The Palace Job

by Patrick Weekes

  The last thing Orris saw as the Tooth and the three prisoners fell away to freedom was Loch's smiling face. One shackled arm clung to the twisted wreckage of the grid around the stone, and the other held his grandfather's sword. Orris watched that face until he could no longer see it, and then, when his shaking legs would bear his weight again, he pulled himself back to his feet.

  Behind him, the prisoners began cheering.

  Kail had insisted that he had timed it exactly, but Loch was very near the end of her trust when, below her on the remains of the lower grid, Kail shouted, "Three! Two! One! Now!"

  As the ground raced toward them, green and brown and blue resolving into fields and rivers, farms and townships, Kail and Akus yanked hard on the sheet and pulled it free from the Tooth. The wind caught it, and in seconds, the blanket was far above them, floating gently on its lazy path to the ground.

  As the Tooth caught the morning sunlight, its dull purple surface blossomed into violet and its ancient magic slowed their plummeting descent. The wind that threatened to tear Loch free from the grid fell from a scream to a throaty whisper, and the ground that had been hurtling toward them at breakneck speed slowed to the comparative crawl of a galloping horse.

  Which, Loch noted as she hit the damp turf of a dazzling green meadow and rolled, taking the impact on her legs and shoulders and hips and back, was still faster than you wanted to be going when you hit the ground.

  Loch found herself lying face-down in the damp grass. The sword stood embedded in the earth a few paces away, vibrating from the impact. She took in a deep breath, heard the ominous creak of metal, and rolled away instinctively. Sparks of light trailed dizzily across her eyes, but she still got a good look.

  Its glow now rising to its normal dazzling violet brilliance, the Tooth rose from the shattered wreckage of the grid. It moved slowly at first, rocking and swaying in the air like a fisherman's hook. Then, picking up speed, it leapt into the heavens, straight back toward the glowing purple disk that hung high above them like a sullen sun, the only glimpse of Heaven's Spire most citizens ever saw. It would, Loch guessed, be going quite fast by the time it returned to the Cleaners.

  "Damn!" Akus groaned as he pushed himself back to his feet. "I don't know who hits harder, Loch, you or the damn ground." He looked up at Heaven's Spire high above and laughed. "Still, worth a few beatings. Anybody seen my blanket?"

  "I'm looking, believe me," Kail said shakily, leaning on the wreckage of the grid. "I don't need my first glimpse of freedom ruined by your sorry naked body."

  "Hah!" Akus clapped Kail on the shoulder. "Almost wish I could see Orris's face when the Tooth gets back. Hope it hits him square in the ass."

  "Given the size of his ass, you've got good odds," Kail said, and Akus laughed again.

  "Damn straight! Hey, you ever got a job that needs some muscle, you let me know."

  "Will do," said Kail. "Thanks again for coming to us when Orris made his offer. I had no idea how in Byn-kodar's hell we were going to smuggle a tarp out to the grid."

  "Worked out for all of us." Akus looked to Loch, who was still staring upward. "Ma'am, I'm going to put some distance between me and this wreckage before the airships come looking. Pleasure working with you."

  Loch smiled and raised a fist in a warrior's salute. He returned it, ducked his head, and walked off toward the woods to the east, naked and whistling off-key.

  "So, Captain," Kail said, still swaying where he stood, "what now?"

  Loch reached down and ran her hand along the damp grass, then licked the dew from the palm. She swallowed, tasting the sweet water as it loosened her throat. High overhead, she imagined she could see a sudden blossom of light across the underside of Heaven's Spire.

  "Now," she said, "we pay back the son of a bitch who put us there."

  Two

  Justicar Pyvic strode into his office, looked at the board for a moment in silence, and then went to see Melich. He knocked on the office door, then walked in without waiting for an answer. "I heard the most interesting joke this morning, sir."

  "Pyvic..." Melich wasn't much older than Pyvic, but he had a bad leg that had kept him out of the army during the war, so he'd had more time to rise through the ranks of the justicars. He was balding, carried a truly absurd cane so that the limp didn't show, and had a face prematurely lined from worry and laughter both.

