“Quite,” Lor-Qui continued. “There might be more of them. There are some boxes and crates here that might be worth searching if we have the time. Maybe we’ll find something valuable. Or some clue as to what happened here.”
“A good idea,” said Roon-Kotke.
The combat-tech nodded. “Then I’ll get started.”
“No. Junn can do it.”
“What?” Junn looked crestfallen. “S-stay here? On my own?”
“Look kid. I can't be babying you every time we step through a gate. This isn't your first mission and you’ve already shown some guts since we got here. I think you can handle it.”
“Yes, sir.” Junn-Kri nodded. “Of course.”
Ember slapped Junn on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. You'll be fine.”
Junn forced a smile. “Thank you.”
“Unless that bird's not dead,” muttered Hannar-Ghan.
“What?!” Junn’s smile vanished.
“Cut it out Han!” Roon-Kotke shot the Sergeant an angry look. “The bird is definitely dead. Don’t listen to him. Just concentrate on finding us something to take back. Witching Jars. Books. There must be something around here.”
“And, er…” Junn still looked worried. “What if I meet our attackers from earlier?”
“Hide,” said Ember. “That cupboard back there looks big enough.”
***
The door opened into another corridor, bare stone walls lit by a single longlamp, flagstones cold and damp. Ember shivered. In hindsight, tying his jacket to a double-quickened Ocara wasn’t one of his brightest ideas.
Ahead of him, Roon-Kotke and Hannar-Ghan led the way.
“Are you sure about leaving Junn behind?” the Sergeant asked, as they advanced slowly up the passageway. Bright light spilled through the grille of another metal door ahead. “The boy is still young. Inexperienced. Perhaps we should all stick together for now? Might be safer.”
“No. He won't learn unless I give him some responsibility,” said Roon-Kotke. “We can't afford to have somebody on the squad who can't carry his own weight. He’ll be fine. Besides, how much harm can the boy do searching a room?”
“Point taken,” said the big caster. “But he’s no Yuanu-Zoza.”
“He’s not. But we do the best with what we have and who we have.”
Ember nudged Lor-Qui. “Who’s Yuanu-Zoza?”
“Our former Corporal,” explained the combat-tech. “A good man. Fine caster. Used to serve with the Ocosconan Fifth before he shipped out here. Escaping from something, like the rest of us poor sods. Never told us what and we never asked. That’s how it is in the Eighth. We accept people for who they are, not what they’ve done before.”
“Tell the Sergeant that. What happened to him?”
“A Varinock happened. Gate fifteen. None of us saw it. Swooped down, silent as an owl. Ripped his head clean off with talons like knives. It’s why, whenever I enter a room with a high ceiling, I make sure I look up. Check the shadows. I suggest you do the same.”
“Quiet you two,” hissed Roon-Kotke.
They had almost reached the door. Roon-Kotke signalled for them to stop and the Corporal crept forward to peer through the grille.
He ducked down quickly.
“There’s someone there,” he whispered.
Ember gripped his sword tighter. Breaking into the fortress wasn’t without its risks. Sooner or later, they were bound to run into the people who called it home. They knew that whoever lived in the fortress had access to oca. The only question that remained was how skilled they were at wielding it.
Hannar-Ghan sidled up to the door and peeked through. “I count three,” he said with a sigh. “Armed with lances and knives.”
“Legionnaires?” asked Lor.
“Shh.” Roon-Kotke put his finger to his lips. “Cobb…” he whispered, beckoning Ember forward. “Come take a look.”
It wasn't longlamp-light shining through the door, but daylight. Not a room on the other side, but an open courtyard, half cast in shadow. Four arched cloisters ran along each side, the walls rising two further storeys, each one studded with a row of rectangular windows, some open, others shuttered. In the centre, three casters stood talking. They were dressed in unfamiliar clan colours, shirts and trews in light and dark grey, like the coat of a northern wolf. A rag-tag bunch. Mercenaries, if he had to guess. Or a uniform that marked out some local tribe. Or maybe…
“Well?” Roon-Kotke said. “Do you recognise them?”
