26. The Plan II

The work Framer and Saboteur had done together clarified which weaknesses in the warehouse Alistair could exploit and which ones he needed to leave alone. Saboteur alone could probably have managed the job. Weak Link could find where a structure would fail under pressure. Bringing in Framer had still been the right choice. Alistair did not want a true disaster. He wanted something dangerous-looking and urgent, something that would force intervention, but stopped short of becoming a collapse that would kill people and pull every eye toward the cause instead of the warehouse. Framer helped him understand where that line was. Saboteur showed him how to push the building to the edge of that line.

The warehouse part of the plan could have begun before Pell’s death, but waiting made the rest easier. Once Pell was dealt with, more clones could be freed for last-minute adjustments, cleanup, and watching the fallout. Even with the increased number of clones he could now handle, Alistair always felt short-handed. Every gain in capacity only made him see more ways he could use it. He pushed that thought aside for now, along with the pleasant notification that had pulsed from the Guide earlier. He would deal with that later. The warehouse came first.

Saboteur moved through the smuggling section carefully. He had already studied the place several times, and Framer’s earlier guidance was still clear in his mind. The warehouse did not need to come down as a whole. In fact, a full collapse would have made everything worse. A full collapse would be destructive, hard to control, and dangerous. What he needed was a partial failure in the right area, loud and visible, the kind that would force officers inside while still leaving the rest of the building standing.

The section he chose lay close to Roe’s hidden operation. One support already carried more weight than it should. A stretch of roof and upper wall had relied on old repairs for far too long. Saboteur worked only on existing flaws. A supporting peg was loosened where wear had hidden the flaw. Filler was scraped out from a stress line in the mortar. A cracked brace was thinned just enough that it would not fail immediately, but would give when the weight shifted onto it. One footing stone was worked slightly out of place so the support above it would fail once strain came through.

He checked each adjustment repeatedly. The failure had to look old, neglected, and unfortunate.

Once he was satisfied with the structure, he turned to Roe’s hidden vault. Saboteur carried the bundle out to a preselected hiding place some distance away. Alistair had considered leaving it in place until after the warehouse was searched, but the risk was too high. If the plan succeeded, the building might be sealed. And if it failed, Roe would check the vault the moment he sensed trouble. Taking the prize now and counting it as payment for the effort was safer.

With that done, only the last trigger remained.

Saboteur went back to the weakened section, set his weight against the final loosened support point, and kicked the last stone free.

Destruction did not come instantly. First came the low groan of a structure beginning to tilt. Then a heavier settling sound. Dust sifted down from above. A beam shifted out of place. The loosened footing gave under the strain. The weakened braces passed weight across lines they could no longer hold. Once the process had started, the rest would follow on its own. Saboteur did not stay to watch the collapse finish. He slipped away and dissolved while the warehouse began the slow process of failing.

A few minutes earlier, Falsehand had excused himself from the workers’ tavern again to relieve himself. This time, he returned in a minute and no one at the table thought anything of it. Another body sat back down and resumed Joren’s place, holding the persona in place. The others were paying too little attention to notice.

The real Falsehand was already in the streets, moving with anxious speed through the dimly lit warehouse district. His task was simple. His role was a worried security guard who had seen the building starting to fail and did not know what to do except spread the news.

Other clones were spreading similar stories in nearby taverns.

“I’m telling you, I saw the wall shift.”

“The wall shifted?”

“Yes. Like it was going to fall. I didn’t stay to watch the rest.”

“Where?”

“One of the warehouses near the side lane. People are already heading there.”

“What for?”

“What do you think? If the place comes down, someone could be trapped. And if not, then the goods could be ruined if no one gets them out.”

In another tavern, the story spread with different details but the same idea.

“No, I’m not drunk. I saw the roofline dip. Grain, tools, maybe meat too if the rumors are right. Whole place looked like it was ready to give.”

The story only needed to travel fast. Curiosity, greed, and the chance to become a helpful witness would do the rest. People rarely needed much encouragement to run toward the possibility of gain, especially when they could call it helping afterward.

