“And probably not to do anything good,” Cyrus agreed. His mind drifted some, but not too much. The sun was starting to show itself, shining through the stained-glass window on the wall above the door. They had spent the night doing this, and for nothing. They had no more grain when they finished than when they had started.
“Grain is life in Reikonos,” Hiressam said. “Every day the granaries are filled with new shipments, some is deducted throughout the day to be sold in markets, and every eve by nightfall they are replenished by more shipments.” He shook his head. “This is a pillar of Reikonos's survival. Manufactured goods out, grain in. Without it...” The elf's usually straitlaced mien had been replaced by an aura of worry. “...Reikonos starves.”
“Yes, I'm certain that's an overriding concern for Malpravus,” Alaric said.
“It should be,” Cyrus said, arms folded over his chest. “Starving people tend to be harder to control. More willing to do desperate things.”
“Not if he's using the grain supply to control his loyalists and buy more of them,” Hiressam said. “Squeezing the disloyal.”
Heavy footfalls preceded the main doors being thrown open. The tall shadow of Vaste followed two smaller ones: Shirri and Pamyra. The three of them rejoined the circle, Guy dragging along slightly behind, nosing his way toward the lounge.
“And?” Alaric asked.
“We discovered a magnificent store of grain,” Vaste said, voice puffed up in a way that told Cyrus immediately that he was being facetious. “It was stacked to the ceilings, flowing out like water from the–”
“Your wit is unappreciated here,” Alaric snapped, “perhaps you should take it on tour where it might be of more use. Say, the bottom of the Torrid Sea.”
“Cyrus was unappreciated in his time,” Vaste said. “I figure, wait a thousand years and even I'll be a god at present rates of compounding appreciation.”
“Guy,” Alaric barked, jolting the smaller man out of his inspection of the lounge.
“Is this a cask of ale?” Guy asked, pointing 'round the corner into the smaller space. Cyrus remembered when it seemed large enough to contain hundreds. Now it had a bare dozen seats, though there was, indeed, a cask of ale on the table. “And if so, is it claimed?”
“No drinking now,” Alaric said darkly. “The grain – where would Malpravus move it?”
“You're asking the wrong bloke,” Guy said, laughing. “I was a low-level flunky in the Machine, all right? Until your best lad here turned me on them. I may have understood the way a few things ran on the streets, but if you think I knew the high level secrets?” He chortled. “Not a chance, mate. I was a copper. That's silver knowledge, that is. Maybe even gold.”
“Where do we find someone with that level of knowledge?” Alaric asked.
Guy shrugged. “I don't know.”
“We burned the Machine headquarters,” Cyrus said. “Where would the high levels go after that?”
Guy just smiled. “I didn't even know where the headquarters was. That should give you some indication of my place in the organization.”
“They all seem very keen to kill you now that you've left them,” Vaste said.
“They don't tolerate betrayal very well at any level,” Guy said, rubbing a fat finger over his collar as though his neck might be separated from his head soon. “It's a strong guarantee in that organization that if you turn traitor, they will track you down and make your death so very unpleasant that no one else will want to repeat your mistakes.” He doffed an imaginary hat to Cyrus. “Which is why I am just such a fan of yours after having you do that to me. It was a great turn, truly. If I weren't relying on you for my survival at present, you can bet I'd repay the favor if I could.”
“Thank you again for bringing this useless obligation into our halls,” Alaric snapped, looking devilishly mad at Cyrus.
Cyrus sighed, throwing his arms wide. “I just was trying to do the right thing.”
“Based on your recent track record,” Vaste said, “I must insist you stop that immediately.”
“Was Aisling the assassin 'the right thing'?” Hiressam muttered under his breath.
Cyrus let his head droop. “Anyone else care to throw a stone?”
“If you want encouragement, there's a lad a couple blocks away that seems to think the sun rises and sets on your long arse,” Vaste said. “He should be thinking that about me, but alas, you picked a woman who couldn't reconcile herself to understanding your foolish past.” He jutted his buttocks toward Cyrus. “So many mistakes.”
