel and his presence in her cell was a plant to squeeze Ripka’s knowledge level from her. The thought rankled.

She stood, squaring her shoulders. The early hour and comfort of the station house had made her sloppy, it wouldn’t happen again. She flicked the folder to the desk and stalked forward, shutting down her expression, drawing her thin brows into a sharp angle. The knot of his throat bobbed as she approached.

“Tell me,” she said, pressing her palms against either side of the window that framed Detan’s face. She leaned forward, giving him no room in which to hide his expression, his tells. A small muscle at the corner of his lips twitched in surprise. She suppressed a smile. “When did my impersonator first make contact with you?”

She kept her voice stern, leaving no room for argument.

He glanced sideways and down, searching for the right answer. She slid a hand over to clutch one of the bars in his tiny window, let him see her knuckles go white from the strength of her grip. Let him believe she was just barely keeping a handle on her anger and liable to take her frustrations out on him at any moment.

“Er,” he stammered, flicking his gaze to her hold on the bar. “I was speaking to Thratia on the deck of the Larkspur when you – I mean she – so rudely interrupted. Had a coupla’ your blues with her, too. Were a bit rough with the old ties.”

This time she did smile. “Describe them.”

“They, uh, weren’t Banch? Pits below, Ripka, all you blue coats look the same to me – no offense. The one who had my lead was a bit shorter, slender, male. Younger lad was trailing him, pimples about the lips. We didn’t exactly exchange family histories, you take my meaning.”

“The imposter,” she pressed before he could gather his wits. “Tell me what she said. Leave nothing out.”

His face scrunched in genuine thought. “Went on about the weather–”

“No she didn’t,” she cut him off, recognizing the slight rambling lilt his tone adopted when he meant to distract. “Try again.”

A flush crested his cheeks. She allowed herself a moment to savor having flustered him. “I confess to being in a state where my memory was somewhat lacking. Thratia was not cheap with the booze. I might, have, ah, made a comment or two about your – that is to say her – legs. Though I hardly see how you can hold that against me.”

“That is what you said. What did the imposter say? Stall once more and I’ll lock you up until the next new moon.”

He blanched, then pursed his lips, as if tasting what he were about to say next. “She said some people needed a reminder of her reach. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I’m starting to see the reason now. That is all I can recall, captain, I swear it.”

That, at the very least, had the ring of truth about it. “Very well. If anything else comes to that selium-filled head of yours, report to me immediately.”

He looked thoughtful, and for one mad, desperate moment she considered asking him what he thought of the whole mess. Luckily for her pride, Banch interrupted and poked his head into the room.

“Someone to see you, sir.”

“Galtro can wait.”

“It’s not Galtro. I’ve got a man here who says you have his friend locked up somewhere, but I can’t find him in the files.”

She crossed back to the desk with an exasperated sigh. “That’s because I have them. Send him in.”

Banch stepped aside, and Tibal shuffled into the room, looking scruffier than ever now that he was out of his fete attire. “Begging your pardon, Captain, but I think you have my friend somewhere in your holdings.”

“Tibs!”

Detan stretched his arms out between the bars and waved them about. “Save me, Tibs, they’re starving me!”

“I rather think you should be familiar with that notion, sirra.”

Ripka plunked down in the clean chair and flipped the file open. She sought out the appropriate release paper and signed it with a flourish. “Take this and get him out of my sight.”

Tibal took the paper and bowed as Banch came over to unlock the cell.

“Honding,” she said.

He froze in the open cell door, eking his foot forward so that it couldn’t be closed again without trouble. “Yes, watch captain?”

“You see any sign of the doppel, you come to me. Immediately.”

He snapped an overly formal salute. “Yes sir, happy to serve, sir.”

“I mean it, Honding. No delays. Now get gone.”

He blinked, startled, then shook himself and disappeared out the door with Tibal. Banch hovered a moment, concern on his overly broad face, while she drummed her fingers against the desk with undue force. “Want me to get you more tea, Captain?”

“Too late for that, Galtro is waiting.”

She left the interrogation room behind with the distinct feeling she was missing something.

As Ripka stepped out of the interrogation room, Galtro stormed down the hall, his eyes bloodshot and his fists clenched. She drew a deep breath and took the opportunity to fortify herself. She squared her shoulders, clasped her hands behind her back, and tipped her chin up. At her side, Banch did the same, and she found the effect much more intimidating when hung on his expansive frame.

“Watch Captain Leshe, I must speak with you immediately.” His voice sounded like an over-tightened string, wound with anxiety, not anger.

“Of course, mine master. Please come this way.”

She led them through the catacomb twists of the station to the cool, quiet confines of her personal office. The captain before her had kept his office toward the front of the station on the second floor, overlooking the central hall so that he could keep a sharp eye on all the comings and goings of the place. Ripka had found the noise too distracting, the stern watchfulness damaging to her team’s morale. Complaints had gone down since she’d moved to the back of the first floor. Maybe she was just too far away for anyone to bother bringing them to her. Either way, it suited her just the same.

“Would you care to sit?” She gestured toward the fresh chair she’d had brought in after the old one had collapsed beneath poor Banch without warning.

“Not at the present, captain. I am too distressed by far.”

