Shield of the People

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Who even knows,” Hemmit said, looking for something he could use as a weapon, if the circumstances demanded. Nothing obvious jumped out, and he had to admit to himself the best thing he could do if someone else attacked was to stand behind Lin and Amaya. “Right now in this city, we’ve got what? The Open Hand, the Sons of the Six Sisters, probably still some Haltom’s Patriots, apparently there’s a Grand Ten, and I don’t even know who else . . .”

  Amaya turned to him. “What did you—”

  Whatever she was about to ask was interrupted by Constabulary whistles piercing the air.

  “Fantastic, rescue,” the baron said. He grinned at Amaya. “No disrespect intended.”

  “None taken,” she said. “Come on.”

  She led them out to the ballroom, where several of the ruffians had been laid out on the ground, battered senseless. As they came in, Lady Mirianne came in with one of the First Irregulars, both of them supporting each other. The Irregular’s uniform dress was shredded in several places, but despite both looking haggard, they had enormous smiles on their faces.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” Amaya asked as they approached. “Fredelle?”

  “I am as well as I can be given how close I was to abduction,” Lady Mirianne said. “But this woman was a marvel.”

  “It was deeply satisfying to pummel that man about the head,” Fredelle said. “Can you imagine, half naked and oiled up, carrying whips. Ran off as soon as those whistles started up.”

  “I can’t imagine what he was trying to abduct me for.”

  “I can imagine,” Baron Terrenhill said.

  “Oh, hush,” Lady Mirianne said to him. “Are you all right, Stephen?”

  “Nothing my own bed and all the wine I own won’t cure.”

  She chuckled. “Lieutenant, could I press upon you to escort the baron to his home once the constables secure us?”

  “As you wish, my lady,” Fredelle said, raising an eyebrow at Amaya.

  “As for you, Miss Tyrell, I understand why Dayne speaks so highly of you.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Amaya said haltingly.

  “So of course you won’t mind making sure these fine people of The Veracity Press get home safely.” She went over to Hemmit. “I hope you can find some form of kindness to write about these events for tomorrow.”

  “I should check on my Initiates. I have many of them guarding your guests in the banquet hall.”

  “Splendid,” Lady Mirianne said. As she said it several constables and Yellowshields came running in. She turned to them, opening up her arms. “Gentlemen! Thank you for rescuing us from this nightmare!”

  Hemmit wasn’t sure what to make of that, beyond Lady Mirianne’s intense flair for the dramatic. As a Yellowshield came over to check Hemmit out, he noticed that Amaya Tyrell’s attention was on him. She definitely had the bearing of a woman with questions that she wanted him to answer, but wouldn’t ask in present company. Whatever those questions were, he wanted to know.

  * * *

  “Evicka really just ran off, huh?” Kelvanne asked as she looked up at the sky. “She’s a wild one.”

  Miss Jessel had regained her composure and came over to the bench with them, opening up the soldier’s uniform coat. The injury was a glancing cut on her side, hard to tell how serious it was. But there was a fair amount of blood.

  “Just hold on,” Jerinne said. Whistles were now piercing the air. “Yellowshields are coming.”

  “Just keep breathing,” Miss Jessel said. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “Still hurts like blazes,” Kelvanne said.

  More whistles. Shouts and calls in the distance. And someone running out of the house. A woman with two hatchets.

  Quinara.

  Jerinne looked back to Kelvanne, whose eyes were watching the same thing. She pressed her curtain rod weapon into Jerinne’s hand.

  “Go.”

  Jerinne moved like the wind was with her, running as hard as her legs would let her. For the first time in as long as she could remember, there wasn’t any pain at all. Despite the blows she had taken in the scrum this night, despite her ankle, despite the abuse of training, in this moment it was all gone. There was just purity of purpose.

  Releasing a savage cry as she closed the distance, she smashed the curtain rod across Quinara’s body, which broke into three pieces as it sent her to the ground.

