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“Yes. He’s hurt, but he’s all right,” says Wanuri.
“I want to see him.”
Daja grabs Frederickson’s shoulder and tries to pull herself up. He takes her good arm as Wanuri gets on the other side. Alice wouldn’t approve, but Daja isn’t going to be talked out of it.
We guide her through the mess on deck and down into one of the ship’s holds. On a bare bunk in a dim stateroom, the Magistrate is on his back with quickly wrapped bandages across his chest. Traven is in the bunk next to him. Cherry is tying bloody rags around his right thigh. I ignore her as I go to him.
“How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better,” he says. “Check on the Magistrate. He’s more badly injured than I am.”
That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while. If the Magistrate snuffs it, we can shove the big gun into the Styx and all go our separate ways. Unless the angels want it for the war. That hadn’t occurred to me until now. That might be the real reason they’re here. Maybe Mr. Muninn told them to see if they could keep me in one piece, but I bet if they had to choose between my ass or a weapon that could change the war, they’d drop me off on the nearest corner with a dollar and a bus map.
When I look over at the Magistrate, he’s sitting up in the bunk with his back braced against the wall. He’s pale, but doesn’t look like he’s going to check out tonight. The angels probably aren’t down for doing any cold-blooded murder themselves, but I wonder how they’d feel if I held a pillow on his face for a few minutes?
I’m snapped out of that merry thought when he says, “How are you, dear Daja?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a little cut. It doesn’t even hurt.”
“Are you sure? Your head is clear?”
“I’m positive.”
“Then, until I’m better, I want you to take command of the havoc. Continue the crusade with the help of our angels.”
“I will. I promise.”
She doesn’t say “Father,” but you can hear it in her voice. If I killed the Magistrate, I’d probably have to kill her, too, and at this point I don’t think I’d like that.
“I don’t understand how anybody could find us down here,” says Doris.
Wanuri moves up next to her.
“She’s right. The angels said that almost nobody knows about the river. How did they find us?”
I go to the foot of the Magistrate’s bed.
“That’s easy. One of us told them.”
Everybody looks at me.
Wanuri says, “How do you know that?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. There’s still a traitor in the havoc. While you geniuses were measuring me for a noose, the real saboteur has been having fun and now has us trapped underground.”
“I am afraid he is right,” says the Magistrate. “We must be on our guard from now on. Besides the angels, we can trust no one outside of this room.”
I’m pretty sure I know exactly what’s going on, but they wouldn’t listen to me because they don’t know what I know. A setup this complicated and devious, involving a Heavenly weapon, do-gooder angels, and a whole army of lunatics . . . there’s only one group I can think of with the resources and the greed to try and stop it.
Wormwood. There isn’t just a cutthroat in the group. Someone is working for Wormwood and has been long before I got here. It could be any of these clowns. Aside from Traven, there’s no one I want behind me with anything sharp. And this time I know I’m not just being paranoid.
“Magistrate, may I say something?” says Cherry.
But before he gives permission, Daja is in Cherry’s face, stabbing her finger at her with her good hand.
“Like hell you can. Why didn’t you see this coming, oracle? What good are you?”
Cherry rubs her temples like she’s trying to push her skull together.
