Lodrán.”
“I see them,” said Lodrán into his phone. “Tell Freddy to follow them in.”
“Hello?” said Freddy into his cellphone. “Yeah. Okay, I guess I can take a break from break time.” He was already moving, the targets ahead of him but in sight. He pocketed his phone and shuffled along, keeping pace, hands in pockets. This was like acting. He’d performed in several plays in middle school, and really got into his characters. Like with everything else, though, the crowd he’d wanted to be in didn’t act in plays. What Lodrán called “the Silent Art” was a lot more interesting than his old life, so far.
The cart, draped with a white tablecloth, rumbled right on by the concession area. Lodrán was waiting there, and Freddy joined him. Lodrán immediately started a mostly one-sided conversation, waving his hands and leaving Freddy to grunt, “uh-huh” from time to time. He was amazed how fast Lodrán picked up the local slang; even his accent was nearly gone. Then, Lodrán put a hand on his shoulder and turned Freddy down the corridor. “I gotta water the bushes,” he said.
“Yeah, me too.”
They passed the targets, standing in front of the elevator. Lodrán continued chattering, “I tell all my clients, don’t look back. Never look back,” he said. “Past behind you, world in front of you.” They ambled on, and Lodrán suddenly stopped. “Who’s calling now?” he asked, turning to face the way they’d come and fumbling his phone out. “Yeah?” He nudged Freddy. “Where are they going?”
Freddy whispered, “That’s an elevator. It goes up and down.”
“Yeah?” Lodrán continued to yap at his phone. “Well, can you find the stairs, then?” He nudged Freddy again.
“That’s the stairs.” Freddy nodded to the door directly across from them.
“Alright. Well, listen… I need to get moving here. Talk to you later?” Lodrán pocketed his phone. “Luck of the draw whether they go up or down, I guess. If Chelinn were here…”
“They’re going down,” said Freddy. “See the lights next to the doors? The down arrow is lit. That means they’re going to the basement.”
“Good work. You may be suited to the Silent Art after all. Find a place where you can watch the elevators, and call me if they come up.” Lodrán took his phone out again, and disappeared through the stairway door.
The stairway ended after two flights of steps, and Lodrán emerged chattering at his phone. “Yeah, I went downstairs, there’s too much noise up there.” I wish we had these things at home , he thought, it would make blending in so much easier . Up ahead, the targets glanced back at the sales guy who wanted a little privacy, and gave it to him. Lodrán continued to babble until they turned a corner, then pocketed the phone again and pulled off his boots. In bare feet, he could run without making a sound.
The walls here in the basement were much like those in the loading area: blocks of uniform size, but covered in paint that was a bare step short of white. The lighting—in Lodrán’s mind, the most amazing thing in a world of amazing things—was like in Chuck’s store. Long glowing tubes, burning with no smoke and little heat, but suspended from the ceiling rather than recessed. Except for the lighting, the basement felt like home.
Reaching the turn, he stopped short and listened to the cart rumble along. Lodrán suppressed the urge to steal a peek around the corner. If you know what to listen for, your ears are as good as your eyes , his safehouse master once told him. And your ears can hear around corners . Lodrán could paint the scene in his mind’s eye easily enough, since he’d seen it seconds ago: the man in the green jumpsuit leading the way, two men in white outfits pushing the cart, and the last man looking over his shoulder. More amateurs.
“In here,” came a voice. The cart stopped, then keys jingled and a door opened. The cart rumbled again, quickly muffled.
“I see them,” said Lodrán into his phone. “Tell Freddy to follow them in.”
“Hello?” said Freddy into his cellphone. “Yeah. Okay, I guess I can take a break from break time.” He was already moving, the targets ahead of him but in sight. He pocketed his phone and shuffled along, keeping pace, hands in pockets. This was like acting. He’d performed in several plays in middle school, and really got into his characters. Like with everything else, though, the crowd he’d wanted to be in didn’t act in plays. What Lodrán called “the Silent Art” was a lot more interesting than his old life, so far.
The cart, draped with a white tablecloth, rumbled right on by the concession area. Lodrán was waiting there, and Freddy joined him. Lodrán immediately started a mostly one-sided conversation, waving his hands and leaving Freddy to grunt, “uh-huh” from time to time. He was amazed how fast Lodrán picked up the local slang; even his accent was nearly gone. Then, Lodrán put a hand on his shoulder and turned Freddy down the corridor. “I gotta water the bushes,” he said.
“Yeah, me too.”
They passed the targets, standing in front of the elevator. Lodrán continued chattering, “I tell all my clients, don’t look back. Never look back,” he said. “Past behind you, world in front of you.” They ambled on, and Lodrán suddenly stopped. “Who’s calling now?” he asked, turning to face the way they’d come and fumbling his phone out. “Yeah?” He nudged Freddy. “Where are they going?”
Freddy whispered, “That’s an elevator. It goes up and down.”
“Yeah?” Lodrán continued to yap at his phone. “Well, can you find the stairs, then?” He nudged Freddy again.
“That’s the stairs.” Freddy nodded to the door directly across from them.
“Alright. Well, listen… I need to get moving here. Talk to you later?” Lodrán pocketed his phone. “Luck of the draw whether they go up or down, I guess. If Chelinn were here…”
“They’re going down,” said Freddy. “See the lights next to the doors? The down arrow is lit. That means they’re going to the basement.”
“Good work. You may be suited to the Silent Art after all. Find a place where you can watch the elevators, and call me if they come up.” Lodrán took his phone out again, and disappeared through the stairway door.
The stairway ended after two flights of steps, and Lodrán emerged chattering at his phone. “Yeah, I went downstairs, there’s too much noise up there.” I wish we had these things at home , he thought, it would make blending in so much easier . Up ahead, the targets glanced back at the sales guy who wanted a little privacy, and gave it to him. Lodrán continued to babble until they turned a corner, then pocketed the phone again and pulled off his boots. In bare feet, he could run without making a sound.
The walls here in the basement were much like those in the loading area: blocks of uniform size, but covered in paint that was a bare step short of white. The lighting—in Lodrán’s mind, the most amazing thing in a world of amazing things—was like in Chuck’s store. Long glowing tubes, burning with no smoke and little heat, but suspended from the ceiling rather than recessed. Except for the lighting, the basement felt like home.
Reaching the turn, he stopped short and listened to the cart rumble along. Lodrán suppressed the urge to steal a peek around the corner. If you know what to listen for, your ears are as good as your eyes , his safehouse master once told him. And your ears can hear around corners . Lodrán could paint the scene in his mind’s eye easily enough, since he’d seen it seconds ago: the man in the green jumpsuit leading the way, two men in white outfits pushing the cart, and the last man looking over his shoulder. More amateurs.
“In here,” came a voice. The cart stopped, then keys jingled and a door opened. The cart rumbled again, quickly muffled.
Similar Books
