People of the City

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “For what it’s worth, sir, I am skeptical that she is guilty of these things. I’ve had my arguments with her, but I do not think she is capable of conspiracy and cold-blooded murder.”

  The Grandmaster smiled. “You truly see the best, Dayne. It’s a blessing. I hope you are right, but the evidence is, I’m given to understand, compelling. But I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Then what?”

  “With the new policies of protection for the Parliament being jointly handled by the marshals, Tarians, and Spathians, your position of ‘liaison’ seems . . . extraneous.”

  “I was already at odds with that, sir.”

  “And moreover, I think having you alone over there has left you vulnerable to bad influences. So, I’ve decided to move you back into the chapterhouse.”

  “Really, sir?”

  “To a specific end,” the Grandmaster said. “Amaya’s primary duties involved training the Initiates, especially the third-years. I am recalling you here so you can take charge of their training.”

  “Are you sure, sir?” Dayne asked. “I mean . . . that isn’t a Candidate’s role.”

  “Perhaps not,” the Grandmaster said. “But I can think of no one better to shape the minds of these young Initiates. Do you accept?”

  “Gratefully,” Dayne said.

  “I’m glad,” the Grandmaster said. “I think things will go very well by having you close.”

  Lady Mirianne had expected treachery. She prepared for it, planned for it. She had smelled it in the air with Colonel Altarn.

  Mirianne strove to be prepared for every eventuality she could foresee, which was why she had a plan in place for a whole Scapegoat Grand Ten, and candidates lined up for every position. She had expected Altarn to take her own spin, but to use Miri’s plan to actually expose and kill members of the true Ten was atrocious.

  Atrocious, but anticipated.

  Which is why it was fortunate to have the disgraced Amaya Tyrell all but delivered to Miri. Her rescue and delivery of Amaya had not gone as she planned—she had thoroughly expected for Amaya to go to Dayne and then he would have gone to her for help—but the results were the same. Amaya was in position to be her weapon when she needed it.

  She would need it. She would have to be ready for a confrontation with Colonel Altarn, and possibly the others, before too long.

  Not that she mourned the loss of Duchess Leighton, High Judge Feller Pin, or especially Chestwick Millerson. All three of them had been trouble, and she had plans at the ready to handle each of them, if needed. But Altarn was definitely an adversary to watch out for now.

  As well as the Grandmaster. That was quite shocking, that he would have so willingly been Altarn’s pawn. If he was the one who actually held the sword that killed Leighton, Pin, and Millerson, that was a fundamental shift in his very character. She wasn’t sure how Altarn had managed that, if her methods of turning him were natural or unnatural pressures, but regardless, it highlighted how critical it was for Miri to be prepared.

  She would be prepared for both of them. It was time for action.

  She strode into the Veracity offices. The lamps were burning low, but both Hemmit and Lin were inside. They had clearly already gone through several bottles of wine.

  “Stop wallowing,” she told them as she came in.

  “Wallowing?” Lin asked as she struggled to stand. “Do you have any idea—”

  “I do, yes,” Mirianne said. “We have lost gravely today, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have work to do.”

  “Work?” Hemmit asked.

  “Indeed,” Mirianne said. “Though we will also take time to mourn. I am making arrangements for a proper service for Maresh. I will handle the details and expenses. The least I could do.”

  “Thank you,” Lin said.

  “But that doesn’t mean the truth isn’t under assault,” Mirianne said. She pointed to the folder that Altarn had so cleverly arranged to be delivered to all the newssheets. “I noticed you didn’t print that story like the other sheets.”

  “Because it’s sewage,” Hemmit said. “The sort of sewage that is spiced with just enough truth to smell right, but—” He shook his head. “There’s no way Amaya was a part of that. No way.”

  Perfect.

  “I agree,” Mirianne said. “Which means we need to get to the real truth, clear her name. That needs to be a long-term priority.”

