Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say three barrels?”
“Let me show you.” Master Gella turned and entered the building.
They followed her down a short hallway and into a large open area. Shelves lined some walls and there were dozens and dozens of metal-frame and wooden dividers about the space, also covered in shelves. Halfway down the large room she entered a door on the right side. A stairwell, it turned out. After three flights, she stepped out into a hallway and led them to a large door about a quarter of the way down.
‘Mechanical Room’ was engraved on a brass plate.
With a smile, she opened the door and they all peered within.
Quillan noted several things typical of such a room. Tool chests, maintenance supplies, machinery of various kind, but on the left side of the room sat something different.
“Oh, ho.” He stared at the apparatus.
A control device, in appearance identical to the one she’d brought him, sat fixed in place, seemingly unsupported, a few feet above the floor. Behind it sat a large wooden stand, the bottom of which was at about the same height as the control device. The stand sat in front of what was probably the largest air circulator he’d ever seen, the door to its huge air chamber wide open. Three big wood barrels were lashed together on top of the stand, and a wide wooden chute extended from under the stand into the open air chamber hatch. The thin wire extending from the control device disappeared under the stand, as did another thin, string-like item, which he assumed was the fire twine.
“So that’s how they did it,” Elizabeth murmured. “It’s all wood, so nothing is left after.”
Quillan smiled. “This is fantastic! It shouldn’t take me too long to look over the control device and determine whether it’s configured the same as—”
A chirping sound coming from Master Gella interrupted him.
“What in hells is that?” The master investigator dug in her jacket and removed a small item. She raised her brows as it continued to chirp. “The cricket?”
“Oh! You can press that little stud to silence it.”
As she did so, he opened his satchel and dug within. “Someone is using the ether writer network that the ’writer you brought me is linked into.” He pulled said ’writer out and then frowned at it.
“Well,” Master Gella said, “what’s on it?”
The message made no sense. He looked up at her. “‘Start the party. Light candle one.’”
Master Gella grunted.
“What?” Elizabeth turned to him. “Like for a birthing day party? Why would they use ether writers for that?”
A very loud hissing and crackling sound came from his satchel.
“Aargh!” Chanté tore off his riding cap, and from it came the same loud sound. He rubbed his ear. “What was that? It hurt.”
Quillan shook his head and looked at his riding cap poking out of the satchel. “I don’t know, but it’s coming from mine as well.”
Chanté frowned. “The only other comm set within range should be Fillion’s. Could his set be failing? Generating some strange signal?”
“That’s possible, but—”
The sound cut off.
Quillan grabbed his cap and pulled it on. “Fillion, do you hear me?”
Chanté put his back on as well.
“Fillion, I say again, can you hear me?” Quillan frowned.
“No response,” Chanté said. “I suppose he could have taken the cap off for some reason, or if that sound truly presaged his set failing, it might no longer be receiving.”
“Or,” Quillan said, “if he’s rescuing Preeti, he may have switched it off to avoid giving himself away with voices coming through.”
“Speaking of which,” Master Gella said, “I’d still like to know why those two are being held. And why didn’t Fillion seek assistance with the rescue?”
“Like Quillan mentioned,” Elizabeth said, “the man didn’t really explain why, and Fillion didn’t press him. Tobin seemed very concerned for his niece and wife. Fillion seemed to think he could take care of it himself. I know I’ve had to handle similar situations, so I didn’t think much of it. From what I can tell,” she glanced at Chanté and then him, “dragonlinked seem to be a competent bunch.”
“In the days after,” Quillan said, “he mentioned a little of what that poor girl went through that night, witnessing her father being killed by a nahual-ton.” His own memories of Master Retter came back and he shivered. “And now she’s going through something terrible again.”
“True enough,” Master Gella said. “And he does have a good head on his shoulders.”
“If he were wearing his cap or if its comm set was at least activated,” Chanté said, “we could ask him how he’s doing. Should I have Nantli contact Coatl?”
“They are probably busy,” Master Gella said, “so don’t bother. Fillion will contact us if there’s anything we need to know.”
She stared at the cap on Chanté’s head. “Those comm sets, they allow you to speak to each other even on the other side of the city?”
“Actually,” Chanté said, “Quillan designed them to have about a fifty mile range.”
“Fifty miles?” Master Gella looked extremely interested. “Those could be invaluable.”
“Well, when they work.” Chanté took off the cap and stared inside. “I wonder what that sound was?”
“I’m not sure what could have caused that,” Quillan said. “I’ll have to think more on it.”
“Actually,” Elizabeth said, “we have something else to think about right now.”
Quillan turned to her. “What do you mean?”
She pointed. “How long has that been happening?”
Liquid was pouring down the chute into the air circulator chamber.
Chanté gasped. “That horrible sound was—”
“—the signal to the device!” Quillan said.
He pushed past them and took slow steps toward the apparatus as he looked it over. The thin wire no longer led under the stand, it now lay on the floor and a glint came from the metal pin attached to the clip at its end. A wisp of smoke caught his eye then, and he saw the fire twine. A small sparking bunch of flame moved along it toward the open door of circulator’s air chamber.
