Rif thought a moment, then started working her way toward the front of Megary Isle.
"Where you going?" Rat hissed. "Front-row seat." Rif whispered back, wriggling into the angle of a corner beam and its brace. Rat chuckled and followed her.
The argument between Chance Magruder and Old Man Megary came to a full stop with a shifting of wind. Both of them smelled the smoke and heard the noise at the same instant. Both of them stopped in mid-word and stared at each other, eyes widening with all-too-likely surmise.
In that moment's pause they clearly heard the house majordomo bellowing: "Everybody out! Fire on the second floor, west! Everybody—"
Megary shrieked a curse and ran to the window, threw open sash and grill and shutters, and peered out to see where the flames had reached.
Magruder only ran for the door.
"The records!" Megary screamed, recognizing that particular window where flames were climbing out and upward. "They threw one into the records-room! Lord, Lord, the files—"
"Open this door!" Magruder bellowed. "Unlock this damned door, you fool! Where's the key?"
"Locked? I didn't lock it."
Magruder swore incoherently and threw himself against the door.
Megary's construction was unusually sturdy, even for burglary-conscious Merovingen. The door barely echoed with the impact. Magruder rebounded with a sore shoulder, and tried an experimental kick. The door barely quivered.
Old Megary fumbled a keyring from his pocket, hurried to the door and fussed with the lock. "Damnation!" he squeaked. "It won't even go in! Someone's jammed it!"
A puff of visible smoke rolled in through the window. Megary's mumbling broke off in a fit of coughing.
"Is there another way out?" Magruder howled.
Old Man Megary only shook his head, then began pounding feebly on the door.
Magruder snapped a broken fragment of a Nev Hettek curse and ran for the open window. Below lay the water, three stories down.
Behind him, Old Megary began screaming thinly for help.
Magruder swung his legs over the sill, balanced a moment, took a deep breath, raised his arms over his head, and dived out.
Megary stopped screeching, smiled from ear to ear, and waited for the splash.
Splootf
Old Megary frowned, annoyed. A sharp, clean impact: the bastard must have dived right and landed well, was probably still alive. Hope he swallowed half the canal before coming up. Ah, well.
Megary shrugged, went to a full-length mirror on the right-hand wall, tugged at a concealed catch on the frame. The mirror—and the hidden door behind it— swung smoothly outward. Old Megary stepped through the narrow doorway and into the next room, opened the obvious door into the corridor, and walked unhurriedly toward the stairs.
Black Cal stood at the foot of the bridge, leaning casually into a patch of shadow. His little quartet of rookies obligingly did the same, even having the sense to keep their voices down to a near-inaudible whisper as they speculated on the fire, its sources, and Black Cal's reasons for waiting here so long. "Observe carefully," he'd told them. "Watch for details, and wait for my signal." Oh yes, they'd do that; nobody wanted to argue with a legend, especially when his last such sortie had won two of them a good, solid bust and much prestige. Work right with Black Cal and you'd climb far and fast. Besides, everyone knew about Megarys. Lord and Ancestors, what a fine big bust this could be!
Black Cal watched the bridge and waited. Megarys' boats were charred useless and the nearby walkways were loaded with small crowds of... innocently... loitering canalers (observe Rif's fine hand at work there), so this was the likeliest way for any escapees from the fire to take. Judging from the noise, flames, confusion and speed of the scampering silhouettes on the island, the commotion would come this way soon.
Aha! There: a small scurrying figure in rags, ducking from minimal cover to cover, heading this way. Right.
Black Cal signaled the other blacklegs to stay put, crouched in his patch of shadow and waited for the right instant.
The runner—identifiable now as a long-haired child— came pelting down the bridge, going all out. Wait, wait... Lunge!
Black Cal sprang out like a loosed arrow, grabbed the child around the body, swung her in a neat half-circle and dumped her—stunned, unharmed and gulping—on her feet, pinned against the railing by his immovable arm.
"Who are you, and what were you doing in Megary?" Black Cal asked, as calm and polite as if he were inquiring about the time of day.
"T-T-Tilda," the girl stammered. " 'N' I'm tryin' ter get away from 'em! They had me locked up there. Please, m'ser, I just wanter go home."
