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She passed a few people, all in uniforms of blue and gray that would blend against the winter sky. Giving a brisk nod, she continued her journey with purpose. Charlotte learned long ago that if one acted as if they belonged, people would assume that must be true. That attitude got her into the restricted section of the university library on several occasions.
A bell tolled. The corridors filled with people, all in a hurry to some destination. The tide of people swept Charlotte along, bringing her past the dinner hall and to the marketplace. Which was a generous description. Exactly four vendor stalls occupied the space, and one of them served beer. People enjoyed their off-duty time, lounging in the pseudo-town square or trading coins for the usual consumable: tankards of ale and sugary treats. The space buzzed with conversation and laughter.
The remaining stands had bolts of finely woven fabric and buttery soft leather, as well as already completed garments for those without the time or inclination to sew. She passed fragrant soaps, enticing lotions, and a variety of pomades for styling hair.
She felt eyes on her as she drifted through the market. Was a new resident so unusual? Lemoine made it sound as if the Aerie were besieged with new arrivals, yet everyone watched her with curiosity. Perhaps it was her manner of dress. She noted that many people here were out of uniform and dressed in a more typical fashion, even if a considerable number of women wore trousers.
Charlotte worked her way through the marketplace and down a level that held the crafters. Three massive workshops were connected by a central courtyard. The sounds of hammering metal on metal and machine noises filled the air. The temperature was hot, the air filled with steam and smoke. People barked orders. Others shouted for layabouts to get out of the way. Oh. They meant her.
Charlotte stepped back, pressing herself against a wall as a man pushing a heavily laden cart came through. A tarp covered the contents, and the wheels made a rhythmic, clicking sound.
She went down another level, finding more workshops and storerooms. Bustling corridors thinned. She passed fewer and fewer people. The air grew stale and cold. Water dripped, the sound echoing down the corridor. The stone walls grew rough, as though they had been carved directly from the mountain. She was completely alone.
It didn’t take long before she was well and truly lost. Charlotte found herself standing in front of a massive steel-plated door. Yellow and black diagonal lines decorated the top and bottom of the door. This was the only door she had seen so far to warrant some form of ornament. It must be important. It went without saying that the door was locked.
A black box was affixed above the door handle. There were three rows of three buttons, nine in total. Tiny, raised bumps on the buttons formed a code. Perhaps at one point, the buttons had numbers or symbols, but the paint had been worn away long ago.
Charlotte brushed her fingers over the bumps. She had read that Old Earth had a tactile language for those with impaired vision. Only a few of the oldest settler artifacts existed as examples. Was this that language? She had never seen it in person and certainly never touched it.
Of course she had to touch it. Obviously.
Pushing a button produced a beep. A screen flickered to life, displaying amber characters on black. It was a number. One. She pressed the next button. Two. The next was three.
The screen blinked.
A grating noise took her by surprise. The screen went blank.
“It’s a code,” she muttered to herself. If Miles were being held captive, he would be behind that door. She had to open it.
Charlotte stretched and flexed her fingers. Three digits to the code. Simple enough, if time-consuming. She already entered 1-2-3. Now on to 1-2-4.
“You’re a long way from your rooms,” a voice said behind her.
Charlotte jumped, hand pressed to her chest. She hadn’t heard footsteps behind her. “Captain Stringer, you gave me a fright.”
“Pardon me. That was not my intention.” He looked pointedly at the lock and raised his eyebrows. “That area is restricted.”
“It’s not labeled,” she said quickly. Too quickly. She sounded guilty. She gave a weak smile. “I mean, is it? It’s not labeled. There seem to be no signposts anywhere. I’m quite turned around.”
“Yes, our new residents often require rescue. You’ll soon learn the layout and all the shortcuts.”
“Did it take you long to learn the layout?”
“No. I was born here.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if to confirm that they were alone, and withdrew a key from an inner pocket of his coat. “This will unlock all the doors in the Aerie. Almost all.”
Charlotte glanced at the strange device on the door. If it was a lock, it was not one she was familiar with. “I see.”
“Even from the inside,” Stringer added in a conspiratorial tone.
“Oh.” Charlotte clutched the key tightly. “Thank you.”
He gave a half-bow and swept out a hand, directing her gaze down the hall. “I’ll escort you back to your rooms now and have your dinner delivered.”
“An early evening is probably for the best,” she agreed.
Stringer steered her away. She glanced back, committing the door to her memory and memorizing the route. She’d find her way back.
Chapter Eleven