  "What's the difference between a justicar and a porter?"

  "I was going to send word—"

  "When a case gets taken from a porter, somebody tips him." Pyvic was tall, which had been a disadvantage in the war, and fast, which was an advantage almost anywhere. His dark eyes narrowed as he leaned over Melich's desk. "Where are my cases, sir?"

  "They're not yours. You're on special assignment." Melich didn't lose eye contact.

  "What's the assignment?"

  "Political."

  "Use Derenky. He loves that crap. Why did you give my death-curse case to Tomlin?"

  "It has to be you." Melich blinked this time. "And Tomlin has family history with the wizards. It might give him an in."

  "Everyone in Tomlin's family is a wizard, sir. Do you know why he isn't?"

  "Because he had a deep desire to protect the helpless?" Melich deadpanned.

  "Because he's an idiot. He's good with pushpins and a map, and that's about it. And I ruled out the wizards. It's either a fairy creature or a rogue priest. You should give it to Jyrre."

  "You know," Melich mused, "I thought that when they gave me this little star on my uniform, it meant I got to make those decisions."

  "Why me, sir?"

  "Because Derenky loves politics." Melich grimaced. "Someone escaped from the Cleaners."

  Pyvic blinked. "You're calling me in on a suicide?"

  "No, they actually escaped," Melich said irately, "and now the Skilled are saying that the Learned warden appointee was incompetent, and the Learned are saying that the Skilled have been slashing the budget to make it impossible to keep order. They're demanding an independent investigation from the justicars."

  "You need someone impartial," Pyvic guessed.

  "I need someone who can get it done fast and right." Melich handed him a folder.

  "What was he in for?"

  "It was a trio, but the leader was a woman. And the information is in the file. Why are you asking me?"

  Pyvic smiled tightly. "Because the death-curse killed an eight-year-old girl on her way home from a solstice dance. I wanted to know what was more important than that."

  "Dismissed, Pyvic."

  He walked out, folder crinkling in his clenched fist, sparing a moment for a brief nod when he heard, back behind him, Melich ordering Jyrre to take over the death-curse case.

  Loch held up her purse, but the old white woman behind the counter of the small general store didn't even look at it.

  "I've got money," Loch said for the third time. She'd covered her worksuit with mud to disguise it as much as possible. "I'm telling you, I was robbed on the road, but I was able to keep—"

  "Get out!" The old woman was holding her broom like a sword. "You're not fooling me! This is a shop for honest folk!"

  Loch shook the purse. "Would you like me to leave this on the counter while I browse? You can even check that it's real money. I just need some new traveling clothes and—"

  "If you don't leave," the old woman hissed, "I'll call the guard and tell them you've been stealing. One look at you, and they'll believe it."

  "One look at me?" Loch stepped in close to the counter, and the woman flinched back. "What exactly do I look like?"

  The old woman just glared, lips pressed together in a tight grimace, and Loch sighed. She tossed the purse up into the air, caught it with the other hand, and walked out of the store.

  Kail met her outside. He was wearing one pack and carrying another, along with Loch's new sword. "Nice old lady. Didn't call you a dirty Uru out loud, anyway."

  Loch sighed. "So, what did she have in the back room?"


  "Traveling clothes, boots, and enough food to get us to Twobridge." Kail grinned and handed her the pack and the warden's sword.

  "Good." Loch gave Kail the purse. "That's more money we can put toward a wagon ride, then."

  Kail hefted the purse, and then it disappeared into a pocket. "Would you really have given that old bat our money if she hadn't thrown you out?"

  "Fight the enemy, Kail. Not their people."

  Loch and Kail got off a wagon and walked into Twobridge a few days later.

  A puppeteer was giving the news as they entered the town square. It covered their entrance nicely.

  "Now how about this prison break?" the dragon asked the two other puppets. "Is this something that citizens should be concerned about?"

  "I think it raises a lot of questions," said the griffon, flying around the stage and raising its lion's paws while flapping its great eagle wings. The crowd laughed. "I mean, the Learned Party prides itself on being the party of security for the Republic, and here their appointed officer lets three dangerous criminals escape!"

