Revolution (Chronicles of Charanthe #2)

by Rachel Cotterill

  *

  The First Revolutionary Guards had been developing their skills under Andreas’ guidance, and Eleanor barely recognised the group she’d left just a couple of months earlier. Eric had lost his baker’s belly, Rosemary had taught her little son to hold a knife safely by the handle, and they were all developing visible muscles.

  “Have you taken them out yet?” Eleanor asked Andreas.

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Well, I think we should go and get our hands dirty.”

  “I was planning to go home, now you’re back.”

  “Of course. Go. I can handle it.” She turned back to where her new guards were entertaining themselves with casual sparring. “Right, who wants to put their new skills into practice?”

  They agreed with enthusiasm, and Eleanor lined them up to check their weapons. Once she was sure they were all properly equipped she led them out into the street.

  “Welcome back, boss,” Dash said, falling into step beside her. “We’ve missed you.”

  “It looks like you’ve all been making good progress without me.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t the same.”

  As they reached the edge of the rebel district, she left him in charge of the group and jogged ahead to scout out the streets. A large group with obvious weaponry would stand out from the usual Almont crowds, and she wanted to make sure they got a chance to try their blades on an easy target before the Imperial armies were summoned back to defend the city.

  Around the next corner there were three men chatting in a quiet street, all dressed in the uniform of the palace guards. Well, that should be a manageable number for a first kill. She was about to call a charge when the man with his back to her laughed, tilting his head just enough to show his profile.

  Eleanor ducked back around the corner and held her hand up to tell the others to stop. Why was Raf disguising himself as a palace guard? And what about the other two? She flattened herself against the wall and peered around the corner to double-check – not that there was really a doubt in her mind.

  The revolutionary guards stood patiently a few feet behind her, watching for her signal. She kept her right hand raised – they might interpret anything else as their cue to move – and with her left, pulled the blowpipe from behind her ear. She leaned around the corner, tongue playing across the twin openings of the pipe. Sedate or kill? She had no idea whether he’d keep his side of the bargain, even if she gave him chance, but she certainly wouldn’t let her fledgling soldiers use his body to blood their swords. It was a simple matter of respect: he deserved better.

  He moved as if he were about to turn, leaving her no more time to consider her options. She couldn’t let him see her: he’d recognise her in a heartbeat, just as easily as she’d recognised him. With her next breath she puffed a dart straight towards him. He scratched at the back of his neck, but before he could pull out the dart his knees gave way and he collapsed to the ground.

  Eleanor waved her trainees forwards, and as they stepped around the corner the two palace guards broke into a panicked sprint. They definitely weren’t undercover Shadows, then. She wondered whether they’d even known Raf’s true identity. Perhaps his disguise was for their benefit. Most of the revolutionary guards ran after them, but Dash caught Eleanor’s arm, keeping her back.

  “What about him, boss?” he asked, voice barely a whisper, motioning towards Raf’s body.

  “Shadow,” she said. “Too dangerous for you. Come on, let’s go and see if we can catch up with the others.”

  Dash continued to stare at Raf on the ground. “I don’t think he’s dead yet.”

  “It’s a slow poison,” Eleanor lied. “Now come on or we’ll miss all the fun.”

  By the time they caught up with the others they were already a little too late. The two palace guards lay bleeding into the ground while the revolutionaries stood over them with blood-soaked weapons, looking in equal parts elated and confused. Molly was shaking, sobbing into Nicole’s shoulder.

  Eleanor surveyed the bodies. It had been a clumsy job – she’d have to work on their style it they were going to be efficient at this – but they’d succeeded, even without her to supervise them. And without Dash, who’d always been the strongest of the new recruits.

  “Good job,” she said. “There’s a fire post just around the corner, go and wash your weapons and your hands in the buckets. Dash, go with them and keep a look-out. Molly, can I have a word?”

  Nicole gave Molly one final hug before leaving her to go with the others.

  “You okay?” Eleanor asked.

  Molly glanced towards the bodies, then turned and vomited against the wall. “Not really,” she said. “Sorry, I’m letting you all down.”

  “The shock catches everyone differently,” Eleanor said. “It’ll catch up with the others later.”