Ember shook his head. “No. But maybe they can tell us that. We have surprise on our side. We could rush them.”
“That’s a dangerous strategy, chief.” Hannar-Ghan looked nervous. “We could stirring up a Varinock nest here. We know nothing about this place. There might be more of them. A whole legion. We might quickly find ourselves outnumbered. So far, those men haven’t seen us. We should leave, while we still can.”
Ember huffed. “And go where exactly? We’ve got nowhere else to go but forward. I say we take them. Grab their weapons. Get some answers about this place and those beasts they have caged.”
Roon-Kotke winced, seemingly reluctant to make a decision.
“I appreciate your caution, Han,” the Corporal said at last. “But Cobb’s right. We haven’t seen another way out. Those men stand in our way and there’s only three of them. If we can take them quietly we won’t alert anybody else.” He frowned at the Sergeant. “I’m surprised at you Han. Usually, you’re the one suggesting the reckless option. The Fura-3 approach. Everything alright?”
“Yes, chief,” he said, somewhat sullenly.
“Good. You’re still my second, Han. I value your opinion. Always have. Always will.” Roon-Kotke slowly turned the handle of the door and eased it open. “Now, prime me a Knockdown. Be ready to loose it on my order.”
The big caster opened a chamber on his lance and Ember heard the soft fizz of oca inside, eager to be unleashed.
“Chief?” Hannar-Ghan put a hand on Roon-Kotke’s shoulder. “Are you sure about this?”
“Aye.” Roon-Kotke nodded, opening the door a little wider, gripping his lance a little tighter. “I’m feeling good about this.”
“Then I’m truly sorry,” said Hannar-Ghan, who muttered the words for the Knockdown binding and blasted them all off their feet.
26. CAN’T CHANGE THE PAST
“OH GODS, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?”
Stone sat opposite his mother in the Shed at Ash House, holding her hand tightly across the table. She had a purpling bruise on her cheek and a scatter of fresh cuts on her forearms. In the pale light of the longlamp hanging beneath the Shed’s corrugated roof, she looked more exhausted than he had ever seen her.
“It's nothing,” she said, rubbing one of her eyes. “I displeased the Warden and he put me in irons. Didn't get much sleep. But everything is fine now.”
Stone scowled. “Displeased the warden how?”
“It's nothing. Really. Best forgotten.” She squeezed his hand. “What about you? What did you do to your face?”
“It's nothing,” Stone said, although he knew she wouldn’t believe him. He’d never been any good at lying to his mother. Always gave himself away — a fraction of a smile when he shouldn’t or showing his nerves by nibbling at his nails. But she wasn’t telling him the truth either. Something had changed since his last visit. She was obviously struggling.
“Are you sure you're alright, mama? I’m worried about you.”
She smiled, sat straighter, once again bearing the weight of the world. “I'm fine. Or at least as fine as a place like this lets me be. Life is hard in here, but I think I have the measure of it now. Besides, I’m all the better for seeing you. I’m glad you’ve come, for I wanted to tell you something…”
A tear welled in his mother’s eye.
“What is it, mama?”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“What for? You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“I’m
sorry for how things have turned out. You should be at school with the other children, learning to read and write, doing your sums. You should be able to play, not be forced to work. It’s not the life I wanted for you.”
“It’s not your fault. Pa’s debts put you in here. He—”
She shook her head. “What’s done is done. It doesn’t matter who’s to blame. We can’t change the past. But we can prepare for the future.”
“What do you mean?”
“It truly is wonderful to see you. But I’ve been thinking. You don’t need to come and see me every day…”
“Yes, I do. I—”
“Let me finish. In truth, I don’t want you to.” His mother leaned across the table, her words soft and calm. “You need to stay away for a while. It could be dangerous for you here.”
Stone frowned. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“The Warden says he will drag you in here too if our debt continues to rise, even though he is the chief culprit in swelling it. He says he’ll talk to the creditor. Petition the courts for your arrest, if I don’t…” His mother held his hand again. He could feel it shaking. “I can’t put you at risk. I won’t.”
