The Tyranny of the Night

by Glen Cook

  “Livin’ in hog heaven, Pipe. He’s got it twice as better than I do. This’s it. Yo! Here’s Captain Hecht.”

  Pinkus Ghort was serious about being Doneto’s number-one man. He had six professional soldiers brainstorming responses to a possible Calziran attack.

  “Wow!” Else said. “I have a hundred-year-old man named Vigo Caniglia and three other men, none trained and only one young enough to be of any use. Plus some kids, the oldest being sixteen.”

  “Way I hear, Pipe, these Five Family types are so damned cheap, you’re probably better off. Even though the poorest can afford a whole regiment if they want. We were fools when we thought we could make our fortunes here. Though some of us got lucky.”

  “Any useful news?” Else asked. “What I’ve got is, the pirates might be coming to Brothe. And nobody thinks there’s much we can do about it. I’m supposed to tell the family what to do.”

  “You know about as much as I do. The Principaté ain’t my pal no more. He’s all busy with schemes and conspiracies and not giving the guy who has to do the heavy lifting anything to work with.”

  “He say what his cousin’s going to do?”

  “No. But I’d put my money on him hunkering down, waiting out the storm, then using it as an excuse to start a crusade. He wants a crusade, bad. He don’t much care who against. Come over here. Check this map. If you were a half-ass mob of plunderers used to fishing for a living, where would you make your landing?” Ghort had a nice map of the city laid out.

  “I wouldn’t come all the way up here. I’d take fire from the bridges and fortified islands.”

  “But if you unship down here you’ll get hung up in the tenements. Where the streets are narrow and tangled and there’s nothing worm stealing.”

  “What’s this here? I haven’t been downriver from the Castella yet.”

  “Monuments. Plazas. Memorials. Mostly over a thousand years old. More plazas. Lots of squatters because there isn’t anybody to run them off. It’s not a good place for fighting.”

  “How about the north bank? Would they land there first?”

  “Then cross the bridges? I might try that if I knew how feeble we are. It would make for an easy debarkation. But not much plunder. The big churches and family holdings are south of the river.”

  “These Calzirans are mostly fishermen and coastal traders, right? So they’ll just be a mob. They could be panicked.”

  “We’re looking at what might be some pretty big numbers, though. Got any ideas?”

  “Sure. But we don’t have the people. We’d need experienced soldiers. There’s nobody out there but the Brotherhood.”

  “That we can see, Pipe. Or that enemy spies can see. But how about all those squatters out there? A lot of those guys came to Brothe hoping to join the armies the Patriarch hasn’t gotten around to putting together.”

  “Ho! Pinkus, you aren’t half as dumb as you put on. Why don’t we take a walk? I know somebody over at the Castella.”

  “Anybody I’d know?”

  “Sure. Redfearn Bechter. He made it out of the Connec. I ran into him the other day. He might listen long enough to think you’re on to something.”

  “Grade Drocker is in charge over there, now. He’s tight with Sublime. Sublime might not want the city to be able to defend itself.”

  “Drocker, eh? I thought Hawley Quirke was number one.”

  “Sublime got Quirke recalled to Runch. Quirke wouldn’t kiss his ass.”

  “I thought the Brotherhood was big on being its own boss.”

  “They’re big on crusades, too. Sublime says he’s gonna give them some. The Special Office is all fired up.”

  ***

  “THERE’S A PLAN IN PLACE, NOW,” ELSE TOLD PALUDAN, DIVINO Bruglioni, and Gervase Saluda. Divino Bruglioni was the man Else had seen with Gervase and Paludan before. Divino did not seem as old as an uncle ought to be. “I spent all day running hither and yon, seeing men I knew from the Connec. We figured out how to handle a pirate attack. The Bruglioni would have to contribute four thousand, two hundred ducats and any skilled fighters who can work with the Brotherhood. Which would be me. The Madisetti, the Arniena, and Bronte Doneto’s subclan of the Benedocto have all agreed already. I’m supposed to enlist the Bruglioni.”

  Paludan had trouble breathing. The Principaté sat quietly, considering Else. Gervase gasped. “Forty-two-hundred ducats?”