  "So," Kail murmured, "do we have a more direct plan?"

  "A job." Loch nudged Kail, and they made their way into the outer edges of the crowd, close enough to blend in but far enough out that they weren't getting in people's way.

  "Well, I'd figured. Who?"

  "These partisan attacks are exactly the reason the people don't trust the Skilled Party!" cried the manticore, battering the griffon with a stick and swishing its scorpion's tail. "The Skilled have stabbed Corrective Services in the back for years, and now they try to blame people for something nobody could have predicted!"

  "I wouldn't say that the Skilled Party stabbed Corrective Services—" the griffon said weakly, trying to escape the manticore's assault.

  "Acting like they could have done better. It just shows you how much the Skilled Party hates the good honest working folk of the Republic!" The manticore was now chasing the griffon around the stage, flapping its great bat wings while the dragon harrumphed loudly and tried to calm things down. The crowd roared with laughter.

  Loch pursed her lips. "We can't use any of the other scouts. Uribin's got the restaurant, and Voshik's a lieutenant. I don't want to drag them into this."

  "There's always Jyelle," Kail said with a small grin, and then winced as Loch elbowed him.

  "For something like this," Loch said, "we need professionals. People who can handle magic. Gedesar knows there's enough of it up there."

  "I know a few people," Kail said hopefully. "A wizard. Old, but good with safes."

  "That's not a fair accusation!" cried the griffon. "All of Heaven's Spire has security problems—"

  "You're endangering our security just by saying that!" shouted the manticore, pouncing on the griffon. "I can't understand how you can sit there and put the lives of our men and women at risk from Imperial spies!"

  "I've got an old friend with some tricks," Loch mused. "Usually sticks to the woods, though."

  "Heated arguments from both sides," declared the dragon, marking the announcement with a little puff of alchemical flame. "We'll keep you updated with the latest news! Remember, everyone, it's your republic!"

  "Stay informed!" the crowd shouted back, and then erupted into applause.

  "Well, how do you propose to find a team that can hit the Spire?" Kail muttered under the applause.

  Loch pointed with her chin. Kail looked, then nodded.

  After the performance, the crowd broke up, and the puppeteer, a balding old Urujar man with a limp, began to break down the stage. Loch and Kail ambled over.

  "Afternoon, Yeshki," Loch said with a little nod. "That was a lovely performance."

  "Aitha." The old puppeteer gave her a wrinkled smile, then nodded to Kail. "Ithki. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Tell me, if you don't mind... which do you favor? The griffon or the manticore?"

  Loch looked at the griffon, an eagle's head and wings on a lion's body, and the manticore, a lion with bat wings and a scorpion's tail.

  "Funny thing, Yeshki. You get right down to it, they're both mostly big cats."

  The old puppeteer chuckled. "I doubt the men on the Spire would appreciate your answer."

  "You seemed to be playing up the manticore," Kail said, looking at the puppets.

  The puppeteer shrugged. "We get the news from the Spire, but they let us play it how we like." He looked around. "Town like this, they go for the Learned. Play it that way, the crowd's happy, and you end up with more coins in the cup."

  "As a puppeteer, I bet you get around pretty good," Loch said idly. "We're looking for a few talented individuals for a job."

  The puppeteer shrank back. "I don't know who told you what, but I'm an honest man. I don't know anything about that."

  "Ynkuveth," Kail said reassuringly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "We're not with anybody."

  "What kind of people are you looking for?" the puppeteer asked cautiously. "Might be I've met a few people in my travels. Nothing definite, mind you, but—"

  "A lock-man, a second-story operator, and somebody who can jigger with the crystals the Ancients used," Loch said crisply, "plus anybody who can handle magic and isn't insane, evil, or overly religious."

  "Hey, I told you, I've got a magic guy!" Kail said irately.

  "Gedesar's fingers!" the puppeteer said in a choked whisper. "What kind of job are you planning?"

  "A very profitable one," said Loch, and gave the old Urujar man a winning smile and some money.

