Breath of Earth (24 page)

“All I know is that the project is run more by Japan than the UP, and it's supposed to end the war.”

“If you have superior officers coming, maybe I
should
talk to them. Maybe they would know more . . .” Her voice trailed away as she pieced the scenario together.

This Thuggee was meeting his compatriots at a critical juncture of the local faults. He'd taken care to kill all of the other geomancers in the city, all the men who could absorb and stop a quake. What if these Thuggees had somehow infiltrated the Gaia Project and knew how to replicate the attacks on Peking, even without Papa? What if they had hold of the missing kermanite, or even another unusually large chunk?

They could simultaneously destroy the city and fill the crystal, if they had the skills of a geomancer.
Mr. Thornton.
Hurting him wouldn't provoke the earth, but if they had other
means to do that, Mr. Thornton could certainly channel energy into kermanite. He wasn't of Ingrid or Papa's caliber, but he was a senior warden for a reason.

Ingrid didn't see any easy option here. She took several deep breaths and steeled herself. “Captain Sutcliff, if you won't send anyone after Miss Rossi and her companion, let me go. Let me try to stop them. I swear to you, I'll come back here afterward to meet these officers. Willingly.”

“The odd thing is, I believe you.” Captain Sutcliff frowned, perplexed at this change. She could have wept again in relief.

Someone rapped on the door. “Captain?”

Captain Sutcliff took a step back from her. “Yes?”

A subordinate opened the door and saluted. His face was eerily white. “Sir, there's an Ambassador here.”

“An Ambassador?” Ingrid echoed. Could it be Mr. Roosevelt? Would that be a good or bad thing, to be interrogated by the very man she was supposed to flee to for sanctuary?

Sutcliff stiffened. “The name?”

“Blum, sir.”

At that, Sutcliff paled. “Her? Of all of them?” He shot a glance at Ingrid. “God help you.”

“There's a woman Ambassador?” Ingrid asked. Of the Twelve, only a few were known to the public, and she'd never heard of a woman named Blum. Perhaps she would be more sympathetic to Ingrid's plight.

“Move along, young man.” A gnarled hand pushed the surprised soldier back. An old woman stood in the doorway. Her back was pole straight, posture regal, though her head likely only came to Ingrid's chest. Silver hair was pulled back into a
bun so tight that the skin seemed strained at the cheekbones. Her pure ivory complexion contained fine wrinkles, but very few. There was no sagging, no ugliness. Dark almond-shaped eyes regarded Ingrid. A black dress hugged her stout form, ermine collar like a mane around her face. With her attire and demeanor, she could have easily mingled with the wealthy throngs at the Damcyan.

This was no mere Ambassador, though. Ingrid could taste the woman's presence like an electrical charge to the air. She
emanated
magic.

“I'm Ambassador Blum. You are Captain Sutcliff, I assume? And why were you alone with this young lady?”

The captain looked absolutely flummoxed. “Questioning her on sensitive matters, Ambassador. I didn't expect you to arrive until morning.”

“Sensitive matters, hmm?” The woman eyed them up and down. Ingrid flushed at the scrutiny.

“Ambassador, due to your, er, fluctuating condition, I must verify your identity.” Sutcliff unsheathed a knife from his belt. As he swung the blade, she extended her right arm as if to help.

His blade snapped against her wrist. Literally. The metal shattered without piercing the skin. Ambassador Blum didn't even recoil.

Ingrid did, curling back and half swallowing a scream. Metal shards pinged on the floor.

“Satisfied, Captain?” Ambassador Blum sounded bored. She flexed her wrist to show the jade ring on her finger.

Ingrid's eyes widened. The signet ring of an Ambassador.
An enchantment prevented any act of violence that would part the ring from the body. Only a quorum of seven Ambassadors could remove it.

Blum's heady magic didn't radiate from that, though—she was something more.

Captain Sutcliff dropped the broken knife. The hilt clattered on the floor. Tucked at his back, his fingers trembled, and he clenched them in a fist. “My pardon, Ambassador.” He bowed.