By the time the first curious opportunists reached Roe’s warehouse, there was little to see. The building still stood, untouched by any obvious collapse. A few men lingered nearby with tense expressions, but there was no disaster.

A few of the first arrivals were already muttering that the whole thing had been exaggerated when the structure made a long, rising shriek that cut through every voice at once.

Heads turned upward.

Then the weakened section gave way.

The collapse did not take the whole warehouse. A side portion of roof and upper wall sagged inward first, then broke under its own weight, sending a rolling cascade of timber, planks, and masonry crashing down inside and partly through the outer side. For a few heartbeats, everyone froze.

Then the last hanging beam tipped, struck below, and fell with a crack that broke the paralysis.

Greed overcame caution.

Several men surged toward the damaged section, talking over each other about helping, checking for trapped workers, and dragging out goods before the rest was lost. The guards actually posted to the warehouse moved then, too. These were hired hands trusted with things Roe did not want watched too closely, not ordinary town guards. They had enough sense to know that standing still would not save them. If the place was compromised, their failure would not be punished with lost wages alone.

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“Back!” one of them shouted, stepping into the opening path. “This is private property. No one will enter.”

“We’re trying to help,” someone from the crowd shot back.

“There could be people inside,” said another.

The guards held the line and tried to force people back, which only made the crowd more certain there was something worth reaching inside for. A few were already looking past the damaged section with the bright interest of scavengers. Others played the righteous part loudly so everyone nearby could hear.

“What kind of bastards stop men from checking for survivors?”

“They care more about their cargo than lives.”

That line spread quickly.

Then someone farther back in the gathering crowd began shouting, “Help them! There’s someone trapped in there. I heard them.”

Another voice picked it up. Then another. Soon, that claim moved through the people like fire through dry fields.

By the time Lucien and the first town officers arrived, the hired guards were close to losing control of the scene.

Their arrival shocked both sides. Roe’s men went pale. The crowd drew back to make room, but did not leave. There was too much excitement, along with the hope that something valuable might be overlooked.

Lucien took control the moment he stepped in.

“Back,” he snapped at the crowd. “Give the officers room. No one enters unless ordered.”

To the hired guards trying to block him, he said, “Stand aside.”

One of them tried to protest. “You can’t go in. The rest of the building could go at any moment.”

“That is not for you to decide,” Lucien said, and then he turned to the officers with him. “Inside. Check the damaged section first. Look for anyone trapped, then secure whatever looks unstable.”

The officers obeyed immediately.

While they moved toward the obvious emergency, Lucien pursued the other purpose that had brought him there. He chose to trust the masked man. Or at least, he chose to behave as though the warning was worth acting on.

The search was short.

Inside the damaged warehouse, he quickly spotted a torn sack spilling pale, sickly-smelling powder openly across the floorboards, as if it had been placed there to demand attention. A brief look and a closer breath of the air told him what he was seeing.

Then he raised his voice, loudly and deliberately.

“This—” he barked, pointing toward it. “What in the Five is this doing here?”

Several heads turned, officers and crowd alike.

Lucien seized the moment. “Midnight Dream,” he said, putting anger and disbelief into the words. “In Verevain!”

The officers nearest him stiffened. The crowd outside erupted into alarmed murmurs. Roe’s hired guards seemed to lose what little color they had left.

Lucien turned to two officers he trusted. “You two. Go. Find the magistrate now. Take different routes. Do not stop to explain yourselves to anyone else, and do not let anyone slow you. Tell him we found Midnight Dream in a damaged warehouse with a crowd around it. He should come immediately. If we don’t control this fast, it could spread.”

Both men ran.

Lucien continued his outrage in a very public way. He cursed the powder, condemned the filth that had brought it into town, and made sure everyone within earshot understood the risk. He pointed officers toward the torn sack and the stacked sacks beyond it and shouted for them to secure the substance before curious fools got near it.

Amid the confusion, Shade went unnoticed.

Using the broken sightlines, drifting dust, and Fade, the clone slipped in and out of the damaged section once more. He removed the bundle Saboteur had left hidden nearby, then disappeared into the darkness.