A gunshot flashed beside a tree, directly ahead of Reclor. As the youth began to collapse he half turned, but managed only to fire into the air before oblivion claimed him. The moderator plunged a knife underhand into the back of Reclor's second, then ripped upward.
"Turn the boy to face the line," said the moderator, "then weight his second with stones and dump him in the lake."
"Damn, but it's good to see the end of this," muttered Grammain.
"Next time you go snatching free pussy make sure she's just a whore," hissed the moderator sharply.
The moderator stood in silence until the four others returned from the lake. He gazed at the glow from the bonfire across the city, and listened to the whistles of the Constable's Runners and the pealing of bells giving their alarm about something. Finally the field was in order and Reclor's substitute second was kneeling by the corpse with ten extra gold coins in his purse. The medician bowed to the moderator.
"Have you an outcome?" asked the moderator.
"Lieutenant Grammain's ball passed through Fras Disore's chest, killing him instantly."
"Gentlefolk, are you agreed that Fras Disore fired first?" asked the moderator.
"We are."
"Then summon a Constable's Runner. A death must be declared."
The moderator blew his whistle and they waited. The glow continued in the distance. No runners came. Eventually the medician
had to be sent to find a Constable's Runner, and even then he did not return with one for another hour.
Julica had been extinguishing the lamps in the lower floor of the house when she entered the parlor from the antedoor. A single lamp burned in a wall bracket, and all was in order as she cast her gaze over the familiar room. All? Perhaps not quite all. There was the box with "Martyne" and "Hearing" in the glass-fronted cabinet, but "Martyne" was no longer on the right. Someone had replaced it upside down, perhaps someone in a hurry. Julica reached out and tugged at the glass door's handle. It was not locked. There was a soft clack as a key turned in the front door of the house. Someone had left in a hurry, presumably because he had heard her approaching footsteps. There was another clack as the door was locked from the outside. Julica drew out the box. It was empty.
Without even thinking Julica snatched Harren's spare cloak and pentacorner hat from the hallstand rack and unlocked the front door. From the drawing room came the drone of prayers. Julica had been told that Elene Disore was keeping vigil with a parson, Velesti, and some friends, waiting for word of the duel. Julica pulled the door shut behind her and pattered out to the garden gate. In the distance, a figure was striding away into the gloom. The moon was down, but Mirrorsun gleamed brightly, high in the sky. Julica set off in pursuit, unsure of what she was doing and not even armed. Who knew precisely where to find the box intended for Martyne Camderine, and who had a key to the Disore mansion's front door? The intruder had a thick-set chest and broad shoulders, but a very narrow waist, and he wore a sharply cut, tapering musketeer's jacket. It was definitely not Reclor.
Even though Julica's quarry had a head start, he was walking at an even, unhurried pace and was now making no attempt at stealth. The streets were not crowded, and those that they passed paid them no heed. The musketeer was moving in a methodical way, checking street signs at every corner and gradually making his way northwest. The buildings grew more crowded as the streets narrowed, then they
were past one final corner and in Militia Square. Only a few yards away was the city barracks. Barely ten minutes since leaving the mansion, Julica guessed.
The musketeer walked on steadily toward the gates. Reluctant to be too exposed, Julica had stopped in the shadows at the edge of the square. A musketeer thief, she decided, he had stolen the records meant for Martyne. How had he known? Perhaps Reclor was dead, perhaps he had babbled out some boast about messages left for Martyne with his dying breath. Two guards sauntered forward to bar the distant figure's path—then Julica heard two muffled reports! Both guards dropped and lay still, and the figure paused to remove their pistols before walking on through the gates.
Julica stood leaning against a wall, barely able to comprehend what had taken place as she watched the musketeer vanish into a building. Someone had just shot down two sentries on duty in front of the largest barracks in the Central Confederation! He had apparently used silencing baffles as well. A warrior. Perhaps even more than a warrior. Someone trained in Balesha. The intruder emerged again, now wearing a cloak and holding what seemed to be a large book to the light of a lamp. After a moment he discarded the book and walked off to a nearby dormitory. Julica could see just the one figure for the next two minutes, slipping from one dormitory to another, apparently in search of someone or something.
