Deathwatch (The Faded Earth Book 1)(22)
They said their goodbyes and Fisher sent her off with a bottle of whiskey.
When she stepped into the night, the air was cooler than expected. Not cold or even brisk, but a nearly perfect chill that invigorated without being uncomfortable. The thrill it sent across her skin stood in contrast against the deeply rooted ball of fear growing in her gut. Yet she didn’t break stride, walking toward the chapterhouse steadily.
Her senses felt like they were in overdrive. Every sound was clearer, every scent more full and rich, every caress of the night air on her cheeks like silk. On a purely intellectual level, she understood why. People faced with death often became hyper sensitive. It was a survival mechanism. Knowing this fact did nothing to change her experience with the reality of it, which was nearly overwhelming. The volume of sensory stimuli washing over her brain threatened to drown.
A part of her enjoyed it. Had to enjoy it. If she was to die, then this might be her last walk in the night air.
The effect was spoiled somewhat the last hundred yards before the chapterhouse. A wind rose up, stronger than the random breezes, and cycled up in strength by the second. The bright moonlight dimmed as dust clouds whipped into the sky. Avoiding them was second nature for any citizen of Brighton, and she rushed for the safety of the chapterhouse. The irony of seeking shelter in the place where some unnamed killer in black armor might decide she was too much a risk to live was not lost on Beck.
She pulled the loose dust cloth hanging around her neck over her face and ran. Squinting against the maelstrom, Beck made it to the door and put in the code only to wait for thirty seconds that felt like minutes for the lock to disengage.
The visitor’s wing of the chapterhouse was eerily quiet and darker than the last time she was here. Only one light in three was on, and however logical she knew this to be simply because it was night and no one would normally be here, the deep pools of shadow still made the hair on the back of her neck rise up.
“Hello?” she said, the word echoing dully around the thick stone walls.
A scraping footstep answered her as an armored figure stepped out from a hallway. “Miss Park,” it said.
“Yeah,” Beck answered, though it obviously wasn’t a question. “Is something wrong? When I was here before I could hear noise from the other wings. I don’t hear anything right now.”
The armored figure tilted its helmet slightly, a curiously birdlike gesture. “The entire chapterhouse is empty except for us. Well, us and a few of the support staff. Every Watchman who isn’t in a skilled position like our handful of Science division is out on the wall.”
“Why aren’t you with them?” Beck asked.
A tinny laugh filtered through the speaker. “My Guards told me in no uncertain terms that the last time I went out on patrol with them really was the last time. They need their Warden safe. It works out well, since someone had to be here to get you to the Loop. Come. Follow me.”
So, this was Warden Stein. Beck replayed the last minute and tried to decide whether she’d been insulting. It was always so hard to tell. People were complicated. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble.”
Stein glanced over her shoulder, a display of flexibility Beck hadn’t expected of the bulky armor. “We’ll chat more once we’re in the Loop. You’ll need to wait there for your escort. He’s out on the wall right now, so there will be a delay.”
Translation: it wasn’t safe to talk out here, but your questions are allowed. Well, sure. If you’re going to kill someone anyway, satisfying their curiosity represents no danger at all.
They entered the main complex of the chapterhouse, which was startling in its austerity. Beck hadn’t expected grandeur, but rumors of the Watch were legion. After all, they were the ones who ventured into the outside world, robbing it of forgotten treasures and luxuries. They occupied a place of power in Protectorate society, and didn’t the lessons taught to every schoolchild include warnings about the dangers of power? That contradiction lay at the heart of the Deathwatch, at least in the eyes of the citizens, Beck being no exception.
The Watch policed its own and with extreme prejudice. That was known. Those who abused the power given them were not treated kindly. Stories of former Watchmen in distant Rezzes being hung by their wrists on the outside of the wall weren’t the worst of them.
Pale red stone formed every wall, the same printed rock every building within the Rez was made of. Polymer carpets dotted the floors here and there, and she saw a handful of tapestries depicting historical events from the Collapse onward. But other than the usual furniture, the place was bare. No ornamentation of any kind. More surprising was how lived-in it all looked. For all its simplicity, signs of human habitation were everywhere. It was easy to think of the Watch as a faceless, impersonal entity, but the illusion was shattered once you saw a small waste bin next to a worn-out stuffed chair overflowing with the random detritus of daily life. Meal bar wrappers, tissues, and the like.
“Pardon our mess,” Stein said as she keyed open a door to reveal a wide set of steps descending into the earth. “Everyone had to leave in a hurry. We expect the Pales we’ve been dealing with to attack once the storm peaks.”
“It’s kind of nice, actually,” Beck said. “Reminds me you’re people under all that metal.”
The Loop station was nearly thirty feet below the surface, though she knew most of the tube the Loop carriage traveled in was much nearer to ground level. Stein showed her into the car and pulled the door closed behind them. A suit of armor sat motionless inside a cargo cage. Beck studied it for a moment, looking for any identifying mark that made it familiar, and failed. “Is that him?”