The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels)

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  The stampede behind them stopped dead when it hit, crashing spectacularly, horses breaking their legs as they went down headfirst. If anyone had been left in those carts or carriages, they would have been killed horribly, but the only one who possibly could have been was Blackbird. Veranix wasn’t about to shed a tear for her.

  “How—how—” the woman sputtered out. At least she could form coherent words.

  “Stay safe, ma’am,” Veranix said, jumping onto the horse pulling her cab. Two more bursts of magic snapped the harness, and the horse surged out ahead of the cab. He turned back, and gave one last gentle push of numina to slow her and the cab down to a stop.

  Next, the family.

  The stampede crossed Dashen. One minute to the river.

  He threw himself, magically, off the horse and into the merchant cart next to it. It, at least, was filled with flour sacks, so there were worse things to land in. He got to his feet, ready to figure out the best path to get to the family.

  Blackbird had beaten him there.

  Chapter 15

  VERANIX HAD TO RISK MORE MAGIC, powering a targeted, stable leap over to the cart. Blackbird had already shown the lengths she would go to to get him—Fenmere’s contract must be lucrative—so using the helpless family as bait was a perfect ploy. They were already huddled in fear, the husband clutching his wife and child.

  Veranix landed on the cart. “Don’t even—” was all he got out.

  Blackbird’s hand shot out, snatching her rope off his hip. In a moment she was winding it around the family, though her eyes were locked on Veranix.

  “Pantix Throw on three,” she said.

  “What?” He couldn’t believe what she had just said.

  “Pantix on three,” she repeated. Not that she actually needed to explain what she meant—he could do a Pantix in his sleep, and she clearly realized that. But why she was telling him that made no rutting sense. She finished tying the family up and glanced up ahead. The Lower Bridge was coming up impossibly fast. Veranix was about to strike when he noticed what she had actually done.

  She hadn’t tied up the family. She had strapped them in a Hesker Saddle. They were afraid, but not cowering. At least, not from Blackbird.

  “One!” she shouted.

  Veranix braced his feet, more than a challenge in this rickety, racing cart on the verge of collapse.

  Blackbird turned to him. “Two!” He could have sworn when she said that, she threw a wink to the little girl wrapped in her parents’ arms.

  “Three!”

  She jumped at him, and he got his hands up to push her feet up as she came at him. If it had been a show, it would have been sloppy as blazes. A throw like that one would have earned an hour of screams from his grandfather.

  But it did its job, in that Blackbird went up in a high arc, her end of the rope in hand. Veranix had to admire her timing, because she hit the zenith just as they had reached a warehouse with a loading hoist. With grace that astounded him, Blackbird lashed the rope to the hoist’s hook. As she dropped back down, the rope around the family went taut, and the three of them launched off the cart. Blackbird knocked into them as they went up, souring her landing. She hit the cart floor hard on her knee and shin.

  Veranix glanced back for a moment, and the family hung safely from the warehouse hoist, while a whole crowd of Constabulary, Fire Brigade, and Yellowshields were following far in the distance.

  Blackbird lay on the floor of the cart, clutching at her leg. “I guess you won,” she forced out through obvious pain.

  “Not yet,” he said. The stampede was seconds away from crashing into the stands and displays around the bridge causeway. And the Constabulary kid was still hanging on to his horse. Now Veranix could see what he was doing, besides trying to get control of the mad beast. He had been blowing his whistle like mad, a warning for everyone up ahead.

  Veranix bent down and picked her up.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted.

  “Something very stupid,” he said as he got her into his arms. “It’s been my theme tonight.”

  She had her arms around his neck, but this time she wasn’t trying to choke him. Pushing numina through his legs, he wasted no time jumping off the cart as it crashed through a newssheet stand. He touched ground like a feather, a short distance from chaos, and lay Blackbird down.

  If she had said anything, he didn’t hear it over the horrible crashing and screeching as the stampede smashed through the Lower Bridge causeway.

