Indigo Rain (8 page)

The room he’d tossed her into looked like a now-unused office, barely six feet across on each side. It was dark, but light came in from a small window about six feet up, as well as seeping in from under the door—well over an inch of space there. The door had a lock on
this
side, as would be expected for an office. She wondered if they’d put the padlock on because they expected to use it as a cell, or just so it could double as storage.

“—kill her now and be done with it,” the second man’s voice came. He was speaking low enough that she suspected he didn’t think she could hear.

“Not without his say-so,” the first said. “We’re supposed to get her to talk.”

“So go in and get her to talk.”

“I have to want to not kill her first.”

She tugged on the rope. It was a little loose, but not enough to pull free. She couldn’t even slide her wrists around. Much. She could
almost
curl her fingers enough to pull at the rope. Wincing with the stress, she forced them to curl just that much more, shifting her wrists up and down until the rope slid as far down one wrist as she could get it. She could prick the claws of two fingers into the rope fiber. She started pulling at it, first frantically, then patiently. Methodically.

“—was a married man!”

“One we heard rumors about all the time,” the second man responded, tone exasperated.

The rope shifted; the fibers were shredding more than shifting. She couldn’t tell if it had gotten looser or tighter. Roulette gritted her teeth and kept at it.

“I can’t believe you think she’s telling the truth!”

“It’s easier to believe than any of the other options, and you know it.”

They continued to argue, moving far enough away from the door that she couldn’t make out their words.

Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she kept picking at the rope. Her fingers and claws began to ache dully; her wrists felt like needles had been jabbed into them. She lost track of time to the point where it might have been another minute or another hour before the rope slid—just the barest amount—down her palm. She started working it down, ignoring the pain of the squeeze.

The voices outside returned, now with a third she recognized. Massey.

One of her hands popped out of the rope loop. She brought her hands in front of her and quickly pulled it off the other one, and rubbed her wrists for a few seconds.

First things first. She stood up, walking in what she knew to a human would be complete silence—bare paws were an advantage over hard shoes—and locked the door from her side, turning the bolt as softly as she could.

“—haven’t finished questioning the bitch yet,” the first man was saying, sounding sulky.

“She doesn’t know anything,” the second man said.

“Are you sure Jerald didn’t tell her more than he should have, thinking she wouldn’t be alive to share the information? We now have a sad abundance of evidence that he was as careless as he was perverted,” Massey responded.

“Mostly sure.”

“‘Mostly’ isn’t ‘sure,’” the first man snapped.

Massey sighed melodramatically. “She’s not going anywhere now, I trust? Let’s review what you two need to do.”

Roulette glanced at the window.
She’s sure as hell going to try to go somewhere now.
But if they were about to talk about their plans, reveal whatever plot Lisha had spent weeks worrying over, she’d better wait. If she
wasn’t
going to die tonight, she’d damn well get out of here knowing what these bastards were up to.

The voices moved farther away, and she heard paper moving. The drawings on the wall. Dammit, she couldn’t see—

Wait. She checked her pockets and found the little recording orb. Crouching, she set it down just by the crack in the door and leaned toward it, touching a finger to it. “Record,” she whispered.

It started to glow, and she pushed it just under the door.

“The best connection point we’ve determined is here.”

“In the crawlspace?” The first man’s voice sounded tired.

“Yes, in the crawlspace. The main water junction would be a little obvious, don’t you think?” Massey didn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “The timer’s preset for half past noon. You just need to get the bottles up there, hook them up, and run the tube to this pipe.”

More arguing went on. She pressed her head to the ground and tried to look out to see what the recording ball might be seeing. She could tell the men were standing by the drawings, but that was it. She hoped it had a better view than she did.

“—don’t like this,” the second man was saying, tone sharp. “We’ll win the vote without this.”

“We’ll win it
here,
but we’ll lose it nationally,” Massey said. “Yes. This is a desperate, terrible measure, but this is a desperate, terrible time. Our country will
die,
Ferin. Something else will be in its place, something with the same name but unrecognizable, controlled by a distant throne and hostile to patriots.”