"How did you come to be in there?"
"A man grabbed me off Slaney's dock," Tilda whimpered, tears spilling out of her eyes. "He threw a bag over my head an' grabbed me up. I was goin' home. My Ma doesn' know where I am..."
"You were kidnapped and taken to Megarys?" Black Cal asked quietly, very precisely.
"Yey. Was." the child blubbered. "I cried at 'em ter lemme go home, but they wouldn' lissen..."
"I'll take you home, But first, do you want to get back at the slavers?"
"Y-yey..." Tilda stopped crying and looked up, hope dawning on her smudged face. "Ye goin' ter get 'em?"
"Slavery and abduction are crimes," said Black Cal. "You stay here behind me and identify the slavers for me as they came down the bridge. You understand?"
"Oh, yey." Tilda's face split in a wide, gap-toothed grin. "Hey ye're Black Cal, ain't'cha?"
Black Cal smiled, nodded, patted the girl's thin shoulder and stood up to look at the bridge. Oh yes, here came another batch of runners, two kids and a woman dressed like the girl, running maybe three fathoms ahead of a burly lout in a jangling belt full of keys and small weapons. The woman and kids were running all-out and wild-eyed. The man was well-dressed, and had a good-sized padded mace in his hand.
"I know him!" Tilda squeaked, pointing. "He snatched me!"
Black Cal signaled silently to his waiting squad, and pulled out a short truncheon of his own.
The woman and kids reached the foot of the bridge, ran right past Black Cal and his team without seeing them. The man came pounding into reach.
Black Cal swung his truncheon in a fast, high,.round-house arc that caught the slave-chaser neatly across the forehead. The satisfying thunk was muffled by the noise of the fire, as was the meaty thud of the man hitting the boards face-first.
A little farther down the walkway, the lattermost of Black Cal's squad caught the running woman by the arm, spun her around—not quite as neatly as Black Cal had done it, well enough—blocked her panicky swat at his head, and announced: "Blacklegs! Stand still; we need you t'identify this perp."
At a quick signal from Black Cal, two more of the rookies came up to the unconscious slaver, clapped the cuffs on his wrists and dragged him around a corner of the railing, sufficiently out of the way and out of sight.
Tilda giggled in delight.
The woman came tottering up to Black Cal, dizzy at the speed of her change in fortunes. "More," she panted. "There's more of 'em."
"Stand here, keep quiet and point them out," said Black Cal, watching the bridge. Soon enough, he guessed, others would come along.
"Hey, someone jumped!" Rattail paused in her downward climb, noting the splash three stories down. "There."
Rif looked, saw the foam and the surfacing body. Hmm, close to the front wall. From the amount of splash, he'd jumped a fair long way. She glanced up the building and made a few good guesses. "He was in that," she said, hardly whispering now that the other noise was so loud. "That's either Old Megary himself or that Magruder fella."
"He still alive?" Rattail grunted, roping down from the beam above.
"Yey. Pity. Hmm." Rif paused where she was, stuck two fingers in her mouth and threw a shrill, .complicated series of night-bird whistles toward the building across the canal. She hoped Denny could make out the description and instructions in all
this noise. Too bad she didn't dare use one of her pistols, this close to so many ears. Ah, well.
Ah, there! Faint above the racket came the short whoop of acknowledgment. Right, Denny alerted.
"Perch here," she laughed up at Rattail. "Let's watch the fun."
Denny leaned out perilously far above the roof-gutter, peering down at the water. Yes, he could see it now—the faint splashing wake of a man swimming slowly, laboriously, across the canal... and away from Megarys. Yes, slowly enough to allow plenty of time for good aim.
He pulled back onto the roof proper, selected a previously loosened roof-tile, hefted it to judge its weight and likely flight path. Then once more to the gutter, pinpointing the target. Right. Perfect. A good ways out, but very possible.
Denny scaled the tile out into the air, and watched it sail gracefully down into the canal.
