They grew more heated as the news trickled in of fresh atrocities, real and imagined. A dozen women raped in Oldtown. Twenty Free Church priests mutilated for speaking blasphemy in the eyes of Elysium. Fifty men shot down in cold blood in a Bottoms shantytown. Hundreds more Concordat men on the way—no, they were Borelgai mercenaries, hired by the banks, smuggled into the country by the Last Duke to secure his position and dressed up in Concordat coats. No, they were Murnskai, Black Priests sent to cull the heretics at last.
At the other end of the city, in the Docks, another knot of lights glowed. It was faint at first, but like a coal feeling the breath of the bellows, it grew brighter by the moment. It spread, tracing the mazy paths of the streets and back alleys around the fish shops and warehouses, outlining the river and filling the squares. Torches, hundreds of torches, and candles, tapers, flaming brands, and bull’s-eye lanterns. It was a river of flame, and it began to flow, slowly but inexorably, draining toward the River Road and east along the bank to the base of the Grand Span.
Once across the river, the flaming river met with other tributaries—from Newtown and Oldtown, from the Dregs, even from the prosperous and orderly districts of Northside. The torches swirled, eddied uncertainly, and finally turned decisively west, to break like a wave outside the craggy black walls of the Vendre.
CHAPTER TEN
RAESINIA
By the time she got away from Ohnlei, Raesinia was nearly frantic.
Things were happening, out in the city; the streets had taken fire. But she’d been stuck in her room in the palace until nearly dawn, greeting a steady stream of high-ranking messengers sent from her father’s sickroom, all coming to assure her that no news had yet emerged. They all knew he was going to die, of course, and all of these counts and other scions of nobility were eager to get their foot in the door with the new center of power. Raesinia greeted each one less courteously than the last, until she finally couldn’t stand it any longer. Sothe had put it about that the princess had gone into hysterics and been put to bed with a sleeping draught, and the two of them had escaped.
It was hard, not staying with her father. But Indergast wouldn’t let her be in the room with him, and in any case she thought that if he knew the whole story, he would approve. The good of the country and the Crown came first, even before family. Raesinia closed her eyes in a brief, silent prayer. One more day, Father. I know you’re in pain. Please, just give me one more day. Even the thought made her feel guilty.
The first light of day was just showing in the east, but torches and lanterns were still burning up and down the Dregs. All the cafés were packed, colored flags hanging limp in the hot, dead air, and armbands, sashes, and other proclamations of allegiance seemed to adorn everyone who passed the windows of her carriage. Raesinia put the string in her pocket and fingered the blue-green-gold butterfly pinned to her shoulder. She hadn’t seen anyone in those colors so far, and she was beginning to worry.
There were broadsheets and pamphlets everywhere, their smudgy ink still wet. Every hack writer and handpress in the city seemed to have sprung into action, and the boys who usually sold papers for a penny were giving away stacks of them to anyone who wanted to read. Anything more than an hour old was tossed aside in favor of the latest news, so the carriage wheels rattled and crunched down a street paved with discarded paper. Raesinia wondered how much paper there was in the warehouses of Vordan, and what would happen when it ran out.
She caught sight of the sign of the Blue Mask, but the density of the crowd increased, slowing the carriage’s pace to a crawl. Frustrated, she kicked the door open and hopped down into a swirl of excited, arguing young men. She edged around a contested space, where a wild knot of Utopians were arguing with a Rationalist sub-sub-subcommittee, and managed to make it to the edge of the street, up against the windows of a café. From here, she could see the blue-green-gold flag of the Mask, hanging in a long row with all the others.
Sothe materialized at her side. One nice thing about Sothe, Raesinia reflected. You never had to worry about waiting for her to catch up.
“This is a madhouse,” Raesinia said. “Half the University must be out here.”
“And more besides.” Sothe sounded grim. “This isn’t safe. We should go back.”
