Chapter 12
COLIN LET THE RABBIT MUSCLE pat him down, finding six knives on his person. Which meant they missed two of them, though they were the hardest ones to get at.
He had to give good credit to the stick lieutenant. It took some fire to walk in all on his own, though he just glared at the heavies when they thought to pat him down.
“This all reeks, Prince, and you know it,” the captain from the Toothless Dogs whispered. “Ain’t nothing right gonna come from it.”
“Probably true,” Colin returned. Didn’t matter, they were in here now, committed to the preacher’s plan.
Reverend Pemmick allowed himself to be frisked as well, but they found no weapons on him. He thanked the muscle for their good work, and entered into the Trusted Friend.
Colin had never been in here, as he avoided any place that wasn’t Prince territory. That meant essentially the Turnabout, the Rose & Bush, and a handful of pubs on Carnation or Orchid, where he usually only went in search of dice players to fleece.
In all honesty, the Trusted Friend wasn’t all that different from any of those, but to Colin’s eye the lamps burned a little lower, the place smelled a little more musky, and it all felt too warm for his comfort.
That might have just been because he was sweating. This place was full of Red Rabbits, and they all were staring at the lot of them. Not to mention his guts were still in knots.
Whatever was going to go down next, Colin might not have numbers on his side, but he definitely had an element of surprise, because these Rabbits clearly had no idea what was going to happen.
“Barman,” the preacher said. “Is your beer tolerable?”
“It’s fine,” the barman said, though he didn’t sound like he fully believed it.
“Well enough. For myself and my associates.” Reverend Pemmick moved over to one of the tables, where a couple of Rabbits stared at him dumbfounded. “My apologies, gentlemen. I need to have a few words with a couple of your associates, by the names of Keckin and Sotch—that is who I should be speaking to, yes?”
He looked at his collected group of Aventil captains for confirmation.
“I think that’s it,” Colin offered when no one else spoke up. He saw them, half curled into each other in a booth in the corner. “Ayuh, I see you two.”
“What the blazes is this, Tyson?” Sotch asked across the room.
“Please, don’t blame him for this,” the reverend said. He leaned toward the table he had addressed earlier. “I’m terribly sorry, but we are something of a large group. Would you be willing to relocate for our discussion?”
The Rabbits at the table all stared at the preacher, then at each other, and then at Sotch and Keckin. They didn’t object; they looked genuinely confused by the unfolding events.
Four-Toe broke the silence, barking out, “Show the Reverend of Saint Julian’s some respect!”
That got them moving, on their feet and hands going to their knives. Almost, until they remembered Lieutenant Benvin was in the room. They gave another glance at Sotch and Keckin, who gave them a nod to disperse.
Pemmick took a chair, and the rest followed suit, Benvin taking the seat between Colin and the reverend. Sotch got up and took the last chair, leaving Keckin in the corner. The barman and a serving boy—a boy who surely had a fur coat in his future—brought over the beers and set them on the table.
Sotch was about to pick hers up when the reverend interrupted her.
“Let us take hands and give a blessing,” he said.
Slowly, under the reverend’s penetrating gaze, each person took the hands of the people on either side, and with the exception of the reverend, they all looked like they were holding a rotting fish. That’s how Colin felt, holding hands with a stick on one side and Hannik’s on the other.
“Dear God and Blessed Saints, we have gathered at this table in the name of peace. We have gathered so that speaking and understanding can triumph over violence and bloodshed. We are confident that, in your names, we can achieve this. Blessings of the saints upon us all.” He smiled at the group. “And now everyone drink, from the glass of the person on your left.”
He took Yessa’s cup, and each one of them in the circle did the same, Colin taking Benvin’s. Sotch looked a little nervous as she drank her new cup, giving a slight eye over to the bar as she drank. But the barman didn’t come over to stop anyone, so if he had poisoned anyone’s cup, he wasn’t worried about it going to the wrong place. Or didn’t care what happened to Sotch.
Colin drank anyway. The beer was watery and weak. That didn’t surprise him.
“Can we begin this little dance now?” Sotch asked.
The reverend gave a glance to Lieutenant Benvin. “It’s come to my attention, Miss Sotch, that you and your associates are considering new business opportunities. Ones that other parties feel might be detrimental to the neighborhood as a whole.”
“And these tossers are the other parties?” Sotch asked. “Must really have you all sore, if the six of you are ready to sit with a rutting stick.”
“I ain’t,” Right Boot growled. “This is sewage, all of it.” He pushed back his chair and started up.
“Sit down,” Colin snapped.
“Don’t you tell me what to do.”
“Please,” the reverend said. “Let’s work here. We have a great opportunity.”
“Opportunity for what, you demented sod?” Yessa was the one who shouted. “There’s only one thing happening here.” She got on her feet and leaned in on Sotch. “You and the rest of your bastards do not start dealing for Fenmere. You do not give him a toe across Waterpath. You do and the Orphans will tear you up.”
“You’re welcome to try.” Sotch smirked. “You speaking for your bosses when you say that?”
“Your bosses know your breaking the Pact?” Colin asked.
“That ain’t your business, Prince.”
