Florian threw his set to Joe who caught them in the air. “Joe, go with Trypp and let them out. Crabs, Cherry, keep watch on the front door. Molely, Syd, you’ve got the back.” The Ravens hustled to their tasks. Florian looked at Motega with a look of deep regret on his face. “I’m sorry, Mot.”
Motega raised his eyebrows. “Why? What have I done?”
Florian kicked the Pyrfew soldier at his feet, rolling him over on to his back. There was a big puncture wound in the man’s chest that bubbled blood. “Not you. There were more of your people. I didn’t have any choice.” Motega looked the dead man up and down, it was the tall one with the spear that he had seen earlier. He had the look of Alfjarun, though from his smooth face he might not have been much older than fifteen. “I think there’s another one over there too.”
Motega sighed. He’d hoped vainly that Vakaka would be an isolated occurrence, though he knew that outcome was unlikely. And now he had the proof. “That’s alright, Florian. At least I didn’t have to do it.”
“Florian! Motega! Thank you so much,” came a call from behind him. He turned in time to see Alana running toward him, and before he knew it she squeezed him tightly. She let go and then tried to wrap her arms around Florian, not quite managing it, but Motega noticed that it seemed like he got the longer embrace. Why did that always happen? Fin was still wearing her black mask, and she pulled it up over her forehead. “Fin! Of course you came too.” Alana swept her up in a hug, almost picking the girl up off the floor.
Dolph, Sergeant Morris, Forest, Midnight and Bors walked down the stairs behind her. There was a quick round of handshakes and backslaps, though he could see the sadness in the faces of the Ravens at the sight of the lifeless Morrissey.
“We need to get out of here,” growled Trypp as he paced uneasily. “It’s time to go home.”
“Wait,” said Alana. “Neno is locked up in here somewhere. Probably the other Devoted too. We have to let them out.”
“We don’t have time for all that, but we’ll let Neno out. Joe, go and find him. What about the Assembly members? You need them?”
Alana shook her head, hands on her hips. “I say let them rot. They had their chance, and they’ve got what they asked for now. What do you mean, ‘time to go home’?”
Florian had his arms crossed on his chest, looking suitably imposing. “We’re heading for Kingshold. Crews should have the ship waiting for us. We don’t need to be here anymore. If we’re lucky the celebrations outside will give us cover to get out.”
She nodded her head slowly, apparently considering what they should do. She didn’t realize there wasn’t another option.
“We can’t go yet.” Alana faced Motega. “You said Neenahwi wasn’t sure whether Pyrfew wanted the city or the church. Well, they’ve got the Assembly members, but there are still parties outside. That doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t they lock the city down?”
Motega shrugged. “I don’t know. Unless…”
“Unless they are going after the church. The Saint. Neenahwi said you have to try to stop them. We have to try to stop them.”
He stamped his foot and spun around the spot. “Fuck!” Why did his sister always complicate everything? Motega looked at each of his companions in turn. Florian. Trypp. Fin. The Ravens. “Look, it’s up to you. No foul if you want to make it back to the docks and get out to the ship. But I’ve got to go to the Sanctum.”
Motega was humbled as each of them said they would go with him. Even Trypp didn’t make a meal of the decision. Florian whistled to Crabs and Cherry from the far end of the room, and they all walked grim-faced back out to the canal.
“Cheer up, mate,” said Florian. “You never know. Pyrfew might not be interested in the church after all. We might get lucky for once.”
Motega smiled at the man who was his oldest friend. The one who had always been there for him. He loved him, but boy, he didn’t think there was much chance of Florian being right this time.
Chapter 42
The Sanctum
After the adrenaline and exultation of being liberated had worn off, her legs had begun to protest against the sudden freedom they enjoyed. The cells they had been placed in really were no more than cages; she wasn’t tall and she couldn’t stand, so she couldn’t imagine how the others had managed. They hadn’t complained so Alana kept her grumbles to herself, but now that she was sitting in the boat, squeezed in between Fin and Sergeant Morris, her cramped muscles felt like they were being lanced with hot needles. However, she had to admit that moving everyone by the punted boat was better than the alternative. She laughed in Motega’s face when he had suggested they take to the ‘skyway’, gesturing at the rooftops. When she’d finally realized he was being serious she told him that there was no bloody way she was jumping between buildings. So the boat it was.
They took the long route, through the network of narrow canals that ran through the old city like veins in moldy cheese, out to the Fan. They hardly looked like revelers, even wrapped in the colorful blankets that someone had been shrewd enough to pack earlier, and so it was best to stay away from the grand canal where the throngs would be thickest. It was a clear, crisp winter’s night and she looked up at the stars shining down, and the moment of peace gave her mind plenty of chance to protest the prospect of heading toward danger. She tried to distract herself by watching the festivities as they progressed; crowds of people partying on the street, or dancing on balconies. Some cheered and called hello to any passersby, including them. Others jeered at their lack of festive spirit, but at least someone was charitable enough to throw down a stoppered bottle of something. Florian caught it, shouting his thanks and laughing, before taking a swig. It quickly passed around the boat, Dolph taking a couple of chugs, before it reached her. She considered just giving it to Fin; after all, did she really need to be buzzed when she might be waltzing into a fight with Pyrfew soldiers?
