Page 169 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

He follows his ears, his nose, all his senses.

Somewhere on the second floor, Mimi and Jules are with Troy and two others, talking seriously. He’s far enough away that he shouldn’t be able to hear anything, but if he closes his eyes, he can.

The voices fine-tune into clarity as his ears strain.

‘…wants that, nobody. A week to get clear, another for word to reach your father—’

‘You don’t understand,’ someone new tells Troy and the voice pulls on a chord buried deep inside him, crafts a strong twang of recognition he’s truly never felt before, not even with Céliane.

That’s his brother.

His voice is layered in a way no one else’s ever has been, seemingly composed of a million tiny individual sounds combining perfectly.

Riley closes his eyes, listens harder.

‘We’ve been over this, kid,’ Troy says, sounds tired.

‘And you won’t listen. My father is smarter than anyone realises. He won’t be fooled for long.’

‘He’s not getting you back. I promise you that.’

Riley’s fingers dig hard into his own leg and his resolve solidifies.

He makes himself leave the listening spot and carefully ventures down into the dank of the lower levels. There’s almost no one around. Maybe they’re all guarding from the outside. Maybe some were lost in the kidnap process. Either way, it works for Riley, who keeps to the shadows, navigating his way to the small office near the rooms he knows Troy uses to hurt people.

When he opens the door, he quickly casts around for the phone, spies a landline sitting on a desk beside a lamp that’s currently off. The desk itself is inundated with paper. Files, folders, pens, all kinds of things. On a half-empty shelf opposite, Riley notices several books that catch his eye.

Adventure books, science books, natural history. The kind of things Troy would bring for him. He must have been keeping them here to give to Riley.

Undeterred, Riley picks up the receiver and puts it to his ear, wincing at the weird, low greeting tone.

‘Hello?’

Nothing.

Of course there’s nothing, he needs to dial, press the buttons.

Riley presses a whole bunch. There’s a big clicky button that makes the low tone stop when he presses it. That’s end call, he thinks, nodding to himself, has to be quick, has to figure this out.

The only number Riley knows from his books is emergency services and given that Troy owns half the cops, Riley’s not stupid enough to call them.

No, he needs to call Alistair Penhalyx.

On the phone itself, there’s nothing helpful except…

Information: 411

Riley presses three digits and then waits.

The tone shifts, changes, and then a voice is there on the other end.

‘Directory assistance, how may I help you?’

Mouth open, Riley promptly forgets how to speak.

He has to shake himself, refocus.

‘Um. I n-need to call… someone.’