“But why,” the preacher said, raising his voice, “would you choose to ally yourselves in such a way?”
“Ally ourselves?” Sotch shook her head. “The hard boot is coming either way. You all can decide if you want to be under it or not.”
“Wait, what do you know?” Hannik was asking. “What’s Fenmere got planned?”
“That ain’t my worry, Boy. If that’s all you want to know, you can piss off. Why don’t you all step out, while you still can?”
Pemmick raised up his hands. “Please, we can—”
“Enough of this,” Yessa snapped, and then the back of her fist was in Sotch’s face.
The tussle only lasted for a moment, as Rabbits came over, and Hannik and the Toothless Dog separated Yessa and Sotch. Blades were coming out.
“Everyone calm,” Colin shouted. “Let’s take a breath—”
Suddenly the room exploded with a cackling laughter. Lieutenant Benvin, still in his seat, was nearly howling, red-faced with breathless glee.
“You people—you’re all so—how is it even—” He struggled to get to his feet. “I’ve been . . . the last month . . . and you’re just petty fools . . .”
The laughter turned to wheezing, and then his red face turned a deep purple. Suddenly his mouth foamed and his whole body started to shudder.
“Poison!” Four-Toe shouted, and he punched the closest Rabbit to him.
The whole room broke out into a scrum.
Then came the smoke, thick and green. At least one server went running out of the hall to the main doors.
“What is that?” Kaiana asked.
“Cover your mouth!” Veranix shouted. He wasn’t sure what this smoke was, but in his gut he knew that whoever was behind those first three attacks was hitting again. Instinct with magic formed a bubble around his entire head as he ran in. One step inside, he was surrounded in the green stuff, unable to see past his magical protection.
He also c
ouldn’t take another step. His feet were stuck to the floor.
The room was filled with sounds of gasping and choking. A hand groped wildly at him. Veranix grabbed hold of the person, pulling him close. It was one of the servers, screaming in agony, face covered in pustules of some sort. Veranix yanked at him, taking him off the floor and pushing him out of the dining hall.
Kaiana’s hands were there, grabbing the server. Veranix realized he had pulled the man right out of his shoes. Also his own hands were being covered in the same pustules. He extended the bubble around his entire body, which caused the man to slip out of his grip.
“Don’t come in here, Kai,” Veranix said. “Get help.”
“But what about you?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. People had to be evacuated from the room, but probably all of them were stuck to the floor. The bastard was clever. Veranix tried to magically push away the gas, but it was too heavy, too thick. He could barely get any traction on it. Simple airing wouldn’t do the trick.
He sent a blast at his shoes—the things were ruined now anyway—and jumped up to where, in his memory, the table was. He had a good landing, and from his vantage, could see the lay of things a little better. The gas was heavy, holding to the ground, so standing up on the table let him see above it. The lower tables were engulfed, and most of the people completely gone—except three on one side. Delmin, Jiarna, and Phadre were all standing up on a table near their seats, encased in a magic sphere of sorts. It looked like both Phadre and Delmin were holding that up, but it took every ounce they had. Sweat was pouring off their brows.
It was worse at the High Table. Everyone up there was stuck: the sticky substance on the floor coated their bodies completely. The smoke was only around their legs, but this wasn’t any comfort. All of them were howling in pain, unable to move.
And the smoke was rising.
Veranix ran on the table, almost slipping before he remembered his own protection also gave him little traction, knocking over dishes and plates as he went, until he reached the three of them.
“Are you all right?” he called out.
“For now!” It was Jiarna who replied—the other two were too occupied holding up their sphere to even speak. The bubble must have also blocked sound, because he could barely hear her. He more read her lips than anything. Now that he was close, he could see the three of them had the pustules all over their faces and hands.
“I need to get Alimen. Maybe he can undo this!”
“No time!” Jiarna said. She pointed to his coat. “Brass buttons, salt and water!”
“What?”
“Quickly!”
Salt and water. There had been the salt boxes on the tables, as well as water glasses. Veranix dove into the swamp of smoke and groped around until he managed to find both. He came back up. “Now what?”
“Put the salt and all the buttons in the glass! Hurry!”
He had no idea what he was doing, but he knew that Jiarna was much, much smarter than he was, and his suspicions of her being the Prankster had completely evaporated. He dumped the salt into the glass, and pulled off the buttons from his coat and dropped them in as well. Nothing particularly interesting happened.
“Now what?”
“You need to activate their intrinsic properties numinatically.”
Veranix would have hit her if she wasn’t in the sphere. “How the blazes am I . . . what does that even mean?”
Phadre spoke through gritted teeth. “Flow numina through the cup, raw and unfocused. But lightly. Start at eight centibarins and raise it slowly to twenty-five.”
Veranix had no idea how to reach eight centibarins, certainly not with any precision. “Delmin, can you feel me?”
Delmin nodded, but he looked like he was going to pass out. He was barely able to keep his eyes open.
Veranix held out his hand and started a light flow of numina. “You tell me when I hit eight!”
Delmin’s eyes opened, his jaw clenched as he stared at Veranix’s hand. Veranix nudged a little more numina moment to moment.