  Veranix drew in every bit of numina he could and shunted it into raw power and speed. The whole horror of the crash—everything around him—slowed to a crawl, each shard of wood or metal almost frozen in the air as he dashed around the bits of destruction. He only had moments, the magic wouldn’t hold, he couldn’t maintain it. It was like trying to hold on to an angry cat.

  He only needed ten more steps. The lead carriage, the one with the Constabulary kid on the horse, had gone up the causeway, the mad horse had leaped over the railing of the bridge and was starting to plummet over the edge. Five steps, but it wasn’t going to hold. Veranix jumped at the carriage and grabbed hold of the side handle.

  A moment later, all his magic was gone. The regular speed of everything hit Veranix with a wrench as the carriage went over the edge. Its back wheels caught onto the railing, jarring for a moment as the rest of it dangled over the edge. Veranix hung from the side handle with one hand—the hand that three minutes ago hadn’t been working at all.

  Benvin was still hazy and nauseous. The past few minutes had been a blur, every moment since getting sick in the Trusted Friend a series of disjointed memories that had no connection to each other. The Rose Street Prince, grabbing one of the Rabbits, screams, horses. Only now were events flowing together in a constructive form.

  Which meant he had no idea exactly how he ended up leaning against a lamppost with Arch pressing a cloth to his bloody head, with the square filled with casualties and destruction. There were quite a few Constabulary and Yellowshields, tending to those in far greater need than him.

  “Should we have that?” he found himself asking.

  “Have what, Left?” Arch asked.

  “I—I can’t remember.”

  “Maybe we really should have a ’Shield on you. Or take you to Lower Trenn.”

  “No, no,” he said. “Where’s Tripper? Pollit?”

  “Pollit’s taking command of organizing the lockwagons. Plenty in irons, gonna take a few trips.” He lowered his voice. “I told you this once already.”

  Benvin had a vague recollection of that. Other bits were coming back. “Yeah, right. And Tripper got walloped by the stampede? Yellowshields setting his leg?”

  Arch nodded. “He won’t be on the streets for a while.”

  Wheth came running over—even in Benvin’s state that young man couldn’t be missed. Dark skinned, Ch’omik descent, the only one in Aventil’s Constabulary. Perhaps in all of Maradaine. No one else in the station gave him time of day, but Benvin saw right away Wheth had a good eye and was hungry to prove himself.

  “You all right, Left?” he asked.

  “Arch thinks I should see a proper doctor, but I’m fine.” He put on a brave smile for Wheth. “You and Mal get any shots off in this mess?”

  “Hard to know what shots to take, frankly,” Wheth said. “But we had a clear view of the whole thing.”

  “Good, because I have no clue what happened here in the thick of it. What can you tell me?”

  “Well, as soon as the preacher and the Knight came out of the Friend, things exploded. The Knight yelled something about betrayal, and the Knights tore through the square at the place. Then the Dogs and Kickers got into it, but as much with each other as anyone else. Soon everyone out there was in it, and Arch made his move to get in the door.”

  “Plain lot of useless that was,” Arch s
aid.

  “Jace and Saitle started up the Riot Call, and that was just about when you came out the alley.”

  “Right, right.” He remembered a bit more about that. “We’ve ironed any of the Princes? The Prince captain?”

  “A few, I think,” Arch said. “But I don’t think he’s in the mix.” He looked to Wheth.

  “I spotted him for a bit, sir, after he came out of the alley; somehow he was with the preacher. He ran out to the stage, yelled something, and then Jace jumped up on him.”

  “Jace?” Benvin shook his head. That kid always took on more than he should. No fear in that one. “Did he iron the Prince?”

  “No, sir.” Wheth looked stricken. “That’s when the stampede started. Crashed right through the stage.”

  “Jace!” Benvin pushed past them both. “Where is—Arch, you should have told me he—”

  “I didn’t know, boss,” Arch said.

