Page 131 of The Only Way Out Is Up

But why? That’s where my understanding breaks down. Why bother with the Ascent? The whole thing ticks over nicely without any intervention at all, driven by the desire of those at the top to remain on top. Why meddle?

For a while we’re among the trees and I can’t see anything. Eventually, the carriage emerges onto a strip of clear ground in front of the wall where the road leads to a heavy steel gate. Arbiters watch us from up above and someone shouts a command; the gate slowly opens. The runic carriage edges forward into a narrow interstitial space hemmed in by walls on all sides. There’s another gate ahead, this one flanked by four guards. They carry long spears and wear sigwork breastplates, and their uniforms are edged with gold.

“Specials,” Ky whispers. “An elite unit that reports directly to the Council. They’re responsible for security here.”

A hard-faced woman raps on the carriage door. Ky opens it, and the Special looks her over. For a moment I think she’s going to object to Ky’s presence—no one actually said she could come—but the guard steps back without a word. We get down and Star skitters closer, protective. Several of the guards give him dark looks; I imagine they don’t get a lot of fighting runics here. Ky’s sword gets similar frowns.

“Follow me,” the woman says. “Don’t attempt to leave the path, and make sure your runic doesn’t, either.”

“He’ll behave.” Right, Star?

[Objection: I am always impeccably well-behaved.]

She grunts and gestures at the gate, which swings open. The ground underfoot is metal now, like the lower tiers, not the soft turf of most of Hod. We follow her down a painted track lined with more fences and wire. Behind them, workers and runics labor among big warehouses with rolling doors, shifting pallets from one to another or loading them onto wagons. Ahead of us is one of the tall cylinders, with a square opening in the base. It looks into a circular room, incongruously carpeted and decorated like a drawing room back at Ky’s estate, with crystal sigwork lamps and framed paintings on the walls.

“The boy’s here,” our escort calls ahead. “He’s brought the Tranto girl.”

A half dozen Specials stand in the doorway between us and a knot of well-dressed people. I recognize Hisham Avaro among them, already sweating and tugging nervously at the ends of his mustache.

“That’s, um, not a problem,” he says, smiling nervously at us. “Miss Tranto will be a member of the Council soon enough, and she is, um, Master Taj’s sponsor. She is welcome to accompany us.”

The guards step aside, and my throat catches. Somi and Spike are huddled in the rear of the room, under the eye of Quech and two more Specials. The rest of the people I assume are the other members of the Council; Devon Dreikin is there, his braids tipped with plain silver rings for the occasion, but I don’t know any of the others. There’s no sign of Alzimyth.

Before anyone can stop me I stride across the room toward my family. The Specials tense but only Quech actually blocks my way, tapping the floor in front of me with the butt of his spear.

“That’s far enough,” he growls, leaning over me.

I raise my eyebrows. “How’s the ear?”

His cheek twitches.

“Are you going to step aside?” I ask him. “Or does Star need to move you?”

Star, of course, has followed me. His fighting legs tear holes in the carpet as he moves. Quech looks up at him and abruptly seems to have the same realization I had facing Vripiai; Star’s not large for a runic, but he’s still a great hunk of sharpened metal. I didn’t have time for polishing and finish, so his carapace is still marred by streaks and grime from yesterday’s combat, including a few spatters of dried blood.

“No need for that!” Hisham says, hurrying over. “I don’t, um, think there’s any harm in letting Taj speak to his, um, friends, do you?”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Quech complains sourly, but he steps aside.

I drop to my knees beside my family. Somi has his arm around Spike’s shoulders, to either comfort or restrain her. He looks unkempt but basically intact, but Spike’s cheek bears a deep purple bruise that wasn’t there yesterday, and I can see another creeping up past her collarbone. I look up at Quech, rage suddenly hot.

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

“Nothing she didn’t deserve,” he spits back. “Little bitch won’t stop talking back. Someone ought to have taken a switch to her years ago.”

I surge to my feet. “You like hitting little girls? I’ll kill you, you fucking coward—”

“Taj!” Somi says. I look back at him, and he shakes his head slightly. “Please.”

I kneel again, shuffling closer to him. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “He hit Spike—”

“I’m fine,” Spike spits. “Athie hits harder than he does.”

“We’re all right.” Somi leans closer and lowers his voice. “Taj, what is happening? Rekas and his Clawmarks came to grab us—”

“We thought you were dead,” Spike says, tears in her eyes. “Nobody will tell us anything.”