“Now!” Delmin screamed, sounding like it was the last thing he would do.
Veranix swung his hand at the cup, and began to raise the flow.
Something definitely started happening in the cup. The brass buttons rattled and turned white, and then bubbles formed in the glass. White gas began to seep out the cup, just wisps at first. Then it poured over the top of the glass, in absurd amounts, and as it came out, the green smoke dissolved. In moments, there was a clear circle around them all. Delmin and Phadre dropped their spheres, both nearly collapsing as they did. Jiarna caught Delmin before he dropped off the table.
The white gas spread further, and soon the green gas was gone.
The damage was done.
Servers and students, stuck to the ground, moaned in agony, their dress uniforms burned through. Their bodies covered in sores and pustules. Some weren’t moving at all.
“Vee,” Delmin wheezed, pawing at Veranix.
“I got you, Del,” Veranix said, grabbing his friend. “You did good.”
“No, Vee,” Delmin said, forcing the words out. “I felt him this time. I saw him.”
“What?”
“The server who ran. That was him.”
Veranix looked to Jiarna. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, and Veranix passed Delmin over to her.
Delmin looked back up at Veranix, and a moment of understanding flashed in his eyes. “Go.”
Veranix gave a last glance to the High Table, where all the professors were still trapped, including Alimen. He was moving, though his legs were horrifically damaged.
Veranix sprang across the table and out the door. Kaiana was still there, tending to the server he had pulled out.
“What—” she started.
“Call for all the help,” he said. “I’m going to get that bastard.”
Chapter 13
THIS WAS NO TIME to be wearing a dress uniform, even one that had already been half dissolved. Veranix charged out the door, down the stairs, and across the walkway, all the while drawing in numina for controlled use. He couldn’t afford burning himself out, not now. He had to find this guy, catch him, and enough time had been wasted.
A server’s coat was discarded behind a bush on the south side of the apartment park. Veranix took that as clue enough, and went in that direction.
Despite the urgency, despite his anger, he held a tight rein on the numina he was shaping, shifting his clothing as he ran. By the time he was past the faculty apartments, he was no longer in dress uniform, but full in aspect of the Thorn, including hiding his face under a shaded hood.
That cleared most people out of his way in a damn hurry.
A trio of cadets spotted him coming up, and drew their weapons. Veranix didn’t break pace, instead leaping over the three of them—sweetening his jump with a hint of magic—and landing behind them without a missed step.
“Get him!” one of the cadets yelled, and then whistles were blown. Veranix was about to curse his luck, but it gave him exactly what he needed. Up ahead on the walkway, a figure turned in surprise, and then started running.
Veranix had him now. Even with the cadets hot on his heels, he was gaining ground on the bastard. All he needed was a way to deal with him once he caught up.
The solution presented itself as they approached the south lawn. The tetchball squad, in preparation for the Grand Collegiate Tournament this summer, had been practicing every chance they could this week. Under the light of the two moons and the oil lamps of the walkway, the squad was cleaning up their gear. That meant that a couple tetchbats were lying out on the grass.
Veranix darted right to snatch one, confident he could still catch the bastard. At the same time the guy reached into a vest pocket and threw something onto the ground behind him. Crysta
ls of ice formed on the walkway, and Veranix felt a slight numinic buzz coming from the ice itself, not the runner.
In moments the walkway was covered in ice, and the cadets giving chase slipped and crashed over each other.
Veranix came at him from the lawn, and the man—Veranix could see now he was a man of at least twenty, maybe a bit older—threw something else from his vest. Instinctively, Veranix knocked it away with the tetchbat. Whatever it was, it burst in a ball of flame and smoke some distance away.
The guy was almost to the gate and threw down something else in front of him as he ran. This also formed ice crystals, but unlike the cadets, he jumped onto it and slid out the gate like a hawk on a fell swoop.
Veranix instead leaped up to a tree near the wall, grabbing a branch to swing over the wall of the campus.
This man, this waste of skin, was about to run down Hedge, perhaps hoping to get lost in the crowd. Veranix wouldn’t let that happen. Drawing just a hint of numina, he hurled a blast of magic at the man. Not very strong at all—Veranix almost didn’t want to even waste magic on him—just enough to make him stumble. Just enough to lose his lead.
Veranix was on him, bringing the tetchbat down on the bastard’s right arm before he got the chance to pull any more surprises out of his vest.
The man screamed.
“No more tricks,” Veranix said, raising up the bat again. This one was going for his face.
The bat didn’t move. Veranix looked up, and saw a rope had wrapped around it, and was being held taut. Ten feet behind him was a girl—tall and muscular, dark hair and eyes, creamy brown skin, and a dark gray mask around her mouth and nose, matching the rest of her outfit.
“Even that one?” she asked.
Benvin’s limp, shaking body fell on Colin. He caught the stick before the man hit the floor, more out of instinct than anything else. Was it poison? He felt fine—or as fine as he could—and no one else looked like they were succumbing to anything. Blazes, they were fighting like anyone’s business. Four-Toe had grabbed Pemmick by the arm and kicked and gouged his way toward the door, while the rest were beating their way through the crowd of Rabbits.
The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels) Page 16
