Gallows pulled the drawers out from Zoven’s desk, one by one. Most of them were empty, but beneath a false bottom sat an old, cracked, leather-bound diary.
‘You are dead men!’ screeched Zoven. ‘Dead men!’
Gallows leafed through it. He kept detailed records of just about every prominent family in Dalthea. ‘Holy shit of the Gods, Zoven. You got King Owain in here…’
‘I will see to it that you and your families are-nnggghh!’
Claret glistened on Damien’s blade.
Gallows placed a writ on the table. ‘Sign. It’s an agreement that you’ll testify against Thackeray in exchange for immunity.’
Zoven’s eyes craned past Gallows, searching for help.
Gallows set a pen onto the table. ‘Sign.’
‘You… will both die for this.’ Zoven signed the writ with a trembling hand.
Gallows placed it in his pocket. ‘You’re done, Zoven. Right now, Sergeant Waltham of the City Watch is seizing your properties. Thank you very much for signing the writ by the way, the orphans of Dalthea will have plenty of space now.’
Spit trickled down Zoven’s chin. ‘You’re no better than the corrupt!’
Damien slammed Zoven’s head into the table, and he and Gallows left him squirming in his filth.
‘Thought you were gonna be late,’ Gallows said to Damien.
‘I was.’
Sergeant Waltham strode over to them. ‘Never seen the Courtesans’ Guild empty so fast.’ He shook his head. ‘If only the Watch always had this sway.’
‘Thanks for this, Wally.’ Gallows shook Waltham’s hand. ‘Reckon you might make a few enemies after this.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure. Half the Watch have quit. Too many lads joining up after the war, not knowing how to deal with what they saw out there. They should have got help, not a baton and a badge.’
‘And what of the Arch Vigil?’ Damien asked.
Waltham stood still. He avoided Damien’s gaze, and when he spoke, his voice had dropped an octave. ‘Dead. Terrible thing. Suicide. Cut his own wrists. To tell you the truth, I don’t think he could handle the guilt from ordering us to burn the orphanage.’
‘Suicide?’ said Damien.
‘Yes. Suicide.’
‘With officers quitting and the Arch Vigil dead, one would imagine a commander will be needed. Someone with experience and temperament.’
‘Quite so,’ Waltham said, ‘quite so.’
Gallows watched Veronica descend the staircase. She had her arm around one of the girls, ushering her out. When she saw Gallows, she lit up.
‘Damien.’ Even to his own ears, Gallows’ voice sounded grave. ‘Can you handle the next visit alone? I’ve got something I have to do.’
Some plan. These people wouldn’t have lasted a minute with Helena tal Ventris.
But if it brought her to Fitz, it was worth the risk. Lockwood was smarter than Tiera had given her credit for. Didn’t cover my tracks as well as I thought.
Her skin itched, especially the brand on the small of her back. She felt a fraud. Would Fitz have loved her if he knew about her past, knew that she’d murdered a priest? Tiera was the identity she’d adopted, the one she wore like a cloak. She couldn’t admit that she was still Yulia—not to Fitz, not to herself.
If she did, that would have made it all real. All the torment she’d been subjected to in the monastery, all the pain.
For years she’d convinced herself that it had happened to someone else, that she could run from it. But turning to piracy, giving into the rage inside her… It had all been a way to hide from the truth. Would Fitz still love her when she told him?
Aye lass! he’d say, then he’d pull her in tight and they’d drink and lie in bed all night.
‘There it is, sugar.’ Valentine nodded. ‘The Hurtling Whimsy. Y’all ready?’
‘I’m ready.’ The absence of Fitz’s arms around her burned more than her brand. ‘I’m ready.’
‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded Auros tal Qur. His jowls quivered when he spoke and tobacco smoke curled from him. ‘How did you get past my guards? I have a breakfast to attend! Get out, man!’
Damien threw the photographs across Qur’s desk. ‘I’m sure your wife—and Magister Reinhardt’s—would be very interested in these.’
Qur’s face turned the colour of a ripe plum. ‘What do you want? Money? Water tokens? Your picture in the Viator?’
