by Stephen Hunt
‘He will think you are brave beyond measure,’ said Tom. ‘For travelling into Midsburg and risking two lives for his family’s freedom. Carter couldn’t save you from being married against your will, but you can save him now, and he would never hold a child against you. You must know the sort of man Carter Carnehan is by now. He’d even treat an enemy’s child as his own.’
That was what Willow needed to hear, more than anything. I pray you’re right.
Prince Gyal and Baron Machus stood inside the command room of The Primacy of the Sky, as did Princess Helrena and the general of the Army of the Bole, Hugh Colbert and his staff. Not Duncan’s father, however. Benner Landor was off riding around the artillery, currently preparing the bombardment of the northern regiments encircling Midsburg’s walls. A pity that Leyla had gone with him, the accompanying courtiers eager to see their first battle and make it part of the winter social season. Duncan had grown well used to arranging trysts with the young woman and satisfying the fire that burned in her blood. My father was a fool to take on such a young wife. He was only ever interested in the house’s business when we were growing up and he’s no different now. Riding around, pretending to be a gentleman of the south and a leader of men, neglecting Leyla and his new child just like he neglected Willow and me. As soon as the war’s won, he’ll be busy with his ledgers again. It doesn’t matter how many honours he wins or lands he conquers, the house will always come first. Leyla is just another trophy. It is victories the old man is addicted to, and there can never be enough of those. Duncan could foresee problems ahead for his father when he wasn’t around to keep that young woman pleasured. Sadly, Duncan suspected he’d have enough of his own when he returned to Vandia. He stared angrily at Prince Gyal. An accident of birth, that’s all you are. You never would have prospered without your noble blood behind you. Not like I did. You wouldn’t have survived a month in your own sky mines. Outside the landed warship, Duncan could still hear the rumble of Vandian tanks backing off hangar ramps and forming up into neatly armoured columns. He had been watching the tanks disembark before walking with Helrena to the battle congress, each one a mobile steel fortress with high metal ramparts and multiple cannon-spined turrets, twin sets of rotating tracks on both flanks, the tracks grinding higher than Duncan’s head. The legions’ fighting vehicles growled like animals in the dirt, festooned with colourful pennants, battle standards flapping in the exhaust fumes as they formed up for action.
‘These are most excellent defences,’ laughed Prince Gyal, thumping the map, ‘for someone planning to defend against infantry and horse and a little light land artillery. I’m almost tempted to order one of our capital ships to circle the city and reduce it to rubble with fire bombs and main batteries.’
‘Almost,’ said Princess Helrena, in a cold tone.
‘You need not fear for the Lady Cassandra. There is more than one way to skin a cat,’ said Gyal. ‘The enemy forces are dug in strongest in the east and south, and weakest in the north where they expect the forests outside Midsburg to slow down our advance. They are not used to fighting a mobile war against helos and armoured vehicles. Let the Army of the Boles give these rebels the conventional war they expect, horse and foot advancing against their lines with a baggage train of siege engines to do things the traditional way. When the rebels are fully engaged fighting the conventional war they anticipate, we will land our legions behind their lines with rotor-craft, under heavy air cover, and cut their defences apart. At the same time, our armoured columns will drive through their eastern flank. Then we shall see how long it takes before the city collapses in disarray. Shall we make a wager? Half an hour?’
‘Twenty minutes!’ hooted Baron Machus. At least Helrena’s brutish, treacherous cousin had the good sense to have left his harem behind today. The last thing Duncan needed now was Adella Cheyenne and her sharp comments.
Twenty minutes. Why not make it ten? Should I be insulted Weyland’s rebels are thought so easy to defeat? Despite these soldiers’ contempt for the Weylanders, Duncan decided he approved of the plan. Paetro and Willow would have all the distractions they could wish for to divert the defenders’ attention while Paetro’s raiding party went about its business. Even you can’t mess this up for me, Willow.
‘To show forbearance you will take prisoners by the tens of thousands,’ said Prefect Colbert.
