The Tavernkeep gave me a long, slow look, with a secretive smile at its heart. “Your word is always good here, Green.” He stepped into the kitchen, his tail flicking back and forth.
Binding my slashed palm with a bit of rag, I found my mouth watering to the smell of Selistani cooking. Even the pardines seemed to have taken to it. But there was a musk in the room tonight, something stronger than the odor of wet fur and winter on the backs of these strangers. Was it the scent of a Hunt coming together?
Did I care about that?
I turned to scan the room. The Dancing Mistress caught my eye. Between us, pardines shifted their chairs, or stood to find other places in the room. A lane was being cleared. Perhaps we were to fight.
On my best day, I could do no more than battle her to a draw. Now, pregnant, bruised, battered, and tired, I would not even think to stand to the combat. If she wanted to take me down, she could. Rangy strength and an intimate knowledge of my own weaknesses as a fighter were a combination I didn’t care to challenge.
Besides, I held secret what she most desired. The Rectifier still carried the Eyes of the Hills for me. The old rogue, priest killer and historian of his kind, was as close to an unbeliever in the human sense as I had ever known a pardine to be. He understood the power in the Eyes of the Hills. He simply did not care.
Was all of this what Erio had feared? The larger circles of plot that spun around me were so vast, the entire fate of Copper Downs was but a cog in their gearing. I could fight only one battle at a time.
Well, perhaps as many as three or four.
The principle was the same.
A bowl clicked on the bar beside me. I turned away from the burgeoning challenge and began to eat my supper.
Behind me, the noise of the tavern resumed.
The door banged open. Wind howled for a moment, pushing a frosty gust through the room before being cut off again. The murmur of voices did not die this time, so I was willing to take it on trust that no maniac was charging me from behind with a naked blade. Besides, the Tavernkeep had not lowered his ears.
The meal was hot, and spicy. Someone had found a selection of actual Selistani vegetables—roots and peppers that could have been harvested from any garden in Kalimpura, though here they must have traveled across the Storm Sea in the hold of a ship. Wasteful but delicious. The meat was Stone Coast mutton, unfortunately.
Still, it was a taste of home. Of my other home.
I realized all over again that I would never settle the question of home. Not in my mind, not in my heart. I promised my child she would not ever be so beset by confusion. Even to my own thoughts, the statement seemed hollow, for all my intentions.
First, survive the night. Second, stop these plots and counterplots. Third, keep my child disentangled from them all. Fourth, free Corinthia Anastasia and my fellow Blades. Perhaps my priorities were backwards.
Or perhaps not.
As I finished my bowl of bastard stew, I resisted the temptation to put aside my knives. I would not fight the Dancing Mistress, not now, not ever. And it was not in my desire to battle anyone else tonight. But there was violence to come. Some of it would surely be directed at me. What could I do but respond from my place at the heart of the storm?
I wiped my mouth on a bar rag, smiled at the Tavernkeep, then slipped from my stool and turned to face my old teacher. As I did so, the gentle buzz of voices died once more.
They’d all been waiting for this, pardine Revanchists and city pardines. Likewise the Selistani onlookers. I suppose I had too, ever since that day when she and I had defeated Federo, our co-conspirator from the earliest times.
Now was a time to pass over our differences. I did not need pardine power loose in the city, least of all a Hunt. But I badly wished to give her a reason to return to her groves and mountaintop meadows.
And I had one.
I walked toward the Dancing Mistress.
She rose from her table, stepped around her supporters, and stood before me.
“Green.”
I nodded sharply. “Dancing Mistress.”
Her tail whipped back and forth, but her ears did not lie flat. This evening she was wearing loose leather, almost armor. So unlike her city ways from the whole time I’d known her and held her as my teacher, let alone our brief period of being lovers. That bond had fallen dormant under so much else that had passed since.
She spoke next. “We search.”
