‘The cables run down there, okay? Who the hell are you to ask me anyway?’
‘Extra security, just like you.’ Pierro sized Gallows up. ‘You wouldn’t lie to me, would ya?’
‘What possible reason would I have for making this up?’ Fifteen minutes. Pierro had dragged Gallows away from the back wall, into a corner painted in shadows.
‘Don’t know, but that’s the thing with conniving crooks, innit? Their mind works like that, mine don’t!’ He howled with laughter, the gaps in his grin making him look like a giant, giggling baby.
Gallows had to get away from him. ‘I’m under Genevieve Couressa’s employ, you ain’t.’
‘No flies on you, eh, little man? Nah, Mister Zoven wanted ’er autograph—a private audience in fact—but Veronica, she-’
‘What? V’s here?’
‘Aye, but shut up and let me finish: Veronica convinced him to send me instead, in case he takes one o’ his—how’d she put it?—funny turns.’ The giant leaned in to whisper. ‘That’s where he goes a bit mad in the head and smears someone’s brains on the wall.’
Belios, Veronica’s here and she doesn’t even know about her kid. Sick bastard’s stringing her along. ‘Sure,’ said Gallows, ‘I can see why that would be a mite embarrassing. Listen, you do your thing, I’mr-’
‘Goin’ nowhere.’ Pierro’s paw secured itself onto Gallows’ shoulder like a vice, pinning him to the wall. He peeked behind the curtain and gazed out to the spectators. ‘Sometimes I dunno if old Zoven’s gettin’ softer in his old age or harder.’
‘Listen, I got things to do, so you’re gonna let me go, okay? If you don’t-’
‘Reckon me an’ you are gonna have to fight.’
‘Huh?’
Pierro squeezed Gallows’ collarbone so hard he was sure it would crack. ‘Well, see, folks reckon I’m soft in the head, ’cause of how big and—I don’t mind sayin’—stupid I look. But here’s the thing: When you underestimate a cove, you get careless around ’em. Oh aye, even Mister Zoven. And whenever you meet with V, well—I can tell you hold a lot o’ love for ’er. Not proper love, mind; much more obvious, that is. Nah, you’re more subtle. You got respect for her—never even been tempted to roll around with her and that’s a whole ’nother thing. And Mister Zoven, he likes to keep things simple—y’know, sell somethin’, get paid; don’t like a bloke, peel his eyelids off—but you, Mister Guillotine-’
‘Gallows.’
‘Aye, I knew it was something stupid. You don’t strike me as “simple”—and ol’ Zoven won’t take too kindly to you, I reckon.’
The pain in Gallows’ collarbone throbbed along his arm, but he’d be damned if he’d let it show. ‘You’re gonna kill me because I’m friends with Veronica?’
‘No, no, no.’ Pierro squeezed harder. ‘Because you offer Veronica hope, mate—offer her somethin’ that’s different to what she got with Mister Zoven and all the other dogs that come around the guild house. You remind ’er that she ain’t his property—and that might put funny ideas in a person’s head.’
Ten minutes.
Gallows batted a hand against Pierro’s immense weight, but the bigger man shrugged it off. The dying strains of The Raincatcher’s Ballad floated into the air, followed by a wave of adulation.
Pierro’s mouth was less than an inch from Gallows’ face, his breath hot when he spoke. ‘She is his property, see. And now that ol’ Zoven ain’t the discerning entrepreneur he used to be, no doubt he’ll set me on you if he reckons you’re liable to be a complication. Me? I reckon you’re liable to be a complication.’
At last, the thug relinquished his grip on Gallows.
‘Just food for thought, mind!’ Pierro announced. ‘Up to you whether you stay away from Veronica or not.’ Pierro pulled a hat from his coat and sauntered off. ‘Toodle-pip!’
Gallows massaged his sore arm. Well, that was weird. Damn the Gods. He stuck his head beyond the curtain—he caught the briefest glimpse of a flashlight pulsing. He’s in place. Gallows replied with his own flashlight and, as soon as he figured it was safe, ducked down through the hatch and into the basement.