Eyes wide, he turned. “Run!”
Master Gella drew her brows together. “What?”
Hurrying back toward them, Quillan said, “The fire twine is lit!” He tossed his satchel at Chanté and said, “You grab this and I’ll take care of her.”
Chanté caught the carryall and Elizabeth let out a yelp when Quillan lifted her in his arms.
Gaze behind him, she put her right arm around him and held tight. “Hurry!”
They ran for it, Master Gella leading the way.
The woman was fast on her feet! There was no chance he could keep up with her while carrying Elizabeth. Still, he set himself a quick pace.
Just as Chanté entered the stairwell ahead, a deep whooshing sound from behind was followed by a yellow flaring of light that lit up the hallway and cast dark shadows from Quillan toward the stairwell door. Chanté looked out the door, eyes wide.
Quillan didn’t bother looking back—he ran inside the stairwell.
He took careful steps as they made their way down.
One doesn’t really appreciate everything involved with walking down stairs until one’s life depends on it. And carrying about ten or eleven stone of woman and clothing in your arms certainly didn’t make it easier, especially when she kept leaning forward to look down the stairs.
“Please,” he said, “keep as still as possible.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth lay back in his arms with a contrite expression. “Sorry.”
Master Gella’s pounding footsteps came from somewhere below. Chanté wasn’t moving as fast as her, keeping to about five feet ahead. He kept casting worried looks at them, at him.
Quillan would have liked to go faster, but with Elizabeth blocking most of his view of
the stairs, he had to rein in his speed or he’d take a tumble. He kept to his measured but safe pace.
Finally, after a few rounds about the stairs, they reached the bottom. A familiar sound came to him there, a muted roaring like a forge fire. Alarmingly, the same light that had flared in the hallway above, shone in from the door ahead.
Quillan paused just outside the stairwell and gaped.
“Oh, gods,” Elizabeth murmured.
The entire floor was ablaze.
Smoke like a bubbling cloud writhed on the ceiling of the enormous room, and bright flames illuminated the place, their yellow and red light overwhelming that from the lightglobe sconces.
After another look around, it seemed that the fire was actually focused in a few large areas, though it was spreading quickly as anything that could burn, did.
“Hurry!” Master Gella was already at the door to the short hallway. She looked over the room, grim expression lit by the orange-red light.
Chanté paused about halfway to the doorway and turned. “Don’t stop, Quillan! You must move quickly!”
“Yelling isn’t helping,” Elizabeth barked. Her gaze darted about the enormous space. She looked more scared than angry.
Chanté was right, though. It was just that running while carrying Elizabeth was starting to take its toll. The muscles in Quillan’s arms were burning, as if he were at an anvil again, hammering away at orange-hot metal.
Arms starting to lower from fatigue, he took a breath and headed for the hallway.
He was nearly there when another astonishing sight made him stop.
It looked like a small waterfall made of fire. Flame spilled down the far wall. It flowed oddly, though, moving and twitching like a thing alive. At its apex was an air vent out of which it poured. Accelerant was still flowing, it seemed. Looking again, all the areas on fire had at their hearts a thin, fiery cascade, its flames crashing down upon the floor, splashing, and spreading.
He began to feel radiant heat on his face and arms. The air, too, seemed to be getting harder to breathe. A loud crash came from the right, making him jump.
Part of the ceiling had collapsed.
“Move!” Chanté stared at him from the doorway, gaze fierce. He looked worried, no, frightened.
Seeing that somehow gave Quillan extra strength. “Right.”
Lifting Elizabeth up a bit more in his arms, he ran for all he was worth.
+ + + + +
“The first candle should be in full flame, by now.” Cadoc frowned. “Yet I do not hear fire truck bells.” They’d left most of the celebratory crowds behind when they entered this district, so the sound of horseshoes on the cobbles, and the slow, metallic grinding and clacking of the iron-clad wheels on the same were relatively loud.
“I would not expect to,” Lord Koen said, leaning into the padded leather seat, gaze out the carriage window. “The first candle is the farthest from here.”
That was true. Cadoc looked out the other window, across the rooftops of Stronghold. The city was the largest on the continent, though its sister-city was a very close second. The sprawling metropolis was enormous. With the distance involved, much less the festival music, crowds, brawls, and everything else, it would be more surprising if he could hear the clanging of the fire trucks.
“The lighting of it began the prologue of tonight’s grand comedy.” Lord Koen smiled. “The first candle is large enough that a second fire brigade will be summoned from nearby at some point, thanks to the emergency response plan. And, should anything have been overlooked when the place was cleaned, the fire will take care of it for us.”
Cadoc rotated the walking cane and watched its silver wolf’s head turn. He only carried it with him if he expected to need it, but who knew what tonight’s finale would bring? “Two birds, one stone?”
“Precisely. I like to reclaim what I can of anything that’s no longer of use, or eliminate it if that’s not possible. We were done preparing the candles, so the warehouse became a liability. Used this way, it’s an asset in another part of the plan.”
Speaking of the plan . . .
