Sam Marlowe's Arc

Chapter 13 of 14

Sam ran until his lungs burned. He didn't stop until the harbor fog swallowed him whole. Dolly stayed at his side. Lysander pulled up beside them, coat bulging with files. The wooden model dug into Sam's ribs. The Boss knew his face now. He knew Dolly's. Running only bought minutes. The lock was the thing everyone wanted, and Sam finally understood the truth. As long as it existed, they'd hunt him forever. "We can't hide it," Sam said. "We can't sell it. Every faction wants it whole. The only way out is to break it." Lysander studied the carved boats by lamplight. "Break it wrong and you turn the key," he said. "You'd flood the city yourself." A voice answered from the dark. "He's right." The Watcher stepped out of the fog, grinning, notebook already open. Sam had met him once before, the strange man who knew things nobody should. "The lock opens the wall," the Watcher said. "But a lock can jam." "How," Sam said. The Watcher pointed past the pier. The fog thinned. Sam saw still boats that rocked but never drifted. A grounded warship rested on the bank. Far off, long necks rose through the mist and called to each other. This was the place the wall trapped. This was the other side. "The lock only works here," the Watcher said. "Bring it to the seam. Force it against the tumbler. It splits or it opens. You get one turn." He tapped his notebook. "I won't watch the moment. I never do." He walked back into the fog. Dolly caught Sam's arm. "That's a coin flip with the whole city on it." "It's the only flip we get," Sam said. "He finds us tonight either way." Lysander knelt at the water's edge. He ran his fingers along a groove in the stone where the fog bled through. "The seam's here," he said. "Two halves of a wall. One weak line." Sam pressed the wooden model into the groove. The carved boats caught, then stuck. Something clicked deep inside. The ground shook. A hand pushed against the fog from the far side, five fingers spreading, testing. "Turn it or lose it," Lysander said. Sam gripped the model and wrenched it the wrong way, against the tumbler, with everything he had. Wood screamed. The hand jerked back. The model cracked down the middle. Both halves went dead in his palms. The shaking stopped. The fog rolled back over the still boats and the warship, and the seam sealed cold. Sam knelt in the wet stone, holding two useless pieces of wood. No lock. No door. Nothing left to hunt him for. Dolly let out a breath. "It's over." "The lock is," Sam said. He looked at the broken halves. "But I jammed his door in his face. The Boss doesn't have another key." He stood. "So now he needs a new way through. And he still knows my face."