  Wheth spoke up. “Left, that’s just it. That stampede crashed through, and Jace, he . . . he jumped onto one of the horses. Maybe he thought he could stop the whole thing.”

  That crazy kid. “He thought he—” He looked around the square. “Do we have a horse? A pedalcart? Anything?”

  “I’m on it,” Wheth said, and he ran off.

  “Come on.” Benvin started walking in the direction the stampede went, Arch on his heels. If nothing else, this would be easy to follow. “Looks like this went into Denton, or even Inemar. We got anyone we can trust out there?”

  “Not sure about trust, but . . . Jace’s family is old guard Constabulary. I think his sister is on horsepatrol in Inemar.”

  Blazes. “He’s got a brother out there, too, doesn’t he?”

  Arch shrugged. “It’s a pretty big family. They’re all over south side.”

  Benvin stepped up his pace, his stomach turning sour again. “Then let’s hope we don’t have to give them bad news.”

  Hanging on to the carriage door, Veranix could see the horse and the kid. The kid, every saint bless him, was clutching on to the harness shaft on the other side of the horse. The horse was madly thrashing the empty air, as if it was still trying to run to the water. Down in the dark river, Veranix could see at least three other horses had succeeded at that.

  The carriage creaked. Those back wheels weren’t going to hold very long.

  “Kid!” Veranix shouted. “Can you reach me?”

  The kid looked up at Veranix. Veranix realized he had absolutely no magic left, nothing. That included shading his face, a thing that was usually instinct. This kid had to be seeing him clearly.

  He shook his head, “I couldn’t stop it.”

  “Nothing could, kid.”

  He looked back up and scowled. “You’re no older than me!”

  Veranix pulled himself up, so he could get his feet on the running board, give himself a little more stability. Another groan from the wheels above told him they wouldn’t last long. “How about we both live to be quite a bit older? Climb up that shaft.”

  The kid—definitely a Constabulary cadet, now that Veranix could see the details of his coat—tried to move, but almost got clocked by the horse’s wild hooves. “I can’t get up.”

  The groans were turning into creaks. Soon they’d become cracks, and then everything would plummet to the water. That horse was going to be the death of them.

  “Kid—”

  “It’s Jace!”

  Now he had a name.

  “Jace, we’ve got to release the harness. I can reach the release, but you’re going to have grab ahold of the carriage dash before I drop it.”

  Jace tried to pull himself up, but he couldn’t manage to hold on with one hand well enough to reach the dash. “Can’t.” He looked down again, at the dark river and thrashing horse. “This is really it, ain’t it?”

  A loud snap came from above. Veranix didn’t dare look to see what it was.

  “Like blazes it is.” The main thing preventing Jace from saving himself was that wild horse. If Veranix couldn’t release the horse from the carriage, he’d have to stop it some other way. “This is going to seem stupid.”

  “What?”

  Veranix let go, dropping off the door down to the horse, grabbing part of the harness as he fell. He now hung right to the side of the thrashing beast.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Quite,” Veranix said. Holding on to the harness straps, he delivered a kick straight to the horse’s head.

  It didn’t seem to have much effect.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Only idea I have left,” Veranix said. Another kick. It didn’t change the horse’s behavior in the slightest, or knock it out. Not that he thought he’d have much luck in that regard. “You’d think Constabulary or someone with a rope would have shown up by now.” Another kick. “Come on, Saint Senea. I don’t ask too many favors from you.”

  A crossbow bolt went into the horse’s head. Its thrashing stopped instantly. Veranix looked up to see a woman in Constabulary uniform dropping her aim. She turned away and shouted. “Get some rutting help! We got two people here!”

  Jace was able to pull himself up, now that the horse stopped moving. “Corrie!”

  The stick looked back down. “Jace?” She bent over the rail as best she could while screaming, “I need some blazing help right blasted now!” She leaned over the railing and reached out, though from her position she wasn’t anywhere near close enough to grab either one of them.

