“Would you, um….” Wil shifted. “Should you maybe ask Calder if he could—”
“Not on your bloody life.”
Wil sighed. “Then you’re stuck with me, I guess.”
Dallin’s jaw tightened, gaze gone flat, almost angry. “Right.” Irritably he picked up the drenched blanket, and threw it back down to the floor with a heavy splat. “I expect it’s your turn as tutor. Let’s get on, then.”
AFTER ALL Dallin’s apprehension, all his heavy sighs and clenched teeth, it turned out to be incredibly easy. Wil had wondered, after he’d more or less tricked Dallin into it all, if it could even work. Wil had tried very hard to push Dallin that night in Dudley, after all.
There was no push to this, no patterns, no chaos. There was merely a reaching out, a concentrated call. A diffident rebuff that rocked Wil’s mind only slightly. Some gentle cajoling, assurance, a request for trust. And then there was an answer. Hesitant. Not truly willing, but duty-bound.
Permission.
Connection.
Warp and weft.
I will do whatever it takes, Dallin had told Wil. There couldn’t be more profound proof than this.
The denial was so much simpler. Almost nothing more than a mental No. For Wil, it was like butting his mind against a stone wall. He was fairly confident it would be the same for anyone else who might decide to give it a go. Dallin’s belief was hard in coming—the knee-jerk prove it in him endlessly walking his mental watchtower, reason and logic its sentries—but once it came, it was unflinching.
They were both fairly exhausted by the time Dallin declared them through and himself tired and in need of the sleep he hadn’t got last night. He still had that broodiness about him, his mood dark and discomfited, so Wil didn’t argue. Anyway, it had to be going on midday by now, and Wil was starting to get hungry. They’d had a good morning’s work, and though he was genuinely regretful that the exhilaration of taming fire—taming bloody fire—had been so thoroughly dampened by what followed, Wil couldn’t regret the result.
“You’ll need it.” Wil made his voice soft and sympathetic as he and Dallin finished up assembling and loading the weapons. “We had to do it.”
“I know.” Dallin stretched his neck and loosed a heavy sigh. “Anyway, I’m glad it’s done, and I’m glad you thought of it. It was… necessary.”
Wil gave him a rueful smile. “Glad?”
“All right, resentful as hell with no right to be. Just…. It’ll seem less appalling after I’ve slept, I’ve no doubt. I’m not angry with you. I’m not even angry, really. I’m just… out of sorts. Sorry.”
“It’s a lot to—”
Wil’s response was cut short by the sound of booted feet tripping quickly down the cellar steps, almost running along the passageway. Urgency was behind the steps, hurried purpose. Without even thinking about it, Wil’s hand settled on the rifle and dragged it close, fingers resting over the trigger and the safety both. He only half noticed out the corner of his eye Dallin doing the same with one of the revolvers.
A contingent of the city’s guard, perhaps? Had Wil’s visits to Shaw’s room been observed, reported? Had the Brethren managed to track their trail, following the wanted bills and the local gossip to the Temple’s steps? A cold hand clenched around Wil’s gut—Síofra?
Calder swung around the doorframe, a veritable explosion of wide shoulders and gray-blond hair thundering into the tension and ratcheting it higher yet. He didn’t even pause at the state of the room, the smudges of soot, the shards of glass from the little eruption in the hall they had yet to clean up. He only stopped short in the doorway, peering intently at each of their wary faces in turn.
“They’re here.”
6
WELL, NATURALLY, Dallin thought. He’d been idiotic enough to forego sleep again last night, and then spent the morning trying to keep the Temple from burning down, and breaking down the very last barrier standing between him and the completely unbelievable—letting down the ramparts of his own mind, for pity’s sake, and for someone who’d very frankly stated he’d use Dallin and then kill him if he had to. And all this after having jumped into bed with that very same man, who was, in point of fact, supposed to be Dallin’s prisoner and who was convinced they were going to be the end of each other. Jumped into bed with him not once, but twice. Without, as had been bluntly pointed out to Dallin, even the smallest protest. Quite eagerly, in fact. One day after having woken up from a stab wound from which he’d apparently healed himself.