You wouldn’t be so eager to get rid of your enemies if you knew what they’ll endure in the empire. The northerners might be rebels who had raised arms against their lawful king, but they were still Weylanders. The lucky ones would end up as house slaves in the mills and crop fields of Vandia. The unlucky slaves would find themselves labouring in the hellish sky mines for the few years they survived. Not everyone had the skill and aptitude to raise themselves out of that hell, as Duncan had. And the imperium would never allow a second slave revolt on its watch, that much Duncan understood. He decided he really didn’t like the arrogant prefect put in command of the largest southern army. Marcus had better find superior men than this to win the peace, or the country will have rebels acting as brigands up here until the king’s grandchildren hold the throne.
‘I suppose the captured fighters will make for a worthy triumph when I return home,’ said Gyal. ‘Although such sudden numbers will depress the price of labour, and I will surely have the controllers of the bondservant market complaining endlessly.’
‘There is only one prisoner who concerns me,’ said Helrena to Prince Gyal. ‘You return her to me as a corpse and our arrangement will be at an end.’
‘The emperor’s grandchild is the child of us all,’ said Gyal, somewhat unctuously. ‘And after our houses are joined, I will treat Lady Cassandra as my own daughter.’
Right up until the moment you have your own child by Helrena, thought Duncan. But I’ll be there with Paetro to watch for your assassin’s blades and poisons. Helrena doesn’t love you, she doesn’t even like you. You’re just a human-shaped stepping stone dropped in front of the imperial throne.
Princess Helrena turned her gaze on the prefect. ‘What of the pretender? Despite your newspapers’ reports of his suicide, the rebel leader appears to still be alive inside the city and planning its defences.’
‘We should give the doctor who saved him a medal,’ said Gyal. ‘For keeping the bulk of his army concentrated inside a single city for us.’
‘I believe the pretender was once one of your mine workers,’ said Prefect Colbert. ‘If the impostor survives the assault, drag the lying dog back with you to Vandia and try him for his crimes against your people. Give him a flogging for escaping, and then another for impersonating one of our poor dead royals.’
‘The punishment for revolt in the imperium is far harsher than the whip,’ said Gyal. ‘The emperor cannot afford to show mercy. There are too many distant provinces of Vandia that show many of the same insubordinate tendencies currently inconveniencing your king.’
You say that like you’re emperor already.
‘He is my worker,’ said Helrena, testily.
‘He was, indeed. So you shall be the one to hand him over for a very public and very slow execution,’ smiled Gyal. ‘I’m sure your friend Apolleon will be suitably grateful for the chance to give his hoodsmen and imperial torturers the chance to demonstrate their skills on the kino screens; the hostile caste always appreciates a lick of blood to keep them docile.’
Duncan felt a hand land on his shoulder.
‘Ah, m’dear brother-in-law,’ said Viscount Wallingbeck. Duncan wished this preening aristocrat hadn’t been appointed part of the army staff. What Willow saw in the rakish southerner, beyond his house’s ancient title, Duncan was hard pressed to say. The viscount raised a suggestive eyebrow. ‘These Vandians know how to handle their workers and enemies both, by the saints they certainly do. An example to our prefects. We’ll come out ahead in this game when the rebellion is crushed. The power of the long and little guilds will be broken, and all the whining, bleating proles in the assembly
will be dangling from the end of a rope, where they’ve always belonged.’
‘Those rebels are still our countrymen,’ said Duncan.
‘Agitators and mutineers … Who will miss a man jack of them? Are you to be in the first assault?’ brayed the viscount.
‘Maybe even earlier,’ said Duncan. ‘As long as Paetro’s mission,’ please the saints, ‘meets with rapid success.’
‘Lucky rascal,’ said Wallingbeck. ‘It’s unsporting of your Vandian friends to be first through the breach. Just leave some of the spoils for us, eh?’
‘And some of the dying, too?’
‘We’ll leave that task to the pretender’s rebels, ha! Have you seen the giant steel bone-crushers rolling off your carrier? How can an honest fighting man stand against that kind of infernal device?’
‘Find me one and I’ll ask him.’
