A Sea of Purple Ink (16 page)

Reese glanced over her shoulder.

Anblin had halted two bookcases from the door and appeared to be polishing a dark leather box.

Reese narrowed her eyes.
He’s just looking for an opportunity to sneak out.

“I don’t understand you,” Joplin said. “Rent?”

The teacup rattled against the saucer. “Oh yes.” The nobleman’s voice sounded impatient. “Some old records show writers as being very adept with what they called ‘time locks.’ An arrangement where such and such a person would have such and such an ability until a previously stated time, or they could hide an ability until a certain trigger caused it to emerge.”

Reese, carefully not looking at Anblin, heard the front doorknob rattle.
Caught you.
She turned around and found the manservant staring at her. His face paled, but he didn’t move from the door.

“What are you doing?” Reese asked.

Silence fell behind her.

Anblin’s gaze darted past her. “Fetching the shipping reports for my master.”

“They’ll keep,” Reese answered. She laid her hand on the hilt of her pistol.

The nobleman’s enraged voice cut in. “I say, this is rather high-handed of you.”

An armchair scraped against the floor. “Thank you, Reese,” Joplin said.

Reese’s stomach dropped.
Don’t say my name in public!
The interview had moved from tolerable to dangerous. She drew her pistol. “Move,” she ordered the manservant.

Anblin dropped the latch as if it burned him and circled back the way he had come, eyes wide.

“I knew it,” the noble brayed. “You two are the ones wanted by the police.” He sat up straight and puffed his chest out. “Get out.”

Joplin turned on the man in the chair. “I still have more questions,” he said. The imperious tone of his voice caught Reese off guard. “How do you break a time lock?”

She tried to see Joplin’s face.
What is he doing?

The nobleman’s eyes flicked nervously toward the gun in Reese’s hand. “I’ll not answer any more,” he retorted.

“Reese.” Joplin ground the word from his chest. “Make him talk.” He stood up, staring down at the old man in hot fury.

The nobleman’s mouth fell open and he turned pale.

Reese froze.
You’re ordering me to make him talk?
Her grip tightened on the gun.
You haven’t changed as much as I thought.

The door latch creaked.

Reese whirled, gun raised.

The latch slid open, seemingly by itself. Then the door swung inward.

Niela slipped inside the room and closed the door behind her. “There’s a policeman in the lobby,” she said, slamming the latch home again. “You need to get out quick.”

A wheezing cry came from the nobleman, and his cup shattered on the floor.

So much for doing it Joplin’s way.
Reese stepped forward. “Make sure no one leaves. Back window.” She registered Niela’s nod and strode to the inner door. “Joplin, come with me.”

The carved door opened into a short hallway. Two more doors led out on either side—one of which hung open, disclosing a view of a neat and tidy bedchamber—and at the far end stood a tall stained-glass window.

Reese holstered her gun and crossed the floor, boots swishing against the tile.

“We can’t leave yet,” Joplin said, hurrying behind her. He slid to the side, placing himself in her line of vision. “I have to find out.”

Reese reached past him and shoved the rusty window latch upward, trying to ignore his vague smell of leather and sweat. “He sold us out.” She dug her fingernails into the edge of the seldom-opened window. “If you want to stay here and get caught by the police, be my guest.”

The king’s eyes narrowed.

Reese tore her gaze from his and pulled the heavy window open. “I’ve been trying to help you, Joplin,” she said. “Why, I don’t know.” She pushed the glass panel against the wall and glanced out at the empty alley below. “I’m not your enemy,” she added, turning to face him.
Not yet, anyway.

23

The king stared back at her, face hard. “Trying to help me? Like in Sea Level?”

Calculations raged through Reese’s head. Too many factors. Too many choices. Overwhelming. “Like in Sea Level,” she replied.
I need to get out of here. Focus.

Joplin’s jaw clenched.

Reese turned away, drew her gun, and double-checked the street.
Any police waiting below?
She sidled toward the corner of the window. The sun had shifted and a few vague shadows lay between the buildings.

A heavy blow struck her arm, and the gun fell to the floor. Reese whirled, heart in her mouth, and nearly collided with Joplin.

The king loomed over her, eyes blazing.

Reese jerked backwards and bumped against the stained glass.

In an instant, the king’s big hands closed over her wrists, and he leapt toward the window.

Reese’s arms straightened and her shoulders screamed in pain. Her knee banged against the window ledge. “Niela!” she yelled, then fell out into mid-air.

The king’s grip tightened around her arms. They flew down the street, sailed around a corner, and rose toward roof level.