A thump outside made Cyrus whirl around. He looked toward the doors, expecting that maybe it might be—
Birissa clomped up the steps, McCoie, Willems, and two other City Watchmen following close behind them. The guards, for their part, were looking around as though Sanctuary were the most peculiar sight they'd ever laid eyes on. Cyrus pondered the mishmashed architecture of Reikonos and realized that spires and tower might actually be one of the stranger sights that any Reikonos-born person of their age had laid eyes on.
“Our boys here found a couple friends,” Birissa said, clomping right past Alaric's ireful stare without even acknowledging it. “They got to chatting, and we found out some news that needed to be delivered right away.”
Alaric's teeth were showing in a nearly-feral scowl. If Cyrus had to calculate what was going through the knight's head, it was probably some slowly building concern over first Guy and now these four finding their way into the only sanctum they had in this city. Of this, though, he said nothing, instead managing to get out, “What is it?” in a mostly-civil manner.
McCoie stepped forward. “These are Houll and Maartens. Good men. Believers in you.” He bowed his head toward Cyrus, an action which was promptly imitated by all the guardsmen save Willems.
“Great, more idiots,” Vaste murmured, hopefully low enough that none of the Watchmen caught it. “We needed more. We're very short of supply at present.”
“What have you learned?” Cyrus asked, ignoring the troll. As always.
“I am Houll, sir.” One of the new men stepped forward, snapped his hands to his side, and bowed to one knee. “My lord, we received new orders last night. The whole watch did. We were pulled off the street until this very morning, when we were returned to duty–”
“Did you help empty the granaries?” Cyrus asked.
“We did,” Houll said. His eyes were a deep shade of green, but his skin was a pale color that glowed red when he answered, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “But that is not all. We shipped the grain, to be sure. Loaded it on wagons–”
“And sent them where?” Alaric asked tightly.
“I do not know,” Houll said, shifting his gaze to the Ghost. “But the second thing – it is far worse.”
Cyrus closed his eyes, a sinking feeling overtaking him. “What...what did you do?”
Houll answered, though it took him a moment. “On the orders of the Lord Protector...” he hesitated, “...we closed the dockyards to all incoming traffic. The watch is holding it, all ships currently there are grounded, and no new ones will come in.” He did not look up, though his cheeks grew redder with nearly every word. “Without any more grain shipments...” Here, Houll became lost for words.
“Reikonos will starve within weeks,” Hiressam whispered. They all heard him nonetheless.
Chapter 43
Alaric
“That unbelievably malignant bastard,” Alaric said, words coming out quickly, dosed in fury. “He means to choke out the disloyal. To rid himself of them.” He squeezed his gauntlet tight, felt the metal fail to give. “To rid us of any supporters we might have in the process.”
“He might even turn people against us,” Vaste said quietly. “I mean, how motivated would you be to join a revolution when you're starving in the streets and your leader is promising to feed you if you just quit with the troublemaking?”
Cyrus nodded slowly. “It makes sense. From a strategic standpoint.”
&nb
sp; That did it for Alaric. His voice exploded. “It is the sort of devious pox I have come to expect from that depraved skeleton! Seek to control all you can, exploit all you can wrap your bony fingers around. Destroy what you cannot. Despoil what's left.” He spat on the floor. “Truly black is the stain on my honor for ever falling into alliance with that bag of bones. For allowing him to elevate himself on our backs, for letting him leech any vitality from us at all, and darkening our door with his thin shadow.” He loosed a Protanian swear word that meant nothing to anyone but him.
Birissa chuckled. “He really is.”
Well, apparently not just him. “I want this ghoul dead,” Alaric said, ignoring her comment. “I want to wrest this city from his grasp, crush his base of support, and break his bones to dust.” He whirled on McCoie and the other soldiers. “You – how loyal is the city watch to the so-called 'Lord Protector'?”
