Quartz Read Free

sheets tucked in, boots lined up by the door.” Morvis’ head drooped. “Furin
never
made his bed unless there was an inspection.” He shuddered.
    Berlioz broke in. “Others were taken too. Men I trusted, men who’d been part of the resistance since the earliest days. Taken who knows where. They found us. I don’t know how. We were so careful.” His voice cracked with despair.
    “The information,” prompted Rafe.
    Berlioz grabbed Rafe’s collar. “You have to help us! I won’t tell you anything unless I have Oakhaven’s support against the Protector and his cursed Fist.”
    “Calm down.” Rafe gently detached the man’s grip. “We are your friends and cousins. I’ve been authorized to offer you ten thousand marls through Clearwater banks—”
    “Marls! We don’t need mere marls. We need weapons, an army at our backs!” Berlioz’s shoulders slumped and he stopped. “It’s too little, too late,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “It’s all for naught.” When Rafe took his arm and tried to urge him on, he didn’t respond. The lantern dangled from his slack fingers and Morvis snatched it before it fell.
    A coward and a strong man crushed with failure. Was there any difference between them now? These were not the allies Rafe had hoped to find.
    Morvis fiddled with the lantern. Unshuttered, an orange eye glowered through the darkness.
    Right through a gap in the otherwise boarded-up window.
    “Don’t!” Rafe grabbed for the lantern. Morvis recoiled.
    Whistles ripped the air.
    Fear and relief chased each other over Morvis’ face.
    “You—” Rafe’s fists clenched. Morvis backed away, but Rafe hit the floor instead. Bullets sprayed around them; there was a stench of sulfur in the air. Rafe struck out at the lantern, knocking it out of Morvis’ hand, and sent him tumbling into the seating area. Oil hissed and sizzled. Rafe smothered the flames with his sleeve.
    A body thudded to the ground.
    “Berlioz.” Rafe crawled over to the other man.
    “I’m done for,” gasped Berlioz. “The resistance is no more. It’s up to Oakhaven now.” He thrust something at Rafe, something sweaty and papery that crumpled in Rafe’s hand. His breath, tainted metallic with blood, hissed in Rafe’s ear, “Pyotr. Find Pyotr in Moon Alley.”
    “Here!” shrieked Morvis. “He’s over here!”
    “Halt! I order you, in the name of the Protector, to halt!”
    Rafe, crouched over, ran blind towards the stage. Unknown things jabbed into his thighs and stomach, caught his ankles, pinched his toes. Something twanged as his foot hit it. Curses filled the air behind him.
    “That way!” Morvis, shrill and indignant. “He went back…” Gunshots cracked. Rafe hunched, making himself a smaller target, and slammed into the stage. He grabbed the edge, scrambled up, and ran across. He half-fell, half-rushed down the stairs at the back.
    Good thing he’d memorized a map of this place.
    A headlong flight down a corridor, then down some more stairs. Acid air rasped down Rafe’s throat and scoured his lungs. His muscles burned.
    Rafe tripped, rolled down the last flight of stairs and clanged into metal. Pipes—huge, rusty, long disused. Water pipes, sewer pipes, heating pipes.
    The way underground.
    Rafe groped, following the tangle of pipes to where they sprung out from the ground. A large grate was set in the floor. Rafe tried the latch but it was rusted shut. He jiggled the grate, but the weakened hinges still held. He found he still held the paper Berlioz had given him in one slick hand and thrust it into a pocket.
    Footsteps on the stairs, light and confident. Only one person. Rafe pounded on the grate in renewed frenzy, clawed at the latch and hinges. Then he turned and rose in one swift movement, lunging at his pursuer, committing his whole body to the tackle.
    He found empty air. Rafe took the fall on his shoulder and crashed into a pipe. His temple clanged against metal. Fireworks exploded in his head.
    “Very