Blum flicked her fingers. “I'm accustomed to such tests.”

A soldier stooped to clean up the pieces of the broken blade.

With Sutcliff clearly rattled, Ingrid seized the opportunity. “Hello, Ambassador. I'm Ingrid Carmichael. I would like to—”

“I am not terribly concerned with what you'd like to do, Miss Carmichael. I represent the Unified Pacific and its interests, not yours. Though you are fortunate that I was already on the West Coast in anticipation of announcements from Baranov. I shudder to think of what fool things this captain would have done otherwise.”

What kind of operation was going on in Baranov? That was Russia's chunk of wilderness attached to Canada.

Ingrid looked to Captain Sutcliff. His countenance hadn't improved much. His jaw was clenched, nostrils flaring as he breathed. What did he know about Blum that Ingrid did not?

Ambassador Blum followed Ingrid's gaze to the captain. “You're dismissed, for now. Leave your men to take shifts here during the night.”

“My pardon, madam.” He bowed with the stiffness of a clockwork toy soldier.

“We ladies require privacy.” The Ambassador returned her piercing gaze to Ingrid, and like that, Sutcliff was dismissed. The door shut behind him with a sharp click.

“First things first. Did this Captain Sutcliff offend you or put his hands on you in an inappropriate way?” The heavy presence of sorcery felt almost as if the air itself cowered from touching Blum.

“Inappropriate way? He brought me here! That's inappropriate enough. I'm supposedly under protective custody.”

“Well, yes, he would have to term it so for the paperwork. I'm not limited in that way. I can just take you.” Ambassador Blum smiled brightly. “We should have grabbed Sakaguchi months ago and nipped this in the bud, but, well, politics and all. The man does have friends.”

“Mr. Sakaguchi hasn't done anything wrong.”

“Really? Hmm.” Blum craned her neck up, eyes narrowing. “I don't know about this room. We have four floors above us and a basement below, but I need to completely survey the place. Excuse me, child, while I inspect the premises.”

Ambassador Blum turned, black skirts rustling. The backside was gathered in a massive bustle that was a solid thirty years out of fashion. With spry steps, the old woman left.

Ingrid pushed herself away from the table. There had to be a way out of here. Being captured by soldiers was bad enough, but an Ambassador carrying some unidentifiable magic? Blum was one of the most powerful people in the world.
Here
. Wanting
her.

The walls were solid brick, painted in that garish green. Ingrid pried off her slippers. Beneath the cool floor, tension
lingered in the earth. Power was dampened here, without any blue visible; the Ambassador was right, there had to be a basement below, and likely substantial metal in the structure of the building. The place had only been built a few years before and probably had a steel frame. Better for surviving earthquakes, though less conductive for geomancers. She slid on her shoes.

No windows. The ceiling was high, maybe twenty feet, and the vents were also out of reach. She tested the door. Locked. She had just released the knob when it rattled and the door opened.

“Checking on the lock, yes?” asked Blum. She sounded far too perky for this late hour. A soldier stood behind her, his young face skewed in worry.

“Well, yes.”

“I'm not surprised at all. Not in the least. You're not going to be meek, paralyzed like a kappa kept from water.” Blum reached into a satchel she hadn't held before. “Child, look at me. You have something on your nose.”

Ingrid looked up. The white cloth came at her face. She had a split second to gasp and try to lurch away, but Blum was far faster. A pungent, sweet odor slapped her nostrils.

The world went black.

“Set her down there. Gently now. That's a good lad.”

The voice sounded fuzzy and distant, as though it echoed down a long tunnel. Ingrid tried to move. The pull of gravity had quadrupled. It took concerted effort to open her eyelids. Ambassador Blum loomed over her, her visage blurred as if a dozen diverse faces overlapped.

“There! You're back with us already. You were only out for about two minutes. I know it feels like longer, but chloroform does that, even in tiny doses. I daresay, I'm rather proud of how I've adapted the formula. Mine is especially effective. Far superior to that
commercial
stuff. Tsk, tsk! Don't try to move around. It won't do you much good.”