“But you won’t have to. Mama, listen—”
“No, you listen. Heed these words, for I speak them with love for you, not any malice. You must stay away from me. From this damned place. At least for the time being. I couldn’t bear it if you lost your freedom because of me. Your father’s shame is my shame, his debts are mine to bear, not yours.”
“No, I share that burden. I’m Hannar too. I won’t stay away and I’m not going to leave you rotting in here any longer.”
Maybe the Yafai had a point. What does a nine year-old boy know about what’s right? Every day he held to his goody-two-shoes principles was another day that his mother suffered behind bars. Was his honour really worth it? Was it right? If he’d said ‘yes’ to the Rook and become a runner, his mother might be free by now. She wouldn’t have the bruise on her cheek or the cuts on her arms. Wouldn’t have displeased the fat-arsed Fowley. He couldn’t change the past. But he could do something about the future…
“I’m going to get the money to pay off the debt.”
“You’re a good boy, Han. I’m proud of you. But I fear I’ll never be free of it. The Warden has jumped it up yet again. I don’t know how much longer I can defy him. He wants—”
“It doesn't matter what he wants. Just listen to me. I think I have a way to get you out of here. Not in a month or a year. Maybe as soon as tomorrow. I can pay off what we owe. All of it.”
“But that’s wonderful. Can it be true?” Stone nodded, smiling, his honour blemished, his principles bent. Yet the happiness he saw on his mother’s face in that moment was worth it. “But how?” Her smile faded to a frown. “I don't understand...”
“Someone has asked me to help them out. I wasn’t sure I was going to before. But I am now. Seeing you in here… I don’t want you to stay in this place a moment longer. So I’ll help them and they'll give me the coin we need to set you free. All our problems will be solved and we can get away, start again, be a family.”
“It almost sounds too good to be true.” His mother coughed. “Are you sure about this? Where is the money coming from? Tell me you haven't been doing anything dishonest?”
“No,” he said. “No. It’s all above board, I promise. I saved the life of a rich lady. Patched up her wounds. Ran a few errands. She now feels indebted and offers me coin to settle it. A good sum too. What is our bill as it stands?”
“Two hundred and thirty-six. But I fear the Warden could yet add some charges to raise it further.”
“Bastard! Well, it doesn't matter. I’ll get enough money to pay off our debt and more besides. We’ll have enough left to cover the Warden’s extra fees and to set us up after. We’ll get Fowley to write down what we owe and give us a receipt. So it’s there in black and white. I’ll bring Yali with me to bear witness.” Stone cracked a broad grin. “I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”
“Nor I.”
Stone put his hand to his mother’s cheek, dirty fingers lightly tracing the edge of her bruise. “I’ve done it, mama. I always said I would.” He pushed back the chair and stood. “I need to go and close the deal. Get the money I’m owed. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Until then, you look after yourself. Stay out of trouble. You won’t have long to wait. I need you to be as hard as…”
“Stone,” his mother finished, a tear rolling down her cheek.
27. A CRAZY IDEA
A SACK SAVED JUNN-KRI'S LIFE. An unremarkable canvas sack, rolled up and tied together with red string. It should have been stuffed into one of the pockets in his legion jacket or buried at the bottom of his valise. But the sack in question lay under his bed back in Refu Ruka, forgotten, kicked there in his rush to pack for the mission through gate twenty-three.
If he’d been more organised, like the Caster-Sergeant, he might have been done for. Hannar-Ghan was meticulous in his preparation, laying out his kit, checking it, then checking it again. He rarely forgot anything. Everything had a purpose. Everything had a place. Junn didn’t have the patience to follow his example. Good job too. For if he had, he wouldn’t have left the sack behind, wouldn’t have wandered after the squad to seek a replacement, wouldn’t have seen Hannar-Ghan inexplicably attack his brothers-in-arms.
Junn ducked back into the doorway, hands on his lance, ready to fire at the Sergeant. How crazy did that sound? What in the Seven Hells was going on? It had all happened so fast. A blast of oconic air. The casters toppling like nine-pins. Roon-Kotke hit one wall head-first, crumpling into a heap. Lor-Qui and Ember were thrown back against the other, sliding down the stones, the wind punched out of them. Junn thought the Knockdown might have been an accident. But when Ember tried to get back up, Hannar-Ghan swung his lance and cracked him over the head.
