Shield and Crocus

by Michael R. Underwood

Wonlar stopped in front of Selweh. Their eyes met and they nodded. “Agreed. How do we pin the destruction of the Rebirth engine on one of the others?”

  Selweh put a hand to his chin. “Hard to say, Nevri’s always been the most concerned about the Spark-storms. That kind of chaos is bad for business”

  “The lack of control scares her.”

  “She’s not the only one.” The Spark or the tyrants alone would be plague enough for a city.

  “Who, then? Yema? COBALT-3?” Wonlar asked.

  “Why pin it on anyone? As you said, if we expose Nevri, the tyrants will turn on one another just as fast, especially since Nevri’s been moving mountains to make the summit happen.”

  “We just need to get a message to the tyrants and have them believe us.”Wonlar scratched his stubbly beard. “We record the in-person meeting with Nevri, and leak the recording to Magister Yema. That should do it.”

  “So, we just have pull off the engine job. Will we be able to neutralize Onyx fast enough to pull this off?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” Wonlar crossed the room and picked up his belt. He searched through a pouch and pulled out a stone wrapped in walkerweb silk. Wonlar held it up so the light shimmered on the translucent silk. This one took me two months of research and another three months of failed experiments to finalize. “The new drainer disks are finally ready. Two or three of these should bring him down to a manageable level for you and Rova.”

  Selweh smiled. “And we can make sure he knows we got the explosive from Nevri. The Smiling King’s insane, but he’s too paranoid not to fly off the handle at Nevri. And if Yema has reason to suspect her, too, all the better.”

  “And then the others will be pulled in on either side.”

  Selweh mimed an explosion with his hands. “Poof, no summit. What does Nevri have to gain from the whole thing, aside from the Rebirth engine being gone, the Smiling King’s power lessened?”

  Wonlar poured a fresh mug of tea and handed it to his son. “That’s what has me worried. We can’t be sure what she’s doing on the side, what opportunities it’s creating that she’ll be taking advantage of. But since we know not to trust her, I hope that what we’re pulling on her outmatches whatever she can throw at us”

  Selweh blew at the top of the mug, steam rolling away from his breath. “It’s still a very fine line we’re walking here.”

  “I’ve walked this line for fifty years. We can do it.” Selweh turned to the desk, the papers and the maps, and sat down, the mug beside him.

  We can do it, Wonlar told himself. And for once, he believed it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  First Sentinel

  Heart Station was always clean, thanks to a small army of custodians on Nevri’s payroll. It was an outward symbol of her control: efficient, tidy, and unquestionable. The trains stayed on schedule and everyone got where they needed to go. Provided they could pay.

  Bland, tasteless murals covered the walls, works commissioned by Nevri’s ministry of the arts. Above the ticket office, there was a pastel picture of the city at peace, painted by selected orphans to show her compassion, with the instruction of loyalist artists who only had careers because she decreed they would.

  Every few weeks or so, there was a piece of graffiti, genuine emergent art, unsolicited and unasked for. Sometimes it was oppositional, sometimes just the work of a bold creator taking a stand for expression. The longest lived of those works was lucky to be visible for three hours.

  The station was bustling with activity, workers returning from their daily drudge. They brushed by one another, shoulders pressed together as they moved through the three-tiered train station like a river flowing down into the delta of platforms. The smells of sweat, stale air, and the dampness of spring showers mixed with an impenetrable blanket of noise.

  The idle mumblings, shuffling feet, the comings and goings of trains, and the eerily serene voice of the public address system calling out arrivals and departures, every sound was a reminder that his motion was structured, his paths laid out for him by the Plutocrat. Freedom of movement was available here, but only on Nevri’s terms and in her paths. The trains were the city’s, but the staff were all Nevri’s.

  There’s a reason why I don’t take the trains much anymore. First Sentinel spotted Aegis in his vantage point higher up in the station, a still figure in the shifting mash of bodies. First Sentinel nodded to his son and continued on. He wore his coat closed, without a mask, allowing him to pass among the crowd unnoticed.