  Justicar Pyvic had been a soldier once, back in the war against the Empire. He'd been good at that. After the war, he'd been an excellent justicar, tracking down criminals too clever or strong for the local laws. He'd liked the job, gotten comfortable with the rhythm.

  And now this.

  Archvoyant Silestin was eating breakfast with Warden Orris when Pyvic was shown in. Pyvic hadn't seen the Archvoyant up-close since the war, when he'd been Colonel Silestin. He was still trim, and he filled out the shoulders of the dress-white uniform he wore instead of an Archvoyant's robes. Silestin's hair and beard had gone from black to salt-and-pepper, but he still had a robust energy as he piled eggs onto his toast.

  "Bureaucrats!" Silestin declared. "Whining as though dogs wouldn't crap if they held the leash!"

  Archvoyant Silestin, first among equals in the Voyancy. Leader of the Learned Party, with an impressive military background and a platform of making the Republic great again by protecting it from all enemies. The churches loved him because he tithed generously and supported legislation to lift restrictions on their economic activities. The Urujar loved him because he'd adopted an Urujar girl whose parents had died in the war and helped put the first Urujar Voyant into office. The merchants loved him because he made them more money.

  Orris nodded with enthusiasm. "Damn right, sir!"

  "So here's what we're going to do," Silestin said, leaning in. He hadn't looked at Pyvic yet. "You're going to take point, lead a team down on the ground and get those prisoners back in hand. You do that, and any doubts about how you run the Cleaners go away."

  "I'll take care of it, sir!"

  "Now," Silestin went on, "the damned Skilled insisted on picking the justicar who'd accompany you—and they were bent on making it hot for us, so we had to let them have their way on this one. So he's some Skilled brown-noser who's going to nanny about. You, what's your name?"

  "No," Pyvic said pleasantly.

  Orris looked confused. Silestin, quicker on the uptake, looked somewhere between speculative and angry. "No, what?" the Archvoyant asked quietly.

  "No, I am not a Skilled brown-noser," Pyvic said crisply. His army days were over, and there was no way he was calling this man "sir." "And no, I will not be accompanying Warden Orris on his mission. Warden Orris will be accompanying me on mine."

  "Right," said Silestin, "whatever. The point, Justicar Pyvic—"

  "The point, Archvoyant Silestin, is that you remembered my name quite conveniently after appeari
ng not to know it earlier. The point is that you need me on this mission to avoid the appearance of trying to cover up your mistakes." Pyvic smiled. "The point is that if I walk away claiming that you're more interested in playing politics than capturing prisoners, it's going to be a bad day for you."

  Orris grew red. Silestin pursed his lips behind his beard. "You're an observant man, Pyvic."

  "My record reflects that," Pyvic said evenly. "That's likely why I was chosen."

  "Warden Orris will coordinate with you." Silestin smiled.

  "I appreciate the gesture," Pyvic said.

  Tern watched watched as Icy headed into the town jail to blackmail Sheriff Gaist for the death of Guildmaster Halistan.

  Icy was an Imperial, short and slender, and his golden robes billowed around him as he went up the stairs and inside. Tern watched him go, muttered a quick prayer to Gedesar, and then headed over to the town square.

  Guildmaster Halistan had, according to Icy, been killed with clean slashes that suggested a duelist's precision. Before his appointment to sheriff, Gaist had been a blademaster with more than fifty wins in both first-blood and death matches.

  According to the Textile Guild, Halistan's signet ring would have recorded the last few moments of his life. It should offer enough proof for the Textile Guild to go to the justicars and bring down Gaist.

  At which point, Tern and Icy would get paid.

  Tern wandered the market for a quarter of an hour. She blended in, a mousy woman with spectacles and a brown crafter's dress with a lot of pockets.

  Finally, she picked out her target, a stall selling expensive scented candles. A scowling middle-aged man looked at her suspiciously as she examined his wares.

  "Is this ginger?" she asked, sniffing one of them. "It smells more like vanilla."

  "It's a mixture of several different spices," the candle-seller said, trying not to sneer.