Pip was not. He wasn’t interested in the General’s report, because at best, he’d have a list of numbers, and estimation. Nothing that would let him know if Elena was all right.
Pip schooled his face into a mask of rigidity. “Thank you, Madam, you’ve been very helpful.”
Pip returned to his room, thoughts blazing, hardly making any sense at all. He’d seen Elena come into work after trouble in the outer ring before. He suspected—but wasn’t sure—that money was an issue, that this job was important.
If she was all right, she’d be here.
And she wasn’t here.
He couldn’t contemplate staying in the palace and waiting for her to show up. The very thought made him sick to his stomach. How was he to eat and sleep, not knowing if she was all right? How was he tobreathe?
He went to his wardrobe, selecting a cloak, and then found his stash of coins that Susan kept hidden. He wondered if he should take a weapon. It seemed foolish to rush off without one, but at the same time, was going armed inviting trouble?
In the end, he just took the plainest dagger he could find. He was uncertain of his ability to wield it next to the possibility of pistols, but it gave him a modicum of comfort.
With security so light inside the palace, it was easy for him to sneak away to the gates unnoticed, but there was no way to descend into the city without detection.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said to the guard manning the lifts. “I need to get into the city.”
The guard blinked at him. “Ah, Prince Phillippe!” he said, dropping into a hasty bow. “I’m afraid I’ve been told not to let anyone descend. Queen Mira’s orders.”
“I am hoping I can persuade you otherwise,” he said, dropping several gold coins on the desk in front of him. He tried to do it slowly, waiting for the gleam in the guard’s eyes that suggested his price had been reached. Surely enough, it came. “I would prefer it if you told no one that you saw me,” Pip said as the guard shoved the coins into his pockets. “But if you must, you can always say I threatened you.”
“Right you are, Your Highness,” the guard said swifty, opening up the gates and directing him towards the lifts. “Um… don’t wander far. Stay away from the outer ring. Lots of problems there today.”
“I’ll be careful,” Pip insisted, knowing that he wouldn’t be. If Elena was in trouble… he didn’t want to think about the levels of ‘not careful’ that he would stoop to.
He clutched the dagger tightly under his cloak, praying he wouldn’t have to use it, that she’d be fine—
The lift descended through the bank of cloud, the city racing up to greet him, but Pip was too lost in his thoughts to notice anything until the glass doors slid open, and he stumbled out onto the smoky streets.
Security was not interested in anyone getting out of the palace, and it was easy to get by them, to disappear into the crowds. It was busier than Toulouse, the buildings taller and more tightly packed, swirling with smoke. Toulouse was white and silver, Petragrad copper and bronze. Not an echo of the palace's splendour stretched this far.
He knew it could take hours to get to the outer ring on foot, but luckily the trams were still in operation—at least to a point. He caught one to the edge of the middle ring where it spat him out in the dust and dirt, and Pip found himself strangely alone.
He followed the signs towards the outer ring, but he might as well have followed the signs of silent chaos. Shop windows were smashed in, military vans upturned, markets torn down. Scorched marks brushed the brick. Not a single building seemed to have escaped destruction of some sort.
Guards still patrolled the streets, and Pip was careful to avoid them. A few other souls were out too, sweeping glass and debris. No one spoke. No one dared to.
Pip wandered further down the streets, looking for the garages near the plant that Elena had spoken of, realising there could be dozens spread out all over the place. This was a foolish endeavour. He should never have come.
Finally, he stopped to ask for directions, asking a solemn-looking shopkeeper with a broom if he knew of a Navarran mechanic called Elena who worked out of a garage.
“Never thought to ask her name, but there’s a girl fitting that description a couple of streets over,” the man reported. “Row six, I think. Or seven. Maybe eight?”
Thanking the man, Pip followed his directions until he came to the garages. They were numbered, with six and seven facing each other. Some were named, with business logos smeared across the closed doors, but if Elena had named her business, she hadn’t seen fit to disclose it.
She might not be here, of course. She could be at home, recovering from her ordeal. This might be an entirely wasted journey.
He should have gotten her address from the supervisor.
You’re an idiot, Pip.
Susan would be furious. He prayed she never found out.
“Elena!” he called, in a soft, whispered shout. He rapped on a couple of the unnamed garage doors. There was no answer.
The shopkeeper could have been wrong, of course.