Cities and Thrones

by Carrie Patel

  “You can’t honestly believe that Recoletta is better off with your unschooled demagogue. From what I’ve heard of conditions in the city, it’s a mercy I was forced to leave. But you know as well as I that I can restore order and confidence in a way that your artless idealist never could. Both Recoletta and Madina will be better off for it.”

  “And all you had to do was offer up a secret that should have died with us,” Roman said.

  Ruthers’s lip curled in the barest hint of a scowl. “Part of the changing circumstances. When the stakes rise, so do the wagers. Even I had to offer something to stay relevant.”

  “Even you should know better than to trust them with this kind of power,” Roman said.

  Ruthers’s shoulders stiffened, and he looked away, as if the entire discussion were beneath him. “Coming from someone who put a petulant and embittered child on the throne, that’s ironic, indeed.”

  “Well,” Lady Lachesse said, consulting a pocket watch. “As delightful as it’s been to witness this family reunion, Augustus and I are due for another meeting presently. One that shall, I hope, be more productive.” She glared at Ruthers.

  “We shall continue this later,” Ruthers said with a look at Roman. Jane almost thought she’d been forgotten until she felt a guard behind her chair, prompting her to rise.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Plans

  True to her word, Attrop had found a way out of the city and onto one of the few remaining trains waiting just outside Recoletta. Her uncanny knowledge of the routes through Recoletta’s perilous and ever-shifting territories, as well as her seeming acquaintance with the many figures who prowled and guarded those areas, had brought Malone, Farrah, Clothoe, and the four Revisionists blinking into the late afternoon sunlight faster than she’d believed possible. And it was only her unassailable authority with the men and women guarding the trains that allowed the eight of them to push through the thick crowd and into a compartment while one train already pulled away in the distance.

  Things had gone smoothly enough until the train had reached Meyerston, stopping long enough to let Malone’s group and a few others disembark. After that, things had gotten interesting.

  It hadn’t taken long for Malone to find Salazar and his cohorts. They were grouped in the town hall, as before, where they were discussing their next move. They’d managed to salvage the confidence of the rest of the farmers after Sato’s burning of their fields, and they’d already learned of the incident with the trains. They had seemed glad at the support that Malone’s presence – and that of her whitenail counterparts – implied.

  All of which had changed once the two groups actually began talking.

  Both groups saw that Sato’s recent extremes left him vulnerable. Recoletta wouldn’t long abide a madman, and fewer of his supporters were likely to stand by him as he resorted to such excesses. But where the farmers saw a chance to push for broader reforms, the Revisionists perceived an opportunity to reinstate a more comfortable and familiar system of governance.

  And as darkness overtook the village, Malone found both sides rehashing familiar arguments in the town hall.

  “Madness,” Attrop said. “Sato’s nearly broken Recoletta while trying to reshape it. You would bend it even further.”

  “And you’re missing the point entirely,” Salazar said, gesturing over a greasy plate of chicken bones that, a few short hours ago, had been his portion of a cordial supper. “The problem wasn’t what Sato wanted to change, it’s how he went about it.”

  “The one says much about the other.”

  “And what about your Council’s infamous corruption? How much does that say about those policies you’d return to?”

  Tedium and tension left the rest of the group – Farrah, the nine other delegates from the communes, and the rest of the Revisionists – quietly fidgeting around the table. While the farmers seemed preoccupied with the wood grain of the long table between them, the Recolettans flinched at every groan and creak of the old building. As the discussion had worn on, both parties had increasingly left their arguments with their most vocal members, Madame Attrop and Benjie Salazar.

  Attrop graced Salazar’s remark with a casual flick of her eyes. “Don’t be simple. That’s merely the way things get done. Even you wouldn’t be above a little inducement were you in the position to receive it.”

  Salazar’s eyebrows lowered. “Speaking from experience, I take it. No wonder you’re so eager to have your old system back.” He nodded at the Revisionists. “Do your bootlickers know they’re just helping you climb back over them? Or have you promised them a share of the cream, too?”

