by Sales, Ian
“These are yours.” The pilot handed Tovar a coverall and jacket. He turned and handed a second set to Dai.
The three shed their clerical outfits and dressed quickly in the uniforms. None, Tovar felt, cut especially dashing figures as Commandos. Lotsman was too tall and lanky, Dai too buxom, and he himself a little on the portly side—more a quartermaster than a ranger. But he doubted anyone would look beyond the uniform.
Once suitably attired, they sat and waited. It was another two hours before the prole woman returned. She gathered up the clothes Dai, Lotsman and Tovar had worn when they arrived, shoved them into the bag and then hurried from the room. The door remained open.
Tovar rose to his feet and took a step towards the open exit. He turned and looked back at Dai and Lotsman, puzzled. The scrape of a boot against the wooden floor caused him to turn back.
A figure stood in the open doorway—slim, cloaked, and with a deep hood over its head. The figure reached up and pushed the hood back onto its shoulders, revealing a silver egg-shaped head, featureless but for two round eyes of black glass.
An Involute.
Tovar stepped back and, when he felt the lip of a chair against the back of his legs, dropped to sit down.
This Involute was a woman. She was tall and svelte, and she moved with noble grace. She wore a dress of glossy black, high-necked and falling to mid-thigh, with long tight sleeves which ended in close-fitting gloves. Embroidery in black thread crawled in serpentine patterns across the bodice. Her legs were clad in glossy black hose, and her feet shod in low-heeled ankle boots. About her neck, she wore a silver necklace; about both wrists, silver bracelets; and about her waist a silver chain.
“Good,” she said. Her voice was disguised and issued from a tiny silver caster pinned to her collar. “Let us pull the sting of the Commando. You will come with me.”
She turned on her heel and strode from the room. In the corridor, she pulled her hood back over her silver mask. The three men-at-arms hurried after her. She led them by a different route from the offices of the Imperial Historical Research Institute. They found themselves in an empty hallway, one for the use of yeomen and nobles. The Involute did not hesitate but immediately set off deeper into Ministries. Soon they joined a more populous thoroughfare, a wide hall with an arched ceiling and pillars along each wall. Doors and archways gave onto the offices, agencies and bureaux of the civil government.
Tovar wondered at an Involute who would be seen in public with an Imperial Commando escort. Had the situation deteriorated so badly on Shuto? What had she meant by “pull the sting of the Commando”? As far as he knew, the Order had no links to any regiment. Not, of course, that his lack of knowledge meant anything. He was only a man-at-arms and he had spent the last twenty years flitting about the Empire’s rim in a data-freighter.
There was clearly something odd going on, but the meaning of it all was beyond Tovar. He marched along behind the Involute, trying hard to appear military, and wondering if he had ever met a female Involute before. He remembered encountering less than a dozen knights of the Order and fewer still Involutes. So that perhaps meant nothing. He didn’t even know how many men-at-arms the Order boasted. He knew of only three for certain: himself, Dai and Lotsman.
Curiouser and curiouser, the party of four paraded the length of the hall and then turned off into a side corridor. They did not continue on to the exit. The Involute said nothing but continued to stride ahead. Another turn and they found themselves on a ramp heading down. Tovar was unfamiliar with the layout of Ministries, but something about their route made him wary.
“Where is she taking us?” Tovar asked Lotsman in a whisper.
The pilot shrugged. There had not been much point in asking him: he knew as much as Tovar did himself.
“The garages are down here,” put in Dai. “I think.”
The garages: where nobles working in Ministries left their limousines. Yeomen and proles travelled in by train.
“Perhaps they’ll smuggle us out in a limousine,” Lotsman said with a grin. The prospect of luxury appealed to him.
The ramp they had been descending ended in a rectangular chamber some forty feet long and fifteen feet wide. Rounded arches on each wall led into the great cavern where the limousines were parked. The chamber was empty.
The Involute halted. She turned to the three men-at-arms. “Thank you,” she said. “You have been most helpful.”