McCoie looked quite caught by surprise, but stirred out of it swiftly. “Uh...there are groups that are very loyal to him. Others...” He looked to Cyrus, as if for encouragement. “Others of us have been sheltering doubts for a while. This night, though...”
Houll spoke up. “This night's work has catalyzed the worries of many of our number. Especially those of us who were left out of the other half of the job.” He, too, was looking to Cyrus for reassurance. They all were. “It's obvious there are some who are trusted more than others, and if the grain is being rationed...” He licked his lips. “...Well, our families will starve, too.”
Alaric nodded once, then looked straight to Cyrus. “The docks.”
Cyrus's eyes raised in alarm. “Uh...bad idea. Remember that big fight we were trying to avoid in favor of smaller, more winnable engagements to get the people on our side? This sort of action is the big fight, and Malpravus surely knows it.”
“We will either lose this war quickly or slowly,” Alaric said, staring the warrior-general down. “If the people starve, they will not join us. Without them, we are done. Malpravus means to choke them, and us, out. Tell me you see another way, and I will be glad to relent.”
Cyrus's eyes darted back and forth. He was thinking it over, and the answer would surely come quickly, as it always did from him, in matters of strategy. “You're not wrong,” he finally said. “But I don't think we can hold the dockyards if we seize them. And I have no idea what it would require to keep them running even if we even could take them.”
“Manpower,” Hiressam said, and he was joined in nods by the four Watchmen. “Laborers, to be specific. And they would work for grain.”
“But the shipmasters aren't just going to let the grain go for free,” Birissa spoke up. Alaric stared at her, caught a bit off guard. “They ship it all in for a cost,” she went on. “If Malpravus's people are taking possession and moving it to the granaries on a normal day, they're paying the shipmasters before they get it. That's why the shipmasters keep coming back. Take their grain away without paying them, you're going to get one shipment of grain and then they'll stop coming. That'll be it. Short relief.”
“She's right,” Hiressam said. “Without the gold to keep the pipeline open it will run dry in days, and we'll be no better off.”
Cyrus lifted his helm off and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “Just to lay this all out so I understand our upcoming difficulties: not only do we have to fight a battle we're not prepared for, which we lack the numbers to even attempt, honestly...” He sighed, took a breath. “But we also need gold to pay the shipmasters so we can take possession of the grain and keep the supply line open. And we have no plan for getting that gold.”
“Furthermore,” Vaste said, “you're going to have to hold the dockyard against any attempts by Malpravus to retake it – and you know he will, because he's not fond of surrendering power. And that place is power in this age.”
“Right,” Cyrus said, and Alaric could hear the dearth of hope in his voice.
“Let me add more kindling to the fire,” Pamyra said. “Once you have the docks, Malpravus can still easily harry any ships entering or leaving the city if he's of a mind to. Perhaps even knock them out of the skies.”
“How?” Cyrus asked.
“There are cannons,” McCoie answered for her. “On the city walls. To protect against assault by airship.”
Cyrus bowed his head, seemingly overcome by a headache, for he cringed and closed his eyes, rubbing furiously at the bridge of his nose. “So we would also have to take...what, the entire wall that rings the city?”
“No,” Houll said, looking at his fellows. “The docks are against the southeastern wall. If we could signal all incoming airships to cut wide around, you would only need to hold...a mile or two of the wall, at best. That which immediately surrounds the dockyards.”
“Gods,” Cyrus muttered. “And to do all this we have...” He opened his eyes a sliver to count. “Eight of us plus...McCoie, if you really meant that about following me–”
“I will follow you,” McCoie said, and snapped off a salute so fierce it threatened to knock over Willems. He looked to the other guards, saw nods, and they all saluted as well. “We all will.”
“Twelve, then,” Cyrus said, taking a slow breath. “Twelve to take back a significant portion of the wall. And the dockyards.”
“Don't forget the gold,” Vaste said.
“And to somehow acquire enough gold to pay for constant shipments of grain into the city,” Cyrus said, eyes clamped shut again. “Yes. Well. This is quite the...conundrum. Twelve people–”
“Eleven,” Guy muttered.