Roulette made a face. He was a good speaker, she’d give him that.

“You’re the only two among the Brothers I’ve trusted with this operation. We
have
to show the lengths that they’ll go to.”

“I understand,” the second man said softly enough that Roulette could barely hear.

“Are you in or out?” the first man growled. “Because ‘out’ is with
her.
” Roulette didn’t need to see to know he was pointing toward her prison.

“Is there a light there?” the second man said puzzledly.

Roulette’s ears folded back, and she rolled the orb backward. “Stop,” she hissed at it. It went dark. She hurriedly slipped it back in her pocket, then looked up at the window. Now or never.

The men walked toward the office, footsteps echoing.

She put her hands on the window sill, dug her claws in and pulled herself up. It wasn’t big, but she might be able to get through. It
looked
like it opened.

The padlock outside clicked open, and she heard the latch being lifted.

She pushed up on the window, and it didn’t budge. Was there a crank? No. It probably just hadn’t been opened in years, and she didn’t have the leverage to unstick it. She needed to use both hands.

Someone tried to open the door, jiggled the doorknob, and tried harder. “It’s stuck,” the second man’s voice came.

Gritting her teeth, Roulette brought one foot up, then the other, digging her toe claws into the drywall. Then she shoved the claws on both hands into the window’s inner wooden frame and started to push. Pain lanced through her feet as she forced far too much of her weight onto her toe claws alone.

The doorknob rattled again. “It’s not stuck, you idiot, she’s
locked
it,” the first man said with alarm.

Shoving up with all her strength, she moved the window up just an inch, only barely choking back a scream of pain as she felt one of her claws rip.

A solid
slam
sounded against the door as one of the men threw his shoulder against it. It held, for now.

Roulette got her fingers under the window and pushed it up the rest of the way, then stuck her arms and head through it. An alleyway. She started to wriggle through.

Another
slam
from inside, and the sound of wood splintering.

She pushed with her hands, until she was half-in and half-out. This would be tough. Taking a breath, she pushed again, twisting around so she was sitting on the window sill, then pulled her legs through and dropped down more roughly than she intended. When her right foot hit the ground the pain was strong it blinded her momentarily.

The door inside slammed open, followed by curses. “Outside!” People running for the exit.

She looked both ways down the alley. Openings in both directions. The warehouse’s front door would be to the right. She sprinted to the left.

Halfway down the alley, she passed by another building’s back door; she could smell freshly baked bread. A restaurant? She tried the door; it was locked. Someone had to be in there, though.

It might not be someone friendly. But she didn’t have time to look for a second option. She banged on the door with both fists. “Help!”

Someone opened the door; before she even saw who it was she threw herself inside. It wasn’t a restaurant, but a bakery, with two startled humans staring at the bedraggled, dirty raccoon woman who’d just burst in, bleeding from one foot. She hated to think it, but she’d have much rather have surprised non-humans.

“People kidnapped me and I just escaped and if they find me they’re going to kill me,” she said breathlessly. “Please help.”

They kept gawking, but a third man hurried in, another human, portly and mustachioed with thinning black hair. “Kill you? Calm down, miss. You can’t—”

She heard footsteps in the alleyway, and her ears folded back. She spun around and locked the door behind her. The sound of someone trying the door came just a second later, followed by sharp knocking.

The bakers all looked at one another, and remained silent.

The footsteps took off at a run.

“Here.” The older man pulled up a cushioned stool and set Roulette down on it. “Alfon, get the Guard.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I don’t—it’s—it’s hard to explain. Do you know where the Pan-Species Aid Society is? Just off Andersen?”

“Sure,” one of the assistants said. “It’s just a few minutes away.”

“Could—could you go there? Please? Get Tiran. Or Gregir.” She hesitated, then sighed inwardly. “Or Lisha.”

“Tiran, Gregir, Lisha,” the assistant repeated, and looked at his boss.

The older man nodded, waving the man toward the exit. Then the baker crouched down, lifting up Roulette’s injured foot.