He landed with a thud into the pitch dark room. Musty air flooded over him.
Six minutes.
He pushed through a narrow passageway, struggling not to think of how much this place resembled his old cell.
Frosty sweat lined his back.
The walls of the passage parted, revealing a low-ceilinged room. Trails of cables criss-crossed. A wooden door, caked in peeling paint and cobwebs, sat embedded in the corner. Must lead to the sewers, just as Damien said. Don’t know whether to be relieved or terrified that he knows this stuff.
The rumble of generators chugging away kept the air from being completely still.
Gallows examined the equipment; it was more advanced than Damien had told him. He had no idea which cable he was supposed to disrupt.
‘Gods damn it.’
Attached to one of the generators was a brass device, distinct from the other apparatus. Needles swung back and forth like a pendulum. A Bride’s Code transmitter? A portable RADIOM unit? A bomb?
Four minutes.
Shit.
No time to figure it out.
He pulled the transmitter from the generator, not knowing if a single touch would make something explode. He yanked wires from sockets and jerked cables from outlets. The crack and pop of electrical currents told him he was doing something.
But the power remained.
Three minutes.
Pain settled around his head like a hood, his muscles tightening as if pulled by a drawstring. Casings covered the rest of the cables, and he didn’t have the time nor the tools to remove them.
Pyron Thackeray was going to get away.
He grunted and kicked at all the equipment. If only he’d thought to take an ignium charge. His shortsword hung at his side but it wasn’t meant for piercing armour—and damn, that casing looked tough. He unsheathed it anyway, cutting at anything that would yield to its edge.
It accomplished nothing.
He had to hope Thackeray would stick around for the whole performance, but waiting around for the second interval meant putting Valentine at risk—not to mention someone chancing a glance and seeing Damien crawling along the ceiling like something out of a nightmare.
Gallows armed the sweat from his forehead.
He backtracked through the enclosing passageway and climbed back up the stage. He still had time to signal Damien. If Fieri could get to Valentine in time, there’d still be a chance to-
Thunder detonated in the air.
Stone fell free around the basement.
The music cut out.
Genevieve’s voice choked to a halt.
Silence.
Then Hell broke loose.
Enfield’s free hand fished around his suit jacket. Serena caught a glimpse of gleaming metal and wires.
Think…
His narrow eyes and furrowed brow spoke volumes of the contempt he held her in.
But this was why she’d come. To confront him. To make him confess.
She channelled her will, straining to summon the electricity that she’d felt before…
Nothing.
Ice cold terror rushed over her like a tidal wave. What in the name of Musa had she been thinking?
Stupid, stupid girl…
Her eyes closed. I can do it. I know I can.
With all her might, she calmed her heart and concentrated. C’mon… She focused on the energy in her fingers, pictured threads spinning and reaching into Enfield’s head…
Nothing.
Shit.
She had to run. There was no other option. He’d kill her as soon as he had the chance. She needed to escape, needed to distract him…
‘Knife!’ she screamed. ‘This man has a knife!’
Heads turned—a man flinched and gasped. A panicked commotion spread like gossip in the orphanage. They wanted to hide it, but everyone here was still on edge from
the attack.
‘Silence.’ Enfield stood up and drove his elbow into her mouth. Sharp pain spread through her jaw, Genevieve’s voice floating in and out of her head.
‘Now just a minute-’ another voice began.
The rest of its words were lost amidst the explosion in the sky.
Varaldo’s stained glass dome broke into a million pieces of crooked confetti, glinting every colour on the spectrum as it fell to earth. The music cut out as showers of glass rent the air, down into the musicians’ pit and over the audience.
Screams replaced melodies.
Columns of thick smoke rose from the pit. Dark phantoms descended from the sky like Nyr’s Valkyries, messengers that spirited away the souls of the dead.
Enfield conjured a pistol and turned it on her, his frenzied eyes wide and merciless.