  Moving with the throng, First Sentinel descended to the platform where the Headtown line would arrive in twelve minutes. As he crossed the lowest landing before the platform, First Sentinel saw an open circle on the platform, five paces across.

  A suited woman stood at the center, perfectly still. Dapper thugs stood at the four cardinal points around her. Her face was the same as any one of thousands of other Ikanollo women, but her presence was unique.

  Nevri the Plutocrat, tyrant of Audec-Hal. Before that, she was Senator Nevri. Before it all, she was Nevri the lash, over-boss in the Viscera city Slicers. Slanted bangs dropped across her face, barely revealing her left eye. She locked onto First Sentinel as soon as he stepped into view.

  The nearest guard stepped to one side and First Sentinel saw a self-satisfied smile cross Nevri’s immaculately preserved face. Still severe and striking, she had to be almost a hundred years old, but she looked just as healthy as she had the day the Senate burned.

  In one manicured hand, she held a jet-black briefcase— the explosives. First Sentinel didn’t know how Nevri stayed healthy that late into life. The tyrant had to be almost a decade older than he was, judging by her years as a gangster before the Senate fire. Most Ikanollo could expect to live to eighty; many lived to ninety or beyond, but not in good health. Maybe she made a bargain with Yema, or has secret artifacts turned out by her wholly-owned Academy of Artifice.

  First Sentinel watched with his peripheral vision as he closed, stepping into the dead zone of her guards. Hide your fear, Wonlar. Don’t let her see any weakness. Ghost Hands and Sapphire followed, under cover of illusion.

  As far as anyone in the crowd knew, First Sentinel and Nevri were just two Ikanollo talking in the train station, flanked by huge bodyguards. Nothing suspicious about that.

  Stretching his back to draw spectator’s eyes, he rubbed the stone in a pocket that activated the recording enchantment. It’d be good for five minutes.

  “City Mother be with you,” she said, throwing the formal greeting in his face. She’s ours, don’t you forget, her words said, re-opening a fifty-year old wound.

  “The mother who protects us all,” First Sentinel replied, putting his emphasis on the last word.

  Around them, the traffic flowed, as people shifted back and forth, waiting for the train. They stared at newspapers from beneath dull grey and brown caps, talking with small groups in conspiratorial tones.

  “To be honest, I’m surprised you came,” Nevri said.

  The ground beneath him rumbled, signaling an oncoming train.

  “Don’t ever doubt my dedication.” he’d fight her every breath he had, until one of them went to sleep with Audec.

  “Not for a moment. But to ally yourself with me, you must be desperate.” She produced a cigarillo and snapped her fingers. One of the thugs produced a small artifact and provided a light. The smoke wafted over First Sentinel’s face, with hints of cloves and spearmint. He exhaled audibly to blow the smoke away.

  While they waited, First Sentinel kept his calm firmly in hand, remembering that Ghost Hands and Sapphire were right behind him, cloaked by a pair of rings that had taken years to get right and only worked for ten minutes a month.

  The whirring drone of steam and a high whistle were twin heralds to the blood-red train’s arrival. Ancient magic dating to the founding of the city powered the trains that were the pumping blood of the city, connecting the districts across tyrants’ domains. The train crawled to a stop, and hundred
s disembarked. Two of Nevri’s guards moved to the door, brow-beating the first few commuters who tried to board the train-car. The train idled as the crowd shifted and people boarded the other cars. Guards in other cars waved those citizens off, leaving the cars all but empty.

  A pointless display of power. First Sentinel said, “if you confuse desperation with dedication, then your riches still haven’t bought you any wisdom.”

  She responded only with a smile, the threat veiled by polished white teeth. “Let’s not fight, old friend.” She took a drag from the cigarillo, and then put it out on a pillar. A custodian appeared from nowhere and started cleaning the spot.

  Nevri raised a hand toward the empty train-car. “Please, join me.” with three full strides, she stepped onto the train and took a seat. First Sentinel followed, trusting Sapphire and Ghost Hands to board the train as his backup.

