It had been two days and she'd heard nothing from Tanya. Clarissa sat in the basement apartment she'd lived in for the past year. There was a veneer of careless sloppiness about the place, but she made sure to keep it clean underneath. There was no need to extend the facade to insect infestation and repellent smells. A wan yellow light fell into her room from the only window. It was tucked up into the corner of the ceiling and showed the feet of passerby more than sunlight.
Clarissa thought about her encounter with Tanya. After she had shown interest, Tanya departed, appearing to be quite pleased, and said she'd be in touch. And there'd be a test.
Clarissa expected this. The Servants of the Pool were effective, even she grudgingly admitted that. They were the slipperiest of all the element cults and it was unclear even where they were based. Underground for sure, but where in the labrynth of tunnels none could say.
Suddenly there was a crash and a shower of glass hitting the floor. Clarissa jumped up, hand going to a hidden knife as her eyes searched for the source of the disturbance. Nothing. Just some jerk, she thought, breaking her window for laughs. She got up and started walking gingerly around the shards and the cupboard where she kept the handbroom. She stopped, seeing a strange teal-blue object on the floor amidst the broken glass. Reaching down, she saw it must be the stone that broke her window. Why would some joker throw this through her window?
Placing it in her palm, she realized it was an aquamarine, but had slender blue lines running through it. The blue was deep, a color rarely seen in nature, and she involuntarily stared at it for several seconds before shaking her head and coming back to the present. There was a small hole drilled straight through at one end. She turned the stone over and her eyes widened. There was a folded piece of paper stuck to the stone with putty. Carefully, she prised the paper away from the adhesive and opened it. Its full size was scarcely more than a wrapper for children's candies. The text was small, but clear and precise.
537 Paper St. Steal something Hilam touches regularly. Keep stone with you
For the third time in as many minutes, Clarissa was shocked. The audacity of this was incredible. She hadn't recognized the address, although she knew it lay well within an industrial area outside the Earth City proper, but everyone in the Census Office knew the name Hilam. He ran the one of the largest tralaticon reclamation facilities in the city and used it as a front for any number of other shady activities. His wealth and the importance of that industry sheltered him from scrutiny as long as he wasn't too brazen. In short, he was a powerful gangster and not crossed lightly.
She needed to inform Handler. But whoever threw that stone might still be out there, watching and waiting to see what she would do. Shaking herself and becoming
Throwing her hood up to guard against the cold bay breeze and smell of fish, salt, and sweat, she walked through the port streets in the direction of the industrial district. Even down here, there was always a slant to the road. Only very near the docks did the foothills finally flatten out before dropping off a cliff into the bay. She made no attempt to evade any surveillence the cult might employ, she wanted them to follow her. Even so, she did kept an eye out for possible tails. If there were any, they were good and staying out of sight. Only dogs and other feral animals paid her any mind during the 3 kilometer walk.
On approaching 537 Paper St., Clarissa saw she'd have to find another way. The place was dirty and scraps of forgotten machinery lay stacked in front of 10 foot high chain linked fences. There was a gate for visitors and deliveries manned by at least 12 visible personnel and no doubt more in the low building behind the guardhouse. Crains moved in the distance at some construction site. Turning right down a side street, she looked up and around. To the north there was a high overhanging cliff. It was time for lunch.
Clarissa sat near the edge of the cliff looking down into the tralaticon reclamation operation. The bread wrap wasn't as good as it looked, but it gave her a good reason to be there. She'd had to backtrack a bit, but there were plenty of vendors nearby serving the industrial workers. The reclamation facility was walled all the way around. There was one large building near the gate that she assumed was the command center, since in the hour she sat there that place easily had the most foot traffic. Guards were visible everywhere and all were armed. This was not going to be easy. The only advantage she had was that the defenses appeared to be set up to generally discourage the curious rather than towards a particular threat. Still, the place was porbably two square kilometers and crawling with people. Licking her fingers, she got up and looked around. Seeing no one, she pulled a blank square of paper and pen out of her jacket and scratched a quick note. Placing them back in her pocket, she set out for the current dead drop she and Handler were using.
