It took her four days to reach Kiva. Abbee didn’t see any bears. A pack of wolves stalked her for a time but ultimately decided to leave her alone after she stuffed at least three of them full of bolt thrower bolts. She learned that the bolt thrower hit targets in thick underbrush in the dark. She didn’t even have to see very well. All she had to do was hear something, point her arm in its direction, and wish it dead. The bolt thrower did the rest. Even so, Abbee spent three nights sleeping in trees.
She knew she was approaching Kiva because the ground took on a steady incline. Late afternoon on the fourth day, Abbee exited the forest at the base of a grassy hill. It stretched up for at least two kilometers, ending at rocky cliffs. Kiva sat at the top, arrayed across the cliffs and overlooking the ocean on the other side. It was smaller than Akken by a third but looked more majestic, because everything was built from brilliant marble.
The continental road followed the hill upward, twisting on its way with a dozen or so switchbacks. Abbee watched a train climbing the road, slowing down at each curve. Ten carts. She didn’t worry about it being Thad’s train. He was on his way back to Akken already, or maybe Veronna. Those cities were too far away to get to and come back in four days. Abbee ran straight up the hill and beat the train to the city. She waited outside and followed the train into the cliff wall, through one of several tunnels leading to the train yard.
The yard was built inside the cliff, much like Akken’s train yards beneath the escarpment. Kiva’s train yard was a third of the size, with about a dozen berths, yet was the grandest one of all. Kiva in general did grand as a baseline with its marble. Lots of big lights, echoey footfalls, and wide train berths. The yard was roomy. Most train yards looked like a combination of a big basement and a warehouse. Kiva’s train yard looked as if they’d put it in a bank lobby.
Abbee got a few startled looks coming in through an entry tunnel. Foot traffic typically approached the city via a road at the Southeast Gate. Abbee ignored the looks. She walked up a gangway like she belonged here, intent on strolling right into the city. When she walked past the last berth, she saw a familiar train. She glanced up.
Thad stood alone on the lead cart. He stared at her in astonishment.
Abbee felt like an idiot—she had her hood down. She couldn’t believe he and his train were still here. They should be gone by now. It cost trains money to remain in a berth longer than two days. Abbee flicked up her hood and hurried past Thad’s train.
“Hey!” Thad shouted.
Abbee moved faster. She hustled up the gangway, through a wide hall, and around the first corner. She didn’t know where it went, but she had to break line of sight with any of Thad’s drovers. She hadn’t seen anyone on Thad’s train other than Thad, but Abbee couldn’t take the chance. If anybody tried to grab Abbee after she’d hiked through the woods for four days without a bath, she’d shoot them in the crowded hall. That would earn her a visit from the Kivan constabulary. They were like a cross between Akken constables and Veronna House soldiers, with a healthy dose of cynicism and a dollop of corruption. They kept the peace and were very good at it, but sometimes they were the ones breaking it in the first place.
The first corner Abbee found led to an alley behind a row of canvas-backed shops. She reached the end and glanced around a stall selling meat pies. Abbee didn’t see Thad anywhere in the crowd. The food next to her smelled incredible and set her mouth to watering. The stall had a line. She considered cutting in but didn’t want to make a scene.
A buggy stopped on the opposite side of the hall and discharged a passenger. Abbee hurried across and signaled the driver. He looked her up and down and grimaced. “I’ll carry you,” he said, “but you have to pay extra so I can clean the seat after. You’re filthy. Where are you headed?”
Abbee considered her destination. She hadn’t been to Kiva for years but remembered the name of the inn she and Ipsu had stayed at. “The Lighthouse Inn.”
The driver frowned. “Nobody stays there anymore.”
“Why not? Does it not have beds?”
“Well, it does, but it got a new owner a few years back, and I’ve heard he’s a bit of a crank.”
An uncrowded inn sounded great to Abbee. “I’ll chance it.”
The driver nodded. “Up to you. I can take you there for eight coppers. Sorry—extra for cleaning. You’re a bit, well, dirty.”
“Sure,” Abbee said.