Reese’s heart thundered against her ribs.
What is he doing? Is he working with the police after all?
She gave a halfhearted kick.
It’s too long of a drop to pull free.
“So is that it?” she shrieked over the noise of the wind. “You had to come and try to catch me yourself because no one else could?” She clenched her fists and strained at her arms, pulling her chin toward his hands.
Get close enough to bite or kick—

Joplin rolled forward into a steep downward dive.

The motion shook Reese loose. Her arms gave out and she fought to keep from being sick. The side of a building rushed past, leaning drunkenly to one side. The sight made Reese dizzy.

Calculations and ideas streamed by in a frantic swarm, but at the top of the list sat one smug thought.
If you’d killed him before, this wouldn’t have happened.

Reese’s feet thunked into something hard. She felt Joplin slow his speed, then the back of Reese’s head hit brick, and as the stinging died away, she found herself sitting against a building wall, the king’s knee across her legs, and both her arms held in his grip.

Fury slipped through the calculations, overwhelming them. Reese tried to jerk her hands free. “I suppose I should be flattered you caught me yourself,” she hissed. “After what we’ve done for you—”

Joplin forced her arms down, leaning closer until his eyes drilled into hers. “Tell me what you know,” he ordered. His weight shifted heavier on her legs.

Reese struggled to draw herself up. “That you were once a traitor, always a traitor.”
Am I close enough to head-butt him?

“And why is that?” Joplin demanded. He leaned backward, pulling her arms with him. “You know more about me than you’re saying.”

Pain shot through Reese’s right shoulder. “Apparently I don’t know anything about you!” She twisted her upper body, trying to relieve the pressure on her shoulder. “A long time ago I thought you were an honorable man who kept promises.”

Some of the fire drained from Joplin’s eyes. “What did I do?” he asked. “Once and for all, tell me what I did.”

A deep, angry shiver ran down Reese’s spine. “You think I’m going to tell you anything?” she said. “If what we heard in there was true, for all I know, you’ve remembered on your own and are running to the king’s men.” The king was almost on top of her now. The sensation made her chest constrict.

“I thought they were trying to kill me,” Joplin replied, a tinge of hesitation in his voice.

Some of them, at least.
Reese forced herself to take a deep breath.
Get the anger back under control before you give too much away. Think. Think fast.

Joplin’s frown deepened and his gaze dropped to the pavement beside Reese.

I don’t think he’s going to turn me in. He just wants answers. But I can’t give him any without risking—

Joplin looked up. “What was the promise?” he asked. “You said you thought I would keep my promises.”

Reese’s breath caught in her throat, and angry tears threatened to escape. “To not kill my father,” she said. “To let him go free.”

“And I killed him?” Joplin’s eyes widened and an almost guilty expression crept across his face.

Reese bit her tongue for a moment, fighting to keep control. “Your men did,” she said at last.

“My men?” Joplin’s forehead furrowed.

Suddenly, he jerked away. His grip on Reese’s hands broke as he catapulted across the narrow road. Reese caught a momentary glimpse of Niela below him, her face a mask of fury, then Joplin crashed into the brickwork on the far side.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Niela demanded, seizing his shoulders and gravity shifting him into the road. Her voice cracked with anger. She gripped the king’s hair in one hand and pressed the other into his gut.

Reality crashed in on Reese. “Niela, wait!” Reese scrambled to her feet. “Don’t.” She had seen her bodyguard kill someone that way before, imploding their chest with contrary gravity surges. “Don’t kill him.”

Joplin, flat on his back, gasped for air. Blood trickled down his face from a gash near his temple.

Niela glared down at him, back rigid. “You’re lucky she’s in a forgiving mood today,” she hissed. She pulled her hand free from his hair and brought it down beside the other one, keeping him gravity pinned to the ground.

A brief glimmer of calculations began again in Reese’s brain. “Someone might have heard us,” she said. “We need to move.” She rubbed her aching shoulder, trying to make sense of the situation. The fight had drained out of her, leaving her cold and tired.

“And him?” Niela asked.

Reese flinched as she rubbed a tender spot. She avoided meeting Joplin’s gaze.“Put him somewhere safe for now. Out of the way.” She shivered again.
I need time to think.

“We don’t have enough people to keep a guard on him,” Niela warned. She kept her gaze firmly locked with the flyer. He glared back up at her, pain on his face.

The problem sent another line of calculations spiking through Reese’s head. She cringed and closed her eyes.
Not more to think about. Not now.
She was rattled and she knew it. Her head ached with the strain. “Cillian,” she said, eyes popping open. “Cillian tablets.”
I’ll need some myself if this keeps up.
She looked down at Joplin.
He just broke trust. He’s a threat. He’s a tool.
Her head felt as if it would break.
He’s also one of us.