Yes, she did.
Alana took a long chug and then passed it on to Fin. Fin shook her head and passed it back to Florian, who promptly finished it. Fin looked stiff; uncomfortable. Not the same confident woman who had been working with her the past few weeks. Or who had saved her at the ball. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been lacking in confidence in the fight back at the prison either, from what she saw from her caged vantage.
“You were supposed to kill the Speaker,” said Alana, stating what she’d known for a while. “You weren’t an insurance policy for my protection. You were the insurance policy if I failed.”
“How did you know?” Fin didn’t hide her surprise.
“I could tell. You were thinking about it before the Pyrfew soldiers came.”
Fin nodded. “Yes, the Speaker was part of the contract. But not if you failed. If talking failed. If they wouldn’t listen.”
“Sounds like the same to me,” said Alana shrugging. She wished there was some more of that brandy.
“The other half of the contract was to protect you. It’s still to protect you. I have to get you home or I’ll have failed my first contract.”
“Is that why you’re looking like a cat in the rain? You’re afraid of flunking on a contract?” Alana laughed. “Depending on what happens there’s a good chance we might all flunk. Permanently.”
“I’m not afraid of dying,” she said, much too earnestly for a girl younger than herself. “When you’re around death so much, you almost think of it as family. You might not necessarily like it, but you’ll spend time with it no matter what you do.”
It took Alana a moment to realize that she had made a joke. She laughed, and Fin smiled, which was good to see. “What is it then?”
“I’m not used to working with people,” confessed Fin. “I’m an assassin. I always wanted to be an assassin. I didn’t pick that vocation to be part of a team. The past few weeks have been so… hard. And now, here I am, working with all of you.” She waved her hand toward the rest of the people in the boat, and Florian looked at her with a puzzled look. “No offens
e!” she said to the big fighter quickly. Florian shrugged it off wordlessly.
For some reason, hearing Fin talk about her insecurities made her feel better about her own. It made her realize that probably everyone in the boat had some baggage they were dealing with, had something that concerned them as they went to the temple of Arloth. She didn’t have a chance to respond to Fin though. Bors, who was at the front of the boat, called out in a hushed tone to tell them all to be quiet as they were about to enter the grand canal and cross over to the Isle of the Sanctum. She grabbed Fin’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She was surprised when Fin wouldn’t let go.
The grand canal was full of the narrow boats of citizens who had taken the festivities to the water. Mandolins played, drums were pounded, and people sung songs that she thought Arloth would probably not have approved of. They weaved their way through the traffic until they pulled up against the long stone wall of the island, deciding on stopping away from the dock. The Sanctum flickered in yellows and oranges, lit by bonfires in massive iron fire pits. Iliana’s Square was full of people.
Was no one sleeping in this city tonight?
Many of them were probably waiting for the great doors to be opened for the midnight mass, but a decent number of them were probably just there for the carts selling wine straight from the cask. As they got out of the boat, Florian handed her a rapier and a small metal-clad wooden shield.
“What’s this for?” she asked.
“To protect yourself. You’ll be surprised at how good that pointy thing can be against people in chain. Just remember to stick and not slash.”
“But I don’t know how to use this,” she said, holding the shield up.
“It’s easy. Instead of getting hit, put that thing in the way.” He winked at her. “You’ll be fine. Let’s go and see what trouble you’re getting us into.”
Florian and Sergeant Morris led the way through the crowd. Walking two by two in this way they pushed their way to the steep marble steps of the temple. Church knights lined the stairs and stood in front of the open doors; no doubt tasked with keeping the rabble out of the holy place.
They marched up the stairs quickly and Florian announced them.
“I bring Ambassador Narring to see the Saint,” he said with confidence.
“No one comes in until midnight. Everyone is busy. If you are who you say you are then you can ask to see him after the mass,” said one of the knights, who looked quite the picture of godly authority in his white and gold tabard.
“It’s very important that I see him now,” said Alana, on tip-toe so she could see over Florian’s shoulder.
“I don’t think you’re more important than Arloth, now are you miss. Get back down there with the rest of them. Be smart, you’ve only got fifteen minutes until the lanterns. Enjoy that and then the doors will be open to all,” he said, gesturing to the mass of humanity with a nod of his head.
Florian shared a look with his old sergeant, then turned back to her. “Get ready to run,” he whispered.
Run? Where? she thought.
Florian jammed his fist into the nose of the knight, Sergeant Morris doing the same to the guard in front of him, catching them both completely by surprise. Before their arses had hit the floor, the two men had set off at a run into the Sanctum.
Oh, run!
The midnight mass for the Blessing of the Children was the newest of the three feasts of Wintertide, though there had only been five years between Arloth coming to the people and the birth of this festival. The stories said that when the First Saint became eighteen, three years and three days after the first ever Blessing of the Swords, the spirit of Arloth left her for a new host. Another child who was part of the flock, a small boy this time; and thus became the realization that the children were most blessed in Arloth’s mind. Since that day, whenever the spirit of Arloth moved to a new child, it had always coincided with the Blessing of the Children. No one knew when it would happen, it wasn’t always related to when a child came of age, sometimes it happened before, and so the Sanctum was packed every year with hopeful parents bringing their children to potentially be touched by their god.