They were being dismissed? Lotsman peered through the nearest arch, but could see no vehicle waiting for them. He turned to look to the other side. Nowhere, in fact, was there a waiting limousine to be seen. The garage was deserted of people, just row upon row of parked cars, bobbing silently on their chargers.
A scuff of boot leather on stone behind him broke the silence. He turned about, saw Tovar and Dai doing the same. Six figures stepped through an arch from their hiding place. They wore close-fitting black coveralls, and hoods that left only their eyes visible within a narrow slit. They advanced warily and, once within ten feet of Lotsman, Tovar and Dai, pulled out swords.
Lotsman swore under his breath. He heard footsteps behind him, and swore again. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw it was only the Involute heading up the ramp. She was leaving them to their fate.
“Now I know why you never hear of anyone retiring from the Order,” remarked Dai bitterly.
Lotsman had adopted a defensive stance. “We’ve seen off better than this,” he said.
The two leading assassins increased their pace and raised their blades. One targeted Lotsman and the other Tovar. As the point of a blade shot towards him, Lotsman twisted to one side, stepped forward, and brought the edge of his hand down on the assassin’s wrist. The sword fell to the stone floor with a clang. The pilot stepped forward, turned to present his back and drove an elbow high into his attacker’s throat. He hooked his heel behind the man’s leg, twisted and sent him to the floor. The assassin let out a wet gurgle from his smashed larynx. His feet drummed against the ground. He lay still.
A second assassin was moving in for the kill. Lotsman had no time to see how his shipmates were faring. He knew they were both excellent fighters.
This attacker was more cautious than the previous one. He held back, sword before him, point circling while he looked for an opening. He lunged and Lotsman spun away, lashing out with a fist as he did so. The assassin was quick to recover, too quick. His blade flicked out and caught the pilot on the upper arm. It did not go deep, but the sudden sharp pain made Lotsman hiss. He stepped back and, knees bent, waited for his attacker to make another lunge.
He went low.
Lotsman leapt above the blade and kicked out. His boot caught the assassin in the chest and knocked him back. His sword flew from his hand. Lotsman landed lightly, ran forwards and stamped down on the hooded man’s throat. The assassin slammed a hand down against the stone and then moved no more.
Turning to the others, Lotsman saw that Tovar was struggling against both of his attackers, while Dai had all ready disposed of one of her pair. The cargo-master needed his help. Lotsman rushed forward and dived. He took one of Tovar’s assassins around the waist and together they flew out of the melee. He landed on the assassin and quickly chopped down. Scrambling to his feet, he turned about —
In time to see Tovar take a sword in the chest. The cargo-master folded. His knees hit the floor. The assassin withdrew his bloody blade. Tovar rolled sideways, then onto his back. His arms fell open.
“Adril!”
Lotsman ran forward, not caring for his own safety. He barrelled the assassin aside. But the cargo-master was dead; his face had been washed free of expression.
A burning pain in his side made Lotsman bellow. He looked down to see a sword point protruding from his abdomen. The sword withdrew and Lotsman yelled a second time. He spun about, bent one knee and swung out the other leg straight. It swept the assassin off his feet. The masked man landed heavily on his back. He did not ma
ke a sound. Lotsman was on him immediately, bending over and delivering a straight-armed punch at where he guessed the man’s nose to be. He felt cartilage break beneath his knuckles. The assassin arched his back and then collapsed.
“Lex! Quick!”
It was Dai. A hand to the wound in his side, Lotsman turned about. She stood over the body of an assassin and held his sword loosely in one hand. Blood dripped from its point.
“We have to go,” she said urgently.
“Adril is dead.”
“Yes, yes, I know, damn it. But we can’t stay here.”
“We can’t go up there.” Lotsman winced as he pointed up the ramp. He groaned.
Dai crossed to him. “You’re wounded? Let me see.”
“It’s just a flesh wound.”
“Bloody idiot,” muttered Dai. She pulled Lotsman’s hand from his side and carefully parted the rent cloth of his Imperial Commando coverall. “Looks nasty.” She straightened. “Nothing we can do here.”