  “You are not getting away from here,” Jerinne snarled.

  “You’re going to stop me, bobcat?” Quinara shot back, snapping to her feet as she took out her hatchets. “I’ve had more than enough of you.”

  “I don’t need to stop you,” Jerinne said, blocking the first blow of the hatchets with the remnant of the curtain rod. “I just have to keep you here until the constables arrest you.”

  “Well, I can’t have that,” Quinara said. “Big plans are afoot.” Spinning swipes with the hatchets in tight circles, as Jerinne ducked and dodged. Just a few moments more. She could see some people running up the lawn, the first of the constables. Most were heading to the house, but at least one was coming their way.

  “You ruined my plans for tonight. It seems only fair to do the same. Constable!”

  Quinara turned her head, which gave Jerinne the opportunity to land a punch. The constable had his crossbow up.

  “You are bound by law! Stand and be—”

  That was all he said before a hatchet was buried in his chest. Quinara winked and sent a back fist into Jerinne’s face. Jerinne was startled and dazed for a moment, and when she shook off the blow, Quinara was out of sight.

  But the constable was on the ground, coughing and spurting blood.

  “No, no, no,” Jerinne said, dropping on her knees next to him. “You’re, you’re—you’re going to be all right.” She grabbed the handle of the hatchet, not sure if she should pull it out of his chest, or if that would just make things worse. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I should . . .” She looked up, hoping to see a Yellowshield or anyone else coming to help. Three figures were charging at her.

  “Hey, we—”

  Before she could say anything else, the three tackled her, twisting her arms behind her.

  “You are bound by law and your crimes will be charged upon you!”

  “But I—”

  That earned her a punch across the jaw from one of them, as the other two slapped their irons around her wrists. The one who punched her dragged her to her feet. “Go secure the back of the house. I’ll put this garbage in the lockwagon.”

  “I’m not—”

  Another punch, to her gut. That knocked the air out of her. As she gasped, unable to draw breath or say anything else, he whispered in her ear, “You’re lucky you’re making it to the wagon after what you did to Tenzy.”

  Jerinne tried to protest, but she couldn’t get any words into her mouth as she was dragged back down the lawn and tossed into the back of the lockwagon.

  “Are there more coming?” he asked the wagon driver.

  “Saints, yeah. There’s two more pulling up the road!”

  “Good, then let’s get this minx to the station right away. A stick-killer gets to ride all by herself.”

  Chapter 19

  DAYNE’S LONG, slow walk back up to the house was filled with constables, Fire Brigade, and Yellowshields all passing him as they raced up the drive. Surely the smoke coming from the house marked it as a higher priority, and Dayne was more than happy to stay out of their way as they went to work. He was halfway there when one Yellowshield stopped mid-run to tend to him.

  “You all right, man?” he asked.

  “Decidedly not,” Dayne said. “But I will make it back to the house.”

  “Hold up,” the Yellowshield said. “You hit your head.”

  “Actually, no,” Dayne said. “Landed on my hip from
a fall. Some whiplashes, some burns.”

  The Yellowshield let out a low whistle. “Sounds like quite the party here.”

  “It wasn’t—”

  “I don’t judge. After a month working as a yellow in the dark, you see stuff you never forget. Especially here.” He knelt down and groped Dayne’s leg and hip. “Your muscles are like rocks. Tender here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah. But you’re standing and walking, so I got to think you’re basically all right.” He dug into his satchel and pulled out a flask and tin cup, pouring a bit of liquid out. “For the pain.”

  “Is that doph?” Dayne wasn’t sure if he should take such a thing, risk clouding his mind at all.

  “For the pain,” the man insisted. “This is what it’s for.”

  Dayne was in no mood to argue, so he took the cup and drank the bitter fluid down.

  “Good,” the man said. “I’m going to see what’s needed inside, but get those burns checked out by one of us, hear?” He dashed off.