Wallingbeck winked at Duncan. ‘And with my wife helping your Vandian friends, this victory will be a family enterprise; what with old Benner’s cannons thumping the rebels and the two of us cutting our way through Midsburg’s streets, sabre in one hand and pistol in t’other. I trust the imperium will reward you as handsomely as King Marcus’ll recompense Benner and my house.’
‘Your concern for Willow’s safety does you credit, sir.’
‘The Landors are loyalists, just like the Wallingbecks. Duty first, always.’
‘You have noticed my sister is pregnant?’ said Duncan.
‘As I said, Brother, duty first. For myself as it is for Lady Wallingbeck. You can always trust your father’s wife to arrange things to our two houses’ benefit. She’s the cleverest of us all.’
In your case, that’s hardly a feat. Duncan watched the officer strut away. If the viscount was as impervious to bullets and blades as he was to irony, then Willow would have a long marriage indeed. Leyla’s heated attentions were about the only thing he would miss when the fleet left Weyland. He checked the time on his pocket-watch. Come on, Willow. Flee the city with Lady Cassandra soon. You can be reunited with this smirking dolt and play lady of the manor down in Riverlarn to your heart’s content. Just free Cassandra.
Princess Helrena left the map table and took Duncan aside, the officers clustered around the table behind her, discussing the finer tactics of the coming assault.
‘Matters here are as good as settled … this battle can have only one outcome now. I am trusting you to stand ready with the helo squadron, waiting for word from Paetro.’
‘He’ll free Cassandra,’ said Duncan. ‘And I’ll be ready to bring them out, all of them.’
‘Thank you.’ She glanced back towards Prince Gyal stretched over the command table, moving the counters around like a child playing with toy soldiers. ‘You saved Cassandra once in the sky mines and again in the Castle of Snakes. This will be the third time.’
‘There are some habits that I find hard to break. Please tell me you are still certain about this arrangement,’ said Duncan.
‘We must deal with the world as we find it, not as we wish it.’
Duncan nodded, sadly. ‘If “as we find it” is all we can hope for, we had better make the best of it.’
‘Return Cassandra to me unharmed, Duncan. This victory might help give Gyal the throne, but it will be dust to me if my daughter is not there to see me sitting by that dullard’s side.’
‘I’ll get her and Cassandra will be empress after you,’ Duncan swore. And I’ll still be at your side when Gyal is under the dirt.
Jacob was in his quarters above the garrison’s stables, empty since Carter’s cavalry company departed for the field, when he heard one of the gate’s sentries calling for him. What now? I doubt the field marshal’s had a change of heart and requires my services. Houldridge might not know it yet, but he soon would. The shells landing inside the city’s walls spoke volumes for how poorly the battle was progressing for the assembly’s forces. The south’s driven off our regiments thoroughly enough to set up their batteries on those hills to the east. Projectiles were landing every minute now. Whistles as they flew, followed by the deep thud of impact and a distant detonation, then a column of black smoke drifting into the cold air. Those are the southern batteries. The Vandians haven’t even bothered attacking yet. The far-off cordite scent brought back the memory of other battles, other sieges. Usually, Jacob had been on the other side of the besieged walls.
The soldier ducked into the stable and located the pastor in the hayloft. ‘Father Carnehan, there’s a boy arrived outside the gatepost. Says he has a message for you.’
Jacob grunted and followed the soldier out to the keep’s wall. A boy in a patched wool jacket waited there for him, a leather satchel for selling the city’s newspapers slung around his shoulder. He beckoned the street seller to enter through the gatehouse. For a moment, Jacob wondered if the lad had been dispatched by Sariel with a message, but instead the young newspaper seller wordlessly handed Jacob a silver-plated locket. I know this. Jacob searched for the hidden clasp and opened it up, staring down at a familiar miniature brown-tinted photographic portrait of his son.
‘Who gave you this?’ demanded Jacob.
‘A man, sir, dressed as a house servant. He said the locket belonged to his mistress and she needs your help.’ The boy’s voice dropped to whisper as he glanced around the parade ground in front of the stables. ‘The servant said there’re people in the city who might think his mistress an enemy, but that you’ll know the truth. She’s being hunted by both sides.’
‘Describe the man.’
