by Jay Lake
The words But I saved you, at least died on my lips. I could imagine the political pressures back in Kalimpura that had driven Mother Vajpai to join this expedition. And I could just as easily imagine the woman’s political thinking that forced her to stay in the face of her own further torture and probable death. All for the sake of what she saw as the best chance to transmit the information about Surali’s true intentions back to Kalimpura.
“You are all fools.” I was caught up in the harsh judgment of youth. “This could have been handled better.” Later in life, I would have been more kindly, and more wise, about such a thing. At the time, I should simply have been grateful for Mother Argai’s regard.
“Samma was supposed to…” Mother Argai’s voice trailed off.
Supposed to what? Does it matter? “Never mind.” Trying to keep from snapping, I continued, “What if we find Surali here at Lyme Street? I presume we are both likely to be snatched or murdered.”
“After what you and your pet savage did to her hands, I would recommend avoiding Surali.” Again, that not-quite flicker of humor.
“I’ll do that and more if I catch her again,” I promised. “For now, we keep moving.”
With a wave of my fingers, I summoned her onward. I wasn’t sure what I expected we might find up there—Skinless, the Factor’s ghost, Mother Iron. There were more possibilities than I wanted to consider. Mother Argai had just given me several additional scenarios, some nightmarish.
My life would be so much simpler if my enemies would just wait their turns.
In the event, we encountered nothing. Soon enough I brought her up in an alley near Lyme Street, not far from my teahouse.
Despite the sleet that was falling, the air was thick with smoke. Sparks popped nearby like small explosions, and I heard voices shouting. The odor tugged at my gut in a most unpleasing way. “No more rooftops,” I whispered to the baby. “But I have to do this thing.”
My gut flopped, but settled again. I took a long look at Mother Argai in the dim overcast of the day. She’d been telling a terrible tale down in the dark. Her eyes seemed haunted.
“Were you and Samma lovers of late?” My voice was soft, easy as the hissing of snow on quiet cobbles.
She looked away, which was all the answer I needed.
“Listen,” I said. “As I told you, there is no Death Right in this city. You cannot buy a murder openly. But there is not so much law in this city, either. They have no Courts as we do in Kalimpura, only judges with little power. The guilds here are merely trading houses that train up boys. If we can punish Surali, or strike her down, there will be little consequence to fear. Just foreigners killing foreigners, in the local mind. No one will call for vengeance or justice.”
“I follow you,” said Mother Argai, her voice wooden.
“One more thing. I must rescue that northern girl from Surali. We will take Samma and Mother Vajpai when we leave the house next time.” I had no idea how I meant to keep that promise, but I could not leave it unsaid.
We loped around the corner to see that the fire was not down at the Textile Bourse as I might have thought, but closer to hand. With a gasp, I realized that my teahouse had burned. It was still smoldering in the snowfall. A small crowd milled and gawped out front.
My blood ran cold. I pushed through the gathered people and looked. The cinnamon-skinned woman was laid out on the pavers, one of her brothers with her. Their faces were already crusted with icy drops, as if bejeweled for some exotic feast. I saw blood, not just burns. The other brother sat weeping beside them with his hands around his knees. A dirty rag bound his head, soaked almost purple with more blood.
I bent close and touched his shoulder. “Who did this?” I asked in Petraean.
He looked up at me, eyes unfocused, then at Mother Argai. A trembling hand rose to point at the two of us, then sweep down the street toward the Textile Bourse, where another crowd was gathered.
I ignored a flare of rage. First Corinthia Anastasia, now this. The reason was not so hard to guess, given the nature of my enemies. “Not us, but people who resembled us?”
A nod, then he went back to staring at the pavement.
Mother Argai touched my shoulder. We stood and looked toward the Textile Bourse. I had wanted to speak to the Interim Council, but apparently Surali wanted them even more. What I had taken for another group of onlookers was in fact an organized group of Kalimpuri Street Guild. The two huge Conciliar Guards normally at the door were nowhere to be seen. The interior would be defended only by clerks.
