Day 8

‘Are you sure she’s coming?’ Sham asked Mona, down at headquarters.

The other member of the resistance shrugged. ‘Said she would. Beyond that… I dunno.’

Riot was running late. Supposedly, she’d agreed to meet Sham at the headquarter on the morning of the eighth day, but it was nearing noon and there was not yet any sign of her. Mona had seemed confident that Riot would be there, referencing the posh woman’s response of, “Oh, yes. He’ll definitely need me, then,” when told what Sham’s goal was. And she wasn’t wrong, either; Haven’s Members of Parliament consisted entirely of people in the upper class, people who Sham wouldn’t know how to speak to without a helping hand. Riot, on the other hand, had lived her life amongst them. She would, surely, be able to play these people like the instrument she’d apparently learned in her youth.

‘You got a plan?’ Mona asked. ‘On how to deal with these people?’

‘The plan was Riot.’

‘That’s a funny way of saying “no.”’

Sham resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘I’m not a “plan” sorta guy. I guess I was gonna worm my way in with this contact that Asa found, and feel it out from there. There’s gotta be some of them unhappy, hasn’t there? And if I get the wrong one… what does it matter? Come a day from now, they won’t even remember.’

‘Why would they be? Those MPs, they got all the riches they could possibly want. Enoch Chambers has given them that. Can’t see any of them hating him for it.’

‘I guess I’m relying on them—’

‘Being stupid?’ Mona guessed.

‘Having principles,’ Sham finished.

Mona seemed to be suppressing a smile at that. ‘Guess we can all dream, can’t we. How long you got til this meeting?’

‘About an hour.’

‘Cutting it fine, ain’t she?’

Sham pressed his lips together. ‘That implies you think she’s coming at all.’

As Mona shrugged, Sham turned for the door. He was done being sympathetic to Riot’s absences. They’d grown too long, and too regular. And now he needed her, had planned to meet her in advance, and still she wasn’t around. It was time to take the initiative; if Riot wouldn’t come to the Resistance, then the Resistance would come to her.

* * *

Sham slipped in past the doorman while he was distracted by a small child who was claiming to be lost. He was only claiming to be lost, of course, because Sham had slipped him the last of his spare cash, but the doorman didn’t need to know that. Only now, a great many Loops in, was Sham starting to realise how freely he could spend his money—he didn’t need much to get through nine days, with rent not due in this period, and with any spending getting reset… bribes were very much a viable option.

He took the electrical elevator up to the top floor of the apartment building, yanking the lever where before he might have delicately shifted it. The mechanism’s gears whirred into life, and soon Sham was slowly climbing to Riot’s penthouse. In the din of the noise, Sham wondered for a moment how the residents of this otherwise luxurious building coped with such a disturbance, but decided perhaps the convenience of the elevator was enough for them not to care. Or maybe they just had thicker walls than Sham was used to in his own home.

Sham approached Riot’s front door, listening out for signs of life inside. He moved his knuckles toward the wood to knock and announce his presence then stopped—when he heard quiet, distant voices coming from inside. Instinct kicked in then, staying his hand a fraction of an inch from the door, and causing him to press his ear to the surface instead. Would this reveal what Riot had been keeping from him?

Even with his ear to the door, the voices remained muffled. Whoever Riot was speaking to, they weren’t in the apartment’s enormous living room. They were further, as though in the far corner of the penthouse into which Sham hadn’t much delved.

Biting his lip, not quite sure what his plan of action was, Sham gripped the door handle, and he pushed.

It was unlocked.

Standing now in an open doorway, Sham had two options. He could either turn back, close the door behind him, and pretend he hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. Or… he could press on, and get some answers.

His heart rate began to increase as he stepped into the living room, his eyes on the hallway at the far corner down which sat Riot’s bedroom, where the voices were coming from. His stomach clenched as he realised what he might be overhearing: Riot with another lover. Jealousy came over him like a wave.

‘I don’t remember you two ever saying you would just be with each other…’

That was true, of course, but it didn’t change the way it made Sham feel. If he’d had any doubt about his course of action, it was now gone. He had to know. He simply had to know.