Lotsman returned his hand to the wound and kept it pressed hard. He could feel blood slick beneath his palm, the cloth of his coverall slimy with it. If they had been on a battlefield in these uniforms, he thought ruefully, he would have been carrying field dressings. Those would have come in very useful.
“Let’s go,” urged Dai.
They ran through the garage, between limousines of many shapes and sizes, all floating serenely a foot above the rock floor. Dai could hear Lotsman panting behind her. He would not last long unless he received medical attention soon. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw he was having trouble staying upright. He put a hand to a limousine and left a bloody palm print on its bodywork.
She silently urged the pilot to keep moving. They had to get away from Ministries as quickly as possible. There was no way of knowing if their escape had been discovered.
Tovar was dead!
What had gone wrong?
Clearly, they were no longer required by their masters. Worse, they were a danger to them. That bitch Involute had set assassins on them. Yet there was a puzzle here. The assassins had been clad similarly to those who’d attacked Divine Providence on Ophavon. Why would a knight sinister use such people? Had the attack on the ship all those weeks ago been part of a knight sinister plot?
Dai could not think. It was all too complicated—wheels within wheels within wheels. She’d never had much patience for that sort of thing. That was why she’d loved being a ship’s engineer. Everything was straightforward in an engine-room. Machinery broke, you fixed it. Everything worked according to known and obvious rules.
She slowed and allowed Lotsman to catch up. She put out a hand to help him but he waved it away. His face was white and glistened sickly.
“We… need… train…,” he gasped.
“I bloody know,” snapped Dai. “I’m trying to get us there. But I don’t know the way.”
“Go… on…” He gestured weakly for her to continue.
The garage was a vast space, punctuated by support pillars. Dai could see no end to it, just row after row of vehicles. She knew thousands worked in Ministries, but the number had meant nothing to her until now.
And outside Ministries, in the tenements which filled the valleys of Toshi, were millions. She could not imagine the numbers—
She heard a thud behind her.
Lotsman. He had fallen. She rushed back to him. He lay on the floor, panting, blood leaking from his wound. Was the bleeding worse? It seemed to be. He tried to get to his feet. Dai grabbed his uninjured arm and hauled him up.
“Come on, Lex,” she hissed.
“I’m… trying,” he snapped. Bu there was no power in his anger.
They set off again, at a slower pace. Lotsman could maintain only a heavy-footed jog and even that caused him to grunt with pain at each step.
Ten minutes later, they reached the wall of the garage. Dai turned left, although there seemed no good reason to go that way in preference to the other. Happily, a few minutes later, she came to a section of wall clad in smooth-faced stone blocks and pierced by a trio of rounded arches. She glanced at Lotsman, who was some ten yards away, unsteady on his feet but still going, and then stepped through the first of the arches. She found herself in a rectangular chamber, much like the one in which Tovar had died. The only exit appeared to be an ascending ramp.
She put a foot to the ramp, but some trick of perspective made her look more closely at the room’s rear wall. She crossed to it…
An optical illusion. The back wall was actually in two parts, the section to the right being nearer the ramp than the section of wall to the left. Between the two walls was a passage of rough rock walls and floor. For proletarians—drivers, tigers, and the like.
There was a scraping noise from the arches. Dai stepped back into the chamber. Lotsman. He stood just inside, one hand to his side, the other out to the wall and holding him upright. His coveralls were sodden with blood about his wound. She rushed across to him.
“We… have… to…” He broke off with a gasp, barked a cough and then drew in a shuddering breath. “Marla.”
“We have to tell someone,” she said.
“Yessss.”
“Who, Lex? Who?”
He drew in a deep breath, straightened, and, for a moment, she saw the Lotsman she knew. “There’s only one person… we can tell…” He bent forward, coughed again. Scarlet dripped from his mouth and fell in glutinous strings to the floor.
“Who?” She leaned closer.
“Cas.”
“No!” She turned from him, took a pace. “No,” she repeated, chopping down with a hand. “He’s with the Admiral. He’s with them.”
“No.” The pilot’s voice was so faint, she at first did not hear him. “Cas.”