At the sound of slurred cursing and shouting, Julica crouched farther back into the shadows. Some revelers were returning to the barracks, but were in an advanced state of intoxication. They were only yards from the bodies of the guards when they realized that something appeared to be wrong.
"Murder! Bloody murder!" bellowed a voice, then a whistle pierced the night air. Julica saw the intruder's distant form as he lifted a lamp from its mounting, carried it to a dormitory, and flung it inside. Flames lit up the windows from within, and cries of pain and alarm echoed out at once. People spilled from the dormitories, mostly in white flannel underclothing, and darted about calling for water. A cloaked shadow began walking for the gate.
One of the men at the gate called "Stop him, he did it!" The
intruder swept his cloak aside and shot him with the silenced gun, then shot the musketeer beside him. Their companions scattered, drawing pistols and sabres. Three shots rang out. The intruder walked on steadily, firing as he approached the gates. Two more men went down, the other two turned and fled.
"You there, in the cloak!" shouted someone with an educated accent. "Stand or I'll fire!"
The intruder turned and shot down a man holding a musket to his shoulder. Someone else fired at him, then the musketeers and officers seemed to all open fire on each other at once. Through the billowing swirls of powder smoke, the intruder passed through the gates, still walking steadily and quite unhurried. Julica turned as the blast of an exploding powder store lit up the square for a moment. When the dazzles faded from her vision and she turned away again, the intruder was gone.
Julica reached the mansion to find all still as she had left it. No news had arrived from the duel, but Velesti was now in her bedroom and asleep on the floor. In the upstairs sunroom, Elene and the other keepers of the vigil were asleep in their chairs, in spite of the large, empty coffee mugs beside each of them. Sneering with disappointment, Julica pulled the door shut with a loud bang. Someone within woke, and began to mumble a prayer. Others joined in as they, woke.
"Reminds me of Gethsemane, maybe it happens a lot," muttered Julica as she returned downstairs.
She replaced the hat and cloak on the hallstand peg. Although she collapsed exhausted onto her bed, she did not sleep at all. What had happened at the barracks had been completely beyond belief, and she replayed the scenes over and over in her mind. Two hours later she was awake to hear boots on the garden path and a knock at the front door that was somehow firm yet respectful at the same time. It was she who opened the door to the Constable's Runner who had brought news of Reclor's death in the duel.
feENTOF THE HUNTED
Rochester, the Rochestrian Commonwealth
Kangen, like many other heroes, had not set out to become great. Greatness merely stole up on him. Being a strategic thinker, and having considerable sympathy for all of those numerate people who lived in fear of slavery within a new Libris Calculor, he had decided that a massive preemptive strike would be for the greater good.
"Is this place not guarded by a large and savage dog?" asked Rhyn as they crouched beside a wall near the university's administration building, waiting for the moon to set.
"That it is."
"Ah, but, ah, but, ah—"
"Please, c
ome to the point."
"Does it not hurt a lot, being bitten by large and savage dogs?"
"So I am led to believe, yes."
"Then why are we here?"
"To secure our numerate brothers and sisters from oppression in the infrastructure maintained by the oligarchy that controls the destinies of us all."
"Er. . . does that answer tell me why were are here, at night, in the cold, risking being shot by the city militia and putting our bottoms in danger of having a very large dog bite them?"
"No, it doesn't, but the dog is not a danger to us."
"It isn't? In my experience savage dogs are notoriously difficult to negotiate with."
"I have been applying an ancient folk remedy to the dog's temper."
"You poisoned it?"
"No, I fed it chicken pie for several days. Good, that is dark enough. I am going to climb the ivy and break in to the records archive. If the dog comes to investigate, feed it this."
