The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [184]
“I don't know what they're up to,” Anders said, “but it's got to be something big. We couldn't turn a corner without running into someone working for Duratek.”
“Did you see anything that might give us a clue as to what they're doing?” Deirdre said, shucking off her jacket.
“Perhaps,” Vani said, her leathers creaking softly as she paced. “They are careful not to allow anyone to observe their actions, and people are unwilling to speak about anything they might know concerning the men of Duratek. However, it is clear they are amassing a large amount of resources. We saw many vehicles, including transport trucks, moving in and out of warehouse complexes.”
“They're getting ready for a war,” Beltan said, rummaging through the minibar. He pulled out a canister of cheese puffs. “If you're going to invade a foreign land, you've got to make sure you have an adequate supply chain to fortify your army as it advances.”
Deirdre gave Beltan a sharp look. Not stupid indeed.
“How do you open this thing?” he said, turning the canister around and around.
All right, so maybe he still had a few things to learn. Deirdre took the canister from him, popped the top, and handed it back. He grunted, then carefully removed a cheese puff and put it in his mouth.
He looked up. “Is this food?”
“Technically, yes,” Deirdre said.
“Just checking.” He swallowed a handful of cheese puffs.
A knock sounded at the door. Deirdre turned around, but Vani was already moving. She opened the door in a swift motion.
It was only a bellhop. He carried an envelope for Deirdre. She rose, signed for it, then turned the envelope over in her hands as Vani shut the door.
“What is it?” Beltan said.
“I don't know. Except for my name, it's not marked.”
Vani's eyes narrowed to slits. “Be careful.”
“She's right, mate,” Anders said. “There's no telling who sent that.”
Deirdre moved to the window, holding the envelope up to the glass, letting the illumination of a nearby streetlight shine through. However, she didn't see anything out of the ordinary.
“Here goes nothing,” she said, and opened the envelope.
There was only a single large sheet of paper, folded into eighths. She unfolded it, then frowned.
“What is it?” Anders said, moving closer.
Deirdre turned the paper in her hands. “I'm not sure. It looks like architectural plans for some building. A big building, by the look of it.”
“Anything you recognize?”
“No, there's no outside elevation. It's just floor plans. A theater, maybe?” She turned the paper over. “There's nothing else. No message, no explanation.”
“That's strange,” Beltan said. His lips and fingers were orange. “Any idea who might have sent it to you?”
A shiver passed through Deirdre. It had come in the same kind of envelope as the IDs and the plane tickets. It was from him, her mysterious Philosopher.
You've got to tell them, Deirdre. They deserve to know he's been helping you all along.
Before she could speak, something outside the window caught her eyes. She glanced down. Moments ago the street beneath the window had been filled with people on their way home. Now it was completely deserted.
No, not completely. A single figure stood in the pool of sepia-colored light beneath a streetlamp. For a second Deirdre wondered if it was he. Only it couldn't be. The figure was small—a girl in a dark dress.
The girl looked up, gazing at Deirdre with wise purple eyes, her face an ivory cameo framed by hair like shadows.
The paper slipped from Deirdre's hands, fluttering to the floor.
“What's out there?” she heard Anders say behind her.
Deirdre could only shake her head. Below, the girl moved her lips. It was impossible; there was no way Deirdre could possibly have heard her. All the same, the girl's lisping voice whispered in her mind.
Follow me.
42.
For the first time in his life, at thirty-five years of age, Travis