“Is the claw missing? I’m afraid to look.”

“No, it’s just torn, and your toe pad—pad’s the right word, isn’t it?—has a cut. I’ll get a bandage.” He stood up and walked over to a cabinet. “What’s your name?”

“Yes, that’s the right word.” She looked at her foot more closely, and saw only a bloody mess. “I’m—” She paused; if she hadn’t been so trusting, particularly of humans, she would never have been in this mess. But if he was with the Brothers she was already screwed anyway. “Roulette.”

“Like the game in Orinthe, hmm? I’m Indre.” He returned with a wet cloth and gauze, and started to wipe her foot clean. “You were really
kidnapped?
”

“I really was.”

“What happened?”

She shook her head. “I had to climb up a wooden wall and climb out a window. Quickly.”

Indre grunted, and set the cloth aside. “I think your foot will be fine in no time.” He slowly wrapped the gauze around her toes. “I know the Pan-Species Aid Society is controversial around here, with the politics these days. But they do have a lot of friends. I give them leftover bread twice a week.”

As he finished, a bell rang from the front area, and the remaining assistant walked out. Both Roulette and the older baker looked up.

“We’re looking for an animal woman,” a voice came—that of the second man who’d been holding her. “A raccoon. Did you see her?”

“No,” the assistant said.

“That’s them,” she hissed in a whisper.

The older man silently stood and offered his hand to her, motioning her under a steel work table. The floor underneath was dusted with flour, but there was room for her to crouch there.

“She just robbed us. We’re from the warehouse just next door on Smithfield. You know how fast those animals are—we couldn’t catch her. We can just take a look around, though.”

Indre was walking toward the front now. “We can’t let customers in the back,” he said, sounding sincerely apologetic. “Tell me about what happened.”

“Her footprints end at your back door,” the first man’s voice came angrily. “We know she came in here.”

“The back door’s been locked,” the baker said. He didn’t add
and I don’t appreciate your tone of voice,
but it came through clearly. “You’re clearly mistaken. Just calm down. I can get you something to drink if you’d like.”

He was trying to stall them, but that wouldn’t work for long, and she didn’t know when—or if—Alfon would be returning with reinforcements. She glanced around, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. A rolling pin, maybe.

“Look, that’s nice, but we don’t have time for it. She’s a thief and she’s getting away.”

“There’s a Guard station just two blocks from here. Why don’t we give them a visit about your robber?”

“We can handle it ourselves,” the second man’s voice came, less angry than just tired. “Look, we’ll just take a minute to see if she’s hiding somewhere, all right?”

“No, I’m afraid it is not all right. No customers in the back. Period. If you’ve been the victim of a crime, let’s report it.”

Roulette could hear everyone’s breathing in the silence that ensued for several long seconds. Then footsteps came toward the kitchen.

“I said ‘no.’ You’re not behaving like victims. Perhaps you’d better leave now,” Indre’s voice came, sounding firm. She could tell by the next noises—the solid thump, the pained wheeze, another footstep—that they’d just shoved him aside.

More noises. A fight between both of them and the assistant? She crawled out as quickly as she could do while still moving silently, and risked a peek around the corner. Yes. Keeping herself hidden but straightening up, she looked around quickly and found her weapon of choice. She grabbed a rolling pin and brandished it like a club, then winced as too much weight settled on her injured foot.

The second man disengaged from the fight and started to enter the kitchen, then stopped momentarily at the sight of the raccoon. “Let’s not make this hard,” he said, keeping an eye on the rolling pin.

“Let’s make it as hard as possible,” Roulette growled.

He tried to move toward her; she kept the rolling pin raised threateningly. When he made a grab for her she spun out of the way—on her good foot—and slammed the pin into his shoulder in the same movement. He cursed sharply, staggering.

She grinned, breathing a little hard. Maybe dance moves would work in a fight.

The man stepped back, then darted to the side away from her, turning back around with a chef’s knife in his hand now. Roulette’s ears folded back.