Oh yes, and there was also the small matter of promising the man for whom he was beginning to think he’d fallen quite hard—before he’d even begun to like him, for pity’s sake, go figure that one—that Dallin would put a bullet through his head if it turned out Dallin couldn’t protect him as he kept promising he would.
So of course they were here.
“Who’s here?”
“A company of red and gold came through the gates about two hours ago.” Calder shook his head. “There’s a small contingent in blue and brown as well, plus a few civilians with them. They’re at the constabulary now.”
The statement sank through a moment of strangled silence, twisting slowly from one possibility in a string of conjectures and into too-firm reality. Blue and brown. Fuck.
“All right.” Dallin’s hand went unconsciously to the weave of his shirt, which was not—and had not been for several weeks now—the blue and brown of his Putnam constabulary surcoat. A heavy twinge of loss hit him all at once, and he closed the hand into a fist. It was set, for better or worse. There would be no going back from whatever happened now.
Shaw arrived silently behind Calder, his mien edged with concern. “At least two of the civilians….” He slid a troubled glance at Wil and cleared his throat. “They’re Dominionites. Traveling with Commonwealth soldiers. I’d never have believed it if I’d not seen it myself.”
Dominionites. Surely Jagger wouldn’t have allowed Síofra to ride along?
Dallin gave Wil a quick glance, saw attentive worry and not panic, and so turned back to Shaw. “You were there?”
“I didn’t see them arrive. Brother Tranter was assisting one of the midwives last night and was on his way back to the Temple when the gates opened. When he reported what he’d seen, I went to the constabulary to see what I could find out.”
Dallin winced. “You went to—”
“He knows better than what you’re thinking,” Calder put in.
“Oh yes, I should hope so,” Shaw agreed. “I took some pots to the smithy’s to be patched and recast. The shop happens to be only several doors down from the constabulary. I didn’t speak to anyone, but I saw the soldiers idling in front of the building. They were giving the Dominion men a wide berth, but it was obvious they were together.”
“What did they look like?” Wil’s voice was far too soft. It was doubtful the others could tell, but Dallin marked the sharp reluctance beneath the question. Wil had asked because he had to, but he didn’t really want to know.
Calder merely grimaced, his gaze fixed on Wil and all too knowing, keen and calculating.
Shaw took up the silence. “Dark-haired and fair.” He shrugged. “Sorry, I was trying not to look like I was looking.”
“Thin?” Wil pressed quietly. “Sort of… narrow-faced?”
Shaw seemed to twig to the disquiet this time. He frowned, softly sympathetic. “One of them, yes. He seemed to be the one in charge.”
Shit. Dallin’s gut curled as he watched Wil pull in on himself, watched Wil’s eyes widen and his face blanch, watched paralyzing fear crowd out even the hungry intelligence in eyes gone dull and panicked. And there was nothing Dallin could do about it. An arm around the shoulders, a quiet reassurance—useless and perhaps not even wise. If ever there was a time for fear, right now was it.
Dallin stepped over to his pack where he’d draped his holsters and started strapping them on. So much for an afternoon kip.
“And what of those in the blue and brown?”
“It sounds like you did the right thing. I thank you.” Dallin slipped on his sword belt, then shifted his glance between Shaw and Calder. “What happens if they come knocking?”
“We don’t have to let them in. But if we didn’t, they’d know why.” Shaw shrugged apology. “I’ve nowhere to hide you but here. I suppose you could stay ahead of them in the passageways for a while, but it isn’t as though this place is a secret. They’d catch you up eventually.”
That was… all too logical. Dallin blew out a long breath. “I don’t suppose either of you knows of a safe place to exit the city unseen in broad daylight?”
Calder and Shaw exchanged an uneasy glance, some sort of dubious mental conversation going on between them via frowns and meaningful twists of eyebrows. “Not quite unseen,” Shaw ventured, “but there is a place where you might perhaps be purposefully unremarked.”
“Where?”