  “Forty-two from each of the Five Families. Plus contributions from the Church, the Brotherhood, and the Deves.”

  “Four thousand two hundred ducats,” Paludan murmured. “Tell me the plan.”

  “That’s where it gets a little sticky. Drocker is convinced that the Calzirans have allies and spies here.”

  Uncle Divino offered, “They do. It was by spying on their spies that we learned that a sorcerer named Masant al-Seyhan controls the pirates. Go ahead, Captain Hecht.”

  “Because of those spies Drocker doesn’t want to discuss his plans. I know you don’t like it but that’s the way it’s got to be. Principaté, he’ll explain to you. But only if Paludan isn’t willing to take my word that total secrecy is necessary.”

  Gervase asked, “They don’t trust us.”

  “No. Grade Drocker is the most cynical man I’ve ever met. He’s sure that, fully informed, one of the Five Families would sell out the rest in exchange for not being plundered. Or some abused and underpaid servant might hear something and sell the information. Looking at the historical record, Drocker may be justified.”

  Uncle Divino opined, “It would be a huge risk just talking to the Collegium.”

  “I’m sure he has that angle covered. I don’t like him. Not even a little. But he’s the man to deal with what might be headed our way.” Paludan wriggled and whimpered for days before he financed his share of the Grand Strategy — once pressured sufficiently by his uncle Divino.

  Only Sublime refused to contribute to the defense fund. He did not like the master plan. It did not sufficiently aggrandize him or the Patriarchy.

  Else felt boyishly pleased when Grade Drocker announced, “His Holiness will receive no protection since he refuses to participate in the common defense. Eis be blessed, even the heathen Deves are contributing.”

  Else shivered in secret glee. Everything was going perfectly.

  ***

  THE CALZIRAN PIRATES DID ATTACK UP THE TERAGI, IN NUMBERS far greater than anticipated, a week later than expected. Their sails masked the river for miles.

  During the delay week they raided Terea, where the raiders ran into Imperial troops headed south, to take part in whatever adventure Hansel and his local henchmen had afoot in Alameddine.

  The Collegium declared the Terea raid a diversion meant to draw defenders away from the city. The Tereans and Imperials were awarded their freedom to twist in the wind. Rumor said Masant al-Seyhan had secret allies amongst the Five Families. Or the Colors. Or one of Brothe’s numerous minorities. Redfearn Bechter told Else and Pinkus Ghort, “You got to know somebody told them assholes that all we’ve been doing is trying to fool them into staying away.” The occasion was another endless planning meeting where little got decided.

  Ghort replied, “I can’t believe Drocker counted on them being scared off. I bet he was playing it so maybe he could find out who was friendly with the pirates.”

  “There’s one idea we do need to get spread around,” Else said. “The notion that the people in charge know what they’re doing.”

  “This is why I like Hecht,” Bechter said. “He’s all overfitted up with positive thinking.” Ghort said, “Great idea, Pipe. But a little late.” He pointed. A pillar of gray signal smoke leaned southward against the morning sky, way downriver. “Calzirans have entered the river. There’s going to be a fight.”

  This made no sense to Else. How did a mob of fishermen, badly armed peasants, and small-time merchant seamen talk themselves into attacking the seat of an empire in full expectation of looting it? There had to be more to this than was obv
ious.

  Two thousand veterans from amongst the squatters had been recruited and formed into small companies, each commanded by a member of the Brotherhood. Local volunteers and troops the Five Families had brought in from outside added another two thousand men. Else was sure four thousand would not be adequate.

  He told Ghort, “These people are insane.”

  Ghort grunted agreement. “Did you have any idea it would be like this when you decided to come here?”

  “No. The stories don’t have anything to do with reality.”

  “No shit. If I’d known what it was really like... These Calziran thugs wouldn’t have Pinkus Ghort to bang around on. I didn’t get into this racket on account of the opportunities for fighting.”

  Else did not think many soldiers did like the fighting. Mercenaries ended up where they were, doing what they did, because there was nothing else they could do. They were like prostitutes, that way.

  If you chose survival you did what you had to do to survive. Morality, ethics, and charity were luxuries enjoyed only by those rich enough to indulge in them.

