“Only two,” Dayne said. “We shouldn’t risk too many bodies down here.”
With the help of the Fire Brigade, two Yellowshields quickly shimmied down the ropes to the floor. Dayne passed the woman to them—they nearly had to pry her off—and they quickly got her to the top.
“Friend?” Dayne asked.
“Got this one free,” the mousy man said, undoing one of the young men. “Each chair is different. But—”
Dayne helped the young man to his feet. “Explain later.”
“Right.” He moved to the next chair, gingerly touching pipes and the floor on his way. “I think that furnace is shutting down. Hope that does what I think it will.”
“Which is?”
“Stop the main force of the machine.”
Dayne had passed the second victim to the Yellowshields, and watched as the mousy man—truly a marvel with his hands—undid the next one. “You’ve got a knack for this.”
“Fear is a fine motivator,” the mousy man said. “How much longer can his magic hold?”
Dayne looked up again. Inspector Welling was pale and sweating. He looked like he was barely holding on. The sketch artist had stopped her work to hold him upright.
“Work faster.”
A great cracking sound came from inside the main hub of the machine.
“What was that?” Dayne asked as he pulled the third victim away.
“That depends on if we’re lucky or unlucky.” The mousy man sprang over the fourth chair—which held a dead man—to the fifth. A tool in each hand, moving like lightning, he snipped and clipped and opened, freeing the next victim. Not losing a step of his rhythm, he said, “If we’re lucky, the strain of fighting against the magic snapped something in the machine, causing significant internal damage. But—”
“But?”
The green glow around the machinery flickered away, and the weapons all surged another inch. Then the glow resurged fiercely.
“But we might be profoundly unlucky.” The man was nearly shouting, and he savagely undid the bindings on the woman. “Saint Senea, stay with me today.”
“Shouldn’t you—”
“Hush.” With a snap and a crack, the woman was released. “How many left?”
“Five.”
The next one was Niall Enbrain—Mister Montrose’s assistant, the Constabulary commissioner’s nephew. There were a series of five circular blades that were in position to slice into his face and neck—each of them now only a breath away. While he was bound and gagged, Niall was trembling with fear, his eyes in a mad panic. He was bound by multiple iron rings around his head, chest, and legs.
“Oh, this one is a nightmare,” the mousy man said.
“Can you—”
“Too much, too much. Get behind him.”
“What are you—”
“Can’t get him out.” He took his tool to the arms holding the circular blades. “Better remove these instead.” With quick motion, he spun the tiny nut holding the first blade in place, letting it clatter to the floor.
“What do I—”
“This is just on a cursory glance, but this chair doesn’t look like it has a separate trap.” The second blade was removed. “This one looks like he was never supposed to have a chance to get out of it.”
The inspector had said something about the commissioner before. Was it possible that in all this chaos, Niall Enbrain was the true target of it all? Did Sholiar’s madness have that much method?
The third blade dropped.
“And so?”
“So I’m guessing those arms of yours aren’t just for show,” the mousy man said. Fourth blade removed. “Soon as I get this last one, yank the whole blasted chair out of place.”
“What’ll that do?”
Inspector Welling let out a primal, horrible scream as the mousy man was removing the fifth blade. All the arms of the device surged. Instinctively, Dayne grabbed the chair and pulled it away with all his might. It came off its housing and he fell backward.
“Son of a—” the mousy man cried. His hand had been sliced, bleeding profusely. The machine burst to life, every arm and blade spinning madly. Of the four people still trapped in chairs, two were killed instantly. Dayne looked to Niall, who was seizing and gurgling through his gag.
His neck had been sliced open.
* * *
“Get us out of here, you crazy skirt!”
Satrine had half a mind to leave these three behind, especially if the glass vial was about to explode in a ball of fire. The liquid inside it was thickening and turning orange.
The fire brigadiers had returned with a doorcracker, taking it to the chain holding the three men.
“Hurry up! He showed us! That thing is about to burst!”
“We’re trying! These chains ain’t breaking!”
Satrine could tell that the doorcracker wasn’t going to do the job. “Get the blazes out of here,” she told them. Jerinne was still throwing sand in the furnace, but it was nothing but ash and embers inside now. Satrine grabbed Jerinne’s shield, saying, “You too.”
“Ma’am, I shouldn’t let you—”
“That’s not how it works, girl,” Satrine said. “Everyone run.”
“We can’t run!” the crazed man of the trio said.
Satrine didn’t listen, instead she knocked the glass vial off its mount with the shield, catching it before it shattered on the ground.
“Are you rutting crazy?”
“Probably,” Satrine said, tossing the vial into the furnace. She then slammed the furnace door shut and turned back to the trio.
Jerinne and the brigadiers hadn’t gone anywhere, still struggling with the chains.
“You think that’ll hold it?” Jerinne asked.
“Let’s see,” Satrine said, putting herself between the furnace and the men.
“I should take the shield, be the one holding the line,” Jerinne said.