Ingrid immediately tried to move around. Her hands were secured behind her back, palms pressed together and heavy. She had a hazy sense of the earth's heat and something prickled her arms. It took her a moment to recognize it as grass. She
forced her chin up, only to have her head loll to one side. Stars glimmered through a torn shroud of clouds.

“You're shackled right now so you can't escape or hurt yourself. That's why I took care to knock you out.”

Ingrid blinked as the fuzz in her brain began to lift. Blum's face steadied, resuming its proper form. “What are you doing?” The words emerged as a drunken slur.

“Waiting a few minutes for you to be completely conscious. You're not feeling nauseous, are you?”

Ingrid shook her head. The motion made her mildly dizzy.

“Good.”

A gag was stuffed in her mouth.

“I wanted to make sure you weren't going to be ill. Chloroform has that effect on some, and I don't want you to choke to death.”

“Can I be of assistance, ma'am?” asked a male voice.

“No, Private, just stay close as a precaution. I need to set up my things.”

Ingrid blinked some more and her vision clarified. She recognized the red brick of the police building, though she had never seen it from the back. A horse whinnied nearby. Three autocars gleamed in the dim light cast from the back porch. A high wooden fence was topped by barbed spirals. Blue vapor drifted over the ground as it had all day.

Something whined on the far side of the yard. Ingrid squinted, trying to identify the source. Sources, actually.

“There are dogs over there,” Blum said. “I don't
like
dogs.” She glanced over her shoulder and bared her teeth. The whining stopped with a soft squeak.

Ingrid had seen the station's dogs while passing by before—tosa inu, Japanese dogs bred to fight. God, what was this woman?

Ambassador Blum opened her large satchel and pulled out boxes. She hummed as she worked, opening lids and setting out items. A kermanite lantern illuminated the space. Ingrid winced at the glare, then did a double take.

One box contained a portable seismograph, an extraordinary one in brass, steel, and orichalcum. She had never seen one so small and delicate. The auxiliary's had been the size of a desk, with its roll of paper the length of her arm. Mr. Sakaguchi would be in ecstasy to see such a miniature model.

Blum set a scroll on the tiny spindle and fit a vial of ink into the pen brace. “Curious.” She leaned over the device. “It's already picking up mild readings.” She frowned over at Ingrid. “Well, I'll test it soon enough.”

She unsheathed a tanto. A blade of six inches glimmered in the piercing beam of the lantern. Ingrid dug her slippered heels into the grass to try to stand. Instead, she flopped over like a sea lion. Her hair tumbled loose and shivered in a coarse black veil. Through strands of hair, she saw Ambassador Blum approach. She screamed into the gag and kicked out.

Blum glided around Ingrid's flailing feet with the finesse of a stalking animal. “I do apologize. I hate to stain a dress this beautiful.”

The lightning-quick blade stabbed Ingrid's left calf. Pain knocked her flat on her back, a scream raging against the gag. Pain wavered and dappled her eyesight in black as heat poured down her leg.

The earthquake rumbled to the surface with a flare of cerulean. A wave of pressure caressed her skin with warmth, a far more welcome heat than the blood pouring down her leg. For a moment, it felt as if the earthquake lifted her up, rolling and tumbling her like a body in the surf. Her back arched. Pain was forgotten. The world tingled, cozy and comfortable, like Cy's arms wrapped around her and his lips pressed to hers. She moaned against the gag.

The wave faded. Pain bludgeoned her senses. Her moan turned into a pitiful sob.

“Oh my, oh my. I guess I should take care of this, and rather quickly.”

A hand pressed against Ingrid's shoulder, the small fingers strong as orichalcum. Ingrid managed to turn her head. Blum had brought over one of her boxes—no, not a box. A cage. Through the wire thatch, the downy white fur of baby rabbits almost glowed in the darkness.

With her free hand, Blum reached into the cage, and with a deft move, snapped a kit's neck with a piercing pop. Her wrist sinuous, Blum coaxed the animal's invisible life energy as though coiling yarn around her fingers, and then brought her hand over to Ingrid.