“Thirteen,” came a shaky voice from the stairs, and Alaric turned to find—
“Curatio,” Vaste said.
“Not at my best, but here I am,” Curatio said, walking a bit slowly down the last spiral. “In time for the foolishness, I hope?”
“Is there ever a time when we're not planning foolishness?” Vaste asked.
“I've been here, what? Two days?” Birissa asked. “And so far, no. There has not been a time when we're not about to do mad things.” She broke into a wide, toothy smile that almost made Alaric shudder. “I love it here. Have I said that?”
“There are others loyal to you in the City Watch, my lord,” McCoie said. “We could gather them.”
“Yeah, we'll need them,” Cyrus said, drawing a tight breath. “But we need to do so elsewhere.” He speared Alaric with a look. “This little headquarters of ours? It needs to move. Now.”
“Agreed,” Alaric said. “How about—”
“The granaries,” Willems threw in, his eyes harboring a skepticism. Still, he spoke. “They're abandoned. No relief was coming for us, we were to be the sole guards. If the other granaries received the same orders–”
“Then the places we just hit could become our staging areas,” Cyrus said, eyes flickering as he launched back into strategic thought. “That's not bad. They're defensible, too. Good rally points. But if you're recruiting the whole city watch, word will get back to Malpravus. We need to move fast. And that means–”
“The gold first,” Alaric said.
“I bet you're all wishing you'd paid up now,” Vaste said. “If you had, I'd have a huge war chest to just hand over to you. So. Much. Gold.” He whistled innocently, then shuffled toward Alaric and Cyrus. “Sanctuary can make food. In lieu of taking the dockyards or robbing someone blind, do you suppose it could make–”
“No.” Alaric shook his head. “Not in the amounts at which we would require food or gold. Gold is dense. We could shovel brick in here all day and Sanctuary would labor to make a chest at a time. Grain on the level required to feed millions is similarly impossible.” The others looked at him. “What? I've plumbed the speed at which this place can manufacture gold. I have needs for things, after all. I'm a living man, not some ascetic.”
“It's true, this place is rather palatial compared to what he could have made it,” Curatio said, limping over to join them in their small huddle. “He would know.”
“All right,
well,” Cyrus said, shrugging, “then I'm at a loss at step one. Because even if we take the docks and take the section of the wall – which I'm not sure we can do – we still can't pay for the captains to bring in the grain we need.” He threw his arms wide. “And that leaves us dead in the water.”
Alaric rubbed his chin. Truly, he missed his helm now, especially in the presence of all these strangers. “Not necessarily.” The others looked at him. “There are other ways to get gold.”
“Robbing people blind,” Vaste agreed.
“We're trying to bring the people to our cause, not turn them against us. But...” Alaric smiled. “Where does one find gold in a city?”
“In the pockets of those who don't pay their debts,” Vaste said, looking sideways at Curatio. “What, old man? What are you going to do to me now? I see you enfeebled. You're all talk, no lightning at this point.”
Curatio just sighed, then grimaced. “I think I see what you're getting at,” he said to Alaric. “But isn't that a bit...dishonorable?”
Alaric nodded slowly. “It is. But it is not as honorless as letting the people starve.” He straightened, decision made. “Gather your men,” he said to McCoie, who looked to Cyrus for reassurance. The warrior nodded, and McCoie bowed his head swiftly, as did the others, before turning and leaving.
“I'll keep an eye on things with them,” Hiressam said, falling in behind the Watchmen. “Guy, would you care to join me?”
“No,” Guy said, shaking his head.
“Guy, would you prefer to stay here and receive my sword in your belly?” Alaric asked.
“I am so happy to render assistance to the elf,” Guy said, hurrying to follow Hiressam. “Glad to be asked so politely, too.”
Alaric looked to Curatio. “Too many people now know where Sanctuary is.”
Curatio nodded. “Leave it with me.” He glanced at Shirri and Pamyra. “Ladies, if I could beg your assistance on a certain project for a few hours?”
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