  “Where the hell are you, Pipe?” Ghort demanded. “Pluck your head out of your ass and let’s eyeball the situation.”

  “You know why we get to stop them in the Memorium?” Else asked. “Shit, yeah. So that anything that goes wrong will be some dumb mercenary’s fault. Meaning you and me, boy. We’re carrying the sins of the Patriarch and the Five Families on our shoulders. And we’ll be in the wrong whatever the fuck we do.”

  Gervase Saluda eased up beside Else. “Am I catching all the implications, Hecht? You believe the Patriarch is manipulating things so you and this Ghort creature will take the blame for anything that goes wrong?”

  Ghort responded, “And wouldn’t you try the same stunt if Pipe didn’t work for you? Shit. Pipe. Look. Them pricks are at the boom already.”

  A log and chain boom had been stretched across the Teragi two miles downriver. It was supposed to fix the pirate fleet for artillery on both banks. Unfortunately, demilitarization left Brothe only a handful of war engines. Most were lightweight and held by people unwilling to surrender them to the corporate good. Just six wheeled ballistae had been collected. A greasy ball of smoke and fire boiled up over the boom. Else asked, “What do you think, Sergeant Bechter?”

  “I think some major sorcery just happened. I think the bad guys have cut the boom. I think that means we’re in trouble.” Arriving news soon suggested that Redfearn Bechter was psychic. Except that his sorcery had been an explosion aboard a boat deliberately driven into the boom.

  There might be a thousand vessels in the stampede headed upriver.

  Before long a messenger announced, “They’ve started landing on the norm bank, just below the Blendine Bridge.”

  The Blendine was the first bridge encountered by vessels coming up the Teragi. It stood less than two hundred yards downstream from the Castella dollas Pontellas. Its arches rose high enough that ships could pass below if they unstepped their masts and proceeded under oars. They were wide enough to allow the passage of warships headed for the Castella. Militia armed with javelins, cheap crossbows, boulders, and blocks of building stone, were stationed on that bridge.

  But the north shore, below the bridge, was undefended. The pirates attacked the bridge from there. They crossed over against resistance that surprised Else, under withering fire from the Castella. Decimated, sometimes stunned by the horror, the Calzirans plunged into the expanse of monuments, fountains, triumphal arches, and little plazas known as the Memorium, where the earliest and most ferocious fighting was expected to occur. Where the success or failure of the raid might be determined.

  Brothe’s leading defenders had expected the pirates to come ashore on the south bank, at the downstream end of the Memorium, then attack eastward to isolate Krois and the Castella dollas Pontellas while seizing the bridges over the Teragi to keep help from coming from the north. The pirates could then turn to systematic plunder.

  By beaching on the north bank and storming the Blendine Bridge the pirates avoided having to fight through 80 percent of the Memorium, where they would have been treated cruelly in ambushes and cross fires designed to exploit their lack of experience and discipline.

  Pinkus Ghort observed, “This isn’t no mob gone crazy, Pipe. People on the other side knows what’s going on. We’re about to get slapped around like a couple teenaged whores.”

  “There’s order and planning, anyway. The pirates may just be here for the plunder but I’m thinking somebody is more ambitious.” Redfearn Bechter generally kept his own counsel. He preferred to do God’s work quietly. If you asked the Sergeant, he would tell you God was like a tailor. A gentle entity who preferred to carry on the business of the world with minimal fuss. Bechter observed, “We’re screwed if we don’t decide right now that this is bigger than just some Praman fishermen trying to steal anything that isn’t nailed down. There’s an evil genius at work.”

  Else sighed. “What do you think, Pinkus? Stand tough south and up here, but let them do what they want in between?” Saluda protested, “That would push them into the heavily populated part of the city.”

  “Which is where they want to go. Right? So, if we let them, without making them kill us first, we stay alive to fight. Where they aren’t. Right?”

  Ghort snorted. “Their boats! Shit! Eis and Aaron! You’re a fucking evil genius yourself, Pipe.”

  “Only if they’re stupid enough to leave them on the north bank. They do, we only have to fight them on the bridges when they try to get back.”

  “Heh-heh!” Ghort said. “Let’s get the word spread. You know what’ll happen, don’t you, Pipe? The Brotherhood will harvest the glory.”