Rangen had no trouble climbing the vine, removing a few slates, and climbing down through the ceiling. From this he accessed the archives room by merely smashing through the lath and plaster. A tube of wormglow revealed the cabinets that he wanted, and before long he had emptied the wooden drawers and crumpled some of the poorpaper records within. Now he spilled a little gunpowder on the paper, pulled back the striker of his empty flintlock and sent a shower of sparks into the gunpowder. There was a puff of smoke, and red sparks were left among the papers, Rangen blew on them until flames began to lick and dance.
As Rangen emerged from the roof there was a sudden cry of dismay, followed by the sound of loud snarling through clenched teeth. From the vine he could see Rhyn running in circles with a large dog attached to the seat of his trousers by its teeth. Rangen scrambled down the vine and dropped the last ten feet to the ground, distracting the dog's attention for a moment. It released Rhyn and charged for Rangen. Rangen snatched up a stone and flung it into the nearby flower bed.
"Go for it, chicken pie!" he called, and catching the familiar and welcome scent of his benefactor the dog changed course in a frantic tangle of legs and went after the stone.
Rangen and Rhyn departed very quickly.
"What happened, was the pie rancid?" asked Rangen.
"I'm sorry, it smelled so good I ate it myself."
The following day the university administration regretted to inform the Dragon Librarian Service that the records for all students for the past fifty years had been destroyed by fire, and that the circumstances of the fire were considered suspicious. With no official
records to go by, the agents of Libris had to rely upon the honesty of individuals when questioned about their training in mathematics. Predictably, they found that where confessing their mathematical backgrounds was concerned, people tended to be far less than honest.
Griffith, the Central Confederation
■ he enquiry by the Griffith city magistrate that was held on the afternoon following Reclor's death was out of all proportion to what he had been expecting. First there was the murder of Musketeer Glarek, whose body had been found when the watchouse pantry had been opened in the morning. The guard of that block claimed to have seen nothing. A rope was found dangling from a window.
Reclor had been declared to be a felon by the city magistrate, killed by Lieutenant Mattrel Grammain in self defense. Considering all that had gone on during that terrible night, both Mattrel and his fellow conspirators considered themselves lucky to be alive. The enquiry moved on to a more serious incident, one that had rocked the darkened capital of the Central Confederation as seriously as the approach of an invading army.
"Musketeer Charver, what were you doing before the attack?" asked the magistrate.
The musketeer stood as if at attention, although his right arm was in a sling and his head was bandaged. The observers and scribes sat attentive and alert.
"I were on guard at the barracks gate," Charver replied.
"Describe what happened next."
"I saw a man approaching, walking—"
"Walking how? Steady? Fast? Slow? As if tipsy?"
"Walking brisk, steady, no way was he drunk, exalted Fras. He were dressed in trews, tunic, and cloak. Musketeer Malger and I were relaxed but alert as he approached. He came straight for us. Malger said 'Ee, hope thee has late pass, chugger.' Then I asked, like, ah . . ."
"Yes?"
"I asked, 'Ye'd have got it in, then?' "
There were titters of laughter. The magistrate called for order.
"Do go on, Musketeer Charver. What happened next?"
"The intruder, well, like he had a twin baffle pipe mounted on a gun. He fired. It were like a thump, like a melon being dropped. He shot Malgar, he just went down. Then he shot me, like in the head. I. . . I. . . things went black until I woke and saw fire. Medi-cian said it were a graze to the skull, I were lucky to be alive."
"That's all for now, stand down. I now call Lieutenant Trellik."
The lieutenant took the stand, took the oath and began his testimony.
"The barracks are not guarded within," he revealed sheepishly. "The evidence indicates that the murderer entered dormitory C2 first, the officers' quarters."
"Where you were sleeping."
"Yes, sir, I was off duty. He apparently emerged with the barracks register book and my cloak. He then, apparently, read the register by the oil lamp that burns a-night in the barracks plaza. He dropped that register beneath the lamp. He seems to have gone to B6. He walked in, went to the third bunk along, seized the head of Musketeer Or'Lin and slashed his throat. The murderer took Or'Lin's pistol and left without approaching any other bunks. He then entered B5 and killed another who had the yellow circle. In dormitory Al he cut the throats of another four of the musketeers accused of raping that girl, the Dragon Librarian."
