The Alchemists of Loom (Loom Saga #1)(56)
“Did you have any doubt?” He wasn’t even winded.
“When it comes to you, I have nothing but doubt.” Ari glanced over her shoulder. He had a few cuts that were already healing and half his sleeve seemed to have been blown off, exposing cut muscle beneath. “Did you shoulder a shot straight on?”
“They weren’t expecting it.” Cvareh stood at her side, looking at the ledger she was assessing. She was impressed, but he saved her from saying so when he pointed at the list of names. “Shouldn’t we just call out and ask for them by name?”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Yes, because no other prisoner would claim to be someone they’re not at the prospect of escape.”
“Point taken.” He turned, leaning against the table and closing his eyes. “Sounds like we’re alone.”
“For now,” she agreed. “Though more will be here soon.” Her eyes fell on the names she had been searching for. Arianna dragged her finger across the page, checking the dates they were imprisoned against when she met Florence. It matched. “But we have who we need.”
The floors of the tower that were eye-level with the cells had only slats for windows. The wider ones were at the top, where a guard could survey both prison and sea without being visible. Arianna looked out over the compound. Shouts and calls were starting to rise from inmates who realized something was amiss.
“There.” She pointed at an enclosed tunnel on the ground. Bloody everything was enclosed so the guards were never visible to the prisoners. “Run down the Tower and get halfway through that tunnel. Use this.”
“How?” Despite his confusion, Cvareh accepted the disk she passed him.
Arianna ran his fingers over the alchemical rune Florence had etched onto the surface of the bomb. “Here, focus your magic here. Imagine it heating, melting.”
“Right.” He bolted for the stairs.
“And make sure you’re a good distance away when you do!” Arianna called after him.
“Count on me!” he shouted back.
Arianna gripped her golden line tightly. That was the dangerous thing. The longer they spent together, the more she thought she could.
Hopping up on the windowsill, Arianna glanced down, finding numbers 127 and 138. Unfortunately, the prison was too well run to put partners in crime next to each other. But they were at least close. She set her sights on the higher of the two, her line shooting out and latching to the bars of a cell just above.
The shouts of the offended prisoner whose cell she used as an anchor point were drowned out by the rush of wind in her ears as she leapt into the open air. Her winch box whirred, pulling her up as she arced across the length of the gap between the inner tower and the cells. Kicking out her feet, Ari tumbled onto the narrow spiraling walkway, her cord unhooking and retracting into its spool.
“Falling airships, woman!” the girl behind the bars exclaimed. “The Vicar Raven know you got that setup? Because I’m thinking she may want a schematic.”
“Do I look like someone who’d work with the Vicar Raven?” Arianna turned her cheeks.
“Unmarked? Be careful or they’ll lock you in here too. You’ve too much talent for them to just kill. They’ll try to break you first.” The girl grinned madly. She folded her hands behind her back, swaying from toe to heel.
“Dead men don’t lock doors, Helen.”
“Guard killer and you know my name? Aren’t you just the epitome of mystery?” The girl laughed and shook her head. Hair that Arianna presumed was once the color of snow hung in dingy, matted chunks around her face. No one ever praised the floating prison for its treatment of inmates.
“Add, ‘the woman who broke you out’ to that list.” Arianna unrolled a strip of tools attached to her hip, setting on the lock. She whistled to herself. “Now, what Rivet built this?”
“A master, I think.” Helen watched in amusement. “Some of the other Rivets here have tried. You have tools, but I don’t know if…”
Arianna tuned her out. The lock had a closed front, no keyhole. All screws and connectors were concealed within, making disassembly difficult. The key slot was thin and flat, which Ari presumed to mean the keys were like cards embedded with a series of notches that depressed tumblers at the opposite end of the lock box.
She had two more explosives on her, but she really didn’t want to waste them. It was likely that she wouldn’t have another opportunity for Florence to restock before they fled into the Underground. And using a bomb assumed it would damage the lock enough to crack it without injuring the prisoner within.
First things first, she had to get into the lock to disengage it. Fortunately for her, this wasn’t a job that required discretion. She ran the pads of her fingers along the seams, searching for a weak point in the welding. The prison’s inners had been exposed to the sea and salt air since its construction in the early days of Ter.4, and if there was one thing metal didn’t like, it was the combination of time, moisture, and salt.
Her nails fell into a hairline groove on the side—a fatigue failure. She went for her thinnest golden tool, driving it into the crack and twisting the flat head, widening the gap. Keeping one pin in place, she reached for a second, repeating the process hastily until the front was halfway off. Unfortunately, the top part of the weld proved to be much stronger.