  “That’s probably best. They can stand fast against a mob of panicky pirates. Gervase, if you want to make a contribution, how about you run over to Hanbros’s Arch, find Gödel Joyce, and tell him not to put up a real fight because we want the bad guys headed toward the ruins of the Senate. Don’t tell him anything else. Pinkus. Go see Moglia. Tell him to keep them from turning downriver. That’s all he’s got to do. It shouldn’t be hard. Meanwhile, I’ll slide over to the Castella. Bechter?”

  “Right behind you, sir. How long before the pirates catch on?”

  “Long enough to make it too late, I hope.” Else was not optimistic, though. So many boats. Far more boats than anyone had imagined the Calzirans would bring.

  Paludan Bruglioni and those few bold servants willing to help a Bruglioni followed Else to the Castella dollas Pontellas.

  ***

  GRADE DROCKER HIMSELF LED A COMPANY ACROSS THE Rustige Bridge, above Krois, then attacked the beached and moored Calziran boats and ships. Drocker exploited his vestigial powers to confuse and panic the guards protecting the fleet — mostly boats so small they could have carried no more than five men. The guards were the Calziran sick and injured and elderly.

  During a lull Else stared across the Teragi. He saw no sign of anything happening there. Closer, the Brotherhood began barricading the Blendine Bridge to fix the returning pirates for archers on the Castella battlements.

  Sergeant Bechter observed, “They’ll be here soon.”

  “They should be. Yes.”

  Drocker had not brought enough men to fortify the bridge and overwhelm the boat guards, both. Not quickly enough. Sheer numbers of boats and raiders slowed the attack. Drocker seemed unable to do anything useful once resistance stiffened. Scarcely a hundred of the smaller, beached vessels had been fired or holed when Drocker approached Else.

  “We’re already having trouble... holding the bridge. I have to go... help. Keep after it here. Concentrate on the... biggest boats. That will bother them... more. They’ll do... stupid things. Oh. And keep an eye out... for a woman.”

  “Sir? A woman?”

  “Somewhere in this mess... there’s a woman sometimes known... as Starkden. A witch. She’s here... with the fleet... amongst the boats. Otherwise, my power... would be adequa
te. Catch her. Take her alive. She has much... to answer for to... the Brotherhood of War.”

  “Sir, this isn’t a situation I’ve faced before. How do I catch a witch if she doesn’t want to be caught?”

  “She will be badly stunned... now. I hit her hard. But that won’t... last. Don’t waste time. And don’t forget to... drag her along if we can’t hold... the bridge.” Drocker had less trouble talking these days. His health had improved over the last year.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Catch her and... we’ll win this easily, Hecht. Once they know... we control the source of their... good fortune. And know that... the Collegium will be waking up... any minute.”

  “Yes, sir.” Else wondered why the Collegium was not involved already. Had the Calziran sorcerers managed to neutralize them somehow?

  Drocker hurried off toward the Blendine Bridge. Else finally relaxed. Although Drocker was unaware that Else was responsible for crippling him, Else never felt comfortable around the man.

  Bechter observed, “That ain’t a man with much personality, but he’s loaded up on willpower.”

  “Oh, he’s got plenty of personality. All snake.”

  “Hey. That’s the Special Office. They recruit people worse than the ones they hunt. So they only sign reptiles.”

  “Let’s find this witch. Anybody know what we’re looking for?” Bechter said, “Amazingly enough, everybody in the Brotherhood does.” He described a swarthy woman in her fifties who could have been Paludan Bruglioni’s sister or mother — or any fortune-teller on the streets of Brothe.

  Else said as much.

  “Which explains why she comes and goes as she pleases all around the Mother Sea.”

  “Who does she work for?” Else was puzzled. He had not heard of Starkden before the events in Runch. She seemed to have a fabulous reputation on this side of the water.

  “Interesting question, Captain. She appears to be an independent contractor. Look, we’re in the middle of a fight. You want to have a conversation, drop back there with the masked man and his sidekick.” Bechter meant Paludan and Gervase, who was back from his mission. They were not inclined to become directly involved in the rough work. “I’ve got unbelievers to punish.”