Camille VI: The Liminal Traveler

Camille took care to keep her pace measured. Sprinting away from a charity event would make her look guilty at best and incompetently terrified at worst.

Deep breaths. A retaliation was accounted for in her plans; indeed, it was a crucial phase of them. Goad the Avalon traditionalists to a breaking point, and then wipe them off the political map in one fell swoop with the force of legitimacy behind her.

Good for Luce, and better for me.

All Camille had to do now was meet up with him, explain the next steps they were to take, and perhaps put on a quick show of begging for forgiveness, if he were too shortsighted to understand the benefit of it.

After they’d erected another gallows on the beach in the image of the late Governor’s tyranny, though, it seemed likely that Luce wouldn’t need too much convincing. Just as planned.

She ducked into a tunnel entrance just outside, wading through a crowd emanating out to find the source of the commotion. Smart ones should be headed in deeper.

Orange light flickered from the blue stone, candles, lanterns and even hearths, where Luce’s workers had dug chimneys up to the surface. As well insulated as an underground pathway could be, ventilation was apparently a huge issue otherwise.

Really, it’s an issue now. The smell of roasting fish, while overpowering, was insufficient to cover up the inability of so many in the crowd to bathe. And to think, I just saw dozens pouring back out to the surface. It’s usually worse.

Adding to the discomfort was a high-pitched chirping noise that only grew louder the further Camille walked. But Whitbey’s thugs will have quite the time grabbing me here if they try anything. It was a fairly direct path to her destination, too, though a horse on the streets above would have been faster, assuming it didn’t slip.

Good luck finding me amidst all this clutter, let alone making your arrest.

Camille even passed a few market stalls, selling clothing and food and jewelry and… Books? That reckless salesman is letting their pages be permeated with foul odor each minute they spend down here. None of them looked too valuable, but still… Camille had once spilled water on Mother’s third volume of the Grim Desert history and had the rest of her glass poured over her head for her trouble.

Books deserved respect. History deserved respect.

They hacked away at the stones my mother placed to keep this city clean and pleasant. A massive favor, once King Romain had enticed them back into the fold. Camille had never gotten the full details, and it seemed rather too late now, but a part of her still twinged with disdain seeing it reshaped and settled like this, dragged down to something base.

It was a small part, though.

People had to do what they needed to survive, and keeping these tunnels a family secret stood in the way of that. Not everyone had a home that could survive this. Even for those who did, it was no small thing to live one’s life alone inside, every trip forth carrying a risk of freezing to death.

Something clicked into place with the noisy chirping as Camille passed its source: a bard manipulating a large box with a hand crank and a harpsichord’s keyboard. The machine King Harold brought when he infiltrated us to orchestrate my fall. When the bard lifted her hand to reveal the lettering on the wood, though, it read: This Pulsebox Created by Edith Costeau.

Camille smiled, imagining Magnifico’s smug face when he saw that the technology he’d brought had fallen into the fox’s hands. Someone must have grabbed it after he’d been imprisoned and passed it to the singer to fund a reverse-engineering of the design. And if the copies made it into occupied territory this fast, they’ve probably spread all the way down the coast. Something about the music sounded brighter, after that.

Perhaps it was the charbon poisoning Luce had been ranting about, but the whole passage of people seemed somewhat like a facsimile of the arcades above on market day, arched overhangs and alleys filled with the sounds of haggling and laughter, children playing… Lucien trying on that ridiculous hat and insisting it made him look regal, wearing it for weeks afterwards… It had been hard to let go of teasing him for that. So hard I never really succeeded.

Somehow the accursed thing had even made it to Guerron with him, when far more priceless treasures had needed to be left behind. Probably at the bottom of some forgotten trunk for years on end, until Camille discovered it on Lucien’s head after her twentieth anniversary celebration. He’d been waiting in her room wearing nothing else.

Regal indeed. The thought brought a smile to her face, though this wasn’t the time to dwell on happy memories. There was work to be done, a tension in the fetid air that even these people were beginning to pick up on.

Even before this coup, there couldn’t have been much laughter here. A city on the edge of frozen oblivion with no end in sight, and an attempted coup underway, the implications of which these people couldn’t possibly understand.

But they’re alive. At least for now.

And as for understanding, that was where the Quotidien came in.

Once Camille emerged into the crisp air, it was only the work of a few minutes to walk to the journal’s building.

Men and women with pikes stood outside the doors, thick and mismatched coats hiding their exact affiliation, but it wasn’t hard to guess.