Not after today.
“Can the two of us drive off a dozen of our countrymen?” I asked Mother Argai in Seliu.
“These people have no guards of their own?” She sounded incredulous.
“Not as such. There is a Conciliar Guard, but I would not look to it for any service or protection. Politics are involved. The Interim Council also commands the city guard. They are just old men without a captain or a barracks, who roust street drunks. We stand together far better than they.”
“Who keeps the streets safe?”
I shrugged. “No one, really. Not since the collapse of the old Ducal Guard. There is less fighting here than you might think.”
She drew a long knife that was in truth more of a short sword. The little crowd that had been watching us with interest, as the latest entrants into the day’s violent street theater, suddenly found business elsewhere. “Let us change that. We cannot defeat a dozen men, but we may well drive them off.”
I pulled out my long knife and palmed one of my short knives. Blades of the Lily might mean nothing in Copper Downs, but seeing Mother Argai in her leathers, these Kalimpuri Street Guildsmen would know perfectly well who she was. Thugs they were, and mortal enemies of the Blades besides. But we controlled the Death Right at home, not they. So the Street Guild feared us for both our training and our relationship with the law. Whatever their purposes here, they were habitually reluctant to fight Lily Blades to the death.
We would use that reluctance to our advantage. With one long, shared glance at Mother Argai, I began to run.
* * *
Surali’s men had found a timber baulk somewhere, which they were using to bash at the entrance to the Textile Bourse. Surali herself stood in the freezing rain flanked by two large Street Guildsmen. Her hands were bandaged. I didn’t see any of the Prince of the City’s popinjays here, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t simply switched clothing to turn out as ordinary thugs.
I wanted very badly to run down Surali. That was likely the most strategic thing for us to do, but stopping the rammers was more important in the moment. Pointing with my short knife, I indicated our targets.
Mother Argai nodded. She had a wild look in her eye. Ahead, we had been noticed. The battering ram faltered. Surali began to shriek orders.
“Clear now, or suffer the consequences,” bellowed Mother Argai in Seliu.
Two of the Street Guild thugs dropped their grips on the ram immediately. The other six looked around in confusion, then did the same. Their baulk clattered down the chipped, stained marble steps.
Again I was putting my life at swordspoint for those fools on the Interim Council.
Then we slammed into our enemies, everyone’s feet slipping on the icy steps.
Mother Argai bowled right into the two of Surali’s men closest to the bottom of the steps. One caught her sword in the upper thigh, the other took her shoulder in his gut. His parry nearly blocked her, but snagged only leather before he tumbled into the much-abused rosebushes beyond.
As the first pair fell, I leapt up two steps higher. I cleared that even with the heaviness of the baby in my belly. Three blades were rising to meet me. Those I could handle. I danced close inside one’s guard, using his arm and shoulder as a temporary shield, and boxed his ear hard with my short knife, reversed. The long knife I slid along his side, just above the crest of bone at the front of the hip.
He shrieked at the pain.
I used my mom
entum to turn my captive so his back was to his fellows. They obligingly stabbed the unfortunate in the shoulder and neck. My long knife snaked out to jab one shin—these fighters were not armored, as few Selistani ever were. That one yelled and jumped back to leave the other’s flank open for Mother Argai to swarm past my shield.
She stabbed him straight up beneath the chin with a shorter blade, slamming his head back in a spray of blood. The weapon stuck there. Mother Argai released the man to tumble into the bushes as well, taking her knife with him.
Four left, but our momentum was spent and they had the advantage of height. I dodged a downswing to hiss Street! to Mother Argai.
She grunted, and we both jumped backwards.
That’s a difficult move at the best. Much harder on icy, blood-slicked steps, and damned near impossible with a baby in your belly. Mother Argai landed on her feet, spun to check the position of Surali’s guards, then finished her spin facing our remaining opponents. I bounced on my heels and went over hard to crack my head solidly on the cobbled pavers of Lyme Street.