‘Short, sir, not much taller than me, but as big as a bull. Red hair and a fine thick moustache the same colour. Perhaps forty years of age on him.’
Nobody Jacob recognized. A loyal retainer, perhaps? ‘Willow,’ sighed Jacob. Carter would be overjoyed to find the woman he loved had fled here from Benner’s forced marriage, but the pastor felt a heavy weight settle on his shoulders. You might have been better off laying out picnic hampers with the courtiers outside the city, Willow. The assembly’s soldiers will have you in jail for the sake of your southern lady’s title, and you’ll only end up ducking your husband’s shells and bullets in here. Willow’s life was in his hands once more, and he doubted Carter would speak to him again should he allow any harm to come to the young woman.
The boy handed Jacob a folded sheet of paper, the expensive vellum kind that might have been taken from a lady’s writing bureau. He unfolded the note to discover an address written inside. ‘Where’s Kemble Yard?’
‘On the south side of the city, sir … the tannery district. Cheap rooms around there, if you can stand the stench of the works. You want to visit, just follow your nose.’ The boy halted. ‘The servant said you’d give me a coin or two for safe delivery of the locket, but I’d sooner take a rifle from the armoury for the battle. I want to be up on the walls.’
Jacob gazed up at the sky, streaks of smoke from the shells coming in, felt the ground trembling from the impact of explosions inside the city. ‘This isn’t the battle yet. This is just the orchestra warming up for the main dance. You don’t want to fight,’ said Jacob. He tossed a coin at the scruffy street vendor and the boy caught it. ‘Trust me.’
‘That’s what a pastor’s meant to say, even an army one … sermons about the peace of the saints.’
‘It’s the army one that’s telling you, lad,’ said Jacob. ‘All that talk of honour and glory in the papers you’ve been selling, that’s all it is, talk. The real thing is just blood and dust and pain.’
The boy snorted and ran off through the gatehouse. There’s no fool like a young fool. But Jacob had been little different, once. He’ll find out, if he lives long enough.
Jacob set off across the city, walking hand-in-hand with his old friend. Carnage. Plenty of citizens left inside Midsburg to run panicked through the streets, yelling for fire buckets and carriages to drag the wounded to the by-now overrun hospitals, pushing their way past wagons arriving in from the trenches and defence lines outside loaded with maimed
and dying soldiers on the flatbeds. Some of their coarse grey tunics were almost dyed brown with blood, grown men screaming and howling like babes for laudanum to ease their agony. The wounded had to compete for the road with private buggies loaded with Midsburg’s citizens maimed in the shelling. Why do they never leave in time? Are their homes and family heirlooms ever worth more than their lives? Dying for a cabinet full of patterned porcelain and a chest full of clean sheets and blankets. But some people preferred to stick with what they knew. And may the saints forgive me, I’m no different. Jacob Carnehan was gone and Jake Quicksilver was back. This isn’t my doing. The Vandians would have come seeking revenge whatever I did or didn’t do in their empire. Bad Marcus would have fallen out with the assembly sooner or later. Some people, they just require killing. If Jacob had acted on that impulse with Bad Marcus, he’d only face half the enemy numbers presently tossing incendiary shells into the city. Marcus and his Vandian dogs, they’re no different to the scum that drove me and Barnaby from our farm and murdered our mother. Just standing up to evil is enough of a reason for evil to seek you out. I was happy in Northhaven. I had a wife and a family and friends and the respect of the people I lived with. Everyone but Carter’s dead now. They did this to me, not I to them. Still, Jacob was glad that he had sent Sariel out of Midsburg; Jacob’s cawing conscience absent for this portion of the siege.
He rounded a street and walked into a wall of smoke from buildings burning on both sides of the boulevard. As the rolling cloud cleared, Jacob found himself standing in front of a young costermonger not much older than Carter, the young man clutching his cold, dead wife in his arms, lying together in the wreckage of their barrow. It was as though Jacob was forced to relive his final moments with Mary, murdered by the skel slavers. The costermonger’s tear-stained face twisted up to face Jacob, but he saw the wrong man … the pastor, not Jake Quicksilver. But neither who Jacob was or who he had been could do anything for this poor slain woman.