Damien shook his head. ‘The photographs are yours. There are no copies. Farro Zoven is done. Thackeray will follow. You do not have a sword hanging over you any longer, Mister tal Qur. In return, when the time comes, you will report the truth—and quit.’
Vaughan didn’t have much of a crew left after Tiera had ripped them asunder before Jynx had got to her, but the Hurtling Whimsy’s passageways were too quiet. And if she ran into Roarke? He has made his choice.
A three-man squad of RSF troops accompanied her, all Lockwood could spare. It included Valentine; she was almost as angry as Tiera. She liked that.
They cleared each room but with every fruitless search, Tiera’s frustration grew.
Walls closed in on her and the chemical, metallic smell burned her nose and throat. And those damn symbols on the walls make me dizzy.
They approached the bridge. If Vaughan and Jynx were still aboard, this was where they’d be.
Valentine used hand signals to communicate with the troops. One of them placed a breaching charge on the door.
Tiera gripped her knives, hands shaking.
Valentine nodded.
The charge fizzed as it burned through the metal. Valentine hurled a flash bomb through. ‘Move move move!’
Tiera followed behind, keeping her eyes on the ceiling for Jynx. Would she be relieved at the witch’s presence, or terrified? Either way, Tiera would send her to Nyr with a blade through her heart.
‘Hold!’ Valentine yelled.
Vaughan lay in a heap on the floor. A hand clutched at the grinning red wound on his chest.
Tiera strode towards him. ‘Your bleeding pleases me.’ She bent down. ‘Where is Fitz?’
‘Gone… He’s gone…’
‘Lies!’ Tiera bloodied her knuckles on Vaughan’s face, body trembling, tears dripping from her eyes.
‘Stop!’ yelled Valentine.
She didn’t.
Valentine hauled her away, pinning her against a console. ‘We’re on a mission. We arrest him.’
Tiera leaned into Valentine. ‘Just as you plan on arresting Thackeray, yes?’
Valentine released her. ‘Yeah.’
‘Bullshit. He’s dead anyway.’ Tiera pushed past Valentine. ‘You hear that, Vaughan? You’re dead!’
‘Life… is tiresome anyway. Gods, with the amount of drugs I swallowed after she did this, you’d think the pain would be somewhat… less.’
‘Who did this, Vaughan?’ Valentine asked. ‘Who did this?’
‘Jynx… Bitch betrayed me. She’s working for…’ Blood bubbled from his mouth.
‘What’s the ignition code, Vaughan? How do we get your ship in the air? We can take you to Anabelle Hospital but you gotta tell us.’
‘Let him bleed,’ spat Tiera.
Vaughan gargled blood as he tried to answer.
Then the gargling stopped.
Valentine punched the console. ‘Damn it!’
Tiera spat on his corpse. ‘Come on. He’s done. Let him rot here.’
‘The plan! We need this airship to reach the Schiehallion.’
‘There is more than one raincatcher in the skyport.’
‘How did she take it?’ Damien asked.
‘Exactly as you’d expect.’ V’s stunned grief broke Gallows’ heart, and he deserved the rage she directed towards him for not telling her about Marrin sooner.
The Watch carriage spun through the streets. Most of Petrel’s Tail was deserted, the Info Towers seeping paranoia and fear into the air. It was strange, and almost sad, to see the skyport so quiet. Ga
llows often regarded it as a town itself, its cavernous walls shielding its denizens from the outside world.
The carriage clattered on the dusty road. The sweet smells of street food still clung to the air, mingling with machinery, oil and ignium.
The Talon occupied its landing pad like an emperor on his throne. It dwarfed most other airships of its class. Hell, it looked almost as fearsome as the Schiehallion, with ice-blue flames painted across its steel and blackwood hull. He looked forward to seeing it in action.
Valentine pulled the door open. ‘Vaughan’s dead. The Whimsy’s done—but we got something else.’
‘You can turn it on?’ Gallows asked.
‘I was a sky pirate, remember?’
‘Captains ain’t famed for handing out start-up keys.’
‘How do you think I blackmailed Fitz into giving me a job? Just see that the RSF don’t crash it.’
‘Fair enough.’
Tiera stepped from the console. ‘You helped me in the Remembrance Tower.’