She dug into her money pouch and came up with the coins. She handed them over and climbed into the seat. Still didn’t see Thad. She was about to ask the driver to hurry but closed her mouth. She remembered her harrowing trip through the streets of Akken on Orlen’s buggy. She was in a rush but didn’t care to chance this driver being Orlen’s cousin or something. The buggy driver turned around and trundled across the underground hall. Abbee remembered a big ramp with a bunch of switchbacks climbing up through the cliff interior. They didn’t go that way. The buggy driver veered to the right instead, toward a dead end with a large, open room.
“Where are we going?” Abbee asked.
“To the Lighthouse,” the driver said, “like you said.”
Abbee knew Thad was a speaker. Did he know people in Kiva? Was this buggy driver a convenient plant? Maybe this was a trap. “That looks like a dead end.”
“That’s the lift.”
“The what?”
“The lift,” the driver said. “When was the last time you were here? The lift’s been here forever.”
Abbee didn’t remember any kind of lift. She was about to demand they stop, but she saw another buggy ahead of them go into the room. More foot traffic entered the room and waited. If this were a trap, there were a lot of other people in on it. Seemed like a lot of effort, and if someone knew Abbee was coming, there were less complicated methods of apprehending her. Abbee let the driver steer into the big room and roll to a halt. Oil lamps in the corners cast many shadows.
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A man standing next to them inhaled. He frowned and looked at Abbee. He wrinkled his nose and turned away. Abbee knew she stank. In Akken, she wouldn’t get this kind of treatment, but Kivans were big on personal cleanliness. She supposed living around glorious marble all day did something to people. Made them feel more important.
The door to the big room rattled shut. Abbee heard a clank, and the entire room shuddered. She felt momentarily heavy. That passed, and the whole room shivered, and every second, another big clank. Abbee realized this entire room was a lift. Mechanical, not powered by movers. She’d seen one in Akken a couple of times, but smaller and moving dishware, not in a cliff wall, moving four buggies and two dozen people. Abbee wondered how this lift worked without any wizards involved.
“What is that awful smell?” a woman asked from the other side of the room.
Abbee felt eyes on her but kept her hood up and ignored the rising crescendo of affronted murmuring. She was tired and anxious and spent the ride keeping her breathing level.
“There should be a first-class lift,” the first woman complained. “What’s the point of a suite cart if I have to cap it off with this experience?” More murmurs of agreement from the crowd.
The lift gave a loud clank and stopped moving. The door rattled open, and fresh air rushed in. Everyone exited the lift in a hurry. Abbee’s buggy backed out and turned around. She shielded her eyes from the sudden sunlight. The lift opened into a large square with considerable foot, buggy, and carriage traffic. A large canopy off to the right led back down underground, into the cliffs below. Abbee recognized it as the old ramp down to the train yards.
The buggy rattled across the square and merged onto Cable Street, the main thoroughfare running the entire length of Kiva. Abbee watched the city flow past. Short side streets branched off like irregular ribs on a long snake. Kiva was only three hundred meters wide in its thickest spot. The few buildings taller than three stories were heavily reinforced against the frequent sea storms that raked the city. Lots of decorative flags and bunting hung along their route. Even grand marble grew monotonous when an entire city was built from white stone.
The Lighthouse Inn was on the northeastern edge of the city, on a narrow side street off Cable. The inn was perched on the cliff’s edge, overlooking the coastline, with an empty lighthouse tower at one end. Heavy storm shutters hung next to narrow windows. The building had fallen on hard times. The inn had a porch built from rough pine boards, and it looked unstable. The front door was crooked. Abbee wondered why the buggy driver hadn’t suggested better lodging, even when telling her that nobody stayed there anymore. Abbee realized that she looked similar—she’d fallen on hard times and couldn’t afford luxury.
The buggy rolled to a halt in front of the rickety porch. Abbee slid off the seat and waved her thanks to the driver. He took down his availability flag and rolled away. Abbee suspected he was done for the day. It was early evening and getting dark.
She climbed the steps. They seemed solid. Abbee paused at the top and watched the street from her vantage point. The inn was at a dead end, and traffic was light. The buildings nearby held a collection of shops with apartments on the upper floor.
Satisfied no eyes stayed on her too long, Abbee walked into the inn. She remembered a front room with several tables and a desk off to the left, and a kitchen in the back. It was the same layout. The tables and chairs looked the same. So did the curtains on the windows. Everything looked dusty and in need of replacement. The room was empty save for an old man sitting behind the desk, writing in a ledger. Abbee assumed he was the innkeeper. He had a mane of white hair and a face gnarled by wrinkles. He wore a thin coat with loose threads in the stitching.