  Dayne limped the rest of the way, past the foyer where brigadiers had beaten the flames into an ashy smolder, until he reached the ballroom. Many people were sitting on the floor, being checked by Yellowshields, questioned by constables. Dayne worked his way over to the one he was most concerned about: Lady Mirianne, who was with Hemmit, Maresh, and Lin, as well as Amaya and Fredelle.

  “Dayne!” Mirianne said as he approached. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I didn’t know what happened to you.”

  “I . . . I was trying to stop that mage and—”

  “Mage?” Amaya asked.

  “Real odd one,” Fredelle said. “Fiery wings.”

  “What?” Amaya said. “He was at the attack on the votes yesterday.”

  “That can’t be right,” Hemmit said.

  “He was—saints, so was that woman with the hatchets.”

  “Wait,” Dayne said, his head now reeling a bit from the doph. “This attack was by the same people who attacked the votes. The Sons of the Six Sisters?”

  “The who?” Mirianne asked.

  “A group of radical subversives, my lady,” Hemmit said.

  “But why would they—saints, I don’t even want to think about it.” She looked to Dayne with despair in her eyes. “Can we speed this along, get everyone out? I . . . I just want to go to bed.”

  Amaya coughed and stepped forward. “I’ve already had other Adepts and Candidates start escorting your guests home safely.”

  “Thank you, Miss Tyrell.”

  Amaya gave a sharp whistle, and Vien Reston came over with a Spathian Candidate by her side. “Ma’am?”

  “Get the Initiates home now,” Amaya said.

  “There’s three unaccounted for,” Vien said. “Jerinne, Miara, and Candion.”

  “Get the ones you’ve got home. I’ll round up the rest.” Muttering she added, “Miara and Candion probably holed up in a spare bedroom together.”

  “Oh, please, no,” Mirianne said.

  “If I’ve found that to be the case, they will be severely disciplined, my lady.”

  One of the other First Irregulars came over, holding her hand to her side. “One of yours is missing? The one at the lunch, brown hair and a nose that looks like it’s been broke?” Her face looked like she had bad news to share with them.

  “That’s Jerinne,” Dayne said. “Is she all right?”

  “I saw some sticks grab her and put her in a lockwagon. I was in no shape to stop them, sorry. That lady with the axes—”

  Amaya, Hemmit, and Lin all groaned at that.

  “She killed a stick, but then they grabbed your girl instead. So—”

  “Oh, saints,” Amaya said.

  Dayne was already moving, limping over to one of the constables. “Officer! What’s your stationhouse?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Anyone arrested, where were they brought?”

  “Unity, most likely.”

  He went back over to Amaya and the others. “I’ll go.”

  “She’s my charge,” Amaya said.

  “As are the other two who are missing,” Dayne said. “You find them, I’ll get to Jerinne.”

  “Do you need anything?” Hemmit asked. “If they think she’s a stick-killer, they won’t release her on your say so.”

  “Jessel!” Lady Mirianne called out to her lady-in-waiting, being led into the house by a Yellowshield. “Are you all right?”

  “Nothing but my nerves, my lady. Thanks to Miss Fendall. But apparently she—”

  “I’ve heard. Are you well enough to run to my attorney’s home? I need her to meet Dayne at Unity Stationhouse immediately.”

  “For Jerinne?” Jessel asked. “I’ll run all night, ma’am.” She went off as if she’d been renewed.

  “And, you, Dayne, take Kaysen and my carriage. I insist.”

  “Thank you,” Dayne said.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Amaya said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Thank me when she’s at liberty,” Mirianne said. “I’m very fond of that girl, and the last thing I would want is for her to be incarcerated for saving my people and guests.”

  “I’ll get her,” Dayne said to Amaya. Then to Mirianne he said, “I’m sorry for the night, and that I failed you—”

  “You did nothing of the sort,” she said. She kissed him again. “Go, save your friend. I’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  Jerinne was dragged to the work floor of the Constabulary stationhouse, still in irons, and nearly thrown in front of one of the desk clerks. The whole floor was full of constables working like madmen, and dozens of people nearly piled up on each other on the benches in the large lock cage in the center of the room.

