by JM Guillen
“No sloth for the righteous.” I pulled the dashing three-corner hat from my head, wrapping it as best I could around the business end of the greatwrench. After some fiddling, I got the end to open, and then clamped onto the fabric, holding it firmly.
It was probably useless. If the plasm had a harmony with metal, then the felt hat likely wasn’t enough to slow their symmetry. There was every chance that no matter what I did, the violet luminescence was about to magnetize to my bones or boil my humours, and the Blades would find me of the floor, twitching and drooling.
I didn’t think too much about that. Instead, I swung.
Overswung, would actually be a better word. I swung as if I were trying to ring some huge brass bell, when actually the glass was quite fragile and delicate. Therefore, with one swing, I shattered all four of the glass constructs on top of the purring engine.
The moment the glass shattered, the sparks vanished with audible pops and a touch of blue smoke. The engine chugged, as if the heart within it had seized, and gears began to grind.
When I opened my clenched eyes, the area around me was dark. There was a faint whiff of smoke in the air, which again smelled something like soured Gijon cheddar.
“Piss in my porridge!” The voice sounded far closer than I thought any of the Blades had any right to be, and I turned. Less than twenty strides away, I could see a trio of them, silhouetted by the violet plasm on their rod. “Tell Blythe the resonators are going dim!”
“I told ’im!” This voice was far on my right. “They’re too old. We’ll be lucky if they all don’t pop!”
I’ll be lucky if they do. I grinned.
Now that I knew I wasn’t going to have my eyes melted from my face, I quickly made my way to another of the engines, smashing the lights there. Yes, they were ancient marvels, but I honestly didn’t have the credit to care.
I wasn’t even done grinning about the Blades’ cursing, this time from somewhere off to my left, before I had made my way to another, gleefully smashing the lights atop that one.
Already, the room was much darker. There was something about the resonators that seemed to feed off one another. Another engine glowed off to my left, and I turned toward it, greatwrench at the ready.
That was when a great, meaty fist pummeled my face.
“I found our mouse!” The voice was jubilant. Between the explosion of pain in my temple, and the manner in which the world seemed to spin ’round, I thought I recognized it. “Skulking over here, he was!”
“Sod off.” I stumbled backward, swinging wildly with the hat-covered wrench and missing. Even in the shadowed room, there was still enough light for me to make out the man’s craggy face.
It was the Terrier.
“Don’t do no good to chase a skulker with a light in yer hand, does it?” The man’s voice slurred just a touch, as if he’d been drinking. He took a quick step forward, swinging again while I recovered my balance. I dodged, but it was a near thing.
Then, the Terrier gave me one of the most memorable beatings of my life.
He must have been someone who fought in the small arena upstairs. I say that because of his precision and the quick snap to his punches. He caught me two more times in the face and then delivered more body blows than I could count.
Each strike was a work of art. The ones to my face were followed by intense fireflowers bursting behind my eyes, and he seemed to know just how to strike my abdomen to drive the wind from me. One fist squarely struck my already injured ribs, and I bellowed in pain.
I could not take much of this.
Off to my left, I could hear voices getting closer. My heart sank as I realized that if I didn’t act, I would have far more than just the Terrier to deal with.
He didn’t have to beat me; he just had to keep me busy.
I didn’t like those odds. I swung again, twice in succession, just to drive him back. As more of the men came close, carrying with them a few of their odd devices, I turned on my heel.
Like a stumbling, broken drunk, I ran.
This was a gamble; I needed to lose them right quick. Almost any man could outrun me, what with me having to labor to draw breath—and that was when I was fresh. We had been playing catch-me for almost three quarters of a bell; I was definitely far from fresh.
“Scotti! Gideon! Go round the salt-baths—” Men yelled all around me, but I tried not to panic. I had seen at least five running up behind the Terrier, and now these were calling from somewhere summerward of me, to my left.
How many were there? Ten? I might have stood against that many, if I had my stave, a raven, and a clever thought or six in my head, but I was dry on two of those counts, and only had a clever thought: It wasn’t a matter of if they caught me, it was when.
And also how knackered I was when they found me. I needed to find a place to make a stand right quick.
“He’s ’round the forges!” Another voice called from ahead and to my right. I veered strongly left, some part of my mind noting that the odd devices against the wall did in fact look like forges, although I highly doubted that was their purpose.
As I ran, I fumbled with the greatwrench, working the hat free. I dropped the hat as I ran; only sorrowing over it for a moment.
When I saw the light ahead of me, relief washed over me like cool water. It wasn’t the unearthly, warbling violet that the men carried but the warm yellow of a street gaslight.
Maybe there’s a window. Tainted night, even a hatch at this point would be better than the nothing I had. If I could fit my lard-bucket behind through a hatch, it would be my salvation. If I couldn’t…
Well, it might still be handy, if I had a touch of luck.
Maybe I should have bought some luck, upstairs. I almost laughed at the rueful thought but then ran on.