“Worry about them,” Satrine said.
Something snapped, and one of the men was free: the one who was already exhausted. He barely had the strength to crawl. Jerinne pulled him to his feet and hauled him to the door.
The crazed man lost what little bit of sanity he must have had left and attacked the brigadier closest to him. The other brigadier tried to help his partner.
Satrine didn’t have time for this foolery. She drew out her handstick and cracked it against the madman’s back. He dropped, and she put her irons on him.
“We should rutting leave him,” one brigadier said, working on the sane man’s shackles.
“Not our job,” Satrine said. “Get that last one clear.”
Pops and cracks came from the furnace.
“That’s not a good sound,” she said.
The stable member of the trio shook his head. “I’m telling you, skirt, it’s going to be bad. You got to run!”
Satrine held up the shield in front of him and her. “I’m the last one out of here.”
Cracks and hisses came from the furnace.
The chain snapped. The stable man stumbled and ran, and the brigadiers struggled to get the crazed man up.
“Let’s go, stick,” one of them said, dragging the man toward the door. Satrine was right behind them, but the sane man had slipped and fallen.
Satrine pulled him up on his feet, and Jerinne was there with her.
“Now, ma’am!”
Jerinne pulled the man away, and in that moment, the sounds from the furnace became a hollow, horrible rattle.
Satrine looked back and saw the whole room had become fire.
She raised the shield in front of her face before she was blown back against the wall.
Chapter 7
MINOX WAS IN a daze of gray and fog when he realized wine was being poured into his mouth.
&n
bsp; “Stop,” he tried to say, pushing the wine pourer away. His vision cleared a bit and he saw it was Jillian. She pulled back as he spat out the wine in his mouth.
“You all right?” she asked.
“I am decidedly not,” he said. “But wine is hardly the solution.” He reached for his belt pouch, but it was empty. Foolish.
“Sorry, I didn’t know what else—”
“It’s fine,” he said. “Thank you for the intent.” He felt as weak as a newborn; he couldn’t even get up from the chair he found himself sitting in. The upper gallery of the Parliament. He struggled to remember exactly what had happened on the floor, but the strain of trying to hold the machine in place had taken all his focus. Most of the time, he couldn’t even see.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Eight people were rescued,” she said. “The last three . . . they didn’t. And there’s one who could go either way.”
Minox took this in. “What about young Mister Enbrain?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
Minox tried to stand up, but his legs might as well have been boneless. “He’s—he’s the nephew of the commissioner. Where is the commissioner now? Or Mister Heldrin?”
“Heldrin is the big Tarian? He’s still down there with the thief.”
“That’s hardly a suitable term for the expert.”
“It’s what he clearly is, though.”
Minox always appreciated Jillian’s bluntness, as well as her sharp eye for details, regardless of the unsavory nature of what she was looking at. It was what made her such a gifted charcoal sketcher. She had no fear of the dead, nor any revulsion to gore. Even with something as horrific as this, she had set to work sketching the details as quickly as she could.
“Are they both well?”
Jillian glanced over to the balcony railing. “I think they both took a couple of knocks and scrapes, but most of their blood is still inside their skin.”
“And the machine?”
“It’s . . . not moving anymore.”
“Did you get your work done?”
She smirked and showed him the sketchbook. She had done an excellent job capturing the essence of the machine.
“Where is Inspector Rainey?” Minox tried to pull himself up. It was no good—his arms were as weak as his legs.
“She’s your partner? Ran off to the furnace, I guess.”
“Find—find her. Or Corrie. . . .”
“Corrie got swept up carrying victims out with the Yellowshields.”
“Right. Can you look for her? Now that the immediate danger has passed, we can begin our proper investigation.”
“You’ll be all right here?”
“I can call for Mister Heldrin if I am in a dire state.”
Jillian chuckled. “Minox, if this right here isn’t what you call a dire state, I’m curious what would qualify. Be back in a shank.”
She left his view, and a moment later Miss Morad was right in front of Minox.
“Very interesting, Inspector,” she said quietly.
He had honestly forgotten she had been here all this while, observing.
“I hope this was informative to you,” he said.
“Rather. Far more interesting than the false emergency we used to test you.”
“And your verdict?”
She shook her head. “That isn’t procedure, Inspector Welling. Now, I recognize that you have spent yourself quite thoroughly in this venture. While my intention was to hold our hearing this morning, it would be neither fair nor just to force you back to the stationhouse for such a thing in your current state.”
Minox wasn’t sure what that meant her intentions were. “What are you proposing?”
“Based on my understanding, you are probably ravenous. In dire need of nourishment, no?”
“Rather.”
“All right. Unless my reckoning is off, it’s a bit past eleven bells in the morning. Take care of yourself, finalize whatever details you need to here for your investigation, and then report to your stationhouse at two bells. We will begin the Inquiry then. If you are not there, there will be consequences to your career.”
Minox nodded. “That is fair, Miss Morad.”
