Harper closed the cell door and strode to Edward. He clamped his hand over Edward's mouth and tilted his head back. Edward looked up into Harper's face. His eyes went wide and he gave a muffled gasp against Harper's gloved palm.

"I can get you out of here," Harper whispered, "but afterward you're going to be a wanted man."

Edward nodded. Harper drew his hand back. He was shocked when Edward lunged forward and gripped him in a hard, desperate embrace.

"Will, thank God you came! Thank God," Edward whispered against Harper's neck.

It felt good to have Edward so close against his body, but for all the wrong reasons. Harper returned the hug briefly, then pulled back. "We're not out of here yet. You have to keep calm, all right?"

"Yes, of course." Edward swallowed a deep breath of air and nodded.

"Are you hurt anywhere aside from your arm?"

"Some bruises, that's all."

"Good." Harper unclipped his silver handcuffs and closed one of the cuffs around Edward's uninjured left hand. He locked the other around his own right wrist, but so loosely that he could easily slip his hand free.

"One last thing. The old woman I left with you, do you know where they took her?" Harper asked.

"They didn't take her anywhere." Edward closed his eyes for a moment. "They killed her."

"Of course. She was the only witness." A chill rushed through Harper as he realized how effortlessly Abbot Greeley disposed of the people who opposed him.

"We have to go." Harper opened the door and walked Edward out into the hall. He had been worried that Edward might give them away, but Edward kept his head down and walked with the slow dread of a prisoner on his way to the prayer engines.

Harper handed the cell key to the guard and took the prisoner ledger. As he glanced over the ledger, he noticed that Captain Brandson's initials appeared only a column below where Harper had signed them. Brandson hadn't noticed that he had already been signed in. The same initials twice weren't that noticeable, but a third time would be apparent, even to the careless young guard. Harper copied another three initials from higher in the ledger and then slid the book back to the guard.

Without waiting for the young man to respond, Harper pulled Edward forward and headed down the main hall of the Inquisition House. He had to fight his own urge to move fast. It was the sheerest luck that Brandson hadn't noticed the forged initials when he signed the ledger. Harper had no doubt that Brandson would notice them when he left the cells.

Once they reached the back stairs, Harper slipped the hand-cuffs off and urged Edward ahead.

"No matter what happens, keep going until you reach the pump room. There'll be a maintenance hatch open there. The shafts are coded to the streets overhead, so you'll know where you're going," Harper told him as they went.

"But—"

"Just in case," Harper whispered. Far down the hall, he heard the distinct sound of Brandson's voice rising over the quiet. It would only be a moment before Brandson raised the alarm. Then the entire Inquisition House would be locked down and searched.

"Run," Harper told Edward.

They took the stairs fast and then tore across the distance of basement to reach the pump room. Just as Harper pulled the pump room door shut, the alarm began wailing through the halls. Harper helped Edward into the maintenance shaft.

"It's pitch black in here," Edward whispered.

"Keep climbing down through the next two hatches. I left a lamp there." Harper pulled the hatch above him shut and twisted it closed as tightly as he could. So long as no one thought to connect this escape with the maintenance shafts, he and Edward had a chance of escaping. Harper was betting that Brandson would search the building and surrounding streets first, assuming that the only escape could be above ground.

Despite his lack of faith, Harper prayed he was right.

Chapter Eight

Steam

Harper led Edward through shaft after shaft. For the first hour, they traveled in silence. The only noise came from the packs of water rats that scampered over the water pipes and scattered as Harper and Edward approached.

At last Edward whispered a few questions to Harper. He wanted to know where they were and how Harper knew. He asked why Harper had brought the old woman to him and why she had been killed. Harper gave him short, quick answers. It was the way they had always conversed.

Even in college, when he had been deep in his anatomical studies, Edward had been an extrovert. Silence was foreign to his nature. In the past, Edward's constant flow of conversation had annoyed Harper. Now Harper felt relieved to hear Edward's voice. The sound reassured Harper that he had not come too late. The Confessors had hurt Edward, but not destroyed him.

"I think Raddly might put us up for the night," Edward whispered as they crawled through a low shaft.

"Raddly...Didn't he vomit in a deacon's memorial urn?"

"Yes. But I think the port was to blame for that. He's a nice fellow."

Harper tilted the phosphor lamp back so that he could read the letters above an intersecting tunnel.

"We're directly under Bluerow Street," he whispered back to Edward.

"Lottie Hampston lived on Bluerow, didn't she?" Edward asked.

"I don't recall." Harper swung down into the larger shaft and then helped Edward through. The once-white bandages on Edward's arm were now soiled with grease and mold. Spots of blood seeped through.

"What about Waterstone?" Edward asked.

"Who?" Harper glanced back.

"Richard Waterstone. Don't you remember? He could go on about poetry for years."

"Was he covered with moles?" Harper had a clear memory of catching a young man named Richard in the showers. He had had a beautiful back with a line of three moles just above his ass.

"Beauty marks," Edward replied. "Yes, that was him. Why don't we go look him up?"

"I don't recall enough about him to think of why we would look him up, so I doubt I can speak to why we shouldn't," Harper replied.

They reached another hatch, and Harper crouched down to work it open. His arms were aching. Edward hunched down beside him.

"Waterstone's father is the owner of the Daily Word. Richard's got a position as chief editor. We could go to him with the story. He'd publish it, I'm sure."

"We don't have a story, Edward. We don't even have a witness right now." Harper tried not to sound angry. None of this was Edward's fault. Harper vented frustration on the hatch, twisting it open with a vicious jerk.

"Fine, then." Edward followed Harper through the hatch. "I give up. Where are we going?"

"Down." Harper smiled as he at last caught sight of the ladder he had been looking for. He tested his weight against its corroded iron rungs. It still held.

"Do you think you can climb one-handed?" Harper asked.

"I think so," Edward replied.

Harper went first. Edward followed. The phosphor lamp swung from side to side as Harper climbed. Its pale green light swept through the shadows of the ladder, casting patterns of crosses and rungs down into the darkness below. Distantly, Harper heard the hiss of steam pistons.

"You know, Waterstone used to have this theory that you were half-Prodigal," Edward said from above him.

"Really?" Harper snorted at the thought. "What in the name of God gave him that idea?"