  For a little while, First Sentinel entertained the notion of detonating the explosive on the train. He could give his life to claim hers, take the quickest easiest victory and kick-start the revolution.

  But he wouldn’t fight the war that way. What scared him is that he’d had to count the number of people such a display would likely kill before deciding to scrap the plan.

  Fifty years is a long time. I don’t have much left in me.

  If he retired soon, he might hope to live to ninety, but he couldn’t stop. But even fool’s luck had to give out eventually—bodies broke down, failed. One day he wouldn’t be fast enough. They’d bury him in the hall of Fallen Shields, the cavern tomb secured by the first Aegis not long after the start of the resistance. Would there be another First Sentinel? Who would be stupid enough to do it?

  First Sentinel sat across from Nevri. The cold metal seat sapped body heat even through his cloak. The doors closed, leaving him with Nevri and her four guards.

  “Are those the explosives?” First Sentinel asked, pointing to the suitcase.

  She nodded. “And the promised portion of the payment beneath it.”

  “What are you doing on the night of the bombing? What makes it so important that we act when you say?”

  Nevri demurred, waving a hand through the air. “I have my schedules to keep, and the appointed time is the one most convenient.”

  “Why not let the summit convene, make the ties between the others, and then undermine them using the added trust? I don’t see the angle,” First Sentinel said. Come on, spill something so I can see the trap coming.

  She smiled. “And that is why you skulk in shadows, settle for stinging the feet of giants. You don’t see the big picture.”

  “I haven’t settled for anything.” Easy there. She’s trying to bait you.

  Nevri crossed her legs, knees tucked together just below her black pencil skirt. “I grow tired of my so-called colleagues. I’d much rather have you and your Shields to compete with than the madman and the machine, the sorcerer and the slaver.”

  “I’m flattered.” If we’re playing, let’s play.

  “Don’t think too highly of yourself. You rely on hope, they play to fear. And hope is fifty years out of fashion in Audec-Hal.”

  Wonlar wondered what the math would be if he called for Sapphire and Ghost Hands to attack, if they tried to take out Nevri then and there, then hit the Rebirth engine. Sapphire and Ghost Hands could handle the bodyguards, leaving Nevri for him. But he had no way of knowing what kind of contingency plans she had: concealed guards, hidden weapons and artifacts, personal enchantments. And until he could evaluate the explosive, learn how it worked if it was so special, he’d be throwing away one of the greatest potential advantages of the bargain.

  No good. He wasn’t control of the situation—it was her territory, her plan. But for the briefest moment, First Sentinel imagined the feeling of her windpipe collapsing in his hands. The chance to get justice for thousands dead and the fall of Audec-Hal flickered through his mind. It was very tempting.

  “Can I see the explosive?” First Sentinel asked.

  Nevri shifted in her seat, re-balanced the suitcase, and then held out it to First Sentinel. He took the case, one hand on top and one on bottom. He turned it back towards Nevri in case it was trapped, and then opened the brass clasps.

  Nothing happened, so he turned the case around to see the contents. Nestled in rich blue velvet, the explosive was the size of his fist. Pipes and gears and valves in brass and bronze covered a grey-black orb with marbled hues swirling throughout the surface. The make looked like one of COBALT-3’s.

  How far does this plan go? Is COBALT-3 in on the gambit, or is she the convenient scapegoat? It wouldn’t be hard to paint her as envious of any grand device not of her own creation.

  Every minute got them deeper in bed with the Plutocrat, and First Sentinel wondered if he’d know when he was getting in over his head. Just because they had a plan didn’t mean that it was good enough.

  “What do you think?” Nevri leaned forward, eyebrows up, as if asking his opinion about the fit of a dress at a store. I’m not one of your lackeys, Nevri. Never forget that.

  He studied the device, working out the connections between the detonator, the pipes, and wires that plunged into the orb. The deep cobalt blue was consistent with enchantments for magical explosives, but COBALT-3’s devices bore different signatures than traditional artifice, using electrical current rather than mechanical triggers as the physical binding for the magic. He’d need to study the device further.

  But not here.