  Attrop raised her chin, turning her face away from Salazar. “I could well ask the same of your little in-group. What kinds of empty promises and reassurances have you offered to keep them in line?”

  Salazar was leaning over the table when Malone brought her hand down on it. Hard. “Enough,” she said.

  Both Salazar and Attrop looked at her with shock tinged with indignation. But she had their attention.

  “We’ve got to come to some kind of agreement. Between the missing food shipment and the train incident, he’ll have his hands full. We need to act while he’s still off balance,” Malone said.

  Both parties glared at her, suspicious and resentful.

  “As much as we appreciate the hospitality, we didn’t come all the way out here to join an ill-fated farmers’ revolt,” Attrop said icily.

  “And we’re not sending our people to die just to prop up your dynasty,” Salazar said.

  Malone counted it as evidence of her evenhandedness, at least, that both sides seemed to mistrust her equally. “I don’t care what you all decide,” Malone said, “but you need to agree on something.”

  Attrop held up a hand, her rings and fingernails flashing in the moonlight. “I don’t see why we’re even discussing this. The primary issue is the governance of Recoletta, a city in which our... esteemed colleagues do not reside. What matters is what the people of Recoletta will support.”

  “They’ll support whatever you tell them, and you know it,” Salazar said. “And we’ll give you the same treatment we’ve given Sato until you give us a fair deal.”

  “He’s right,” Malone said. “Nobody will last long in Recoletta without the support of the farmers.”

  “Then the Qadi and her allies will punish you soon enough,” Attrop said. “If they’d send troops into another city, what do you think they’ll do to you?”

  “Whatever it might be, it won’t end with us growing your food, that’s for damn sure,” Salazar said.

  Attrop said nothing, but Malone could see her mind at work and her silent, reluctant acceptance of the facts.

  “He’s right,” Malone said to Attrop. “You need their cooperation.” She turned to Salazar. “But you’re going to need Recoletta’s support to deal with the Qadi’s allied forces. And, like it or not, you’re going to need some kind of agreement from Recoletta’s leaders to get what you’re asking for.”

  There was, at last, a long silence. The commune delegates and the Revisionists looked at the table as if reading something from its scars in the dappling patches of moonlight.

  Finally, Callo spoke up, dragging a callused hand through his white hair. “I think we’re missing the larger issue. Even if we reached common ground, we’ve still got to find a way to oust Sato.”

  “That should be easy enough,” Salazar said. “Between the communes, we’ve got plenty of–”

  “They’re not going to march to war in a city,” Callo replied. “They’ll defend their homes here, but they’re not going to take up arms on someone else’s doorstep.”

  Salazar frowned, looking around the table as if he’d just been betrayed. “They wouldn’t be alone. When they reach the city, the rest of Recoletta–”

  “Will hide in their homes if we’re lucky or shoot them in the streets if we’re not,” Callo interrupted. “Whatever their feelings about Sato, they’re not going
to welcome another invading army.”

  “Speaking of which,” said another delegate, the woman who had brought the wine when Malone had last visited, “Sato has a proper army. And he defeated an invasion from another proper army just this morning. Even if we were to work together, we won’t get anywhere trying to take Recoletta by force.”

  “I suppose we should just ask nicely,” Salazar said.

  “She’s right,” Callo said, glaring at Salazar. “The troops from the Hollow never stood a chance.”

  “Because they were foolish enough to cram themselves onto a train in the first place,” Salazar said. “And they had no idea about Sato’s secret weapon.”

  The woman shook her head. “He’ll be watching any way into or out of the city. There’s no way we could sneak the numbers we’d need into Recoletta without attracting his attention. And how do we know he doesn’t have more surprises like that fire?”

  Voices rose around the table with questions and arguments, agitated after so many hours of tense silence. The sudden outpouring found farmers and Revisionists alike questioning and asserting the efficacy of force and the threat posed by Sato’s mysterious fire, all to no one in particular.