  “What are you doing?” the desk clerk asked the officer who had arrested Jerinne. “You need to wait your turn!”

  “My turn? What are you on about?”

  The clerk waved at the people on benches. “Do you know how many arrests we’ve had tonight? It’s the revels, it’s always madness!”

  “Drunken vomiters. That’s not important! This girl killed Tenzy!”

  “I did not!” Jerinne shouted.

  “I saw you! You had the axe in his chest!”

  “I was fighting the woman with the axe!”

  “Saints, Jondel, she’s a Tarian! You think she killed a constable?”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “He’s wrong!”

  The clerk shook her head. “Tell it to your justice advocate. But you also still have to wait to be processed before even going to a proper cell, and then . . . we’ll see.”

  “But we have to—” Jondel started.

  “No. Put her in the cage until it’s her turn,” the clerk said. “I have a damned system tonight, and you’re not going to ruin it.”

  Jondel grumbled and grabbed Jerinne’s arm, dragging her over to the lock cage. It was just a great box of metal bars in the middle of the work floor, with all those arrested and not processed milling about within. Jondel opened the door and started to shove Jerinne inside.

  “Take the irons off her,” the clerk said, standing up.

  “I won’t!”

  “You will.”

  Jondel fumed, and then said, “Fine.” He unlocked the irons on her wrist and shoved her in the cage.

  The collection of prisoners was quite the motley crew. Several looked like drunken university boys, the social house types. Others were sailors and dockworkers, also clearly drunk.

  Jerinne found a bench by herself and sat down.

  “Saints, girl, you’re covered in blood. You kill your man?”

  A woman who looked like she had had far too many unkind years approached, sitting down without invitation. She looked like she expected an answer.

&nbs
p; “I didn’t kill anyone,” Jerinne said. “I was protecting people.”

  “They said she’s a stick-killer,” one of the dock steves said.

  “You killed a stick?”

  “No,” Jerinne said pointedly.

  “She’s too young for that,” the steve said.

  “I was younger when I first killed a man,” the older woman said. She leaned in to Jerinne, as if speaking in confidence. “He thought he could walk away without paying. I showed him he was wrong. That what happened?”

  “Not at all!” Jerinne slid a bit down the bench. But then she looked at the eyes of this woman—haunted, hurt. “Five men were trying to hurt two women. Friends.”

  “So you killed them?”

  “I stopped them.” Jerinne smiled, realizing the core of what Dayne had been trying to tell her a month ago in the Parliament. “Those men wanted to hurt someone, so I stepped in to stop them. You never need to kill if you can just stop them.”

  “Saints,” the woman said. “Five men?”

  “I only had to deal with two of them.”

  “World would be a better place if you killed them.”

  “Not for me,” Jerinne said. It hit her how grateful she was that Dayne hadn’t let her kill Tharek Pell when she wanted to. She didn’t know how it would have affected her, but now that she saw Tander and others so troubled by the lives they took, she was happy not to have that on her conscience.

  Now Tharek Pell wanted to talk to her. At first Jerinne had thought this was some strange ploy on his part, but now she was very curious about what he had to say to her. But she also wanted to look him in the eye. She wanted him to know she wasn’t afraid of him.

  The cage doors opened again, and constables were shoving in several men—arrested from the party. “Look who it is,” one of them said as he locked eyes with Jerinne. “The Tarian bird.”

  Jerinne got to her feet, instinctively putting herself in front of the older woman. “You’d all do yourself some good staying on the other side of this cage.”

  One of them had a massive bruise across his face. He stepped forward. “Or what’s going to happen, girl? There’s maybe ten of us, one of you. It’ll take a while for those sticks to come in and stop us. We’ll take you down.”