The innkeeper looked up through bushy eyebrows when Abbee came in. Squinted at her. “You lost?”
“Is this still an inn?” Abbee asked.
“It is,” the innkeeper said.
“And do you have a room available?” Abbee knew he did—the place was empty.
He sighed. “I do, but only if you use the bathhouse first.”
“You got hot water?”
“Plenty.” He pointed to a sign hanging on the front of the desk, listing the fee structure for the inn’s rooms and services. Everything was twice as expensive as the Red Lion in Ellerton. “You got coin?”
“Yes,” Abbee said. She pulled out enough coins for the night, a bath, and a hot meal. She’d have to sell one of her gems if she stayed longer. She might switch inns, but that was a task for tomorrow. Tonight she was tired and wanted a bath, food, and a bed. She handed over the money. “Do you always greet prospective clients this way?”
“The ones who look like vagrants.” The innkeeper took the coins and counted them. He closed his ledger with a thump and stood up. “Bathhouse is that way.” He pointed at a doorway in the far right corner of the room. The innkeeper walked toward the kitchen. “Come back when you’re done,” he said over his shoulder, “and I’ll have your food ready. Don’t expect a three-course meal, though. This isn’t that kind of establishment.”
Abbee glanced at the man’s boots. While scuffed, the leather was good, and they were finely made. They looked expensive. Everything in the place looked ready to fall apart, but not the innkeeper’s boots. “I don’t care what you cook, so long as it’s hot.”
***
When Abbee returned from the bathhouse in damp yet somewhat cleaner clothes, there was a woman sitting in the front room, knitting. Scar across her nose. She was old. Black hair shot through with gray. Mid to late sixties at least and dressed in faded woolens, with a couple of plain rings on her fingers. Empty jewel settings. During her time as a bridgie, Abbee had learned to spot easy marks. This woman was not one of them. As dangerous as Abbee was, she got the impression this was a person she shouldn’t cross.
She also looked familiar. Abbee tried to place her. Couldn’t. She didn’t remember running into her the last time she’d been in Kiva, but that had been years ago with Ipsu. Abbee knew it was going to bother her until she remembered.
The innkeeper poked his head out of the kitchen. “Sit wherever you want. Your supper’s almost ready. I hope you like fish.”
“Fish is fine as long as it’s fresh.” Abbee chose a table against the back wall, facing both the front door and the woman knitting.
“Benefits of living on the coast,” the innkeeper said. “Fish is fresh. What do you want to drink? I’ve got wine, ale, Kivan whiskey for the brave, water for the weak, and—”
“Whiskey,” Abbee said.
Maybe the innkeeper would part with more information if he thought she was getting tipsy. Spill why his inn was deserted and broken down, yet his clothes were strategically ragged. Abbee also didn’t know if the innkeeper was any good at cooking. Kivan whiskey was strong and would burn away any of the man’s culinary sins.
The innkeeper came out of the kitchen with a glass. Dark amber liquid sloshed as he set the glass down in front of Abbee. “It’ll be a few more minutes on the food.”
Abbee picked up the glass and sniffed its contents. Her eyes watered. Kivan whiskey. She drank it in one pull.
The innkeeper arched a brow. “I’ll be back with your food.” He walked back into the kitchen.
Abbee set the glass down and paused. Felt dizzy. Woozy. She blinked, and the room spun. The table in front of her got bigger and smaller, as if there were bubbles in the world, growing and contracting. Abbee rubbed her eyes. Tried to. Her arms were too heavy to move. Her fingers felt fat and covered with gauze. Mote wisped from her wrists. Her head lolled to one side, and she slumped forward.
“How much did you give her?” the woman asked.
Abbee couldn’t look up. She couldn’t move her head. Her mind was sluggish, her thoughts jumbled. Abbee felt some glimmer of alarm but couldn’t figure out why. The woman’s voice. She knew it from somewhere. It was important that she remember.
“I slipped in the little bottle you gave me,” the innkeeper said.
A chair scraped. “The whole thing? I said a few drops.” The woman’s voice sounded far away.
Crushing darkness closed in around Abbee, and she passed out.