“It’ll take some coin.”
“It always does. Where?”
“Not far from where we first… met,” Calder put in. “I can take you.”
“That’s… fine. Just. Yeah.”
Dallin had known all along that when they left here, it would likely be with Calder as their guide, but he’d never really liked the idea. He’d much prefer Calder simply pointed a finger in the right direction and left them to their own plotting. As usual these days, Dallin’s options were limited.
He turned to Wil. “Go get your kit together. Make sure that gun is loaded. I’ll be down in a moment to collect the ammunition. We leave in five minutes.”
For a moment Dallin thought Wil wouldn’t move, perhaps couldn’t, but Wil dipped a quick, jerky nod and silently quit the room.
Dallin turned back to Shaw. “Have you got anything he can take with him to eat? Food, it seems to—”
“Calm him, yes, I’d noticed.” Shaw nodded. “Don’t go ’til I get back.” And then he too was gone.
Calder waited until Shaw’s light steps faded up the stone stairs before he shot a sharp glance at Dallin. “It’s him, isn’t it? And you’re not even surprised.”
“Why should I be?” Dallin checked the tethers and ties, then stooped to slide his pack over his shoulder. “I’ve been Watching, haven’t I, then?”
He didn’t expand, just walked past Calder and down the passageway, fetching up at the doorway of Wil’s room. Wil was already in his coat, crouched on the floor over his own pack, his back to the door. The tension around him was so tight Dallin thought he could reach out and twang it like the overwound string of a lute.
“I’ve lost my coat.” Wil shook his head and stared into his open pack as though it might have mercy on him and swallow him whole. “It was here just a moment ago, I had your money in the pocket, your guns—shit, your guns, I’m sorry—but now I can’t find it.”
It made Dallin’s heart clench, the lost despair in Wil’s voice, the hunch of his shoulders. It was probably good that Calder wasn’t hearing this.
“You’re wearing your coat.” Dallin kept his voice calm and low. “And I’ve already got my guns.” He wanted to step over, lay a hand to Wil’s shoulder, say something soothing, but again, it seemed like a lie, and Dallin sometimes had a hard time knowing if Wil would even welcome a comforting gesture.
Wil didn’t say anything, merely looked down at his sleeve, blinking at the weave of the coat. He shook his head. His hand went to the coat’s pocket, feeling at the bulk of Dallin’s purse, before he darted a look at Dallin, wild eyes marking the guns safely in their holsters. Dallin had seen the look before, and not just in Wil’s eyes.
I’m afraid, Captain. I want to go home. I’m only a farmer/tailor/blacksmith/sixteen-year-old son of a poor man who had no other trade to turn to….
“Pick up your gun, Wil.” Man your gun, soldier. Dallin watched as Wil’s eyes drifted to the rifle lying beside his boot, hung there. “He knows we’re here but not where. He wants your magic, but it’s yours, and you’ve got it. We can get out of here before he finds us, and we can beat him if we can’t, but I need you to pick up that rifle. Now.”
Wil nodded, kept nodding as his hand reached out, curled around the gun’s stock, and gripped it tight. As if the cool of the metal itself had doused the feral terror, the bobbleish nodding stopped. Wil’s shoulders unlocked, and he fetched a long breath into his chest.
“Right. Yeah. All right.” He laid a trembling hand to his pack, shouldered it, and stood with only a slight wobble. He turned to Dallin slowly, swallowing so hard it looked like he’d got one of those bloody potatoes caught in his throat. “Remember your promise.”
“I remember all my promises. Including the one where I don’t let it come to that.” Dallin paced over, took up the ammunition, and distributed it between their pockets and the packs. When he was through, he looked at Wil calmly and cinched his pack shut. “We can do this. You can do it. Now let’s go.”