“I know. And I have found.” I let a smile slide across my face. She would understand the expression. The Dancing Mistress had been as citified a pardine as I’d ever met.
“What?” she almost whispered. “What have you found?”
The silence around us deepened. So many in this room were Revanchists.
“Back in Kalimpura,” I said, “I killed a man named Michael Curry for the gems that he carried. I did not know then what stakes were in play. Surali of the Bittern Court brought those gems back across the sea here to Copper Downs. She had planned to barter them for more power, but I have taken them away from her.” I looked around the room, catching in my own gaze glittering pardine eyes with their barred pupils. “They were not hers to sell.”
“Nor are they yours,” breathed the Dancing Mistress.
“No. Neither are they mine.” I sighed. Here was the play I needed to make, the edge I had been forced to approach. “So I gave them away.”
The sigh ran around the room as if one breath from several dozen mouths. Muscles rippled, chairs scraped. It seemed the whole pardine nation was ready to spring upon me.
“I gave them away,” I continued, interrupting whatever words were forming on the Dancing Mistress’ lips as her claws flexed, “because I gave them back to you.”
“Do not toy with me,” she snapped. Her ears had lain back flat. The Revanchists at her table were all on their feet, tails flicking.
“No. I will tell you of the meaning of my actions, but I ask a bargain.”
“None will bargain in ill faith,” growled a male beside her.
“This is not your soulpath.” I bared my teeth at him.
“What bargain?” The Dancing Mistress ignored her fellow.
“This one: That you take the Eyes of the Hills…” I paused, to let another sigh ripple through the room. I had their attention even more fully now, if that was possible. “Take the Eyes of the Hills back to their shrine and trouble this city no more with dreams of lost power. Every measure of that dance has long since been trodden. You will not find your elder days amid our ruins, nor in the promises of southerners bearing lost treasures.”
“You make promises now,” she said.
“No.” I spread my hands. Empty, weaponless, softly blunt-fingered as any human being’s. “There is nothing I promise. All I do is deliver. Deliver, and ask you to walk away from a fight that was never yours.”
“They stole…” the male began uncertainly.
I focused on him. “They did. How shall I redeem that theft now? How can more death reclaim what was lost? Besides, what I have heard is you gave away power as much as it was stolen from you.”
“We could not be who we were,” the Dancing Mistress said. “We can only become who it is left to us to be. If that is a twilight people, so it is for us.”
“Have we a bargain?” I asked.
“Show your terms.”
I waited a long beat. “Have we a bargain?” I stared intently into her eyes, willing the old trust between us to spark back to life.
“We have a bargain,” she said slowly. I knew she’d taken my meaning.
Another long, quiet moment passed. The musk in the room seemed to thin a bit. A few pardines relaxed; one or two even took their seats again.
“The Eyes of the Hills are safe.” I looked around at all of them. “I gave the gems to the Rectifier. He will guard them for you. What you make of the Eyes of the Hills is between you and him.”
The Dancing Mistress shook her head, then snorted, that almost-sneeze that passed fo
r laughter among the pardines. Amusement, self-mockery, a lightening of the heart, I could not say. “You gave the most sacred stones of our people to a priest killer?”
“Who better? He of you all knows best the weaknesses of that sort of faith.” And they were welcome to try to take the gems from him. I could not have found a safer hiding place in a bank’s strong room.
“You spin the divine the way some people spin wool.”
“Never!” I took a breath, calmed myself. “The divine clings to me the way wool clings to some people, perhaps. It is my business now and again to brush it off.”
Her amusement melted into sadness. “And so we depart, taking our power and our anger with us.”
“Well, yes. You have achieved what you came for. There is no need for further threat.”
“All well, Green, all well.” Her eyes narrowed, her ears flicking. “But for one thing. Where is the Rectifier?”
Every plan had a flaw. She had found the flaw in mine.
“He dogs a pair of god killers for me,” I said, speaking honestly. “I go now to resolve that fate.”