The room opened up a bit here, the series of gigantic canisters finally coming to an end. It looked as if this section of the Coilwerks was a small extension, a rectangular section that hung out over the water. Thick chains hung from the ceiling, with hooks on their ends. They were heavy things, meant for hoisting something with serious heft. I dodged around them, trying to consider if they might be useful for a man on the run, when I almost drowned.
There were four trenches in the floor, running water channeled inside from the Er’meander. They all began and ended with large bronze pipes that led to none knew where. I couldn’t see how deep the trenches were, but they ran from wall to wall, cutting off this section of the structure into a small room with metal on three sides and water on the fourth. All around, the chains hung, all random lengths, from the ceiling.
I had run myself into a dead end. If that window didn’t prove out—
I leapt the first trench, almost running square into the second before I hopped it and the next two, grabbing a chain when I needed a boost.
The trenches distracted me long enough that I looked away from the light in front of me. When I glanced back up, my heart fell into my chest.
There was no way I was fitting through there.
It was one of the ventilation windows, barred with iron as thick as my arm. I gave the last ten feet a good burst of speed, in case I was wrong. Maybe I didn’t have a good view. Maybe if I gave it a run…
But no. I saw long before I hurled myself into the stalwart iron, there was simply no way I could power through the window. I skidded to a halt, reaching out to give the bars an experimental pull.
“Come on!” I pulled again at the bars, willing them to budge. Surely they would. After this complete mess of an assignment, didn’t I deserve one break?
No. I cursed quietly to myself. They weren’t moving at all.
I was trapped.
Footsteps, inevitable as the falling of the bounds, came up behind me.
3
“Yer stuck right good, you are.” I could hear the laughter in the man’s voice. I recognized it, knew it even before I turned around.
Erviin Blythe.
“You gave us a good run, Thom. I
’m surprised my own self we didn’t have you a day or two ago.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t send incompetents.” I turned, snarling at the man as I did. There were seven other men behind him, still on the opposite side of those trenches. Four of them held the spark-lights, and I could see more in the distance, running up on us.
One was already making his way across, holding onto the chains as he did.
Tainted night. The sight was like a leaden weight in my heart. There was no way I could stand against so many.
However, what I said was, “Seriously, Blythe, I had to come into your warren to get myself killed? That’s just pathetic.”
“It’s a discipline problem.” Blythe gave me a tight smile. “One that we will rectify now.”
Then, the men rushed me.
Of course, that was easier said than done, what with the trenches of cold water rushing between us. I stepped closer to the edge, promising that any man who leapt across could taste the flat side of a greatwrench, right in mid-air.
“Come now, Thom.” Of course, Blythe hadn’t rushed the trenches; he remained safely on the other side. “We want you alive. That can be conscious or unconscious, honestly, but this doesn’t have to be a beat down.”
“For the first man across the water, it does.” I took a wild swing at the bravest of them, a young Q’sarri man who had deftly leapt the trenches. “For that gentleman, my greatwrench has a kiss.”
“You can’t take us all down, Judicar.” Blythe’s voice was irritated.
“No.” I swung at the second man to brave the trenches, a lean man with hawk-eyes. “But the ones I can will have a lifetime waiting at the ‘sylums for them, with just one shot to the head.”
Despite my bravado, this was a losing fight. Two more of the Blades were over halfway across the trenches now, and my Q’sarri friend looked ready to take the final leap. I swung at him, grabbing one of the chains with my free hand and flinging it toward his lean friend.
He hadn’t been expecting that. The chain easily weighted ten stone, and the hawk-eyed man clutched madly at it as it struck him, swinging backward over the trenches and knocking two of his fellows into the water before falling in himself. The current was apparently quite strong, as they were washed four or five strides along the trenches before they were able to pull themselves out panting and cursing.
“Incompetence.” I grinned at Blythe, showing my teeth.
“Go.” He sighed wearily, waving a hand at his other men, the ones that hadn’t even tried the trenches. “Show the judicar what we do here at the Coilwerks.”
I took another swing at the Q’sarri man, which he dodged deftly. The lean man was still gasping from the water, a few strides away, but two more Blades had taken his place. In fact, save Blythe and the men who had fallen into the water, every one of my foes was at some measure of attempting to work across those trenches.
It was the perfect moment to take my throw.
I swung wildly again, once, then twice, before putting all my spit and fire into my legs, pushing back toward that window. Turning away from the men for just a nonce, I jammed two fingers into my mouth.
My whistle was sharp and loud. It pierced the mists of Teredon. It was the exact whistle I might use to call a small cadre of guildmen or bondsmen, if I were in a sticky spot in the streets.
“That won’t do you much good, I’m afraid,” Blythe called across the trenches as the first of his men made it to my side. “You can’t exactly whistle up a contingent of judicar allies, Thom. Not down here.”
“I don’t need a contingent,” I stepped back toward the trenches, ducking as a man swung at me with one of those spark-lights. “I only need one.” I looked at Blythe, putting the fingers back in my mouth and blasting the whistle again.
“Put him down,” Blythe sounded bored. “Just don’t end him.”
Then, things got hard.
Of course, stepping away from the trenches had been a gamble, as it let some of the men finally make it to stable footing. Blythe’s play was a simple one now. All he had to do was keep me busy enough for the rest of his men to cross, and well…
He could call the tally.