  “How?” Lin asked.

  “That’s on you to figure out, my friends,” Mirianne said. “And I’ll sign off the expenses you need. But I think that’s only part of it.”

  “What else?” Hemmit asked.

  “Right now, the story of this ‘Grand Ten’ is what everyone is talking about. So we need to change the conversation.”

  “Given what happened in Saint Bridget’s Square, it’s astounding this is the big story,” Hemmit said.

  “Right,” Mirianne said. “Because no one is talking about Saint Bridget’s Square. You need to tell them about it.”

  Hemmit stood up and stumbled to Maresh’s desk, sorting through some pages. “We don’t have an artist right now.”

  “We’ll work on that,” Mirianne said. “But what can we do?”

  Hemmit pulled out pages and thumbed through them. Miri had seen them before—saintly sketches a mysterious reader had sent them.

  “I think I know,” he said. “Can I get a pot of tea? I need to start writing.”

  “I’ll do better,” Mirianne said. “I’ll send over a few assistants to handle tea and whatever else you need. You just do what you do best.”

  If she knew Hemmit, she knew exactly what that would be. He was already sitting down, writing furiously.

  Mirianne nodded to Lin and went out. She would have to work hard over the next months, use all of her skills and knowledge, to coax things where she needed this nation, this city to be. For it to be what it could be, what it needed to be.

  She knew that was the difference between herself and Altarn. Mirianne was not doing this for any personal glory or aggrandizement. She wanted to make Druthal the best thing it could be. Altarn had her own agendas, and more and more, Mirianne was growing certain those agendas served no master who wished the best for Druthal. So she needed to position herself to stop her, in case that was necessary.

  “You’ve alienated your allies, Colonel.”

  Silla Altarn didn’t need to justify herself to Torla Rassin, but she saw this as a teaching moment. The young dark-haired woman might be a skilled telepath and useful asset for the Brotherhood, but she had a certain naiveté that Altarn needed to squash out of her. While they descended into the catacombs beneath the Central Office was a good enough time to instruct her.

  “They were never my allies,” Altarn said. “The Grand Ten was a means to an end with foolish goals. I mean, honestly, we nearly achieved their goals in a few minutes by you rewriting a few minds. They want to wrap themselves around convoluted plans when all they need is a well-shot crossbow.”

  The assassination attempt, of course, didn’t matter, beyond being a good field test for Torla’s value as a blunt instrument, though she had clearly shattered that servant so he barely understood anything other than a driving need to kill the king and restore the True Line.

  The True Line. Like it even mattered who was on the throne. Once the Brotherhood was truly ready, they would be the only rulers of the nation.

  Torla was clearly thinking about her performance on that task. “Amaya was easier to influence. She barely needed a nudge to go off on a reckless mission alone.” She sighed. “Do you still need me to pretend to be a servant at the Tarian Chapterhouse?”

  She had considered it, but Torla was too valuable to waste on that. Grandmaster Orren was now completely under her thumb, thanks to Torla’s telepathic talents. She had managed to guide him to act against his principles
, believing his loyalty had earned him the things he so desperately wanted for the Order. It truly was a testament to her gifts.

  “No, I have a different assignment for you.”

  They reached the meeting chamber, where Liora Rand was waiting impatiently.

  “How is this not a disaster?” Liora asked.

  “Should I spell it out for you?” Altarn asked.

  “Please,” Liora said. “The machine has been destroyed, the statues and spikes lost, Senek arrested.”

  “You well know that was only the first phase of the Hierarch’s plan, a field test of the theories. He’s very big on testing theories, after all.”

  “Asti Rynax found the mothers,” Liora said. “Thank the Nine the code phrases to blank his memory still worked.”

  “I don’t understand why you don’t just kill him,” Altarn said.

  “She harbors affection for him,” Torla said.

  “He’s still useful,” Liora said. “We don’t have all the names on the list, so he might be the only key to getting them.”