Sham pressed on across the empty living room, increasingly taking care with every step to make sure he didn’t make a sound, and soon found himself at the door to Riot’s bedroom—from where the voices were indeed coming.

He gulped as he pressed his ear to the door, readying himself to hear the sounds of two people enjoying one another, when he heard the tone of the voices inside.

‘Pretend it was real, though,’ Riot was saying. ‘This Loop. Humour me on that. Pretend that I am a customer who is really going through this… this…’

‘Hell?’ a woman’s voice responded.

[PERSPICACITY] TONES OF VOICE: FAIL

There’s something about this woman’s voice. Something familiar. But you can’t quite put a finger on what it is…

‘Yes,’ Riot replied. ‘Hell. Suppose one of your clients really was going through something like that. What would you recommend?’

‘Clients?’ Recollection repeated.

‘I suppose I would…’ The woman paused, trailing off as though gathering her thoughts. ‘I suppose I would assist them in making the most of this… change in circumstance. But understand that I cannot give considered advice to such an extraordinary fictional scenario. My abilities would not stretch to…’ Another pause. ‘Our time is up, Ms Resnuc. Allow me until we next meet to dwell on this scenario. Perhaps I shall have more of an answer by then.’

‘Next week,’ Riot repeated, her voice flat. ‘Of course.’

With that, Sham heard the shuffling of feet on rug, and his heart nearly leapt from his chest. He hurried back the way he’d come, disappearing around the corner into the great living room just as the bedroom door opened behind him. He considered for a moment hopping over the settee, but ultimately made the split-second decision to, you know, not do that. Instead, he circled around, coming to the front door and shutting it gently behind him just as Riot and guest would have made it to the living room.

‘Close one.’

Yes.

‘You know what that was in there, don’t you? You might’ve failed that Perspicacity check but there’s a memory up in this head of yours that might help.’

‘Are you keeping it from me?’ Sham whispered as Riot and guest drew closer.

‘Just reiterating my value…’

‘Recollection, will you please just—’

MEMORY UNLOCKED (RECOLLECTION)

The man is around again. Mum sends you to your room, tells you to play with your toys. Doesn’t she remember that you’ve grown out of them all? You disobey, this week, and barge into the living room to see what’s going on. Your mum lies on the settee, a man sitting at her side with pages of notes laying across his lap. Both turn to face you and your sudden intrusion.

‘Don’t think you worked out what that was until just later, did you?’ Recollection said. ‘And can I say… I think barging in on your recently divorced mother and a handsome young man could’ve ended a lot worse for you than it did.’

‘Therapy,’ Sham muttered, as Riot’s front door opened at his side.

* * *

Riot hadn’t wanted to dwell on the matter of her guest, shifting the conversation along when Sham had asked—passing a Heart of Janus skill check in the process as he tried to convince Riot of his ignorance. He’d left the matter alone, except for a mumbled, “How are you?” to which Riot had given an equally mumbled response—as well as a pair of narrowed eyes which suggested she was suspicious of Sham knowing. But she didn’t follow up on this point, because neither of them, let’s face it, wanted confirmation from the other.

‘Both of you are shining examples of Havani emotional stoicism. Well done.’

The pair headed straight to the address that Asa had provided, running only a little late for the agreed upon meeting time. Hopefully their soon-to-be acquaintance, a young Member of Parliament named Walter Pratt, wouldn’t hold it against them.

They didn’t need to travel far from Riot’s apartment building on the boundary between the Sunrise District and Commercial District, as the MP—and probably most MPs—lived in this area, close enough to the Diplomatic District but with all the comforts of living in a residential area. So close was their destination, in fact, that they didn’t even bother waiting for a tram, choosing instead to walk, and doing so in near-silence, at that.

‘You ready?’ Sham asked, this question being the first word shared between them in nearly ten minutes.

Riot replied with a nod.

At this signal, Sham strode up to the building’s doorman—why did all the buildings around here think they needed doormen?—and announced, ‘We’re here to see Walter Pratt. He’s expecting us.’

The doorman allowed them entry after glancing pointedly at his pocketwatch, but said nothing of their late arrival. It did not bode well in terms of Walter’s feelings on people running behind.