The dark Reiki lapped against her skin. A strange, dank smell flashed in her nostrils. The pain faded so quickly that she gasped into the gag; Dr. Hatsumi's practice had never been so potent. She tried to move her legs. They tingled madly, as if the nerves had fallen asleep and didn't quite work.

“You see, Ingrid—may I call you Ingrid, as we'll become so well acquainted? I'm the only woman Ambassador of
the Twelve. We're numbered like the apostles, or Charlemagne's paladins. I fancy myself as the Peter or Roland of the lot, simply because I'm a bit of a romantic.” Another neck snapped, and that cool energy ebbed around Ingrid's leg. “The men, they know a lot, you see, but some don't know how to respect a woman. They think a woman in power is unnatural—as if they are any judge of that, short as they've lived. I'm underestimated all the time—which grants me the advantage in any fight. You're treated much the same, aren't you, my dear? A secretary of the Cordilleran Auxiliary! What a waste. I imagine they had you do their laundry and shine their shoes.”

Ambassador Blum knelt on the grass beside Ingrid. “When your name came up, the men were ready to dismiss you as
just
a woman. I knew better. I was the one willing to ask, ‘What if?' Your father was such a peculiar man in his gifts. Up close, you even smell like him.”

Blum's nose lowered to almost touch Ingrid's cheek and she inhaled. The Ambassador's breath warmed her skin. “Strange. You both smell of hot rocks.” She pulled back. “You deserve respect, Ingrid. Now, is the pain all gone?”

Ingrid nodded, one ear pressed to the grass.

Ambassador Blum twisted around. “The seismograph is still reading some activity in the earth below. The captain's initial telegraph said you were injured and healed after that blast on Sunday. Small wonder there've been a few earthquakes reported here, with all the other geomancers dead. Floral Reiki should be confined to children learning the craft. Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into the satchel. A lump of
kermanite mounded from her palm. It was nearly the size of the rock Ingrid sold to Cy.

Ingrid made to roll away, but her skirt yanked her still. Blum had stepped on the cloth. The kermanite pressed against Ingrid's helpless hands, and like that, the heat siphoned away. She ground her teeth together. Damn this woman. Ingrid stared at the ground, willing another earthquake to happen, willing for the power to break free.

“Now, the private here will help you stand up. Take it easy with that leg. You'll be limping for a day or so yet—I didn't want to heal everything! However, the pain won't be an issue, not with the way I knit your ki together.”

Blum's thought processes confounded Ingrid. The Ambassador had no restraint on her tongue and acted strangely
honest
. She seemed the opposite of a sly politician, the sort Ingrid would've expected in such a role.

The soldier grabbed Ingrid by an elbow and pulled her upright. “My pardon, Madam Ambassador, but will the gag remain in place?”

“For now. I'll come up in a few minutes and supervise her as she drinks and uses the facilities, but yes, I fear she'll need the gag. She'll cause a fuss if she can. The police should have a cell ready for her upstairs. The guard can show you where.”

Blum cupped Ingrid's chin and forced their gazes to meet.

“Ah, pet, don't look so miserable. That captain was myopic in his treatment of you for entirely the wrong reasons. He operated with the information he had, poor as it was. Now I'm here to attend to you.” Her lips pressed together. “So many distractions right now. Bothersome, when plans must be adjusted.
My rock
must
be swiftly recovered. Mr. Sakaguchi and his Chinese allies must be found as well. It would be helpful if the rock and men were all in the same place, but in my experience, humans are rarely
convenient
. Well! I'll parley with Mr. Sakaguchi soon enough. I imagine he has interesting tales to tell.”

Ingrid breathed through her powerless anger, her mouth parched against the gag.