Cadoc again looked out the window as they drew near the theater. He spied the crier not far from its gates calling out his scripted words. The man’s gaze rested for only the briefest moments on Cadoc before moving on, but there had been a nod. They were ready.
Once inside the entrance gates, the carriage pulled to the side of the theater, slowed, and came to a stop before a pair of nondescript doors. Tobin stood there, along with two others. The two wore plain dark suits and expressions that were unreadable. They must be part of the security detail.
Loud voices came from the street.
“Now,” Lord Koen murmured, “we’ll see if Tobin fully comprehends how important his part in this is for me. And for his family.”
Cadoc opened the carriage door and stepped out. The cane made a dull ‘clunk’ on the stone pavers.
The two men sitting up with the driver hopped to the ground and hurried to the rear of the carriage. They would unload the trunks, the clothing one and the others enchanted for lightness, along with the various parts of the device.
When Koen emerged, Tobin spoke up. “Lord Koen! I want to welcome you to the Theater for the Performing Arts. Adept Winston, our manager, asked me to again thank you for accepting the last-minute invitation to perform.”
At the street, more voices were raised, along with a few shouts.
Lord Koen glanced toward the angry outcries, feigning curiosity, then turned back and smiled at everyone. “It is my pleasure, young man.”
The two from the security detail also glanced toward the street.
Lord Koen’s men emerged from around the back of the carriage, each pushing a handcart.
As the first approached the door, one of the two suited men held out a hand. “I’ll need to inspect those.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Cadoc stepped closer and pointed with the cane. “Those are Lord Koen’s performance attire and they are quite expensive. If you damage—”
Magic pulsed from the other security man and he took a step forward. “Do not interfere.”
“Cadoc.” Lord Koen placed a hand on his arm. “They’re only doing their jobs. I’m sure they will be gentle.”
According to plan, Cadoc glared at them before standing down. “They had better.”
The shouts were getting louder and angrier at the street.
The top trunk of the closest handcart was levitated and rotated, then set on the ground. A security man opened it and dug through the jackets, shirts, and trousers. Each and every drawer was then opened and examined. Nothing out of the ordinary was revealed.
As he closed the trunk, a woman’s scream drew everyone’s attention to the street. The crowd had more than doubled in size and fighting had broken out.
The second security man pulled a ’writer out and began scribbling furiously upon it.
“Good gods,” Lord Koen said. “What’s going on?”
The sudden sound of weapons clashing seemed to do the trick.
“You!” The first security man pointed to Tobin. “Inspect the remaining trunks. Call out if you find anything suspicious.”
Tobin blinked. “O–Okay.”
The two men in suits hurried toward the low wall separating the theater property from the street and the angry crowd there.
Cadoc smiled.
After the trunk was back on top of the handcart, he said, “Let’s go.”
Tobin led them inside.
They followed through an open area and then into a hallway. The opening performance, a virtuoso violinist, could be heard somewhere off to the left. The performer was actually quite good.
Tobin stopped before a door with Lord Koen’s name on it, opened it, and gestured for them to enter.
Cadoc blinked. The room was rather small. Koen seemed nonplussed, however, so perhaps that was normal.
“Excellent.” Lord Koen smiled. “I’ll do some voice exercises while
waiting for my curtain call, then.”
Cadoc glanced at his wrist chronometer. “That will be in just under an hour?”
“Yes,” Tobin said. “Lord Koen goes on at half-past five.” He glanced at the handcarts with trunks and equipment. “Do you need help with those?”
“No.” Cadoc gestured to the men. “They can handle them.”
“Alright.” Tobin glanced at Lord Koen and then at him. He seemed more excited than anxious.
Cadoc drew his brows together. Why was that? He should be worried, what with his wife and niece being held at the manor. Was it because his part was done? Did he feel relief that all would be good now? Simpleton.
“Someone will be back to summon you.” Tobin smiled and left, closing the door behind.
“It’s always nice when circumstances help you with your own plan.” Lord Koen looked about the rather cramped room. “Tobin didn’t even have to volunteer to inspect them.”
“Indeed.” Cadoc turned to the men and gestured to a spot on the floor. “Set the costume trunk there.”
They did as instructed.
“Now, we just wait.” Cadoc took a seat next to the door.
The men sat upon the trunks still on the handcart, and Lord Koen, as he said he would, began warming up his voice.
Cadoc glanced again at his wrist chronometer. In not too long, he’d remind Lord Koen to send the next message, the one for candle two, and then he and the two men would begin setting things up for the finale.
+ + + + +
“Why are you doing this?” Fillion watched, with more than a little panic, as the girl eyed the arrow passing through his arm.
She looked up from the shaft to the ghostly image she’d raised, studying it. “You’re not afraid, are you, Chip?”
“Of you possibly doing irreparable damage to my arm? And it’s Fillion.”
As she examined the image, rotating it back and forth, a little smile curved her lips. “You need not be. I’m a healer adept, after all.”
He blinked. How old was she? He’d thought she was perhaps fourteen, at the most.
She turned to him, brow raised. “What? No witty observation about how it’s impossible for someone my age to be an adept in anything, much less Healing Craft?” She scowled. “Well shove that. I’m eighteen.”
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 85