Serena froze.
She was about to die.
‘Holy shit.’
Gallows climbed onto the stage just as the screaming started. ‘Get back!’ he shouted to anyone that would hear him. Confused shrieking tore through the air as descending glass sliced into skin.
Dark clouds spilled around him and stung his eyes. Smoke bombs?
His head shot upwards.
Rappelling from the sky were Wraiths.
Thackeray yelped and ran before the glass had hit the floor.
Azima would have scolded him for letting his prey escape.
Damien scanned his environment, but Thackeray was gone.
Something shone out to Damien like a diamond among ash.
A gun.
No words.
No warning.
Serena could see his finger whitening as Enfield pulled back on the trigger.
She didn’t have time to blink before-
Something tore down from the sky, a flash of silver spinning like the flames on a Catherine wheel.
Enfield stumbled backwards, blood fountaining from his arm.
Feeling flooded back into Serena’s body as her senses caught up with the sight. A man in dark blue robes stood next to her, feet planted wide in the narrow aisle. A curving blade glistened crimson in his hands. All she could do was stare at him.
Enfield’s skin had turned as pale as the moon, mouth hanging open in a frozen scream.
The man who’d saved her pulled down his face mask. ‘Are you alright?’
The gunfire drowned out her answer.
Smoke flooded the auditorium. Gallows tackled Genevieve to the floor when the put-put-put of repeater rounds cut through the air.
‘You okay?’
She looked at Gallows like he was speaking Idari. ‘I-’
‘Tell me so I know if I can leave you or not!’
‘Y-yes!’
‘Good. Find a way to the basement, there’s an escape route into the sewers!’
He left her when Aulton and Fabian lifted her off the floor.
Thackeray—where was Thackeray? ‘Bastard ain’t getting away.’
Put-put-put-put.
The auditorium filled with screaming, yelling and the copper tang of blood.
Around him, people died.
Pyron Thackeray had disappeared.
No!
Gallows wouldn’t let him get away. Nothing else mattered.
He barrelled across the stage. A Wraith fell from the sky in front of him, facing out to the crowd, levelling its rifle and spitting death and ruin.
Gallows’ veins brimmed with fire. Without thinking, he gripped his sword, pulled the Wraith towards him and opened its throat. He snatched its rifle before it fell to the ground.
The plan was good—arrest Thackeray, unseat the arrogant bastard from his own throne and have him admit to all the shit he did. Let him live with the failure. That was worse than death for Pyron Thackeray. That was the point. That was the plan.
But now he’d do it his way.
Gallows pelted across the vast stage, its boards creaking beneath his pounding feet. Gunshots and screaming filled his head. A shot zinged past him but rage propelled him forward. Bullets wouldn’t stop him. Nothing would.
‘Move!’ He shoved a middle-aged man to the ground, leapt from the stage through a chain of people, clambered over seats.
Where are you, you son of a bitch?
‘Are you alright?’ Damien repeated.
The girl didn’t know how to respond. The snap of rifle rounds punctuated the air. ‘Yeah, I…’
Enfield had fallen to his knees, blubbering, staring at the bloody stump where his hand used to be.
The girl broke from her reverie and scrambled to retrieve the gun still clamped in Enfield’s severed hand; Damien shoved his palm out and kept her at bay. ‘Find somewhere safe!’
‘I came here for him! Let me-’
Damien tackled her to the ground, his body shielding her as the red sparks of tracer fire scored the air.
The melodies of death swam in his ears.
The black-armoured troops were coming his way, razing everyone in their path.
They’re coming for the Junior Councillor.
Realisation dawned on Damien: They were here to secure Enfield after he neutralised the girl—only he’d failed. What have we stumbled upon?
‘When I tell you to, run.’
‘But-’
‘Do not argue! Close your eyes, open your mouth and put your hands against your ears!’
‘Why?’
‘Do it!’ Damien crawled along the floor towards Enfield. He primed one of his flash bombs and lobbed it towards the troopers. Those masks—Wraiths.