For a long, slow moment, I saw only glowing red spots. Someone shouted. A foot caught me in the side. Reflexively my left hand went up, short knife clutched tight. I realized Mother Argai had jumped over me. She nearly stumbled in doing so. Another foot presented itself—not hers—so I focused my attention sufficiently to slash the muscles and tendons at the back of the calf.
The man came down weapon-first. I rolled away, but nothing quite worked. My chest and midsection were pinned beneath an angry attacker who pulled himself up for a clean stroke. He was crushing my baby. My left hand was free to stab him again in the right side, which distracted his focus sufficiently for me to push him off. I rose drunkenly to my feet and put a boot into his groin as hard as I could.
That would keep him down.
Mother Argai was at swordspoint with two others. The fourth man was on the ground, scrambling uselessly to find the rest of his fingers. Swaying, I stepped close behind her opponents and tried to stab. I succeeded only in falling over.
Something clanged loudly near me as I got back to my hands and knees. A large brass vessel rolled away. A wet grunt told me that someone connected with a weapon just then, but I still couldn’t quite focus. Another clang sent one of the Street Guildsmen collapsing. He’d been hit in the head by a blue ceramic flowerpot.
The last one broke and ran. I rolled to my side and watched him follow the other two down Lyme Street, Surali racing before all three of them.
“Green.” Mother Argai squatted beside me, touching my head.
“Hello,” I said. My voice sounded dreamy, even to myself. I was very cold.
“Can you stand?”
She did not sound dreamy. “Oh, certainly.” I struggled to my feet, and nearly tumbled again except for Mother Argai’s vise grip on my arm.
“I suppose I should thank you,” said a familiar voice in Petraean. I looked up to see Mr. Nast at the top steps.
“Hello, sir.” I waved a bloody knife at him.
“We must go, now,” Mother Argai whispered urgently in Seliu.
“I expect there will be more of Councilor Lampet’s Conciliar Guard here shortly.” Nast looked down his nose at Mother Argai, then turned his attention back to me. “You might prefer their attentions at a later time.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nast.” I waved again, then turned to Mother Argai. “We must go now,” I announced to her, proudly.
“Where?”
“Inside!” In that addled moment, the Textile Bourse seemed safe to me. Tugging her behind me, I mounted the steps.
Nast appeared startled, the most emotion I’d ever seen from him, but he did not flinch. “Where are you heading?”
“Council chambers,” I told him, then realized I’d spoken in Seliu. I tried again in Petraean. My head was clearing fast, but not fast enough. “Council chambers. I’ll speak to Jeschonek there.”
The head clerk looked as if he had some comment in mind, then shook his head and stepped back. “Inside, then, before they start counting bodies.” As I passed him, he asked quietly, “Should the fallen live to be questioned?”
Is he intending to slit their throats? That thought cleared my mind somewhat further. Shaking off some of the melting slush that still clung to me, I asked, “How much trouble do you wish for?”
Nast nodded. “Upstairs, then.”
* * *
Inside, the clerks and their assistants cleared out of our path like rabbits before a wolf. Wolves, in truth. Mother Argai, still clutching my arm, swore and put away her sword. As we wove among the desks and stacked files, she pried my weapons out of my unsteady hand.
By the time we mounted the steps, I was coming further back to myself, and wondering what the hells I had just done.
“Why didn’t we depart?” I growled in Seliu, sheathing the knives as she returned them to me.
“I was hoping you could tell me that,” replied Mother Argai.
Someone at the top of the stairs whispered, “Thank you,” before darting out of our way. Behind us, shouting arose.
“Down the hall, now,” said another young clerk. We were hustled into the Interim Council’s meeting room. I flopped into Jeschonek’s seat and found myself bleeding on his leather. Mother Argai sat in Lampet’s chair.
“What now?” she asked in Seliu.
“We find out what that was all about,” I said heavily. “Because I cannot imagine what Surali intended with such an attack. That was not enough men to overturn the Interim Council, but it was too many for a social call.”
“Social call with battering ram.”