Forresters. Guardians had standardized uniforms, crushed together in some machine on distant shores to ensure every soldier looked identical. But Perimont never would have outfitted his personal army with heavy winter wear. In a particularly cold winter, Malin might see a few days of hail. Snow was another thing entirely, and fabric was scarce enough these days that few could be picky about the design, so long as it worked.

Scant surprise that they’d fallen in with Perimont’s widow, that much had been fully accounted for. But they weren’t supposed to beat me here. That could pose significantly more of a problem.

“Lady Leclaire?”

Camille turned just in time to catch the sight of breath in the air. “Scott.”

Despite his cheerful willingness to spread calumny, he’d shown a remarkable aptitude at actually doing the job properly. Shockingly, he’d even managed to interview Fenouille respectfully without soiling himself or fleeing in terror, a task beyond any of the others. Even if it’ll be weeks or months at best before that article can ever see the light of day.

Her journalist nodded, a hint of displeasure on his face. “They locked us out. No one in or out.”

“Who’s inside?” And whose side are you on?

“Just Mr. Eserly. He came at the same time as the forresters, but his keys didn’t work anymore, I assume thanks to you, but they just battered the door down. Went in with just him and sent everyone else packing.” Scott laughed. “They must think he can run the presses for them, perhaps even write their narrative for them.”

“He doesn’t have to be Chaubère; false information can be devastatingly difficult to contain even when poorly written. Did they say anything about me?”

Scott shrugged. “Wasn’t really time for that. But given you don’t know what’s going on here and Lady Perimont owns part of the paper, it’s not too hard to guess they’re looking for you.”

Of course. “And once I leave, will you be telling them about this?”

“Well, that depends.” Scott smiled. “A man’s got to earn a living.”

“You know I’m happy to make it worth your while.”

“Sure, but that’s no good if you’re hung up on the beach and me along with you. This here’s an ambiguous situation, many parts going around. I intend to work in this town by the end of it, come what may.”

“Would you prefer to die now and resolve the ambiguity?” Camile didn’t bother to ready any water; the threat was obvious enough anyway. “If Lady Perimont is as forgiving as her husband, you’ve already written more than enough to slip your own death warrant into your portfolio. ‘Just doing the job’ isn’t going to be much of an excuse.”

“It worked with you.”

“So you can see that this isn’t a matter of two equally valid sides, the wall between which you might happily sit atop until one falls. Don’t tell me you’re just as happy going back to your lazy fabulism, either. I don’t doubt you’d do it if that were all that remained, but that doesn’t make it the same.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Well, I guess you got me. Have fun storming the castle.”

Camille shook her head. If they beat me here, they’ll already have people surrounding the Governor’s mansion. Luce was probably holed up back inside right now, banging scraps of metal together at his crafting table while the walls crumbled around him.

“Stay here,” she ordered. “When Eserly messes things up enough for them to get frustrated and come back out, offer your services.”

“That’s quite magnanimous of you, Lady Leclaire. If you survive this, I’d be happy to work for you again.” He smirked, deliberately pretending to miss the purpose of her command.

“No, imbecile, you’re going to sabotage them.” Camille began walking back, trying to withdraw before any of the forresters spotted her. “You’re a writer, not a mechanist. It’s believable enough, and I’m sure you’ve absorbed enough to look more knowledgeable than Eserly and get in the door. Nothing outrageous, nothing that explains Lady Perimont’s crimes or the attempted coup against King Harold’s son and personally appointed Governor.”

“So, what, exactly? It’s not like I can print blank leaves of paper. None of the type is in place for any of the old articles. What exactly do you want from me?”

“Something like that. Figure it out. Just don’t let them control the narrative,” Camille spoke over her shoulder as she turned to go. “Nothing at all is still an improvement on that.”

Most likely he wouldn’t come through, but it might mean at least a delay before things got out of hand. Not much risk pushing him into it, when failure would mean flight or death anyway.

Camille took a different entrance back to the tunnel thoroughfare, even though it meant an extra ten minutes trudging through the snow. Last thing I need is any of them following me.

This was supposed to be a key piece of the plot, and it ended up nothing more than a frustrating detour. But it was too soon to come out into the open. The message was not yet ready for the city’s ears.

With all of the workers sent home, it wasn’t as if she’d be able to print the needful even if she did bury the forrester detachment in ice and force her way in. Not worth the energy or the time, when I could just come back tomorrow with the press mechanists in tow.

At least the bulk of the trip back to the Governor’s Mansion would be more private. While the existence of the tunnels was more widely known, there were still passages that remained hidden, barricaded by hardened ice that blended in with the wall.

All she had to do was slip out of the main thoroughfare and into one of the empty tunnels walled away to keep the heat in.