A blinding white flash followed by a piercing crack invaded the senses. Damien peeked over a chair. ‘Go! Now!’
Serena scrambled to her feet and hurtled into the crowd, away from Enfield.
Damien grabbed the Junior Councillor and brought him to his feet. He used him as a human shield. The Wraiths—four here, but he could hear similar gunshots coming from outwith the auditorium—didn’t go after Serena; instead, they trained their weapons on him.
What are you going to do?
He had to neutralise the threat—he had his knife and two more flash bombs, but that wouldn’t be enough. The back of Enfield’s head rocketed into his mouth. ‘Sh-shoot him!’ the Junior Councillor commanded.
Dull pain bloomed through Damien’s jaw. He should have sensed him moving. You’re letting yourself get slow. Denying what you are saps the power from you, ‘Damien’…
He pushed his hostage towards the Wraiths and dived back into the bank of seats as a hail of bullets ripped towards him.
He landed next to Enfield’s pistol.
Damien wrenched it from the stiff fingers curling around it. He focused, listened for the sound of the Wraiths’ breathing…
There was none.
The old-fashioned way, then. He shot up and in an instant memorised the locations of the four Wraiths. They turned their guns on him.
Damien leapt and spun through the air, dodging enemy bullets—and fired four rounds before he hit the ground.
That was all it took.
The Wraiths crumpled to the floor, black-red blood caking around the bullet holes in their strange masks.
Enfield had hobbled down the stairs, rubies of blood trailing from him.
Enfield or Thackeray? Where was Tyson? If he got to the Prime Councillor first…
Damien made his decision. He angled his head to the balcony above him. More gunfire was coming from that direction.
The dome wasn’t the Wraiths’ only entry point, which meant Thackeray could still be trapped inside the opera house.
There was still time to accomplish the mission.
Run-run-run…
Why didn’t it work? Why didn’t she feel the electric buzz like she had before?
A dull ache ran up her leg, a hangover from when she’d injured it in the sewers.
More gunfire rang out. Breathless and dizzied, Serena picked out an exit more by accident than design—it was about halfway between her and the stage. A lo
ng tail of people forced themselves through before coming to an abrupt halt. Why have they stopped?
The answer presented itself as the rattle of gunfire tore through. Clouds of bloody aerosol spray burst from bodies, legs and heads. The dead collapsed to the ground, the living scattered, and the injured were left to soak up more bullets.
Serena skidded to a halt, tripped over something, and clawed her way to her feet again. Panting, she ran in whatever direction her legs would take her. Her heart chugged like an overworked engine. More smoke filled the air.
Nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide.
‘This way, children, stay with me!’
Ingrid’s voice! She was herding the kids away… Where?
She followed the direction of Ingrid’s voice through the fog.
For a second, it cleared. She glimpsed a door marked ‘Staff Only’. The face at the end of the line…
‘Angelo!’
Angelo spun around. He locked his gaze with Serena’s, a thin smile shining through the anxiety.
Thank the Gods! She ran towards him. Ingrid, she’d know what to do—if I can get to-
‘Angelo, hurry!’ A pair of arms grabbed the boy and pulled him through the door, pushing it closed behind him. ‘No!’ Serena threw herself at it. She yanked and pulled and kicked and pushed, but the door wouldn’t budge. ‘No no no no!’
Please don’t leave me to die.
Through the fog, she thought she saw someone she recognised charge up from the stage.
Gallows didn’t even register the bullets searing past him, didn’t care for the people he swept from his path.
All that mattered was getting to him.
If Damien gets to Thackeray before me, he lives.
He would beat Thackeray until he gave him a way to get to Cronin. Gallows would end him quickly—but he’d take his time with Sera’s murderer.
More repeater rounds sounded through the air. Glass and plaster exploded from the walls. Bodies filled the floor. Gallows’ skin vibrated.
The smoke thickened with every second. You will not get away from me.
‘…more of those soldiers outside…’
Symphony of the Wind Page 40
