Wildwood Imperium (Wildwood Chronicles 3)

The response seemed to disarm the moment. The stevedore looked sideways at Unthank before letting him pass through the gate, saying, “They all said you went crazy.”

Sing.

Don’t sing. “Well, that’s how rumors start, you know,” said Unthank. “Don’t believe everything you hear.” And then, quite inadvertently, he let slip: “Tra la!”

“What?” The stevedore stopped short.

“Nothing. Nothing. Just. Humming a tune, you know. Earworm. Can’t get a song out of my head. Don’t you hate it when that happens?”

The stevedore stared at Unthank for a moment before giving his grumbling reply, “Whatever. Just wait in the lobby there. Wigman’ll be down in a moment.”

Clear. First hurdle. First obstacle. Walk normally. Unthank had developed a kind of shuffling, hunchbacked gait in his time wandering the Industrial Wastes, owing to the great pile of blankets and discarded coats he’d had to bear on his shoulders to ward off the winter cold. It had become habitual. But he knew: Now it was of utmost importance that he walk upright, back straight. Chin high. It was all he could do to keep himself from toppling his shoulders into the Quasimodo-like stance; he knew it would betray him, it would betray the fact that he was merely pretending to be his former self.

He walked into the glistening, pristine white lobby of Titan Tower and nodded to the night secretary at the front desk. The secretary, a clean-shaven young man with glasses, looked shocked to see Unthank appear through the sliding glass doors. “H-hello, Mr. Unthank,” he said. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Unthank froze, unsure of what to say; he hadn’t rehearsed this bit in his run-throughs. Conversation with the lobby’s secretary had not been on the cue cards. “Nor should you have,” he said finally. “I’ve been off.”

“Off?”

“Off. You know.”

The secretary smiled, clearly wanting to give Unthank the benefit of the doubt. “I guess I don’t know. But I’m just a night secretary.”

“No one’s just a night secretary,” said Unthank. Don’t sing. “Do you sing, by chance?”

“Sing, sir? I mean, I do occasionally when—”

“You’ll find it does you a world of good. I’d like to sing right now. Do you mind if I do?”

The secretary’s face had gone pale; he looked over Unthank’s shoulder at the two stevedores just beyond the doors. “G-go for it,” he said.

“Thank you. I will.” Unthank cleared his throat and was about to warble some calming note when he remembered himself. “But first: I’m fairly parched. Awfully parched, actually.”

“Can I . . . get you some water?” asked the secretary uncertainly.

“Water! Yes, that’s just what I need. A nice bottle of water.”

“Have a seat, Mr. Unthank, I’ll be right back with it.” The night secretary seemed happy to have some excuse to leave the room; he jogged off with the briskness of a man who’d arrived at the wrong party and had only found out too late it was a reunion of old Star Trek fan club members.

Unthank glanced at the elevator that stood directly to the right of the desk; the digital panel above the doors gave the location of t

he car as the thirtieth floor. Suddenly, it began to change: 29. 28. Wigman was descending.

Quickly, Joffrey sashayed around the corner of the desk and took in the massive apparatus that was the lobby’s security system. Images swam in his mind: a deck of white cue cards, riddled with notes, splayed out before him. He saw Jacques, calmly coaching, in his mind’s eye. He began tapping on the computer’s keyboard.

26. 25. 24.

ADMINISTRATIVE ACCESS ONLY, read the monitor. PLEASE AUTHENTICATE.

To the right of the screen was a touch pad with the outline of a hand. Joffrey placed his palm against it and waited, praying inwardly that his security access had not been deleted or suspended during his months-long sabbatical in the hinterlands. He glanced at the digital readout above the elevator.

23. 22. 21.

“Come on,” he swore. “Come on, tra la, tra lee.”

ACCESSING . . . , dithered the computer screen. ACCESSING . . . PLEASE WAIT . . .

20. 19. The elevator stopped there, apparently having taken on a passenger on the nineteenth floor. Joffrey envisioned Wigman nodding politely to the new rider, then staring ahead at the array of numbers on the keypad.