Her voice was cool now. “You sent the Eyes of the Hills into the hands of god killers?”
“I placed the Eyes of the Hills into the hands of the Rectifier.” My ground felt less certain now. My foolishness was laid clear.
“We will depart when he comes to us and shows what he carries.” She sat down, her stare narrow and emphatic. The tension melted from the room to be replaced with a wary waiting.
“Then I shall see to him.”
I had definitely outstayed my welcome here. Glad I’d eaten on my arrival, I slipped back into the driving sleet of the evening.
* * *
The time had come for me to confront Iso and Osi. I had broached all the allies I could. The Rectifier was dogging them or he was not. Archimandrix would succeed in overwhelming the Selistani embassy or he would not. Mother Iron, in her new guise, would support me or she would not. Endurance had given me as much blessing as I might have hoped for from my ox god.
Later on, if need be I would turn my face away from Blackblood, and even the Lily Goddess. Tonight I would defend them, so that when I did walk free of their influence, my escape would be on my own terms. With my child free as well.
Such foolish hopes I had then.
The storm was breaking up as I hurried toward the twins’ warehouse lair. The clouds spread ragged across the sky, and a tired moon glimmered down. My feet slipped on icy cobbles, and I felt so huge, so unbalanced, like a tree on the edge of falling. I had no idea what I hoped to accomplish now—all my plans seemed to have flowed out of me, leaving only a curious admixture of determination and fatigue.
But I knew that I must face down the twins, and trust Mother Iron and Endurance to stand at my back when I needed them most.
Nothing moved on the streets. The wind still knifed. All sane persons were long indoors. By the time I reached the warehouse, stars stabbed the night sky, and the moon had found a sliver of her usual courage. If anything, the air was even colder.
I didn’t bother with the roof. I recalled all too vividly what had happened the last time I tried that route. Not so many days ago, but the baby kept changing me. Robbing my lithe balance to feed her growth. What could I do but honor that? I could hardly postpone protecting her.
That left the side, where I’d exited from my previous raid here. And where was the Rectifier? I’d expected him somewhere around the area, since he hadn’t been at the Tavernkeep’s place.
Or there was always the front entrance. Big, rolling doors meant to admit heavy freight wagons. I wished one or another of my little divine interventions had left me with some pyrotechnic magic, but the gods seemed far more interested in annoying me than gifting me.
Such an entrance would certainly make an impression.
I looked up and down the street. Several unloaded wagon rigs were parked for the night, but their teams were safely stabled out of the horrid weather. While I could in theory roll a wagon through the doors, the practical mechanics of accomplishing that were a bit beyond my current resources. Still, the idea of a dramatic attack certainly appealed to me far more than breaking in through the entrance they’d be watching most closely.
No one left cargo in a wagon overnight, not unless they were sleeping atop it weapon in hand, but what was in the warehouses around me?
A quick fifteen minutes invested in peering through windows—no roof climbing here either, not on this icy night—confirmed that the second warehouse up Theobalde Avenue from Iso and Osi’s lair supplied at least some portion of Copper Downs with candles, wax, paraffin, and lamp oil. If I couldn’t make trouble out of a couple of barrels of high-grade lamp oil, then I might as well give up and open a restaurant.
Forcing entry was trivial. Their locks were simple, meant to discourage vandals and children. On a night such as this, the watchmen were off drinking with the thieves, or huddled over a stove somewhere in the back. And there were no stoves in this warehouse, I was certain of it. The air inside smelled like an accident waiting to happen. No one smoked tabac here either, I’d guess, or hempweed. Or anything else involving sparks and flame.
Surely these people have heard of vents?
But not when the air was freezing. I’d guess it might grow cold enough to gel some of their oils.
The interior was a bit lower-ceilinged than the twins’ building, surrounded by catwalks near the top. I thought I saw a crane up there, but sorting out its mechanisms was more trouble than I cared to take right now. Rows of shelves and racks and wooden footings held the seeds of destruction that I sought. This place was a pyromaniac’s delight, better even than a fireworks factory.