"Enough. Musketeer Charver, I call you to share the stand. Describe what happened as you woke up."
"Some revelers was returning along the street. They saw me and Malger lying there, and someone splashed wine on me face as someone else yelled 'Murder! Bloody murder!' I found me whistle and began blowing it. That was when I saw a figure lift the lamp from its mounting, take it over to dormitory A2 and throw it in."
"Was it the same man as shot you?"
"At that distance, who knows? He was wearing a cloak, though.
Flames, yelling and shouts all started, and people came running out of the other dormitories. People were yelling 'Murder!' as bodies were discovered in their bunks. I kept watching the man in the cloak, though, and he was walking back to the gate. One of the revelers who had helped to revive me saw him approaching too, walking away from the fire. He thought the same as me, like, and called 'Stop 'im, 'e done it!' The suspected man swept his cloak open and shot him with the silenced gun, then shot the musketeer beside him. Their friends backed away, reaching for pistols and sabres, but the suspect drew a musketeer's flintlock from his belt. By now I had me musket up, and I fired. Think I hit him, but like he didn't show it. Then he shot me, here. I blacked out, the pain—"
"Thank you, please stand down. Lieutenant, would you continue?"
"I was roused by a whistle, and I rose from my bunk and put on my boots. I thought it just some fracas at the gate, the guards struggling with a drunk. Then I heard the shouts and screams, and burning guns began to discharge in the dormitory that was afire. As I stepped outside with my long-barreled flintlock I saw a figure in a cloak by the light from the fire. He had a massive chest, and he shot down two figures at the gate. The other two turned and ran. He then flung his two pistols away."
"Yet you did not fire upon him?"
"Not at first; he might have been a fellow officer, shooting down intruders. But I did shout, 'You in the cloak, stop where you stand!' from the door of C2. He turned, I fired. I'm sure I hit him, then he shot me. The ball clipped me, it passed through the side of my neck and I fell, striking my head. As I heard later, the suspect flung that pistol away and shot a musketeer, taking
a bead on him with the pistol in his left hand while drawing another with his right. The musketeer fell, but another musketeer fired his flintlock at him. The ball ripped harmlessly through his cloak, and then this musketeer was brought down by a confused officer who had just emerged from C2 and found me lying there. The intruder turned and continued on towards the gate. I woke as the blast of an exploding powder horn
blew glass from the windows of the burning dormitory. 'The gates, secure the gates!' someone shouted. Five musketeers ran for the gates to carry out those immediate orders. They discovered the bodies there, then one of them fired at the intruder. All at once the others thought they were under attack from the gate and opened fire. The intruder's dark cloak presented little for eyes to seize upon, but the raw cotton nightshirts of those who had run for the gate provided excellent targets against the darkened town buildings beyond. Four dropped with the musketeers' volley, the other was apparently shot by the intruder."
"As far as we can tell, the intruder killed eighteen of those who died last night," the city constable explained next. 'The other fifteen deaths took place as a result of the general confusion around the fire."
"You are sure that there was only one attacker?" asked the magistrate with just a touch of incredulity.
"The testimonies of the survivors point to it, Fras. Interestingly, all those who had their throats slashed were under suspicion of raping that Dragon Librarian girl some months ago."
"I—yes, but what are you implying?"
"From the testimonies of the two surviving drunks, there was no disturbance before they discovered the bodies of the sentries and began screaming foul murder."
"Are you trying to say that if those drunks had kept quiet then only two guards and the rapists would have been attacked?" asked the garrison commander.
"Alleged rapists," added the magistrate.
"In effect, Fras, yes."
"Quite so. And the girl's family?"
"The mother and daughter were at home," said the constable. "My wife was among those sitting vigil with them while their son went out to duel, and is willing to testify that they were there, praying, all the while. Harren Disore has vanished, however."
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