Camille squeezed past a thin wooden wall, not quite large enough to cover the whole passageway, then began walking into the empty darkness beyond it. Once she was far enough, she lit the lantern at her side with a strike of flint against tinder, and continued on, counting each step she took.

One frozen wall looked much like another in the darkness, after all. And thank Levian I did all this before a tenth of the city took up residence down here. All she had to do now was sneak under the inevitable barricade at the mansion and rendezvous with Luce. He had a certain naïveté, but surely this would be enough. From there—

“Stop,” a voice called out from the darkness, followed by a mechanical click. “Turn around.”

Why does that voice sound familiar? Camille plastered on a defensive smirk and rotated to face it. “You should be careful, you know. I doubt whoever sent you to kill me prepared you adequately.”

“Well, experience tells me that this works, at least.” The dim figure stepped closer, beginning to be visible by the light of the lantern.

As did their pistol, shining orange as its metal tube caught the light.

Now that’s just untoward. “Are you sure? I’ve heard reliable accounts that I was thrown into the sun, and the poor spirit couldn’t survive it.”

“Quite sure,” said Charlotte, throwing back her hood. “Now tell me where you’re keeping the guns, or you’ll get another hole in you to match the first. Something tells me you won’t survive this one.”

Now of all times. “I was just going to meet the Prince, actually. You’re welcome to follow, but then I had best take another route.” It might help, actually, having a Guardian in tow. “He ducked out of our event early again, no doubt some experiment to run.” She let out a quick, genuine, chuckle. “Only he would manage to miss a coup against him by accident.”

“So you admit to it, then.”

Camille blinked. “Me? I don’t know if you’ve seen Whitbey and Stewart, but I just came from their celebration of the late Governor Perimont, and they were a bit too faithful to his memory. All but insisted Luce’s governorship is illegitimate, that he’s involved in some sort of conspiracy, plotting with pirates in a cover-up of Perimont’s death.” They’re correct, but that doesn’t stop me from using the fact that the truth sounds ridiculous. “They even hanged some poor sap, from what I hear.”

“What you hear? What, you’re trying to tell me you weren’t even there to see it?”

Camille rolled her eyes. “I heard a crowd chanting ‘Hang Leclaire’. No, I didn’t run towards it to get a better look. My sincerest apologies if that makes your job more difficult.” She flicked her head to Charlotte’s weapon. “Since when do you even have one of those? They’re reserved for officers, and high-level ones at that.”

Now it was Charlotte’s turn to smile, raising the unnerving question of exactly how much she knew. If she tries to sabotage my deal with Luce before it comes to fruition… “I was tracking down a lost cache of them, entire crates lifted from the cave-in. No one reported the theft, but the supply manifests didn’t match.”

“So some looters…”

“And then people reported a girl getting shot in the street by some random criminal.”

“Avalon’s soldiers covering up another atrocity, I don’t doubt.”

“Do you? Because one of the witnesses recognized a man named Donnie Peacock, known to his criminal associates as Paon. Paon runs contraband for a lady named Mince. She spent two years in a cell and started running distribution in the northwest of the city once she got out. According to Paon, Mince put him up to shooting the girl over some old feud that left her scarred.”

Camille tried to keep her composure, to maintain the illusion of control, but it was possible that some of her utter confusion slipped past her face anyway. “How is any of this important?”

“It’s not, except that he used a pistol stolen from Perimont’s train. The Railway Robber took the lord’s portion, but about a third remained in the city, and the thieves there were considerably less careful guarding it. Word got out along with the weapons once some of them got it in their head to start selling them off early.”

“So…” Camille couldn’t help but blink in confusion a few times. “You tracked them down? I mean, good. Last thing we need is more of those things spreading out. Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

“Ha!” Charlotte wiped her face with the hand not holding the pistol. “You’re asking me why I didn’t inform a suspect about my covert investigation in Prince Lucifer’s honor?”

“He put you up to this, huh? Interesting…” Perhaps he kept his guard up more than I thought.

“Well… Not exactly. He told me to drop it once I explained things to him. But it was in his interest that I continue investigating.” She snarled. “You might have clouded his eyes with darkness, but I see right through you. Manipulating, deceiving, seducing, with no regard for anyone caught in the middle. Since the moment you met him, you’ve been scheming to bring him down, to plunge us into a war with Avalon we can’t win, just to assuage your ego.”

Camille suppressed a flinch, trying to read the Guardian’s face in the flickering light. Could she be bluffing? “Bold accusations, with no evidence to support them.”