  “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

  “Here.” Eleanor fished a small flask of dark spirits from her pocket and removed the cork. “Drink this, it’ll make you feel better.”

  “I’m not sure I should...”

  “Just drink it. Trust me, okay?”

  She nodded and put the bottle to her lips, taking a small sip at first, then quickly tipping the flask for a longer draught.

  “You’re just in shock,” Eleanor said as she put the bottle away again. “Go home, get some sleep, take tomorrow for yourself, then come back and tell me what you want to do. There are plenty of other roles for a bright girl like you, if you decide you can’t stomach this.”

  Molly nodded, and bent to pick up her knife from the street.

  “Let me clean that for you,” Eleanor said, though the knife – like Molly herself – was barely flecked with blood. She’d clearly had no active part in the attack.

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s one less thing for you to worry about – and I need to catch up with the others at the fire post, anyway.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  Molly walked away from the bodies; it wasn’t her most direct route home, but Eleanor understood. It was more of a surprise that only one of them was having second thoughts.

  “Where’s Molly?” Nicole demanded as soon as Eleanor rejoined the others. “You can’t make her leave just because she cried, it’s not fair.”

  “It’s okay.” Eleanor laid a hand on Nicole’s shoulder. “I didn’t make her do anything, I just suggested she should get some rest. Meanwhile, we’ve got cause to celebrate – let me buy you all a drink or two.”

  It was hardly a meaningful offer since Eleanor’s money – the Association’s money, in fact – was the only thing keeping the revolutionary force fed and watered, but no-one objected to the gesture. The Old Barrel Yard was already buzzing with life, but the other patrons recognised the new guards and their bloodstained shirts, and quickly cleared space for them to sit down and celebrate. They settled into a corner with flagons of spiced ale and plates full of hot sausages.

  “To my First Revolutionary Guards,” Eleanor said, raising her tankard. “May you always be a thorn in the Empress’s side.”

  “To us,” Dash echoed.

  “And to Eleanor,” Lise added. “Without whom we’d still be a ragtag bunch of nobodies.”

  “The Empress will curse our names tonight,” Eleanor said. “But I don’t want her to forget about us tomorrow, or next week, or any time before she draws her last breath.”

  There was a murmur of agreement.

  “From tomorrow we’ll aim for a kill every night. Just palace guards and police, nothing hard. Those of you whose gods would appreciate the sacrifice, you’re welcome to dedicate your actions however you choose. And we’ll need to redouble our defences – they’ll come for us, and hard.”

  The next morning she laid out a rota of duties, splitting rebel gangs into morning, afternoon, and night shifts to maintain a constant guard around the perimeter of the main rebel district. The blo
ody display of the previous night had brought in dozens more volunteers in need of training, and she assigned them to shifts along with more experienced guards. There should be plenty of quiet times when they could practise, and even untrained hands might be useful when the worst came.

  That was the defence. For the offensive part of her plan, Eleanor would take one or two of her First Corps guards out every night to spill Imperial blood – at least until she was sure they could manage without her. She pulled Dash to one side and told him that he’d be first.

  “You missed the action last night,” she said. “And I guarantee I’m not the only one who noticed.”

  “No-one’s going to hold that against me,” he said.

  “They might in a week or two, when I tell them you’re going to be leading this unit on my behalf. Better if we make sure you’ve got an impeccable record first.”

  He nodded his understanding. If he was at all surprised by what she said, he didn’t show it. For her part, Eleanor was just pleased that he didn’t seem to object to the idea of extra responsibility.

  “So, you’ll come with me tonight and make your own mark on this city. Bring one of the others for backup.”

  They met again at nightfall, by the door of the Old Barrel Yard. Dash had invited one of the sailors to join them. A middle-aged woman with wiry muscles kept taut by the rigours of a life at sea, Violet had always been one of the group’s best all-rounders.

  “Are you ready to make trouble?” Eleanor asked.

  Violet cracked her knuckles. “Ready as the wind, cap.”

  Dash simply inclined his head, and stepped out into the damp streets. It had been a grey day and rain still dripped steadily from the rooftops.