I smiled.
Working only by the moonlight from the high, narrow windows—and who would hoist a loaded barrel of oil up and out a window?—I found a rack of exactly what I was looking for. Lamp oil, with taps already placed in three of the barrels. I wasn’t about to shift that kind of dead weight around, but the collection of ramps and levers meant to load barrels on and off the rack were stored close by. How thoughtful.
I worked the first two barrels off. One of them was decidedly light in weight, so I pushed it aside and fetched the third out. It made a nice, heavy slosh. I had to be careful not to knock the taps off. They weren’t meant to roll about in this condition, but I didn’t need to move them far. From the inside, I opened the streetward freight door, and trundled both barrels outside. Slipping back in, I secured the freight door, then chocked the office door shut on my way out. No sense in inviting criminal behavior to follow me wherever I went.
The barrels rumbled on the cobbles outside as I shifted them one at a time to the front of Iso and Osi’s warehouse. Fine, if they heard me, they heard me. I was too involved in my plan to stop now. At any rate, that noise was nothing like what someone alert for me dropping through the skylight would be listening for.
I positioned the second barrel so the bung was almost at the top of its rotation. This rendered the side-mounted tap useless, but meant I could break it off at need to set a fire. My last step before doing so was to scavenge some relatively dry wood from the bottom of a junk pile in the alley beside the warehouse. Using one of the short boards, I knocked the tap off.
Oil spilled. Terrific.
I let the stuff soak my lengths of dry wood, then stacked them against the still-sealed barrel. A few moments later, lucifer matches had a flame started that the oil took nicely even in the whistling, cold wind.
I figured I could not lose. Either the barrels would burn, which would spill flaming oil under their front door; or they would blow up, which would shoot flaming oil under their front door. That the Interim Council would be seeing a substantial bill was a bit of a bonus, so far as I was concerned. Or even better, Lampet’s Reformed Council. As for myself, I was cold, hungry, and tired. And I had not yet begun to fight.
Let someone else suffer a bit.
The oil caught and bloomed. I scooted awa
y fast, keeping upwind in case the barrels decided to explode and spray. A doorway across the street and one building over beckoned me with a deep vestibule. I’d noted earlier that the floor there was an imitation of a Sunward Sea mosaic, done either by someone homesick or a student of the foreign art. It wasn’t bad, really, and a fine place to rest my feet while I waited to see what might erupt at the twins’ warehouse.
I hadn’t counted on the doorway being occupied on my return.
* * *
“Green,” said the Rectifier. He loomed close. His fur stank of wet weather and drowned cat.
I stifled a shriek. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” He glanced up at my little fire, which was burning merrily. It seemed the flaming leak was going to be the answer, as nothing had exploded yet. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to smoke out Iso and Osi.”
“They have gone to the Temple Quarter. Apparently this was an auspicious night for them to challenge your Blackblood.”
I was in the wrong place!
Everything was at risk. As he fell, so fell the Lily Goddess in time. “By the Wheel, I need to be there.”
One enormous hand lay heavily on my shoulder. “Have a care.” Claws pricked, even through layers of my leather vest and canvas shirt. “I do not think you should walk alone.”
“I have you,” I said recklessly. Behind me, one of the barrels went “whoosh.” The Rectifier’s face was suddenly a study in glare and chiaroscuro.
He shook his head. “Can you call your ox god? Or one of your friends Below?”
Sighing, I turned to look back on my act of pyromaniac vandalism. The barrels were burning ever stronger, the warehouse door was smoldering, but the wind was whipping both the flames and the spilled oil away faster than they could spread.
Apparently it was time for me to open a restaurant, because my two barrels of lamp oil weren’t even serving as a distraction. Let alone as the opening movement of any attack I might have intended to pursue.