“You sent your partner off to steal advanced weaponry, then play it off like you were her victim. I saw you and Florette together; there isn’t a chance in the world she was holding you hostage through all of that. Your innocent act might have fooled them, but not me.”

“I’m a very good actor. I was just doing what I needed to do in order to survive.”

“You are, but not good enough.” Charlotte lifted her arm, aiming her pistol at Camille’s head. “Tell me where the rest of them are stashed.”

Curse you a thousandfold, Florette. May Levian drag you forever beneath the waves. “I have no idea. As I have already so laboriously explained, I wasn’t part of it. Now if you’re smart, you’ll note that the Prince didn’t want you poking your nose into this. The official story of Perimont’s death must remain in place, or he would suffer for it. Right now Lady Perimont is launching a coup for the governorship over these lies, as I have stated. If you value what the Prince is doing at all, you’ll respect that and let me go save him, as I have sworn before spirits that I would do.”

“And that’s all just a coincidence? It’s not part of your plan?”

Well, it is, but… “Does it matter? We need to mount a counteroffensive now, and you know how valuable I’ll be. Do you think Luce will be happy to hear that you shot me over some lies he’s already told you to disregard?”

She bit her lip, hand gripping the pistol tighter. “It’s not about what he wants, it’s about what serves him best. I’ve been waiting my entire life for a governor like him, free of corruption, full of compassion, aware of Avalon’s cruelties and mistakes. If you really plan to blow all of that up just to get a few weeks of your shredded glory back before Avalon burns this city to the ground, I have no reason not to shoot you now.”

Why couldn’t she have just stayed stuck on that pig assignment? “I’m not trying to get my own people killed. I’ve thought this through.”

“Have you?”

Camille opened her mouth to respond, but a flickering light back up the tunnel caught her eye. “Wait, what’s that? Behind you.”

Charlotte visibly rolled her eyes, slowly circling Camille. Her weapon was still aimed at Camille’s head once she’d made it around her, now in position to see both Camille and the way back through the tunnel.

“I wasn’t trying to trick you.”

“I’ll believe that when you’re dead. Even then, you’ve been known to deceive on that front.”

“Well, do you see it?”

“Yeah…” She frowned. “It looks like they’re setting up a bonfire or something. Didn’t the Prince warn everyone about carbo-phlogiston poisoning, doing that without good enough airflow?”

“You’d better go cite them for it. It isn’t as if there’s anything more important we ought to be doing as forresters seize the city.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s—”

“Run!” a girl’s voice shouted, soon visible as a figure sprinting through the dim tunnel. She was at the head of a pack, too, a veritable horde scrambling over themselves to make it through, silhouetted by a raging fire behind them.

Camille tensed, readying herself for the arduous, horrible task of running away. “I swear, I had nothing to do with this.”

Charlotte grit her teeth. “When Prince Lucifer hears about this—”

“They’ve got him locked up!Could be dead already, way things are going,” the girl shouted as she got closer. “Guardians are sweeping everything.”

Locked up?

“Fuck,” Charlotte swore.

The fleeing masses were getting closer, Guardians visibly following them, lit by the fire behind them.

“Don’t shoot me for a moment, I need to deal with this.” Camille lowered herself to the ground, feeling the icy slick on the tunnel beneath her fingertips.

“I’m a Guardian, I’ll just explain…” Charlotte swore again. “Whatever you’re doing, do it quickly.”

Camille drew on her power, far earlier than she’d hoped to need to, but… Nothing else for it now. She swept ice from the ground with a wave of her arms, dissolving it to water as it left the ground. A sweep from her other hand melted her barrier from the wall, revealing the hidden passage. “In here,” she called, both to Charlotte and the rapidly approaching crowd.

“It’s Lady Camille!” the girl at the front called out, prompting a chorus of murmuring behind her.

Had to reveal my secret passage, my identity, my abilities… She bit her lip as she hardened the water above, pushing it just past the furthest-back runner, just in front of the most advanced Guardian, and slammed a wall down in front of them, blocking their way.

It’s too thin though. Even without torches, it probably wouldn’t take them long to smash it down. If the Malinoises hadn’t made it yet—

Charlotte was already guiding the last of them through. The ones that had come this way, anyway. No doubt far more were still pinned inside with the flames, or being dragged off to a cell. “Go on. I can’t have them killing you before the truth gets out.”

“You’re acting like they could,” Camille said as she crossed the threshold.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten where we stand. If this is part of your scheme, if you’re truly out to seize control of Malin…” She glanced back at Camille’s hasty wall of ice, already half-shattered from the battering of a few spear butts. “You’ll face justice for it.”

“Well, I have nothing to worry about then,” Camille lied, sealing the passage behind her.