‘Is that a thank you or an apology for sucker-punching me?’
‘Neither. But I owe you a favour. I see Cronin in the Gravehold, I’ll gut him for you. Slow. Since you’re less useless than the rest of these fools.’
Well, that was probably the best compliment Gallows could have received from her. ‘Appreciated,’ he said. He looked to Damien, standing with arms crossed. ‘But I got that covered.’
Tiera shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
The room shuddered.
Engines growled, ignium charged—and the Liberty Wind soared.
Chapter Thirty-One
‘There’s a million ways I imagined this falling on its ass,’ said Gallows. ‘I didn’t reckon a locked door would be one of ’em.’
Lockwood sat in the captain’s chair. Its wheels squeaked and fabric burst from its seams, but she didn’t look any less commanding for it. ‘Specialist Lestra, any response?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘Do we abort?’ Royce asked.
Lockwood thought about it.
‘If N’Keres suspected anything,’ Gallows started, ‘he’d blow us out of the air.’
The Bride’s Code transmitter signalled with stuttering beeps. ‘It’s the Schiehallion,’ said Lestra. ‘He’s asking why we’re in the Wind and not the Whimsy.’
‘Delicate pharmaceutical operations,’ Lockwood said.
‘Offer N’Keres drugs,’ Damien suggested. ‘Tiera said it’s what Vaughan would do.’
Lestra tapped the answer into the console.
Beyond the skyglass, the Schiehallion hung there, challenging all who looked upon it. The crimson, gold and purple of the Dalthean flag hung from it, but Gallows wasn’t fooled—it was a beast, ferocious and eager to bloody its teeth.
‘They’ve agreed to let us in,’ said Lestra. As she spoke, the Schiehallion’s rear hangar door edged open.
Lockwood squared her shoulders. ‘Positions.’
It broke Tiera’s heart to see the Wind sail away.
The Overseer possessed none of her beauty. Humming instruments replaced music and po-faced crew replaced banter.
Castle Rochefort sprawled into view, and the black chasm surrounding it opened up. The sheer black cliff face stared back at her, sharp rocks jutting out like thorns. They’d pierce the Overseer’s envelope if she strayed too close.
‘Ready up!’ Valentine called. Most of the RSF were young, barely out of cadet school by the looks of them. Valentine was different; she sported a scar on her cheek and a bruise over her eye, and handled her rifle like she loved it. Cold fury blazed in her eyes. It meant nothing; it meant her rage was controlled. Tiera’s ran rampant like a stampede of unbroken stallions, wild and free. It was easy to surrender to the strength it gave you.
‘The castle is hailing us.’ That was one of the finisa Lockwood had saddled Tiera with.
‘Give them the response and descend,’ said Valentine.
‘Ma’am.’
The Overseer sloped into the chasm surrounding the castle, darkness draping around her silver hull.
I’m coming, Fitz.
Crimson warning lights, standing shoulder to shoulder with his comrades, air thick with tension—the Wind’s cargo bay reminded Gallows of the assault boats Dalthea used to liberate the Sanctecano Islands.
The Vindicator in his arms was a solid, reassuring weight. His shortsword hung at his side and the knife slept in its sheath—but his primary weapon stood next to him.
‘Are you feeling okay?’ asked Damien.
‘Fine. You?’
Damien’s voice was coarse like crushed glass when he spoke. ‘Somewhat nervous. Treason. Violence. Death. And above all, I can’t remember if I left the stove on.’
It had been a while since Gallows laughed.
Lockwood stood at the front; she wasn’t the type of commander to lead from the back. All-out offense wasn’t the objective, but no-one had told her. Armed with a Vindicator and an Aludanian claymore across her back, she looked like she could take on Belios himself. The sword had an angled cross-guard and barbed quatrefoils. Gallows had only ever seen them hanging on walls before.
She would be first out. The element of surprise would only be maintained for a second—they had to make it count. With any luck, N’Keres would greet them in the hangar himself. One bullet could end this. Gallows had to hope.
‘They’re in the hangar.’ Lestra’s voice hissed through the intercom. ‘Ten men. Armed.’