We fell silent for a few moments, resting our shaking muscles. The surging tension of a fight takes time to wear off. After a little while I rose to my feet and saw to Mother Argai’s hurts. She had taken two stab wounds in her thigh, which I bound by slicing up a priceless Hanchu brocaded silk runner from the sideboard where the Interim Council kept their wine and a bowl of withered pears. The rest of the silk I portioned out for us to clean our weapons with. Otherwise she had the usual assortment of bruises, cuts, scrapes, and aching joints.
When she looked me over in turn, even a light touch to the back of my head made me sickeningly dizzy. Mother Argai swore softly and explored the spot until I made her leave off.
“You need to be abed, or at least be looked to,” she told me.
My head was down between my knees, my breathing deep and ragged. “Just check the rest of me.”
It seemed I still possessed my usual inventory of fingers, toes, ears, nostrils, and so forth. I’d done more damage to myself the night I’d mutilated my beauty in the Pomegranate Court than Surali’s team of eight Street Guild thugs had managed today. Somehow I’d escaped even any significant stab wounds.
“Two against eight,” I gasped. “And no stitches after.” Especially since we lacked needle and thread for those wounds of Mother Argai’s.
“They were fools,” she muttered. “And frightened of us.”
We sat a little while and ate the withered pears. They were honey to my fighting-honed appetite. Even the baby seemed to appreciate the fruit. After that, we polished our blades, removing blood and muck and looking for nicks from weapons, belt buckles, or stone. When a ruckus arose in the hall outside the glass-paneled door, Mother Argai and I both slipped to our feet and stood against each side of the entrance with bared blades.
Jeschonek burst in, slamming the door behind him. He tilted his head back to avoid having his lower jaw sliced open by the points of our weapons pressing up into his neck.
“Green,” he gasped.
“None other,” I said. “You were expecting someone else? I believe I left a calling card in the street.”
“Oh, yes.” Jeschonek rocked back on his heels, trying to pull his neck away from the blades. “Could you put down the cutlery?”
I ignored him. “What happened out there?”
“Betrayal.” His face flushed ruddy dark.
“What, ag
ainst you for a change? I know how this Interim Council behaves.”
Jeschonek grimaced. “I survived Federo’s rule.”
“A lot of other people didn’t,” I snarled.
Mother Argai spoke up, in Seliu, for of course she had no Petraean. “Tell him to be answering your questions or I am making certain he never answers any more.”
“You understand Petraean?” I asked her.
“No. But I understand what it is being to stall a question.”
“Huh.” I switched back to Petraean. “Mother Argai here says to pick up the pace. She grows impatient.”
“Take those knives out of my face,” he snarled.
The man deserved credit for his sheer nerve, if nothing else. I pulled my short knife away, but kept it in hand. Mother Argai did the same after a nod from me. “Who betrayed whom?” I asked.
He gasped, rubbed his neck and glared at our still naked weapons. Then, with a sigh, he said, “Lampet. And Johns.”
“They betrayed the Interim Council? Isn’t that rebelling against yourself?”
“Don’t be naive, Green. They’ve declared a Reformed Council. Lampet swore out a writ before an arbitrator over on Letterblack Street requiring the city seal and the treasury’s records be turned over, then sent that Selistani woman of yours to serve the writ.”
“She’s not my woman,” I grumbled. “I recall warning you about her. You told me she was my problem.”
Clearly Surali had expected the writ to suffice, as it would have in Kalimpura. Nast had done the right thing in staving her off. For all the old clerk’s fanatic attention to the details of law and process I could not imagine him being impressed with such paperwork from a rebel authority. Even if he had served both the old Duke and the new Interim Council.
“You were right.” Jeschonek eased himself into his chair, then noticed the blood smearing the leather. With a moue of distaste, he wiped his fingers against the arm. “Worse, Lampet controls the Conciliar Guard. The city guard, such as it is, seems to have followed him as well. I tried raising the harbor patrol. The Harbormaster is claiming this is no affair of his.”