Magruder gulped another lungful of air, clamped his eyes and mouth shut and wished he could close his nose and ears as well. The canals down here in the tidewater of Merovingen were open sewers, raw and stinking with unguessable pollution. When he got out... (if he got out... No, mustn't think that way, or he'd never get out) he'd have to take a dozen different treatments for contamination. Lord, keep the hps pressed tight; don't swallow even a drop of the water. Might as well be swimming in a huge vat of mixed poison, and it was so far to safety.
No, not really so far, he kept telling himself- Just a few dozen meters across, farside of West... Stroke, stroke. . .
But the water was so cold, and sludge thick, and reeking. His wrenched shoulders ached, and the throbbing in his hands warned that at least a few fingers were broken—and what could he expect, diving three stories straight down into the canal? Lucky he hadn't hit bottom, had arched his back properly to come up in a good, shallow arc—and Lord, his back hurt too, probably strained up and down. No, forget that; he was alive, and his injuries were curable. Stroke, stroke. He'd trained for years to deal with just such ordeals as this. Stoke, stroke, use mainly the legs . .,
Something large splashed into the water beside him, breaking his concentration.
For a moment Magruder floundered and splashed, making no headway, while he grappled with the question of what the hell had just missed him. Body? Missile? Wreckage? Should he dive, or change course?
But there was no further sound or motion. Inanimate object, probably a piece of wreckage off Megary Isle. Maybe a chunk of the old man still trapped in that locked room, and serve him right. More trouble than he was worth: let him burn. Probably some ambitious heir had locked him in...
No, never mind that now. Keep swimming. Aim toward the far edge of the canal, get clear of the crowds, keep himself hard to locate in this damned pitch dark. Filthy, degenerate city: not even decent lighting. Stoke, stroke, stroke. Lord, this stinking water was cold.
The second tile came plummeting down bullet-fast, and hit Magruder squarely on the right leg, just above the knee.
The impact knocked the wind out of him in an explosive grunt, and thrust him down deep into the water. His leg went numb from the knee on down.
Magruder flailed weakly with his feeble arms and one good leg, dizzily trying to reach the surface and not—-please, Lord, not—swallow any of that poisonous water. And where the hell was the surface? His lungs were screaming for air.
A sudden splash and he was up, head free of the water. Magruder floated for a long moment, gulping blessed air, trying to collect his sluggish wits. His lower right leg was still numb, useless.
Far bank... Where?
There it lay, visibly in the firelight, not five meters off. Magruder kicked out, lopsidedly, pawed with his barely workable arms, crawled toward that mockingly close edge of the canal. The sluggish but steady tug of the Det's seaward current teased at him. Closer now. Four meters. Three .
Another huge tile smacked the water, right behind him. The turbulence of its impact shoved Magruder sideways down the current.
At that point he realized that the missiles were deliberately thrown.
Megarys? he thought, letting the river drag him downstream, closer to the cover of a large bridge. Oh, that would make sense; whoever had locked him in with Old Megary was trying to cover his tracks, eliminate the last witness. Treacherous Merovingian bastards. Magruder cursed wearily and lashed hard with his good leg, made his aching arms move. Two meters— and now the shadow of a bridge fell over him. One more meter...
There was no landing here. The masonry wall of an isle rose a good meter and more above him, studded with boat-tie rings, but offering no easy stairs.
Magruder clutched a ring and floated there, panting. How to climb up? His abused shoulders .wouldn't lift him. Somewhere on this island there had to be a flight of water-stairs he could climb. But where? How could he get there, injured and exhausted like this? And the cold of the filthy water was eating into his bones.
Wait: voices up there, by the foot of the bridge— cursing, crying snapping grim replies. People up there, drawn by the fire, had spotted him, Magruder caught at a boat-ring, wondered how many there were. Lord, they'd want money for helping him. How much? More to the point, seeing how his sore arms shook and his numb leg dragged, how much to hire a boat and take him to safety? He'd need good medical treatment, fast. Tatiana... The Rock. Other end of town. Canal-rats might not go that far, without the promise of good money. Well, he had that: a good ten dece,—still in his buttoned pockets— He'd make it.
"Now who's this?" said a soft voice, as long arms reached down to take Magruder's wrists. "And what're you doing down there?" The rescuing hands pulled.