This time, she used every trick she knew to throw off a tail. Meandering her way back the way she had come, it took three times as long as the trip out. Confident she'd have shaken off anything but a bloodhound, Clarissa entered an alley that looked like every other one in the port. Sitting with her back to a wall, she held her nose against the stench emanating from the half open trash cans with last weeks fish guts still in them. Waste removal was described generously as "intermittant" in this part of town. Looking out both ends of the alley and up to the closed windows above her, she felt certain she was alone. Casually, she nudged a stone behind her away from a concealed nook and slipped the paper note she'd written into it. Replacing the stone, she sat for a few more minutes in the stink before getting up and heading out the same way she came in. There was a mailbox sitting on the ground under a pile of junk. She kicked its flag up as she went by, as if on a whim. The mailbox didn't budge as it was bolted to the ground, but the flag popped up and Handler would know within hours that she'd left a message. She would return in 24-72 hours to get his response. (TK come up with something better- think of a spot where she looks like she belongs, like in Bridge of Spies. The Russian is painting a landscape on the bench where he places his microfilm. She has no reason to be in the alley and doesn't live there.)
Those days were spent in a flurry of planning and surveillence as she thought of how to get in and out safely with an item. She couldn't use Census Office resources, only her own. She might have to explain how she acheived her mission and any slip up could prove fatal. She wore various disguises and walked around the facility many times, surveying its defenses and what she started calling its garrison. Every visitor was scrutinized and workers had ID cards not unlike those used by her own organization. She considered a naked infiltration, bribery, seducing a guard, and pretending to look for work. All of these were discarded for various reasons as untenable or inexpedient. It was late on the second day when she noticed a uniformed group approaching in a horse-drawn open-topped wagon. They had brooms, mops, buckets, and a colorful assortment of rags. A cleaning crew. Clarissa watched as they were checked and let in. That was her ticket. A combination of infiltration and that crew. The next day she visited the (see paragraph above for location) again. Handler's response was short, but she could feel the excitement through the paper: she was to proceed with the mission.
Over the next few days she discovered that the crew came every other day at the same time: early evening as the day workers and management were leaving. It took them a few hours to clean all the spaces. The number of guards never changed and the operation of reclaming tralaticon was 24 hour a day work, but ostensibly Hilam's office would be empty. She knew him by sight and found that he usually left with everyone else. He went about in a horse-drawn carriage. Horses were rare in the city- mules and donkeys were better suited to the mountain terrain. As soon as she confirmed the schedules of the principles, she chose the day of her operation.
Clarissa breathed slowly and evenly as the guard's overhead footsteps receded into the dusk twilight. She had broken into, or more precisely, walked through a missing section of fence, the construction site adjacent to the reclamation facility. She clipped another few links in the fence between the two sites and retreated back to her hiding place. That was it. Next time she would be in. (Clarissa sneaks through the facility, ambushes and knocks out one of the cleaning crew and takes their uniform, then gets into Hilam's office. Running into a guard on her way there and a real worker on her way out, who sounds the alarm. Then she escapes).
The footsteps receded again and Clarissa slipped through the fence, leaning the cut links against the hole to hide her work from cursory inspections. She stayed still for another pass of the guard on the plank overhead. When he was safely gone, she slipped into the facility proper.
The place was full of junk and a dull thrum from the reclamation equipment muffled sound. It was a simple task to keep something between her and the guards she had marked on the walls. She felt like she was spinning as she moved though, always keeping an eye behind and before her. About 50 meters in, she came to a small shed and entered through the door, hand on her knife. It was empty and she let out a breath. Scanning in the twilight, she could see it was some kind of workshop for the workers to make minor repairs. Keeping low, she peeked out the grimy windows with minimal silhoutte. No movement. She was close to one of the larger buildings her recon had shown her was always cleaned. The door creaked as she opened it, making her wince, but the sound was eaten up by the ambient noise of the machinery and she crept to the next building.
There were no doors on this side, but a quick test showed a window was unlocked. Checking her surroundings, she pushed it all the way up, squirmed through the window, and reclosed it. Pausing to control her breathing and orient herself, the first thing she noticed was that she was in a classroom or meeting space of some kind. Chairs and desks were scattered in a vague semi-circle around a chalkboard. She approached and saw on it a crude, but servicable sketch of a passive conveyance device. They must use this room to train people on how to get the most tralaticon out of each unit. Suddenly, she heard footsteps outside the door.