THEY LEFT the same way they’d come. Dallin didn’t remember much of their arrival, just a vague image of dead leaves and dried-up pricker bushes, but the set of the sun was nearly the same, and the weather hadn’t changed—still cold and sunny, just edging on true winter but not quite there yet. He missed his coat, but at least he had the cloak. Even the wind was sighing past the tops of the walls as it had the day they’d first arrived. Dallin fervently hoped this day, as alike as it seemed, would turn out markedly different. He made sure both he and Wil had their hats in place, hunched in as small as he could, and took rear guard while Calder took point. Wil walked between them, munching nervously and without much enthusiasm on a biscuit.
The backstreets were even quieter than they’d been that day they’d rambled through them and tried to outwit the witless, who still had somehow managed to catch them out. Dallin quickly put away the self-chastisement—it would do no good, here and now—and concentrated instead on scanning their surroundings. Watching. It wasn’t only about avoiding suspicion anymore—now it was about avoiding being seen altogether.
Wil’s quiet panic remained, but he was thinking through it now, doing his best not to let it interfere with what they had to do, that furious, ground-in survival instinct taking over where fear would’ve had him paralyzed. He was watching too, his gaze snapping to all points, never resting in one spot for more than a second or two, assessing and dismissing, the badger watchful and wary. Good. Dallin could use those teeth about now.
Wil’s glance lingered only once, when they flitted past the alleyway where Dallin had failed so badly and allowed others to drive their course.
Wil turned to Calder. “What happened to her?”
Dallin was surprised. He’d nearly forgotten about the haggard woman who’d spouted prophecy through her drug haze.
“She’s gone to the Mother.” Calder looked… smug. “She was only waiting for you.”
Dallin narrowed his eyes but didn’t pursue the cryptic remark, and he hoped Wil wouldn’t either. One crisis at a time, and getting out of here was a lot more important right now. To Dallin’s relief, Wil fell silent, wary glance slanting again to all points, gun gripped tight in both hands, index finger of his left hand twitching constantly over the safety. Dallin smiled grimly in hearty approval.
They walked silently for quite a while, pace quick but careful, ducking behind sheds and privies and even crouching on the ground behind a refuse cart once when no other cover could be found. The passersby were few but the risk of being spotted far too high. They were in one of the less prosperous parts of the city, shabby tenements and rundown little lean-tos the predominant architecture, and seemed to be moving steadily deeper.
It made sense, Dallin supposed. In his experience, the poor and determined had little choice but to find their way around the law, and he wasn’t at all surprised that if there was a way to get in and out of Chester undetected, it would be in this part of the city. The
re was definitely something to be said for the resourcefulness of the desperate. Just look at Wil.
As if he’d heard the thought, Wil stopped abruptly and cocked his head. If Dallin hadn’t been paying attention, he would’ve barreled right over him. As it was, he stopped too, frowning at Wil, who turned to him slowly, jaw set.
“We need the horses.” Flat and sober, as if he’d just said People need water to live.
Dallin’s frown deepened. “We can’t—”
“We have to.” Wil shot his glance to Calder, who was just now pacing quickly back toward them, having walked ahead before he’d noticed he was no longer followed. “We have to go get the horses.”
Calder’s eyes didn’t roll, but Dallin could tell they wanted to. Calder pressed his lips together grimly with a disapproving glance for Dallin, then a stern one for Wil.
“It’s safer to leave them, and we’ve already passed the turn to the city’s stables.”
Wil didn’t even acknowledge him, just looked back at Dallin, steady. “We have to.”
Dallin really didn’t want to. Not only would it be too risky, but it would take time they might not have and make their trail easier to follow. But the look in Wil’s eyes….
“Are you sure?”
Wil nodded. “And another for Calder.”
This wasn’t that dance of grudging, not-so-secret affection that had so amused Dallin since he’d bought the horses. Wil didn’t want the horses right now because he liked them. In fact, Dallin was fairly certain Wil wouldn’t think twice about leaving them behind or killing them himself if it meant a clean escape.
And what if I gave you a prophecy? Would you believe it?
Dallin slumped. This was close enough to one, he supposed. And yes, he definitely believed it.
“There’ll be a staff there. Sneaking won’t be an option.”
Wil looked down for a quick second. By the set of his face, Dallin figured Wil had already known as much.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Dream Page 24