“We created this, Sothe. We can’t go back now. Besides, we’d never get the carriage turned around.” Raesinia tried to force a note of cheer into her voice, though she had to shout to be heard over the tumult. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are still here.”
They picked their way, slowly, through the crowd. Every faction and sect seemed to be out in force tonight, striving to take control of this critical moment with all the volume they could muster. Reunionists preached the virtues of a united Church, Republicans had taken up Danton’s call for the Deputies- General, and a thousand splintered bands of Utopians shook worn copies of Voulenne’s Rights of Man at one another. Gangs of Feudalists, with their antique flags, shouted at phalanxes of Monarchists, refighting the battles of Farus IV that had been dead and buried before Raesinia was born. And everywhere the papers, with huge, jagged type, letters in different styles, random splashes of ink from malfunctioning presses, anything the printers could think of to draw the eye. More carriages had gotten stuck and been abandoned by their passengers. The drivers sat playing cards on the boxes, resigned to waiting until the crowd broke up. Judging by the reek of horseshit, some of them had been there for a while.
After ten minutes of making progress only by vigorous application of her elbows, Raesinia broke into the clear. The street in front of the Mask was empty in a wide half circle around the doorway, as if it had been enchanted with an evil charm. The interior was dark, and it took Raesinia a moment to realize what was wrong—the big, expensive single-pane windows had been shattered and lay in glittering fragments all around.
“Oh God.” Raesinia took a step forward, automatically, and felt Sothe’s restraining hand on her arm. “What the hell happened?”
She looked around, wildly, and grabbed a hapless Individualist by the wrist. He squawked as she dragged him into the cursed, empty circle.
“What happened?” He stared at her, blankly, and she raised her voice. “What happened here?”
Her victim, a freckled boy with sandy brown hair and a bewildered look, glanced at the broken windows and shook his head.
“Concordat,” he said. “They raided quite a few places before the street really filled up. After that people started running them off.”
“Raided? What for?”
“How should I know? I heard they were just rounding up whoever they could find and hauling them off to the Vendre.” He brightened. “See, it proves the fundamental illegitimacy of collectivist ruling structures that, in a crisis, they must always resort to coercive measures or violence. A truly just polity would emerge spontaneously from—”
Raesinia left him to babble and grabbed for Sothe. “Orlanko’s people were here. They found us.”
“We don’t know that for certain,” Sothe said. “Other cafés were hit as well. But it’s possible.” She frowned. “I told you we couldn’t keep them off forever.”
“We have to find them,” Raesinia said.
“Don’t be foolish,” Sothe said. “If they were taken, they’re on their way to the Vendre.”
“We have to find them. You know what happens to people in there!”
Sothe fixed Raesinia with a withering look. “Of course I do. And I know what Orlanko will do to you if he discovers you’re involved.”
“But . . .” Inspiration struck. “They know me, don’t they? When he starts asking for information, they’ll give him a description, and Orlanko will be able to put the pieces together if anyone will.”
“They might not talk,” Sothe said, but she looked unhappy.
“Everybody talks, eventually. You told me that, Sothe.”
“I know.�
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“Then let’s go! If all the streets are as crowded as this one, they can’t have gotten far. We can—”
“Stage a rescue? Have you got a bag of bombs under your skirt you didn’t tell me about?” Sothe shook her head, a calculating look in her eye. “I’ll go. You stay here.”
“You know I won’t be in danger—”
“You will be,” Sothe said. “You may not be able to die, but if you get caught, we lose everything.”
“What if they catch you and make you talk?”
Sothe smiled grimly. “Believe me, I have plans against that contingency.”
“But—”
“Besides, I’ll move faster without you. Just stay here. Stay in the crowd, and keep your head down. I’ll find a way to get word to you as soon as I have news.” She glanced at the ruined Mask. “And stay away from this place. It may be watched.”
“Sothe . . .”
“We don’t have time to argue about this.”