She was angry now. “Look. This is all bloody irrelevant. We need to get you to a surgeon.”
She put an arm about his waist, carefully avoiding his wound, and eased him from his stance against the pillar. Together, they shuffled towards the prole exit from the chamber.
Lotsman seemed to plumb some deep reservoir of strength once they had entered the passage. Some of the weight he had rested on Dai’s shoulder lifted and his step seemed a little lighter.
For ten minutes they made their way along the tunnel. Several side-passages joined it but they ignored each one. With each minute, Lotsman grew heavier and heavier on Dai’s shoulder. She wondered how close they were to a train station. There had to be one somewhere under Ministries. More than one. If all those cars in the garage were indicative of the number of nobles who worked in Ministries, then a thousand times that number of proles must also be employed within this lump of rock.
Just when she thought she could go no further, when Lotsman’s continued survival no longer astonished her… she heard the low sussurrus of people’s feet on stone, of conversation, of wind being forced through tunnels by trains.
“Nearly there,” she told Lotsman.
He grunted in reply.
The passage debouched into a much larger one with walls of faced stone and an arched ceiling. There were some dozen or so people present, busy about their business. One or two glanced at Dai and Lotsman. Expressions of shock flickered onto their faces when they saw the blood. But as soon as they had registered the military uniforms, they turned away.
Dai swore under her breath. She had not expected help. Neither had she imagined they would be ignored.
She could hear a train arriving at a platform across the way, a soft whisper of sound followed by a bird-like shriek of brakes. She dragged Lotsman to the platform. There was a crowd there, waiting patiently for the train to halt. A lacuna formed among them around Dai and Lotsman. She glared at those surrounding her, but none looked her way. She glanced down, saw the tendrils of blood blindly seeking a route from Lotsman’s boots. She could barely feel him breathe against her.
Movement to her left caught her attention. She twisted her head to look.
A young man, dressed in black, with round innocuous features and short-cut brown hair. Another flicker of movement to her right. Another young man in black. She looked from one to the other. They were identical.
The one to the left stepped closer, and she saw the flash of a short blade in his hand.
“Go!” hissed Lotsman. “Tell Cas.”
Weakly, he tried to pull her arm from about his waist.
“No,” she told him.
“Go.” He pushed against her.
She wouldn’t let go. Tovar was dead, she wasn’t going to let Lotsman die too.
He pulled to the left, towards the assassin with the dagger. Dai tried to haul him back, but he was determined. Where had he found the strength? Reluctantly, she let go. He staggered forwards, bringing his hands up as if to fight. He let out a deep groan of pain.
Dai looked back over her shoulder. The other assassin was waiting patiently behind her. The crowd about them was beginning to move. The train had stopped and its doors opened. Dai waited.
Lotsman reached the man with the knife. He swung out a fist, slowly, so slowly. The assassin moved out of the way. Lotsman fell forwards. He managed to grab the man’s shoulders. Dai saw the blade slide in. Lotsman jerked. His grip loosened and he slid to the ground.
Dai spun about. She charged at the second assassin, taking him by surprise. Her raised elbow caught him across one cheekbone. He fell back. She crossed the platform and stepped onto the train. The two assassins moved towards the carriage.
They had misjudged it.
The door slid shut. They rushed forward and thudded into the closed door. Dai watched them. Their faces had not changed expression.
She continued to watch them as the train pulled away from the station.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Stikker had no information on Norioko’s whereabouts, had not in fact seemed to care overly much where he was. So much, thought Finesz, for her most useful contact in Congress. She left him ruminating on the intelligence she had given him—it had been a somewhat one-sided transaction, she belatedly realised—and headed towards the Corridor of Power. As she strode towards the entrance to Congress, she wondered where Norioko might be. The Bailiff at the House of Rectitude had not told her who had released him but… Could it have been the knights sinister? Involutes? They were the only group which had the authority to do so. She very much doubted the regnal government was conducting business as usual—for all that the civil government appeared to be doing so—while the Imperial Palace remained under siege.