But Alana was not thinking about that. She had more important things at the front of her mind as she pumped her arms as best she could, trying to get her legs moving fast enough to keep up with the old soldier in front. But Morris was surprisingly quick, and the shield and rapier made it difficult for her to run without doing herself an injury. She chanced a look over her shoulder and saw the rest of the group following behind her, most of the white tabarded church knights close behind Motega and Trypp, but a couple having the wherewithal to stop and close the great brass doors to avoid any more people rushing inside.
The Sanctum was mostly empty, though in twenty minutes the place would be heaving. At the far end, in the apse, she could make out the white robed figures of the priests, presumably preparing for the most important ceremony of the year.
Church guards called for them to stop and shouted warnings to the priests who had been oblivious to what was happening. Some of them looked up at the warning, picked up their skirts and ran for the doors, but one figure stopped what he was doing and looked toward them.
And then waved.
She only now realized how big this place was. She was still a hundred yards away and it felt like she had been running for an age. Alana panted. She knew she was fit, she’d been working on her feet for many years; but she didn’t really have much call to be running, what with growing up on the right side of the law. Soon she could see more clearly the people she was running toward. It was definitely the boy Saint waving, and she saw another white robed figure with a tall hat on his head trying to pull him away, but the Saint would not budge.
Florian neared the Saint and Alana saw him slow to a walk, calling out something that she couldn’t really hear. A few seconds later she was pulling alongside him and Morris, facing off against the boy and the Archimandrite.
“Alana. How nice to see you!” said the Saint excitedly. “But now is probably not the best time. Why are you running?”
Everyone else caught up. Morris pointed to his squad, barking orders for them to turn around and face the rapidly approaching group of guards. Alana kept walking forward.
“I’m sorry for bursting in. We appear to have upset some of your people,” she said indicating the knights that had now also slowed to a walk, encircling them with swords drawn. “But I need to talk to you.”
“Oh, no problem,” said the Saint looking at the guards, as if he was only just cognizant that they were there. “No problem here everyone. They are friends.” The Saint smiled and the guards en-masse sheathed their swords and stood at ease. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” said the boy, looking back at Alana.
“Saint. Do not believe this charlatan,” interrupted the Archimandrite, his angry face reminding her a little too much of what the Speaker looked like just before he was arrested. “Edland is not to be trusted.” All the while he spoke to the Saint, the Archimandrite was giving her the evil eye.
She ignored his words, and spoke quickly in case the Saint was tempted to change his mind. She wasn’t sure that the guards had so much obeyed his orders as obeyed his feelings. “Please, listen to me. The Assembly has been deposed. Pyrfew soldiers arrested them all and have them held captive. Pyrfew was responsible for the attack on the ball. They might be coming for you next.”
“Poppycock!” said the Archimandrite. “They would not come here.”
The boy turned to look at the old man with a look of disappointment on his face. “You knew about this,” he stated, suddenly privy to the Archimandrite’s machinations.
“You need not worry, my boy. I did this for you. For the glory of the Church. Come the morning, we will finally have achieved Arloth’s wishes of being able to truly guide the people of Ioth.”
“I am not a boy.” He stamped his foot, rather ruining the point of his protestations. “I am your Saint, and I know that A
rloth wants nothing of the sort. How can we trust Pyrfew? Have you thought of that?”
“We have an understanding. You heard them say they wanted to bring the Church to the empire. You yourself did not detect any subterfuge.”
“You can’t trust them!” shouted Alana. “The Speaker thought he had an understanding with them too. Now he’s in a cage. What are they going to do to you?”
Before the Saint could answer a sound of cheering came from outside as the bells began to toll midnight. The lanterns would be rising into the air right about then. She’d really looked forward to seeing the spectacle before all of this happened. The Saint was also momentarily distracted as he gazed out toward the doorway.
“Saint, you need to send these ruffians on their way,” said the Archimandrite, his voice dripping with poisoned honey. “We must finish our preparations for the mass. Your people will be expecting it.”
The Saint looked at him, puzzled, and then nodded his head. Alana glanced over her shoulder at the guards and saw that they too were looking confused, wondering why their swords were in their sheathes, the charmed calm of the knights starting to fade as the Saint’s attention shifted back to the original purpose of the evening.
Shit! as Neenahwi would say.
Alana looked back at Florian and Morris who had also noticed; she could tell they were assessing their options of how they could get out of there. This had been a fool’s errand.
“Alana,” said the Saint. “Let us discuss this more later. Please stay for the service. All of you.” The boy smiled. “We will talk about this later, I pro—”
The cheers outside stopped and there was an unnatural silence. Some people might have said it was like when the animals of the forest discover there is a hunter in their midst. Instead Alana was reminded of the Narrows when the tax collectors were doing their rounds. Then the screams started and the sound of thousands of people trying to run, followed by desperate bangs on the door to be granted admittance.
Ioth, City of Lights Page 44