  That was true. Especially now that Grieson had gone into hiding. The bastard. She needed to hunt him down. Soon enough.

  “The point is, he doesn’t know anything about the mothers, and you had them moved away from there. All is well.”

  “We were exposed! We lost most of the followers.”

  “The followers were expendable, by their nature. And the exposure suits our purpose. There had been rumors enough about the Brotherhood for months. Now they’ve been found and defeated, and then soon forgotten. We will again be in the shadows.”

  “And Senek?”

  “He was always a bit too engrossed in his own peculiar fixations to be truly useful,” Altarn said. “Besides, Lord Sirath is nearly recovered. Senek was always a placeholder until that time.”

  “And Crenaxin?” Liora asked.

  “Well, from what I understand Crenaxin is neither arrested nor dead, at least as far as anyone knows. Perhaps he’ll turn up. If not, the Hierarch will mourn the loss of his right hand and move on.”

  “We’re all expendable to you, aren’t we?” Liora asked.

  “You are if you fail,” Altarn said. “But it’s time for you to go on another mission.”

  “Who am I marrying now? Or is it just seduction?”

  “You’re going to Fencal for Colonel Danverth Martindale,” Altarn said. “And you’ll take Torla with you.”

  “Why?” they both asked.

  “Because Martindale—” Altarn paused to think of the best way she wanted to phrase it. “He will not fall for your particular charms as easily as the others. You’re going to need Torla for that extra edge.”

  “Fine,” Liora said. “I guess we’ll be off. Come on.”

  She and Torla stalked off, and Altarn went back up to her offices in the Central Office.

  Liora was right, it had been a disaster—mostly due to Dayne Heldrin and the others who had meddled—but in failure, there is opportunity to learn. And the Hierarch of the Brotherhood had been pleased with what they had learned, despite the losses.

  Heldrin and his companions would be dealt with soon enough.

  Soon they would have the blood, the stars would be ripe, and with the knowledge they had gained, the Brotherhood would unleash the true power of the Nine.

  Then all would be theirs.

  ULTIMATE INTERLUDE

  REVEREND HALSTER KNELT AT THE side of the bed where Sister Myriem remained asleep. A quiet, restful sleep, he had hoped. Saints knew she had earned that, at the very least.

  He prayed that she had. He wasn’t sure.

  “No change?” Brother Mergolliet asked, coming in with a bowl of broth. “I fear we’ll have to feed her in her sleep if this continues.”

  “We’ll care for her, in whatever she needs, as long as she needs,” Halster said. “Our greatest, most sacred duty now.”

  Mergolliet nodded and placed the bowl on the table in the corner. He went about the business of checking on Myriem, adjusting her bedding. His face was full of trouble, and finally he voiced it.

  “You knew this was coming, didn’t you, sir?” he asked. “That she would play a role.”

  “I did as God commanded,” Halster said. Though at this point, he was full of doubt. “To put us on the path of faith.”

  He had seen it coming. He knew—he had known for years—the horrors would be unleashed outside Saint Bridget’s. His whole life, he had heard the voices, seen the visions, known the saints were whispering to him. He had embraced that, following the path they had laid out for him.

  His most sacred duty.

  Be ready for the day. Prepare the church, protect it from below. Invite the girl here when it was her time. Sister Myriem had come, and when he saw her, it was like a key had unlocked in his mind. He knew her face was the one he had seen every time he closed his eyes. Her destiny was here, when the horrors came.

  And he had been ready for his role.

  He had been ready to die.

  He had seen it so clearly every time. The giant stormed into the church, snapped his neck. Sister Myriem’s heart would shatter, and from that broken heart her power would pour out, filling her body with the light of God.

  She would become the Champion of the Faith, vanquishing the Dragon.

  She would do that alone.

  But nothing went as he had seen it.

  She had changed it. She had somehow brought other champions to stand with her. To fight for her.