“I know.” Raesinia took a deep breath. “Just . . . bring them back, all right? And be sure to come back yourself, too.”
“I’ll do my best.” Sothe gripped Raesinia’s hand for a moment, squeezed, and let it fall. “Remember. Stay where there’s a crowd, and don’t do anything to get their attention.”
Raesinia nodded, her throat suddenly thick. Sothe turned on her heel and stepped into the crowd, slipping through the packed street like a ghost. She was lost to sight in moments.
Beast, Raesinia swore, alone in a semicircle of clear cobbles. Balls of the fucking Beast. She’d always known this was a possibility, of course. The whole conspiracy had been a desperate throw of the dice. Once it became clear that her father wouldn’t live out the year, she’d had no other choice. Only a popular uprising against the Last Duke could free the kingdom of his malign influence, and so she’d set about creating one. But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. What possessed Vhalnich to arrest Danton? I thought he was smarter than that.
The sound of someone calling her name made her jump. It was accompanied by a wooden crash and a lot of swearing. Raesinia turned and saw a light flickering somewhere inside the ruined coffee shop.
“Raes!” The voice was hoarse, desperate. It was Ben. Oh, hell. “Raes!”
Raesinia spit a curse and ran inside the Blue Mask.
—
The common room had been comprehensively destroyed. Every table lay in splinters, the chairs had been kicked to pieces, and the intricate bronze-and-copper coffee apparatus on the bar lay in twisted metal fragments. Broken wine bottles were everywhere, and the smell of the stuff, slopped on the floor and soaking into the rugs, made Raesinia’s head spin. It was mixed with the reek of urine from a smashed chamber pot, and the gritty, earthy smell of powder smoke.
The light was coming from the back, where the conspiracy had held their meetings. Raesinia passed through the smashed door and hurried across the wine-stained footprints. The door to their room was broken, too, and the table they’d sat around had been overturned. Ben was standing by the window, peering carefully around a jagged rim of shattered glass.
“Ben?”
He turned around, narrowly avoiding cutting his arm open on the remains of the windowpane. “Raes!”
She barely had time to brace before he was on top of her, both arms wrapped around her in a bear hug. His lantern, hanging forgotten in one hand, swung wildly and clipped her painfully in the small of her back, but she managed not to make a sound. Her feet briefly left the floor, and his scratchy, unshaven cheek was pressed against hers.
“Thank God,” he was saying. “Thank God. I thought they’d got you.”
“Ben. I’m fine. Please.” He didn’t show any sign of letting go, so Raesinia wriggled her arm loose and pried him off. “Ben! I’m fine, really. What happened? Where are the others?”
His eyes, bloodshot and teary, took a moment to focus on her, and he swallowed hard. “I haven’t seen Sarton. Maurisk is in some kind of meeting with the other groups. They’re trying to decide what to do, but when I left they weren’t getting anywhere. I lost Faro somewhere in the crowd, but he’s okay, I think. Cora . . .”
He paused.
“What happened to Cora?” Raesinia said, the pit in her stomach yawning wider.
“They took her,” Ben said. “The Concordat. I was across the street when they got here, a dozen men. They broke the door down, smashed the windows, and started chasing people out of the place. They must have been here for us. They just let everyone else get away. A couple of them were searching, smashing everything, and then they brought Cora outside and put her in a wagon. I wanted . . .” His fists clenched. “I wanted to help her. But there was nobody on the street then. And I wanted to warn you, and the others—”
“It’s all right,” Raesinia said. Her stomach felt sick—not a sensation she encountered much anymore—but Ben was clearly on the point of hysteria and needed reassurance. “We’ll find her. Ben, listen. I have an idea. Once things calm down—”
“Actually,” said a voice behind them, “you’ll see her much sooner than that.”
There were two men in the shattered doorway, in shabby trousers and slouch caps. They looked like University students, but the one in front carried himself in a fighter’s crouch, and his compatriot held a cocked and loaded pistol. Raesinia froze.