Ripka walked behind her desk and opened her drawer to take out a small pad of paper. She sat, dipping her pen, and poised it over the blank sheet, presenting him with the perfect picture of professional calm. Despite the fact she felt like thwacking him on the back of the head and telling him to get on with spilling his worries. “May I make a note of this conversation?”

“Yes, yes.” He waved a hand and opted for the chair after all, throwing himself down with a thud. “Certain suspicious people have been seen wandering around the Hub, and some young devils have been busy darting about the place spreading unrest. I saw no less than three posters in support of Thratia on my way out of the station this morning, three! If Thratia’s thugs can enter the Hub at any time they like then I fear for my well-being. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“I do, but surely you have your own people to handle this?”

“Hah! Hardly. They are too worried about upsetting the younger lads by intervening. They fear a strike if they crack down, and I fear my head on a spike if they don’t. Most of all, captain, I worry about the distraction. If the sensitives are busy thinking about this nonsense then they aren’t moving the selium safely and efficiently. Accidents could happen. I would rather have my head on a spike than an accident.”

She twisted her pen between her fingers, thinking, shunting aside the urge to throw everything she had at this mess to protect Galtro, and to the pits with professionalism. She couldn’t lose him too, not so soon after Faud.

“I am short-staffed as it is, but I can spare you three personal guards, no more. To keep excitement down, I can explain them as a standard thing for those in the running for the wardenship. But, to do that, I will have to offer the same concession to Thratia.”

“Fine, very well.” He shrugged. “I doubt she will accept them anyway. And if she does then we will have ears and eyes by her side, eh Leshe?”

She smiled. “My thoughts exactly. Now, Banch here will assign you your people.”

Galtro’s eyes flicked to her sergeant, a little crease between his brows. “There’s something else I’d like to speak with you about.”

Ripka frowned, her mind marching ahead through all the tasks she had yet to complete today. “Will it take long?”

“It might…” His stern face fell, bushy brows turning inward in disappointment. The expression wrenched at her heart, but she couldn’t comfort him here, even if it meant making him feel as if she were blowing him off. Not now, not with Banch nearby. She trusted her sergeant, of course, but she must seem to be impartial in all things. Especially now that the rule of the city hung in the balance.

“I am very busy at the moment…” she attempted, willing him to see between her words.

He leaned forward, placing his palms flat on her desk. “One of my sensitives has gone missing. Good lad. Worked the fourth line. None of his line mates have seen hide nor hair of him in two days. I have no proof of anything, he could just be drunk in a brothel somewhere, but it’s possible…”

Ripka felt her face twist in a grimace despite her attempt to remain impassive. Galtro sat back, brows raised. “You know of this?”

“Scrawny lad, pale hair, doorknobs for elbows?”

Galtro leapt to his feet and slapped a hand upon her desk with enough vigor to rattle her ink well. “That’s him! That must be Feter! Is he injured?”

With care she laid her pen aside, forced herself to forget that this man who was her friend was about to become very, very angry with her. “It is good to know his name, he hasn’t told it to us. He’s well, if indignant. We arrested him smuggling weapons into Aransa with a known associate of Thratia.”

The color bled from Galtro’s face, his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides as if he were grasping for something solid to hold onto. Despite her resolve, guilt wormed its way into Ripka’s heart and made her queasy. She leaned forward, trying to look open, understanding. Deliberately she spread her palms out to either side and patted the air. “He’s young, and Thratia’s people can be very persuasive.”

“I want him released.” Galtro’s words fell like lead, one after the other, offering no room to argue.

“He was caught in a smuggling operation, mine master, I cannot release him until we discover what he knows.” She flicked her gaze to Banch, who was doing everything he could to look like a blank wall. The boy was on the verge of talking, if they lost him now… It would be hard questions for the woman. Ripka hoped Galtro couldn’t hear the soft waver constricting her throat.

“I’ll front money against his release, for the good of the city. He is young, watch captain, and if he has anything to say I’ll wring it out of him. But Aransa needs him back on the line. Now. Our production is down as it is, what with one pipe suffering a clog we can’t get clear and the pipe’s so-called investor, Grandon, dragging his feet to get it fixed. We need all hands.” He leaned forward, and this time it was fists he pressed against the desk. “You should have come to me immediately.”

“There was no way to be certain he was yours,” she said, but the protest was weak and she knew it. Any able-bodied sensitive without a pilot’s imperial contract not working at the Hub was a rogue who should be hauled in and immediately disclosed to the mine master so that they could be put to work. She should have told him. But then, she had known what he would do.

“Very well. Go with Banch and he will release the young man into your custody. If he tells you anything, Galtro…”

He waved a hand through the air. “You have to eat sometime. Come by my apartment later tonight, where we can be assured of privacy and better wine. I’ll have everything I can for you by then.”

“I’ll come by after I’m off duty.”

Galtro nodded, and Banch ushered the man out. When the door was closed she pressed her palms against her forehead and groaned, not so loud as to be overheard. Without the boy… Banch was right. They needed answers, and the woman had proved taciturn at best. Still, there were other ways. There must be. She would find them.

Ripka reopened the drawer she had pulled the notepad from and grimaced. Her emergency money pouch was missing.