  He had no idea how she had done this, or why.

  He was supposed to be dead, and he was not. She had not become the champion she was supposed to be, she was here in the bed. Nothing of what he had seen was coming to pass.

  He had no idea what this meant, but for the first time in his life, he felt doubt.

  “And are we on the path, sir?”

  “We are on a path,” he said. “The evil came, and champions stepped forward and vanquished it. But we must remain vigilant, for there is still so much work to be done.”

  “Of course, sir,” Mergolliet said. He whispered a quick prayer over Myriem, and went off.

  He had no certainty of the future. Myriem had changed his fate, and he feared, changed the fate of everyone in the city. He was certain that would have a great and terrible cost.

  And he feared that she, and her champions, would be the ones to pay it.

  Chapter 27

  AFTER ONLY TWO WEEKS, RIAN Rainey was already tired from trying to balance school and her shifts at Henson’s Majestic. She would keep it up, of course, since she knew perfectly well how hard her mother had been working to maintain their household, take care of Father, pay the tuition for her and Caribet. She wouldn’t let her mother down. Fortunately, today had been a quiet, subdued shift at the glove counter. Her commissions wouldn’t be much, but the rush of sales before Terrentin had put her a bit ahead, so she was happy for the easy day.

  “Hey, Rian.”

  Alexanne and Rowa had never come up to her counter and spoken to her before. She didn’t even know they realized she existed, let alone knew her name. The two of them—dress models in the window displays—were both so sophisticated and glamorous. They always got to wear the best dresses and get paid to do it.

  “Hi,” Rian said, not sure why she was so flustered by their approach. “Were you needing some gloves?”

  “Your mother is a stick, right?” Alexanne, with Waishen hair that was impossibly long, asked bluntly.

  “And your last name is Rainey, right?” said Rowa, the dark-haired one who somehow seemed ageless.

  “Your mother is a stick named Rainey, right?” Alexanne asked.

  “Yes,” Rian answered, more than a little confused. “What about it?”

  They dropped a thick pamphlet on her counter. Rian had seen it being sold on the street co
rners when she came in, and noticed more than a few customers walking around with it. The cover said CHAMPIONS OF MARADAINE in large, bold letters, with an image of seven saints in silhouette below it.

  “That’s your mom, isn’t it?”

  “What’s my mom?”

  “The Inspector Rainey in there, who rutting saved the city from, like, monsters or something. Is that your mom?”

  Rian opened up the pamphlet and read through some of the pages.

  The fire faded, and in a shimmering spectrum of light, there they were.

  Saints.

  Champions.

  Dayne Heldrin and Jerinne Fendall, their Tarian uniforms a mess, their shields scorched and seared. But still standing strong, refusing to yield to these villains.

  Inspector Minox Welling, sword in one hand, the other glowing with magic.

  Inspector Satrine Rainey, in the red and green of the Constabulary, crossbow in hand.

  The Rynax brothers. Asti in his patchwork coat and knives at the ready. Verci, leather coat over suspenders and shirtsleeves. Darts in one hand, metal glove on the other.

  And the Thorn—I could scarcely believe it, the Thorn was real—with his crimson cloak shimmering with magic as he leaped into the air, drawing back his bow.

  “I—I need to read all of this,” Rian said.

  “It’s astounding,” Alexanne said.

  “I don’t fully believe it,” Rowa countered.

  “I heard from Freya and Macey it’s all true. They have cousins who live in that part of town.”

  “They fought a giant winged serpent?”

  “Did your mother fight a giant winged serpent?”

  “She doesn’t tell me everything about her work,” Rian said, continuing to read through it. Mother did all that? Jerinne did that? How was that even possible?

  “Well your mother is very crush,” Alexanne said. “We’re dying to have tea or such with her.”

  “Quite,” Rowa said.

  “I’ll let her know,” Rian said.

  “Please,” Rowa said. “Invite us when you can.”