“What?” said Ben, slightly slower on the uptake. “Who are you?”
“They’re Concordat,” Raesinia said. “I imagine they were waiting for us.”
“Very good.” The leader inclined his head slightly. “I am Andreas, and I do indeed serve His Grace the Minister of Information. You are Benjamin Cooper, I believe, and you are the mysterious Raesinia with all the bright ideas. Please don’t try anything heroic. My companion is an excellent shot.” His face was blank, but there was something hot and bright in his eyes, as though he wished they would try something. Raesinia risked a glance over her shoulder and saw another pair of figures through the window, waiting in the alley outside.
“What do you want?” Ben said.
Andreas shrugged. “His Grace would like you to answer a few questions. If you’ll come with us, I assure you that you will not be harmed.”
Fuck. Raesinia ran through scenarios in her head. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Andreas obviously hadn’t recognized her on sight, but if she was taken to the Vendre, it would only be a matter of time. A quick escape might work, but it would leave Ben behind. And Sothe is halfway to the Vendre herself by now. She spit a silent curse at herself for ignoring her maid’s advice. Of course Orlanko would leave someone to watch the place. Oh, saints and martyrs.
Now what?
Her eyes flicked to Ben and she found him looking back at her. Raesinia’s heart gave a sickening lurch as she realized he was about to do something stupid.
No, no, no, I’ll think of something. Don’t—
“Raes, run!”
Ben threw himself forward, head lowered like a bull. He covered the distance to the doorway surprisingly quickly for someone of his bulk, but not quickly enough to prevent the Concordat agent from pulling the trigger. Raesinia saw blood spray from Ben’s back, but the impact wasn’t enough to stop him, and he crashed into the gunman with all the momentum he could muster and slammed him against the opposite wall, sending the pistol clattering to the floor.
Andreas spun sideways, slick as an eel, still blocking the corridor leading to the front room. Raesinia forced herself into motion, hard on Ben’s heels. She bounced off the corridor wall, faked one way, and darted the other, trying to slip past the Concordat agent’s outspread arms. He followed her easily, and as she tried to squirm by he grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her back toward him. His other hand went to her elbow, palm out, forcing her arm into a painful lock and pushing her to the floor.
At least, that’s how it would have worked on any normal human being.
Raesinia let him pull her around, gritted her teeth, and kept coming. Something in her elbow went crunch, and then the bones of her forearm broke with an audible snap. The second of surprise this bought her was enough to deliver a quick kick to the back of Andreas’ knee, folding his leg up around the blow and sending him toppling to the floor. Raesinia met his jaw with one of her knees on the way down for good measure. She heard the clack as his teeth met, and his hands slipped off her shattered arm.
Ben was still on his feet, barely, with the other Concordat agent slumped against the wall in front of him. The front of his shirt was slick with blood, as though someone had hit him full in the chest with a bucket of red paint. She grabbed his arm with her good hand and pulled, and he stumbled into motion, but the movement sent fresh waves of red into his already sodden clothing.
The common room of the Mask was shattered and empty. By the time they reached the front door, Ben was weaving, and his legs gave out after they’d taken a few steps into the cobbled street. Raesinia tried to support him, forgetting that she had only one arm to do it with, and they both went down in a tangled, gory heap. Raesinia pushed herself up one-handed, letting Ben roll onto his back.
He gasped for air and tried to speak, but his voice was so thin she had to bend close to hear.
“Run,” he said. “Raes . . . run . . .”
Instead she shouted for help. A few eyes had already turned their way, but it took a moment for the crowd to realize what was happening. Then a woman screamed, high and shrill, and people surged forward in an effort to find out what was going on. Raesinia looked up at the Mask and thought she saw Andreas, framed in the rear door of the common room. He was gone almost at once. They won’t dare, she thought. Not in the crowd, not tonight. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have listened to Sothe. Oh, Ben . . .
The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns Page 26