  “They’ll be on their guard after yesterday,” Eleanor said. “So we’ll go up. No-one ever looks up, even though any fool knows that no-one ever looks up.”

  They scrambled over wet tiles until they reached an alley just outside the Marble Quarter.

  “Close enough that we should get some targets,” Eleanor said, “but far enough from reinforcements that we stand a chance of getting away with it. These are the kinds of things I need you all thinking about if we’re going to give the Empress nightmares.”

  “Thanks boss,” Dash said, and she was sure he was absorbing every lesson exactly as she intended, his mind focused on his future role as much as on their present outing.

  “So what are we waiting for?” Violet asked, peering down into the street where a couple of young women walked arm in arm.

  “Uniforms,” Eleanor said.

  “Stupid Imperial lackeys deserve whatever they get. Anyone who’s not one of us...”

  Eleanor looked at Dash. “Do you want to explain?”

  “It’s a message,” he said. “Killing people at random doesn’t say anything except we’re good at killing people. Attacking the uniforms tells the Empress it’s personal.”

  Eleanor smiled. She couldn’t have put it better herself.

  They didn’t have to wait too long for a uniform; the alley was a natural cut-through for palace guards on their way home after the day shift. Eleanor had to hold Violet back from a suicidal attack as a dozen loud, laughing youngsters passed beneath them, but the next guard was alone and lost in thought. Eleanor gave the signal, Dash and Violet dropped into the street, and the young man had barely looked to see what the noise was all about before Violet had him in a double arm-lock and Dash sliced cleanly across his throat.

  “Nicely done,” Eleanor said, scrambling down to join them.

  “If we’re in the business of leaving messages, I don’t suppose you’re going to let me take him to the ocean for my Lady,” Violet said, a wistful note in her voice.

  “Cut a finger or two to throw into the ocean,” Dash suggested as he wiped his dagger clean on the dead man’s tunic. “And you could carve your sigil into his chest – that wouldn’t be a problem, would it, boss?”

  “No problem,” Eleanor said, feeling suddenly out of her depth. It was one thing to know that some of the rebels followed the cults, but quite another to hear this talk of carved sigils and sacrifices.

  Violet drew her knife to start work while Eleanor and Dash took up look-out positions on either side of her. Once she’d hacked through one finger she set off to take her offering down to the harbour.

  “You didn’t want to dedicate this one yourself?” Eleanor asked Dash as they turned to walk back to the Old Barrel Yard.

  “I’m not pledged to anyone,” he said. “And you saw how much it matters to her. No-one keeps the old ways like sailors.”

  “Oh?”

  “Hadn’t you noticed? It’s hardly surprising – the Sea can pull her victims into the depths without a warning, so it’s best to stay on her good side.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “I thought you’d been to sea. I’m surprised you didn’t see it.”

  Eleanor shrugged. “I didn’t know what I was looking for. Until last spring I thought religion was just a footnote in the history books.”

  “They might’ve killed the hearth gods, but you’ll never stop a sailor begging mercy from the Lady of the Waters.”

  “They got your assignment wrong, didn’t they?”

  He looked at her, surprised by the sudden change of subject. “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re good at fighting and you know a lot about people. You should’ve been someone important in the army, but the bastards always seem to get it wrong.”

  He shook his head. “My assignment was perfect. This is necessary, but it isn’t fun. I’m happiest when I’m using my hands.”

  “You know, once everything’s calmed down a bit there’s someone I’d like you to meet back at the Association.”

  She told him about Harold’s artistic bent as well as his technical proficiency, and showed him her own graduation knives by way of example. She thought of Ivan’s little inventions, too, but there was no sense mentioning him when – she hoped – she’d never see him again. If their paths were to cross, she’d have to try and kill him. So she stuck to describing weaponry, and somehow the discussion occupied them until they reached the Old Barrel Yard. Eleanor turned towards the stairs.

  “Aren’t you staying up for a drink, boss?” Dash asked, holding open the door to the bar.

  “I need to sleep. This child’s draining me.”

  He stared at her waist, though there was nothing yet to see. “You’re pregnant?”

  “Yep.”

  “You shouldn’t come out with us if it’s tiring you.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  He held up his hands. “No offence meant. You just take care of yourself, that’s all.”