“I refuse to be anything but.” She sighed. “You’re going to need assistance.” She went over to the railing and called down. “Mister Heldrin, are you doing something useful, or mostly sulking?”
Heldrin replied. Minox couldn’t quite hear what he said, but it did not sound like a very civil response.
“Yes, well, that can’t be helped now, sir. If you could come back up here? There’s a more pressing situation.”
Another displeased reply came, but shortly after that, Heldrin came up over the balcony ledge. “What’s going on—Inspector!”
“No need for alarm, Mister Heldrin,” Minox said.
“I’ve never seen anyone that pale who wasn’t dead or Poasian,” Heldrin said.
“Neither yet,” Minox said.
Miss Morad spoke with commanding authority. “He needs to eat, and quickly. He can’t even walk on his own, so you’ll have to bring him.”
“But all this—” Heldrin said lamely.
“Can hold. There are scores of officers and officials outside. What needs to be done can be handled without Inspector Welling, at least for a short order.”
“Who are you, again?” Heldrin asked.
“As far as you’re concerned, I’m the right hand of the Archduke of Sauriya. But simply put, I have urgent business with Inspector Welling that must be conducted today, and I have other arrangements I must make in the meantime. You are a Tarian. Your charge is to protect and care—”
“That was the Ascepians—”
“Help him, Mister Heldrin. I cannot have him at diminished capacity right now. It would not be just.”
“Get me on my feet,” Minox said. “And if you can assist me to anyplace with food right now.”
Heldrin pulled him up. Minox still couldn’t bear his own weight without leaning on the man. “What about the rest of this?”
Inspector Rainey came in the gallery, covered in soot and ash and with a Yellowshield chasing after her. She had a decent gash on her forehead, oozing blood.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “We got the victims out?”
“Mostly,” Minox said. “You got the furnace shut down?”
“I got the furnace blown up. Our killer had more victims and traps down there. And some chemical stuff I’d like Leppin or someone to look at.”
Minox nodded. “We should let Leppin and his crew comb over the site and catalog everything, have it brought into evidence.”
Commissioner Enbrain came in with Good Mister Montrose. “They’re taking Niall to Riverheart Ward. They aren’t sure if he’s going to make it.”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” Heldrin said. “I know his blood is on my hands.”
“And mine, sir,” Minox said. Glancing at Heldrin’s bloodstained hands, he added, “If not as literally.”
“Nonsense. If not for you, he wouldn’t have had a chance. So thank you. What now?”
Rainey spoke up, still brushing off the Yellowshield’s attempts to tend to her. “We need to let our examinarian and evidence men sweep through and collect everything.” She looked over to Minox, still being held up by Heldrin. “I think we both need to look after our own well-being in the short term before we can do any significant further work.”
“Right, hold still!” the Yellowshield said, grabbing Rainey by the head.
“Leave me be,” Rainey snarled. Despite that, she stayed in place while the Yellowshield finished cleaning and bandaging the wound.
The commissioner nodded. “Go have yourselves looked at or . . . whatever you need to do. I’ll have patrolmen keep this place locked down, pages ru
n for your examinarian, and so forth.”
“Appreciated, Commissioner,” Rainey said.
“You shouldn’t be unattended,” the Yellowshield said.
“I’ll keep an eye on her.” Jerinne Fendall was at the doorway. “Chief Quoyell and his boys are fuming out there.”
“Let them,” Heldrin said. “This lands on his shoulders, surely.”
“Let’s not be too hasty,” Mister Montrose said.
“As you say, sir,” Heldrin said.
Montrose sighed. “I just hope this can get sorted before the month is out. The Parliament is supposed to start convocation of the new assemblage, and we can’t get to the work of governing with things like this.”
“I think some members of Parliament would prefer that,” Jerinne said. Rainey gave her an odd look, and Jerinne continued. “If you’ve ever seen a session, it’s basically an exercise in doing nothing.”
Montrose chuckled. “You were the one with Seabrook at the end of the last convocation, right? Hopefully this new session won’t be quite as absurd. Doubtful, but hopefully. I’ll do what I can to placate Quoyell.” He left with the commissioner.
The trapmaster popped up over the railing, his hand bandaged. “I think this is my cue to make myself scarce,” he said, limping over.
“Did you hurt your leg?” Rainey asked.
“Not today, if that’s what you’re asking. Not to worry. If you don’t mind, though, I’ll see myself out and home.”
“You know how to get out and not be noticed?”
“Inspector,” he said with mock sincerity, “you wound me. I never walk into a room without figuring out how to slip away. Give my regards to the major, and tell him he owes me quite steeply for this one.”
“Don’t count on cashing that marker.”
He shrugged. “It’s been a thrill, gentlemen. Let’s never have to do anything like this again.”
Heldrin nodded. “You’ve saved many lives, sir.”
“Next?” Rainey asked. “I suppose we send in the examinarium people, question survivors, as well as staff and the marshals.”
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