They hurtled up the apartment building in a slightly newer mechanical elevator, this one moving faster and quieter than the one in Riot’s building, but Sham didn’t feel the need to comment on it to the oddly quiet Riot. There were more pressing priorities, after all.

‘You’ll let me handle this?’ Riot asked.

‘That’s why you’re here.’

‘No snarky comments? No insults concerning obscene wealth?’

‘Got you pegged, hasn’t she?’

Sham mimed zipping his lips together, locking them, and then throwing away the key. Riot only stared on as he did so, not acknowledging it in the least.

As soon as Sham rapped on the door to Walter Pratt’s apartment, it swung open, revealing a young man dressed in a fresh three piece suit, staring down his nose at them through thin-framed spectacles. This staring down at them was made a particularly impressive feat by the fact that he was a good foot smaller than even Riot.

‘You’re late,’ the young MP said.

‘There was traffic,’ Sham replied, earning himself a glare from Riot in the process. He mimed zipping his lips together once again.

‘Mr Pratt,’ Riot said, following the man into a luxurious living area, then taking a seat as signalled. ‘I apologise profusely for our tardiness. I assure you this is the exception, and not the rule. That said, I will not waste any more of your valuable time.’

‘Ensure that you don’t,’ came the reply, the man’s eyes firmly upon Riot in her fine dress and not so much as flicking to the comparatively shabby Sham.

‘You came to your position recently, yes?’ Riot asked, then added, ‘I refer of course to your position in Haven’s house of government, and not to the position of your great family name.’

Walter Pratt had tensed up at the first half of Riot’s sentence, but her clarification did well to undo it. ‘Indeed,’ the man said, removing his spectacles from his nose and cleaning them with a dedicated cloth.

‘What’s wrong with the bottom of his shirt? That’s what I wanna know.’

‘I took the position two months ago, yes. It was my mother’s before me.’

‘And that means you’re up to the job because…’ Sham prompted.

The way the MP looked at Sham was like he was some shit on the street underfoot. But how could Sham expect any more of a man like this?

As Riot shot Sham yet another glare—though the twinkling in her eyes suggested she was at least vaguely amused, this time—Walter Pratt diverted his attention back to her, without a word of explanation given to Sham.

‘Your contact informed me that you have antiques for sale. From the forgotten cities, perhaps. May I ask how my career history relates to such a transaction?’

‘I am afraid,’ Riot said. ‘We did have to resort to a form of subterfuge in order to arrange this meeting. We do not come with antiques for sale. We come with something much, much more valuable.’

This got the man’s attention; he pulled his gaze up from his glasses, placed them back upon his nose, and leant forward. ‘Oh?’

‘We represent those in Haven who have an interest in the city’s growth. In its development. A development that we are not entirely sure the current leadership is promoting.’

Walter Pratt narrowed his eyes, making no attempt to disguise his discomfort at Riot’s insinuations. ‘You take issue with Enoch? Or myself?’

Sham couldn’t help it; he had a Magnetism skill now, if at a low level. What better time to use it than this? ‘Not you. Obviously not you. We approach you because we’ve got reason to believe that you’re forward-thinking, and pragmatic, and… principled. You are one of those people who want the best for this city. For everyone. Not such a… select few.

[MAGNETISM] WHAT ARE THESE… PRINCIPLES?: FAIL

Nope. This man doesn’t respond to flattery. At least, not coming from you.

The man stood from his seat and turned his back to the pair of resistance members. ‘Leave,’ he said. ‘Now. Before anyone reports that you are here.’

‘Mr Pratt—’ Riot started, but the man was too far gone.

‘I will not suffer such treasonous talk. You go back to Ms Weekes, now, and tell her I want know part of it.’

‘Ms…’ Riot began to ask, but Sham whipped his hand back to stop her. It was better this MP think they were with an existing faction, whoever they were, than the newly formed resistance. Riot nodded her understanding.

‘Oh, yes,’ Walter Pratt said. ‘I know who those you “represent” would be. Do not think me a fool.’

Riot opened her mouth to speak once more, but hesitated, instead gesturing for her and Sham to leave.

Was Walter Pratt a fool? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, this man had given the resistance a new avenue of investigation. They’d just have to track down this Ms Weekes. Sham had no doubt that Asa and his network were up to the task.