Tier One at midnight was a different city. The markets were shuttered and silent.
The bioluminescent lighting had been turned to its minimum — a deep blue glow that gave
everything the quality of being viewed through water. The air was colder here than any
other tier, cold enough that her breath came in visible plumes.
She went first to The Rind, as Cornflake had directed. The southeast corner of Tier
Two was a district of small establishments: repair shops, expired-goods dealers, one very
suspicious notary. The Rind occupied a position between a cheese-rind recycling depot and
a doorway that bore no sign but was consistently illuminated.
Sergeant Chickpea was exactly what Kale had expected and nothing she had been
prepared for. She was small, brown, densely packed, and regarded Kale with the particular
assessment of someone who has been betrayed by a variety of parties and intends to be
more selective in future.
SERGEANT CHICKPEA: "The owl hath landed. Right. Cornflake's friend. Come
in, stay away from the window, and if I tell thee to get under the counter, get
under the counter without the kind of pause that'll get one or both of us killed. We
clear?"
AGENT KALE: "Admirably."
SERGEANT CHICKPEA: "Three Peeler Mafia operatives have been following
thee since Tier Four. They're Vinaigrette's people — mid-level, not kill-level. They
want to know what thou art doing, not stop thee from doing it. Which means
Vinaigrette is curious, not hostile. Which is the most helpful she'll ever be, so if thou
hast any interest in talking to her, now is the moment to arrange it."
AGENT KALE: "I have interest. But not tonight. Tonight I need passage to Tier
One, Frost Quarter, Cold Storage. And then, if Fennel's notebook is right, to Tier
Zero."
Chickpea went very still in the manner of a person who has just heard something
they had hoped not to hear.
SERGEANT CHICKPEA: "Tier Zero. Thou art very sure about that."
AGENT KALE: "The notebook described a room. Cold even when the cold systems
fail. Third arch. Do you know it?"
SERGEANT CHICKPEA: "Everybody who works the lower tiers knows it.
Nobody goes near it. The Grain Cartel uses the outer passage as a transit corridor.
Don Baguette's people patrol it twice a night. If thou goest there, thou wilt be seen
by the Cartel. Which meaneth thou wilt be seen by Don Baguette. Which meaneth
— depending on what thou findest there — thou wilt either be of no further concern
to him or of very significant concern."
AGENT KALE: "I will take that risk."
SERGEANT CHICKPEA: "I said I would get thee there, not that I recommended
it. Give me twenty minutes."
⁂
The establishment called Cold Storage occupied a corner position at the intersection
of two streets so narrow they could barely be called streets at all. She checked her
surroundings before entering. She found the tin on the third shelf from the left, second
alcove. She reached for it.
A hand arrived at the tin a breath before hers.
She stepped back. The other person stepped back. They regarded each other across
the frost-touched shelf in the blue dark of the lowest tier. Smooth. Green-gold. An
expression of philosophical acceptance she now recognised.
She was looking at Avocado.
AVOCADO: "Agent Kale. I had expected thee to be approximately four minutes
later. I have been recalculating since thy arrival."
AGENT KALE: "Who art thou?"
AVOCADO: "The short answer: I am the person thou art looking for. However,
we have perhaps six minutes before this building is entered by others — and not
the same others who followed thee from Tier Four. These are Pith Cartel.
Pepperoncini's people. They are considerably more direct than the Peeler Mafia's
observers."
AGENT KALE: "Thou art the Ripened One."
AVOCADO: "I am. Yes. And I placed that tin here. Not Cornflake's contact —
Cornflake's contact was my arrangement. The Guild paid me. I accepted their
payment and did not deliver. The theft was mine. The purpose was entirely
different from what anyone supposeth."
AGENT KALE: "Fennel. Thou knowest who killed him."
The briefest pause. Real weight behind it.
AVOCADO: "Pepperoncini. On the Frozen One's instruction, funded through the
Pith Cartel. Fennel identified her sleeper credential. She had him killed within
forty-eight hours of learning he had noted her down. I am sorry. I had a warning.
I did not pass it to Fennel in time. That is a failure I carry."
AGENT KALE: "Thou should have gone to the authorities."
AVOCADO: "Any authority I could have reached was either already involved or
would have suppressed the information. I could not trust any official channel."
AGENT KALE: "Not even me?"
AVOCADO: "I did not know thee yet."
Below, in the street outside, she heard footsteps. More than one pair. Organised, not
random.
AVOCADO: "The tin containeth a copy of Article the Seventh. Take it. There is
another exit. Follow me."
She took the tin. She followed him. Through the back of Cold Storage, into a passage
that existed in no map she had seen of Tier One, and emerged into the comparative
warmth of Tier Two. She tucked the tin into her coat beside Fennel's notebook. Two
documents. Two pieces of a puzzle whose full dimensions she was only beginning to
perceive. Avocado disappeared into the Tier Two crowds with the efficiency of someone
who had spent considerable time practising exactly that skill. She stood with the tin in her
hands and thought about what it meant to be an instrument of a plan set in motion three
hundred years ago. Then she went back to her lodgings and opened the tin.