One of the men swung a fist as he came at me, catching me in the midsection and blasting all the wind from my body. I staggered back, swinging weakly at one of the men with the sparklights, and then shuffled toward the trenches, leaping the first one.
If they were going to fight me, they could do it over here.
Of course, Blythe still had men at the trenches. One of them, a Sindrian man, swung at me with his spark-rod as I leapt, and this time he connected.
It was agony. The man struck me on my shoulder, but even though my clothing I could feel the hungry fire of it.
I cried out, almost falling into the dark, rushing water. Instead, I fell onto one of the narrow walkways between the trenches, coming face down against a small metal plate on the ground that read:
DUMPING REAGENT ONCE PER BELL ONLY—LEGATES WRIT
The words swam in front of my eyes as I was dizzy from the shock. I pushed myself to a weak stand, looking warily at the man who had struck me.
“Cry off, Thom.” Blythe’s voice was reasonable, soothing. “We don’t want to harm one of our fine judicars, after all. We just think it might be best if he spent some time in another borough for a few days. Our work won’t take long.”
The Sindrian man smiled wickedly and positioned his rod for another strike.
“Thom?” The best and smartest raven ever, whom I had positioned outside the Coilwerks, was perched in the window, looking at all of us quizzically. The men froze in place, and I saw one ward the evil eye.
She had heard my call.
“Ha!” I pointed at her and then at the Blades. “I told you, I only needed one!”
“Greedy little bint.” One of the men spat at the ground. “I didn’t come down here to lose no eye.”
“Blythe,” I turned toward the man. “Will you desist and submit?” I looked from him to his men. “Or would you rather have a proper introduction to my girl?”
“Thom,” Blythe’s voice was steady but only just. “You can’t possibly—”
I spoke louder. “You and your men are guilty of the tier one offense of causing a judicar personal harm. You are also guilty of aggravated detainment of a judicar, dire intention, and a few counts of wrongful harm to a citizen of Teredon.” I leveled my wrench at the men. “You are hereby detained.”
For a long moment, the men stood quiet. Not one of them liked the odds with my girl on the board. Yes, they could still take me, but now the chances were that several of them would be blinded or maimed in the process.
Apparently, that was a cost that Blythe was willing to pay.
“My cullies understand what’s at stake, Thom.” His words were oily. “We know who our gentleman is and what will happen if we fail.”
I tensed as he spoke. The men around me nodded, and I saw their resolve tighten. I cleared my throat before I spoke.
“The last time I saw some of your men, one of them ended up burnt alive on the floor of the Wyndhaus.” I shifted the wrench, signaling to my good girl. Ready. Danger. “I think maybe your boys here don’t want to end up dead, Blythe.”
“There are worse things than death, Thom.” The man spoke as if he were addressing a child. “You would know that if you had even a hint of the lay of the board.” He paused then, his next words falling like a pronouncement of the Radiant. “Take him. Do what you must.”
Things moved quickly then.
I swung even before the Sindrian man realized that we were back at it, and connected the greatwrench with the side of his knee. He cried in pain, stumbling back and dropping the spark-light into the cold, black water.
I half expected some great burst of galvanized water the moment they connected, but no, instead the spark-light went dark. Then, having a mostly wooden handle, it floated along the top, rushed away by the water.
“Fecking ass!” The Sindri
man screamed holding his knee. I imagined it might be out of joint, but that wasn’t my concern.
I gave him a sharp grin. “It typically gets worse though.” I made three sharp gestures and settled into a defensive pose.
No time for specialized stances here. I looked at my opponents. The situation was too fluid. I needed to stay on my toes.
Then, Scoundrel was on the man; fury and black-winged death.
Men always believed that they could flail against the ravens, and this was exactly what the Sindri did. My girl was a symphony of midnight feathers, silver blades, and crimson blood as she tore into his face. Panicked and in agony, he stumbled backward, slipping and falling into the water.
He screamed and then went silent.
The other Blades were stupefied at the sight, temporarily frozen in place. True to her training, Scoundrel looped back to me, resting on my shoulder.
I winced. I wasn’t wearing the traditional pad there, and even though she was being cautious, her talons were fierce. Even so, I looked at the nearest man.
“Are you next?” I gave him a sharp smile.
Then, they were on me.
I never saw the one who struck me from behind, but he was wielding one of the hateful, violet sparks. He plunged it into the center of my back, and I screamed, dropping like a stone. Once on my knees, he held it there, and I experienced agony like nothing I had ever imagined.
It was as if my blood was filled with slivers of ice, ice that hungrily sought to stab and cut. It was in my limbs, in my chest, even in my head as I writhed in torment. There was no room for thought or emotion—there was only pain.
Another one swung something at my chest—a club maybe. It was like a hammer, and I collapsed forward, breathless.
I heard men cry out, no doubt from Scoundrel’s attentions, but the sound seemed leagues away. I managed to open my eyes, realizing that I was screaming.
“Stop!” The word came from Blythe’s general direction but was not him. It rang with command, with the undeniable air of one who was accustomed to being obeyed.