Blum sighed and smoothed her skirts. “Best to get you indoors before another seism. Being upstairs should mean very little energy conducts to you, Ingrid, and if it does? Do remember that there are apartments and businesses in the floors above. It'd be a shame if a pressure wave caused the building to collapse. A steel framework is better than mere brick, but it would still topple like twigs. Ah, yes, I know all about what you can do. I studied your father, and I have a hunch you're his superior in geomancy. It'll be our secret, yes? The men would never understand. In the morning, we'll breakfast together and chat. I'd like to learn more about you.”

Ingrid almost wanted that talk. Almost. Blum was the nexus. Ingrid desperately wanted to know about Papa, and this Gaia Project, and why this woman thought of a horse-sized piece of kermanite as her property.

Ambassador Blum patted Ingrid on the cheek. “Let's go inside. You need your rest.”

Ingrid closed her eyes and shuddered. As much as she wanted to know more, it wasn't likely to happen, not if the attack at Mussel Rock succeeded.

That might be a mercy for the world. The loss of San Francisco
would be minor compared to the devastation Ingrid could cause if she lived in Blum's custody.

Once Ingrid was in a cell, Blum was generous enough to secure her arms in front of her body. “Restraining hands at the back is terribly taxing on the shoulders. I'd rather the life energy focus on mending your leg and other wounds.”

Any efforts to talk while taking a drink had been instantly squelched. “Leave your arguments and rage until the morning. Try to say a word more and I'll gag you again, and you'll have to stay thirsty.”

A few seconds later, Ingrid was gagged, this time with a scarf. She didn't miss that irony. Blum tied it so the knot pressed like a rock against Ingrid's jawbone.

Ingrid's anger festered beneath her skin just as it had every time she poured coffee for the wardens, or filed paperwork for mindless hours, or wore those damned house shoes while most everyone else wore socks.

She'd finally earned respect as a geomancer, only for this result.

No one else occupied the prison corridor. Her cell sat in a far back corner and looked like any generic jail shown on the cover of a dime novel. Red bricks lined two sides, while the others consisted of black iron bars dinged by use and abuse. A lone light bulb flickered like a weak heartbeat.

Blum released the hobbles from Ingrid's legs and secured the door. On the other side of the bars, she paused to tug at a chain at her neck. A pendant emerged and lay at the level of her breasts. It was a small white ball, shaped like an onion.
Blum fondled the orb while staring at Ingrid. Ingrid stared back. Blum's behavior was purposeful, and Ingrid had the sense she was supposed to realize something and react, but her brain and body were too overwhelmed to cooperate.

“Well, the game's no fun when the opponent's too tired to play. Do try to get some sleep.” With a small sigh, Ambassador Blum tucked the pendant away. Her brisk steps echoed down the hallway.

Ingrid's attention turned to her cell. Chains attached an iron cot to the brick wall. She sat on the fingernail-thin mattress and pressed her bound hands to her face. The mattress seemed only slightly worse than Cy's bed.

She knew Cy, Fenris, and Lee wouldn't leave the city without her. Cy had vowed that they were in this together and he'd never leave her behind, even knowing the danger involved if she were injured.

They'd try to save her, and when the Thuggees attacked, they'd die.

That area South of the Slot was so prone to liquefaction that any significant seism would render dirt the consistency of soup. Fenris and Cy's workshop abounded with flammable materials, as did so many buildings around. Cooking fires alone caused so many blazes throughout the city. This—this would be so much worse.

Well, Ingrid wouldn't burn to death, not by fire. More likely, the power overload would cook her internal organs within her sack of skin and kill her within a minute.

The church down the block tolled out twelve times. Five hours to go.

Mr. Sakaguchi's advice stayed with her. She couldn't go out without a fight.

She brought her fingers to the gag. The scarf was tied so tightly she couldn't even fully wedge the tip of a thumb beneath it, and the mere effort tore at the corners of her mouth.

Growling deep in her throat, she wormed off her slippers and winced as the mending muscles in her calf contracted. She eyed the cell. The space was about ten feet by ten feet. Not huge, but it was something. She backed up to the bars and took a deep breath. The brick wall opposite looked nice and solid. Good. She sprang off of the bars, forcing her leg to work, forcing herself headfirst into the bricks.