BLUEMANTLE

great. If she’s wrong, you haven’t wasted time, nor risked arrest by going to something you know you should stay well clear of.”
“Were it that easy.”
“I don’t see why…” A railmotor trundled overhead. The screech of steel against rusting iron and the groan of the Elevated under the sixty-tonne weight drowned out Naylor’s voice. The locomotive slowed as it approached the Pentagon stop. He gave up trying to compete with the din. Instead, he hurried behind Chase, who had stepped up the pace.
They broke away from the underpass and entered the Pentagon. It was early yet, but already the cafés, food carts and brewery tents were packed. With so much of the city declared a curfew zone from sundown, any citizen who sought escape from the confines of their quarters come evening was forced into the Hundred of Spire Wells or restricted to the limited entertainment available in the surrounding residential districts. A significant proportion of the city’s population descended on the same nine square miles – a reliable spike in trade that the proprietors, landlords and stall holders took full advantage of.
“I told Weldon and Tinashe we’d meet them in the Brew,” called Chase over his shoulder. He led the way through the crowd, towards a large makeshift bar. Casks were stacked on wooden carts, forming a wall along two sides. Before these stood the bar: two long trestle tables, laden with pint jugs and gill glasses. In the central space were around fifty hay bales, serving as makeshift benches and tables combined. People either sat on the bales, on the floor, or milled around, sipping their Kitson or Pyncher, the only drinks on sale. “There they are.” Chase pointed at two people standing by the bar.
Tinashe was tall and dark-skinned, with braided hair and bright eyes. She was laughing at Weldon, a slight, pliable man, all arms and legs. He was performing some sort of impression, contorting his face and gesturing with his hands. Tinashe caught sight of Chase and Naylor as they approached. “Hey, guys. About time.”
“Sorry,” said Naylor. “We got held up. How long have you been here?”
“Long enough for Weldon to act the fool and still not get a round in.” She elbowed Weldon. “Your shout. We’ll find somewhere to sit.” She turned and headed for a vacant bale before Weldon had the chance to respond.
Chase and Naylor followed Tinashe and sat down beside her. Chase rubbed the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm and downed the last dregs of water from the canteen strapped to his belt.
“So, what’ve you been up to today?” said Tinashe. “Why so warm and weary?”
“Wella’s gone missing,” said Chase. “We’ve been looking for her.”
“Oh, crow. Since when?”
“Sometime between Wednesday and Friday morning. I take it you haven’t seen her? I tried to call you and Weldon at the sports centre, left a message there.”
“I’ve had a double shift at the tramways. Sorry, mate.”
Weldon appeared with four pints of Kitson. “Here you go, ladies.” He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them. “What? I buy you a beer. Why so glum?”
“Wella’s disappeared,” said Tinashe.
Chase filled them in on their search so far. When it came to telling them all about Ursel and her theory on Wella’s whereabouts, he leant in and lowered his voice. They sat in a huddle, faces close.
“I’m not saying I know your sister well,” said Tinashe, “but I doubt she’d get involved in all that. Not after…”
“That’s what I said. But Ursel says they’re close friends and she seems convinced.”
“He’s thinking about going with Ursel,” said Naylor.
Chase shot him a pointed glare.
Naylor raised his hands. “What? If I can’t talk you out of it, maybe these guys will have more luck.”
“Seriously, man, don’t risk it,” whispered Tinashe. She tipped her head to the left. “Have you seen them? They’re manning the dishes twenty-four seven. Allears everywhere. It’s too dangerous.”
“They’re for the holes, though,” said Weldon. “I’m not saying it’s not dangerous. You know what I think about Users. Selfish troublemakers, stirring up shit for the rest of us. But the Allears now, they’re listening for more holes. It’s a good thing they’re doing.” Weldon sat back, raising his voice from a whisper. “Have you been over to Glos? You seen how close the swallow hole is to where I live? The thing is huge. I’ve had nightmares. It’s seriously freaked me out. I’m not kidding.”
Naylor glanced at Chase, saw his shoulders tense. “No, we’ve not been out that way. Wella wouldn’t have been there.” He caught Tinashe’s eye.
Tinashe grasped the look. “I agree. She’d have no reason to. Try not to think about that, Chase. There’s got to be another explanation.” She shrugged and raised her eyebrows. “Maybe this Ursel is right?”
Weldon looked up in alarm, Naylor with a glare of caution. It was only Chase whose eyes revealed the spark of interest.
“I’m not saying that’s a positive thing,” she added. “Messing with music is dangerous, we all know that. And I’m not just talking about the risk of a beating at the hands of the Deaf Squad. If Wella is involved, then she’s in serious shit. But at least we’d know that and we could help her.” She looked to Chase. “If Ursel finds her, she can bring her back and we can help her get clean.”
“Ursel said she might not be able to persuade her to return,” said Chase. He turned to Naylor. “But if I go, I believe I could.”

Chapter Seven
Dent Lore knelt at the base of a towering whisper dish, eyes level with an adjusted Allear. Rigid, breath held, they delved deep into buried frequencies.
Dent sighed. “False alarm,” he said, and stood up, leaving the trooper on all fours, blind to the frightened stares of passers-by.
Shielding his eyes from the sun, Dent looked across the Pentagon to a clocktower in its centre. Midday. Twenty more dish sites to inspect before dusk, when the rumoured event could start. He shook his head, cursing the size of