‘Is N’Keres with them?’ Lockwood asked.
‘Negative.’
Lockwood’s shoulders sagged before she squared up again. ‘So be it.’
Gallows couldn’t begin to imagine how it would feel to give the order to fire on your own side.
The cargo door descended. Air hissed. A thin blade of light cut through the darkness.
‘Riot shields.’ The squad from the Overseer circled her, riot shields locked together.
The ramp hit the floor with a thud.
The welcome party were already there, guns trained on Lockwood. ‘Stand down! General N’Keres is under arrest. Who is in command?’
Lieutenant Augostino stepped out, face grim. ‘I am.’ Gallows recognised him from the Remembrance.
‘Lieutenant,’ started Lockwood, ‘I have in my possession evidence that General N’Keres is a war criminal and a murderer. Stand down.’
‘I can’t do that, Commander. You have no authority here.’
‘Things have changed! New information has come to light.’ Lockwood stepped forward, the phalanx of riot shields inching forward. Augostino’s troops took aim.
‘Hold your fire!’ yelled the lieutenant. ‘Rowena Lockwood, I am placing you under arrest.’
‘Damn it, man, we have proof!’
Augostino held his hand up. ‘Then we’ll examine it together. Your men are all committing treason. Have them relinquish their weapons and I’ll see to it they come to no harm.’
Beyond the airship’s hold, a red warning light spun. The Schiehallion’s hangar closed like a lid over a casket. Inside the Liberty Wind, behind the blockade of riot shields, Gallows exchanged a look with Damien. ‘Good luck.’
‘Lieutenant, I say again,’ called Lockwood. ‘Stand down.’
‘Your men don’t need to follow you to the noose!’
‘Damn the Gods, Augostino—you’re involved, aren’t you?’
‘No-one has to die today!’
‘What was it? Wet work for N’Keres? Murder for Thackeray? Smuggling for Zoven?’
Augostino bared his teeth. ‘Rowena…’
Lockwood addressed the troops forming up against her. ‘You men and women don’t need to die.’
Augostino raised his pistol. Lockwood dived behind the riot shields as the bullet grazed her shoulder.
It was the toll that heralded the storm.
Tiera charged through the Gravehold tunnel.
Need to find Fitz. Nothing else matters.
Shadows flickered li
ke the flame on a candle on ash-black walls. The lamps here were worse than Dustwynd. Gurgling water flowed through an unseen pump, pipes trembling against their braces.
Three tunnels opened up. ‘Y’all take the left,’ ordered Valentine. ‘You three, centre. Martelo, we take the right. RV back here in thirty minutes with Fallon or without. Move!’
Tiera gripped her knives and ran with Valentine.
The whole place was a honeycomb of falls and precipices. Twice in the space of a minute she lost her footing and fell into the dirt.
A sad song whispered from the yawning depths. The deeper they delved, the louder it got. Darkness, like Nyr’s funeral shroud wrapping around her. Panic churned in Tiera’s belly, the same as when she had escaped from the monastery. She forced it out. She wasn’t Yulia the naïve sister any more.
She was Tiera goddamn Martelo.
Shards of glass erupted as the riot gear cracked beneath the storm of bullets. Lockwood’s rifle spat hot metal through her former colleagues while her own men fell at her feet.
Augostino disappeared as soon as the gunfire started. His men were cut down in seconds, but the hangar was a big place. More troops spilled out of entryways like rats seeking refuge from the rain.
‘High ground, two o’clock!’ Royce’s voice cut through the noise. Gallows took aim—but the soldier’s head exploded before he pulled the trigger.
‘Find cover!’
‘Incoming!’
‘Ten o’clock!
Gallows dived behind a pile of cargo crates. Bullets pinged off the surface, wood chipping and splintering over him. He broke cover, took aim and fired, rolling on the ground to the next set of crates. A kid fell from a balcony, blood trailing in the air from the hole Gallows put in him. It was the fall that killed him.
Gallows gave Royce cover fire as the young man advanced towards him.
‘-outflank us, spread out!’
‘Hostiles coming, three o’clock!’
‘Cover!’
‘-don’t die, don’t die-’
Symphony of the Wind Page 58