  Veranix managed to pull himself up enough to get his feet onto the harness assembly. From there he could climb the rest of the way. Jace looked like he was about to do the same, straining to reach the stick’s hand. They were still a few feet away from each other.

  Another horrible crack, and the wheels snapped off.

  The carriage dropped.

  Veranix jumped on instinct, like every trapeze drop he had ever done as a kid. He crossed past Jace as the carriage fell, and grabbed his arm with his left hand. Eyes still on Jace, he slapped his right hand into the stick’s.

  A perfect drop catch, to make up for the sloppy Pantix earlier.

  The stick was screaming, in both terror and joy, as more hands came down. A whole group of Constabulary men got hold of them and hauled them back up onto the bridge.

  The Constabulary woman grabbed Jace in a heavy embrace as soon as he was over, swearing the whole time in ways that astonished Veranix. Suddenly the woman grabbed Veranix by his shirt and pulled him in as well.

  “Corrie, Corrie, don’t crowd him,” Jace said, pulling Veranix out. “Blazes, he should probably have a Yellowshield look at him.”

  “Yeah, blazes, right,” Corrie said. “You too. Go over there, we got work to do.”

  Jace put an arm around Veranix’s shoulder, leading him down the causeway through the crashed carts and carriages to the area where the Yellowshields were assessing injuries. Veranix couldn’t help but notice the firmness with which Jace was holding him.

  “My sister, she works nightshift horsepatrol,” Jace said. “She probably didn’t get a good look at you.”

  “Why would that matter?” Veranix tried to sound unconcerned.

  Jace stopped, and looked Veranix in the eye. “I should tell you, I think I got hit on the head out there, so I didn’t get a good look at you either. You understand?”

  Veranix nodded, though he wasn’t sure if this Constabulary cadet was on the level or not.

  Jace put a coin in his hand, and pointed down Dockview. “You slip off down that way, you should be able to take a tickwagon back to Aventil. But you better move quick.”

  He clapped Veranix on the arm, and walked off toward the Yellowshields.

  Veranix didn’t waste any time taking his advice.

  Chapter 16

  IT WASN’T NINE BELLS YET when Veranix got back to campus, bu
t the gates were already shut, cadets on duty outside. That never happened. Of course, multiple assaults involving magic and whatever else didn’t usually happen either, so Veranix wasn’t surprised. Lilac Street outside the gates was similarly shut down. Shops had their doors barred, iron trellises pulled down. More Constabulary were walking the street as well. No sign of Princes or any other gang.

  Over the course of the tickwagon ride, he had recovered enough to magic his clothes to a regular school uniform. He had no idea if he’d be able to re-create his dress uniform, but he decided it wasn’t worth trying. If he tried to get through the gate wearing it, questions would be asked. Questions that would be awkward to answer.

  Blazes, he just charged out of the dinner disaster to chase the Prankster. If anyone other than Kaiana really registered that, and connected that to the events in Aventil tonight . . . there’d be no more hiding his life as the Thorn.

  Better to be an unremarkable student needing to get through the gate. He made his scarf white and blue: Philosophy, the most populous field of study. He also gave himself four pips. Nothing more unremarkable near the end of exams than a fourth-year Philosophy student wandering up to the gates in an inebriated state.

  Fortunately there was a drunk on the tickwagon who had thrown up on him, giving his ploy that extra bit of authenticity.

  He stumbled over to the gate, walking past the cadets as if he didn’t see them. He grabbed hold of the shut gate and tried to open it. There was the off-chance that it would be just that easy. “Blazes is this?” He threw in his best flat-voiced North Maradaine accent.

  A hand grabbed his shoulder. “We’re on lockdown. No one in or out.”

  “Well, that’s absurd,” Veranix said. “Gates stay open until nine bells.”

  “Do you have any idea what’s happened tonight, friend?”