As his body was dragged up from the water, the sudden weight on his arm made Magruder's wrenched shoulders flare with pain. His bruised ribs stretched, adding to the anguish. A screech jumped out of him, leaving swirling dizziness in its wake. More hands pulled him up onto the walkway, then patted over him as he lay gasping in a growing puddle.
Too late he realized that the searching hands had found his pistol. Magruder tried to roll on his side to protect his coin-pocket, and found that his strength was totally gone.
"Hmm, so how did you wind up in the canal?" the soft voice insisted. "Jumped?"
"Uhuh," Magruder grunted, trying to get his wind back. " 'M hurt. Take me home. I'll pay well."
"Hmm, and where's home?"
Tatiana. Medical supplies. . . "The Rock. I'll pay..."
"My, my, my," purred the soft voice, taking on a slight edge. "And what would a nice hightown m'ser— from the Rock, no less—have been doing down here at Megarys, so late at night?"
Magruder turned his aching head enough to look up at his questioner. He saw a very tall, slender man in the characteristic all-black livery of the city guard. A blackleg, no doubt fishing for a bribe. Lord, not a dickering-session now, not now when he could barely think, let along move.
"Business," he mumbled. "Just get me home. No questions... and I'll pay extra."
"Extra, hmm? And what were you paying for there? A pretty bed-girl? Or boy?"
"Girl!" Magruder snapped. Hell, let the man think it was a simple case of whoring, good for blackmail. Offer enough money to make him reckless. Eliminate him when he came back for more. "Five dece, gold. Get me home, no questions..." That should do it.
"Witness!" the soft voice growled, utterly cold. "Confession of whoring and attempted bribing of an officer,"
What? Magruder struggled to make sense of this sudden reversal.
"I heard it!"said a gleefully voice nearby. "I did, too!" claimed another.
Somewhere farther off, a child giggled.
"You," said the soft-voiced blackleg, "are under arrest."
Makes no sense.... Magruder tried to shake his head clear. Was this a set-up? But he'd made sure no one knew he was coming here, no one but his own men. Had one of them turned? How? And why hadn't they left him in the canal, then? What was the game here?
Magruder opened his eyes again, and found himself looking into the muzzle of the biggest pistol he'd ever s
een. The tall blackleg holding it smiled, smiled like a sherk, his eyes showing green in the firelight.
"Got 'im," Rif purred, watching from the beam. "A fine haul tonight."
"An interesting love-gift, anyway," Rattail agreed. "He ought to be grateful."
"Enough," Rif snapped her a warning look. "Time ter go. Fun's over."
Rattail shrugged, glanced across the canal and whistled three notes of a night-bird's song. A single chirp acknowledged.
The partners climbed downward, listening for the almost-inaudible swishing sound of a small pole-boat coming toward them through the darkness across the water.
From walkways, from the tie-ups, from a dozen shadowed vantages, canaler eyes watched the delightful troubles of Megarys' Isle. Pity that the fire seemed to be contained, if a long way from out. And what fun to see the house emptied, captives running to freedom, Megary's goons getting caught and pummeled well—and, of course, all the House's boats burning. A fine night's work, altogether. And there would be other nights.
"What in hell were you doing?"
Tatiana Kalugin had waited hours for enough privacy to ask Magruder just that question. She couldn't resist adding: "You don't know what it's costing me to keep this quiet. Lord, a scandal this juicy: 'Nev Hettek Trade Delegate Caught Dealing in Sex-slaves.' Think what the scandal-sheets would have done with that!"
Magruder suppressed a groan as he rolled over on his uninjured side. His whole body ached, throbbed and stung, —not least from the multiple antibiotics shots from his own kit—and he knew he'd be spending days and days moving like this. "I was following up a lead," he said shortly. "That Deems business."
"To Megary? Not with Gallandry involved."
"Not that they knew," he said shortly, trying not to sound impatient. Woman was dense. He ached. He wanted sleep. "But the link exists."
"On whose information?"
"One of my sources. I don't want it disturbed."
"You don't want. You don't choose. I know something in this city, m'ser outsider, I can tell you Megary is applying to high connections outside my control, I can tell you Megary's running scared and they're doubting their safety right now. They're afraid and they're just liable to talk in the wrong ears—"