Niela gave a short nod. “Right. I’ve got a couple back in the tunnels.” She tensed, then launched herself into a handstand on Joplin’s chest. As her feet passed her head, gravity shifted, and the flyer slid across the ground. With a quick twist, Niela landed on her feet, still touching her captive, gravity pinning him against the wall. “You going after more tablets?” she asked.

Reese managed a half smile.
You know me too well.
“I think I know where to get some.”
And it will give me time to think.
“Can you manage him by yourself?”

“Of course I can,” Niela snapped. The shifter nodded toward the ground a few feet away. “I brought your gun. It’s over there.” She gave Joplin another venomous look.

The king ignored her and looked straight at Reese. “I wasn’t just a police captain, was I?”

Pain erupted in Reese’s head. Thoughts fluttered about like skeleton leaves.
What do I say? What should I say?
She turned away and picked up her gun.
I brought this on myself.
“I’ll be back later, Niela,” she managed. She took a few more steps, then started down a narrow gap between two tall buildings.

Her heart pounded and her hands felt cold and shaky.
Focus,
Reese told herself.
Focus on the now.
She slowed her steps and deliberately breathed slower. The silence of the passage seemed to magnify her breathing.
One thought at a time.

She unhooked her thigh holster and tucked it beneath her shirt hem.
He just attacked me, and I didn’t see it coming.
Her whole body trembled as she slipped the gun in her pants pocket.
What is he trying to do? He had nothing to gain from attacking me. He knows the police are after him.
She halted halfway down the alley.
Unless he’s been telling the truth this whole time. Which means he doesn’t remember being king.

And that means someone doesn’t want him to remember being king.
A faint breeze rustled down the street and brushed against Reese’s face.
And who would that be? Stryker shot at him. The police sent out the wanted posters. Someone found a writer willing to rewrite the king.
Reese put a hand to her aching forehead.
It used to be me against the police. Not me against the unknown.

Wearily, she pushed onward. She turned a corner and kept walking, keeping half an eye on the road behind her.
Tyrone said I needed to know where I was heading. To plan the game all the way to the end.
Her breathing slowed as she focused in on that question.
How do I want this to end?

With the ban lifted. That much was obvious.
And a royal pardon would be nice,
she added.
Although I’d be willing to let that slide in favor of the first.

A man-powered carriage rattled past her, carrying some noble towards the shipping yards.

I want the ban lifted, and I have the man who can do it.
Possibilities leaped out at her in a rush.
Either I put him back on the throne in exchange for amnesty, or I trade him to the next players.
An image of Stryker’s face flashed through her mind. She shivered.
I don’t think I’d trust the police any more than I’d trust the word of the king.

Reese neared the end of the road. She spotted a group of dockhands and moved into the shadow of an overhang. The vague smell of fish and water hung in the air, a less pleasant reminder of the mists.
First scenario, I have to get Joplin to promise, and then navigate whatever treason the police are plotting. At least the nobility will back up the bloodline king out of sheer stubbornness.

And if Joplin doesn’t agree…
She let the thought sink in. The thought of trading a man’s life away made her feel sick.
But we haven’t got the manpower to tackle the throne ourselves.
Either Joplin would agree to help, or she’d have to go to the rebelling police. To Stryker. Her stomach twisted.
Caught between the man who outlawed me, and the man who tortured my friends.

A handcart rattled past, its bed stacked with wooden crates. The man pulling it grunted and strained, sweating glistening on his bald head.

Reese started in surprise. “Daro?”

The man pulling the handcart peered over his shoulder. In a moment, his eyes lit in recognition and he slowed to a stop. Sweat soaked his rough clothes and water marks stained his grey pants.

This can’t be good.
Reese glanced around the street, then jogged over to the waiting man. “What happened?” she whispered.

Daro straightened. “The king’s men came through here this morning and did all their poking and prying.”

Reese’s heart sank. “And they found something?”

The bald man grimaced. “Nothing but a few unreported cases of wine.” He looked skyward. “Of all things, his wine!” His sharp gaze settled back on Reese. “He was ordered to leave the premises for awhile while they sort things out. I offered to stick around in the background, so to speak.” He tipped his head toward the handcart. “It’s harder work than I thought.”

“Is Tyrone going to lose the business?” Reese asked quietly.

Daro’s face darkened. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think so… but you never know with the police.”

“Where is he now?” Reese asked.

Traces of a smirk sprang out on Daro’s face. “Well, he left me with particular orders to not tell.”

Reese felt a trickle of dread.
What am I going to do now?

“But,” the man went on, “since I’m more of a friend to him than that, he’s back at his old home.”

“You mean his father’s house?” Reese asked. The dread changed to something deeper. Something colder. Fear.

“Yes.” Daro nodded once, then turned back to his cart. “See if you can do anything for him,” he said, stooping. “He’s taking it rather hard.” He lifted the wooden shafts and trudged away.