  He checked the compartment under the explosive, thumbing through stacks of bills. Even if they were counterfeit, they were good enough to pass in Nevri’s domain. Technically, all the money printed since the Senate fire was counterfeit, but that was all semantics.

  First Sentinel replaced the money and picked up the explosive. It was heavier than it looked. “What did it take for COBALT-3 to give you this, and won’t she suspect when she hears about the engine’s destruction?”

  Nevri lit a fresh cigarillo. “COBALT-3 has no more love of the Spark-storms than i. They’re things of chaos.”

  The train passed in and out of shadow of the tunnel lights, casting Nevri in flickering shadow. She reclined into the seat, tracing a finger along the glass window above her head. A moment later, the train surfaced and started to roll through Upper Rib.

  No answer. First Sentinel pushed her again. “What do I need to know to operate it?”

  Nevri nodded to one of her guards, who stepped forward and opened a hand toward First Sentinel. Watching the guard’s whole body for a wrong move, he slowly placed the globe in the guard’s hand and sat back.

  The thug handed the explosive back to Nevri, who spun the orb, pulled back a lever and tapped a finger on a red button built into a copper box. “Move the lever this way to disengage the safety. Press here and the device will detonate after five minutes. If you place it next to the Rebirth device, it should obliterate the whole building.”

  “What about collateral damage, the buildings nearby?”

  Her smile was smug, self-satisfied. Another flash of violent though crossed First Sentinel’s mind, how satisfying it would be to cut down the guards and wipe the arrogance off of Nevri’s face.

  “War demands sacrifices. But I’m told its range is only fifty meters, little bigger than the building itself.” Nevri placed the orb in the guard’s still-outstretched hand, and then stood. First Sentinel clicked the safety back when the guard returned the explosive. The train slowed to a stop in Upper Rib before it would loop back around on its journey toward Headtown.

  Executor Nevri bowed her head to First Sentinel as the doors opened. “Evening, one week from tonight. Between eight and nine.” She tapped her collar and an illusion of an older Jalvai with thin hair and a less-impressive suit washed over her. She walked out of the train-car between her four bodyguards and vanished when the mass of people closed in behind her.

  First Sentinel sighed, placing the artifact back in its case. He walked up the end of the train-car, opened the
door to the one behind him and rapped on the side of the doorway, signaling Sapphire and Ghost Hands to follow.

  He leaned his head out the back of the train-car, felt the train move back and forth on its tracks as the wheels started turning again. First Sentinel listened to the metallic groans of the train answer the rolling roar of the un-oiled wheels against aged tracks as they moved away from the station, the thugs, and Nevri. Weapon in hand, he was one step closer to seeing how far this deal would lead.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sapphire

  Rova sat in the back room of Douk’s daily, laughing at Fahra’s imitations. They were alone, the Millrej girl and her rescuer, as Rova took a break from patrolling the streets. Blurred Fists was casing the location of the Rebirth engine, and if all was well, they’d strike the following night, rather than wait for Nevri’s appointed time.

  Rova had started coming by the café every day to see Fahra. First it had been just checking in, but it had become a habit, a break from errands and work and revolution.

  The girl stood up and struck a pose that Rova recognized very well. Like the café’s owner, she had her head forward, hand on her chin.

  “Did something interesting happen? Please? Tell me, I have to know! I know lots of important people, it’s very exciting!” Fahra walked around the table, mimicking Douk’s little ticks, the rise and fall of his voice.

  “And did I tell you who came in to the café yesterday! Zija Varn, the violinist, you know, who plays in the Orquestra Siena. Her hair is phenomenal, you know. Some say it’s because she’s Spark-touched, one of the subtle ones. I think it’s one of those ambergris-laced shampoos though.” She was a talented mimic, though she was enjoying herself too much for a perfect imitation, stopping every few moments to stifle a giggle.

  Fahra looked up to Rova, struck by curiosity. “What’s ambergris?”

  Rova laughed. “You remember all of that and just ask about the ambergris?”

  Fahra turned up her lips. “But what is it?”