Arano’s arse! What was the Sergeant doing?
What he'd just witnessed didn't make sense. Hannar-Ghan attacking the others? Why? Why would he do that? Junn felt his heart racing, his hands sweating. Dare he take another look? Might the Sergeant be coming for him next? Gulping in a deep breath, Junn gripped his lance tightly and edged forward to peer around the door frame.
Roon-Kotke and the others were all down. Probably out cold. Hannar-Ghan stood over them, nudging Lor-Qui’s prone body with his foot. Like he didn’t even care. As Junn watched, another man joined him, dressed in a drab grey shirt and charcoal trews, a caster judging by the long lance he held. At first, Hannar-Ghan raised his hands in surrender, only to lower them and then shake the man by the hand. They started talking. Junn-Kri strained to hear what was being said.
“... one too.”
“It’s been a long time, my friend. You’ve shaved your head?”
“Easier to hide who I once was.”
“Suits you. The tattoo and all. I’d heard you were placed with the sky blues. Infiltration assignment. When was that? Four years ago?”
“Six.”
“That long? Well, it’s good to see you. But you’re a long way from Ocoscona. We could have killed you earlier. How did you get out here?”
“Through a gate on the Southern Approach.” Hannar-Ghan squatted down next to Roon-Kotke and checked his breathing. “I tried to make them turn back. But the Corporal here was having none of it.”
“I thought that gate was dead? I’ll tell Yarron. Send a team to remove it so nobody else can wander through.”
Hannar-Ghan stood up again. “Mila’s here?”
“Aye. She’s in charge of this whole operation. Gods, she’ll be pleased to see you! We don’t get many visitors. And we tend to shoot the ones we do. But this time you’ve done the job for us.” The grey-clad caster looked down at the unconscious squad. “Is this all of them?”
“No. There's another. A boy. He shouldn't cause you any trouble. We left him to pillage the Surgery back there. He's probably still at it.”
“G
ood. We’ll get these three banged up and then we’ll take care of him.”
Junn-Kri didn't need to hear any more. He stumbled into the blood-spattered hall and backed down the nearest aisle, lance pointed at the door, chamber open, Fura primed.
There was nowhere to hide. The long tables had no sides to them, the storage racks no doors. The cupboards, four in number, were certainly big enough to conceal him, just like Ember had said. But they would also be the first place those men in grey would look when they came after him.
He backed up between the tables, fast as he could, eyes on the door, lance shaking despite his best efforts to keep it still. He passed by the body of the giant bird, keeping his distance, fearful that its eyelids might suddenly flutter open, small wings might break its restraints, and it might set upon him with that sword-sharp beak before he could loose a binding. Did the idea seem so fantastic now? For if the Sergeant could turn against his own, then everything he knew, everything he understood to be true, was suddenly overturned.
It hurt to think of the Sergeant’s betrayal. Sickened him to his stomach. Sure, he and Hannar-Ghan had rubbed each other up the wrong way at times. Most of the time, if he was being honest. But recently, he’d started to believe that the Sergeant had come to respect him. Just a little. That made his actions all the harder to accept. If Hannar-Ghan was the first to come through the door after him, Junn wondered whether he’d have the heart to shoot him.
He retreated to the end of the room, through the thick metal door, past the huge creatures growling inside their dank and dingy cells, until he found himself back at the door to the air bridge. He fought a rising sense of panic, a snarky pessimism silently whispering that there was no escape; that he was going to die here; that it was only a matter of time.
Junn heaved open the metal door and looked out over the trees. He supposed he could re-light the bridge and retreat to the tower. But what good would that do him? Hannar-Ghan had busted down the door and the Wall conjuring holding it shut had long since expired. The creatures were now prowling its passageways. He could tell because a big one watched him from the rooftop of the tower, teeth bared, loathing in its wild eyes. He could kill it. A volley of Fura charges would surely bring it down. But there would be others. He couldn't fight them all.
Once Called Thief Page 18