Crouching amidst the desks, Clarissa waited. A wheel squeaked as the footsteps and soft moisture whicking sounds progressed slowly outside the door. Perfect. Someone was mopping. Clarissa waited until the sound was far enough away from the door that she wouldn't open it on the worker and close enough that she could close the distance before a shout went up. Opening the door, Clarissa saw the cleaner and made a snap assessment. Man, mid-twenties, taller than her and slim build. He paused briefly in his mopping. She didn't give him time to consider how his situation had changed. Sprinting forward, she kicked the back of his knee enough to buckle it but cause little pain. As a result he gasped instead of yelling and was knocked off balance and low enough for her to easily set a hold around his neck. A few seconds later he was asleep. Working quickly, she stripped him of his uniform, tied him with cord she'd brought along, gagged, and deposited him in the classroom.
Carrying the mop, she ran back along the hallway where he'd worked, looking for an exit. Nearing the door, she found his bucket of cleaning supplies. In it was a fabric mask to keep from inhaling chemicals. She grabbed it and put it on, happy for the partial disguise but noticing that it had likely never been washed. She got a head rush from the chemicals and sweat caked into it. Removing it, she shoved it in a pocket for use in emergencies.
Walking more casually now, Clarissa wound her way through the piles of junk and machinery. She made no attempt to hide now and even saw a guard eyeing her from the wall about 100 feet away. Before long, her destination came into view. A large, two-storey structure she'd seen Hilam enter and exit everyday. The guards at the gatehouse down the road glanced at her and went back to their grousing. Without a pause, she opened the door walked in, almost running over a guard. He started and placed his hand on his sword hilt. It was all Clarissa could do to resist reaching for her own weapon.
"What the hell you doin' here? Yal-ready cleaned here," the man barked.
"I...I...got sent back. Forgot some supplies," she stammered.
Shaking his head, the guard snapped, "Where?"
Thinking quickly, Clarissa said, "The main office." The guard blew air out from his closed lips in exasperation and shook his head. Telling her to move aside by waving his hand, he kept one eye on her as he cracked the door open and yelled to the gatehouse, "Dipshits left something in the boss' office, I'm taking her up." Bored acknowledgements followed. "Come on," he said to Clarissa.
They walked up a flight of steps to the second floor, the guard muttering under his breath about "dumbasses," "watch," and "babysitting." Taking a key from a ring on his belt, he opened a large door with the name "Hilam Malringer" stenciled on it.
The office was well-appointed but short of opulent. Hilam had a nasty reputation, but a quick glance showed Clarissa that he, or his interior decorator, had taste. Her appreciation lasted for about 2 seconds.
"Well? Where's your shit?"
Clarissa answered by spinning the mop in her hands and stabbing it like a spear into the man's solar plexus. His eyes bulged and all the air flew out of his lungs as he went to his knees. He started to draw his sword, but Clarissa stepped down hard on the end of the mop, breaking the heavy cloth head off and spinning it hard into his temple. The man's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell heavily to the ground. This was it, she had to move fast now.
Scanning the room, her eyes fell immediately onto the desk. Dropping the mop handle and moving to the desk, she evaluated and discarded each item in turn. A fountain pen on a stand? Too obvious. Same with its inkwell. A hunk of the strange coral from Tralaticon Isle with a tiny silver vein of tralaticon in it? Too bulky, plus how often did he touch it? There were also various papers and folders in neat stacks. Again, how often were these touched? She had to be sure. Her eyes fell on the chair and the smoking jacket. Then she saw it. Poking out of a pocket were a pair of reading glasses. Snatching them up, she wrapped them carefully in a handkerchief, hopefull clean, that was also in the pocket, and dashed passed the unconscious guard.
The front door was out of the question. If she came out first there would be questions from the gatehouse, bored or not they knew she was in here. Running down the stairs to the first floor, she ran through a hallway and around to the opposite site of the building. Kicking in a door at random, she saw it was a small office with a window. Pausing only to look out and make sure the coast was clear, she opening the window and climbed out. The way back wasn't too bad. She kept to the shadows and walked in the open when she had to, trusting her disguise. She was safely out of the reclamation facility and exiting the construction site when she heard the first shouts of alarm in the distance behind her.