  Such was the ruckus that no one heard Madame Clothoe’s quiet murmur at first. But Malone saw the old woman’s lips moving and raised a hand for silence. Eventually, the group grew quiet.

  “Greek fire,” Clothoe said. “It was Greek fire.”

  “What are you talking about?” Attrop asked.

  “The fire Sato unleashed on the train. It’s called ‘Greek fire.’ Or it was at one point, anyway.”

  “You know what that stuff is?” Salazar asked.

  “Silly boy. Anyone who’s read a little history knows what it is.” Clothoe cackled, seemingly oblivious to the irony in the statement. “But how to make it – that’s the real trick.”

  Salazar pressed closer. “You know how?”

  “Certainly not. But I know where Sato learned.”

  “The Library,” Attrop said.

  Salazar looked to Malone.

  “He did make a sudden trip to the Library just a few days ago,” she said.

  In that moment, Attrop and Salazar exchanged glances with one another and with Malone, sharing the thrilling communion of sudden understanding. The rest of the group, delegates and Revisionists alike, were quiet, fearful of breaking a spell they didn’t quite understand.

  “This is how we get him,” Salazar said.

  Callo sat back, looking between the three. “You can’t... You don’t mean to go after Sato’s secrets in the Library, do you?”

  “No,” Salazar said, “we mean to go after the Library.”

  Attrop nodded. “Burn it down if we must.”

  Malone’s muscles tensed with a strange sort of anxiety, yet she finally saw cooperation in the faces of her once-combative and disparate allies. Even Farrah was nodding, her brow wrinkled with firm purpose.

  “It’ll certainly get his attention,” Malone said.

  * * *

  Jane was firmly but courteously escorted to a quiet room somewhere in the depths of the Majlis immediately after the surprise meeting with Ruthers. Roman was taken in a different direction and she tried to still her fluttering panic with several months’ worth of experiences, all of which indicated that Madina was not a place of wanton cruelty or barbarism.

  The reassurances almost worked.

  Yet the room in which her escort left her was comfortable if featureless, and she was left almost entirely on her own. The hours passed somehow, in a seamless haze of sleep and wakefulness, anxiety and grim resignation. She counted time passing in the meals her captors left with her.

  She estimated that it was mid- or late morning on the second day after her arrest when two of the Qadi’s guards returned, their expressions urging her to hurry even while their voices were tight and controlled.

  “Sayideh, please come with us,” one of them said.

  Jane gave them no cause to wait.

  She was led along nearly empty hallways and past the many offices and meeting rooms of the Majlis to a carriage bay, where another pair of large but inexplicably sleek black conveyances awaited her.

  So, too, did Roman.

  He looked exhausted but unharmed, and Jane read in his face the same tired relief that she felt at seeing him. They said nothing, but the guards made no move to stop them as they silently drew together.

  For their part, the guards stood in a tense, nervous formation, their eyes darting to the door through which Jane had come.

  After a handful of agonizingly silent seconds, the Qadi swept through, trailed by Chancellor O’Brien, Father Isse, Lady Lachesse, and Augustus Ruthers.

  “The decision is made, Augustus,” the Qadi said.

  He quickened his pace to circle around in front of her. “You can’t mean to leave me out of this,” he said.

  “We aren’t, you insufferable fool,” the chancellor growled. “We’re sending you straight to Recoletta.”

  Jane’s pulse quickened, and she suddenly realized she was holding her breath. Something big had changed while she’d been locked away in the Majlis.

  “You think I’m going to stand aside while you settle matters with Sato?” Ruthers asked.

  “No, we think you’re going to start getting Recoletta in order,” the Qadi said.

  “The city you lost,” the chancellor said.

  “I mean to be there when you catch Sato. I mean to see him dealt with,” said Ruthers. He squared his shoulders in front of the others, but already he sounded less insistent, less sure of himself.

  Standing next to Roman, Jane felt like a child watching adults argue, helpless and invisible. She looked up at Roman, but his face was a study in impassivity.

  “Augustus,” Father Isse said, his voice as smooth as silk. “I know this is personal for you. We all know that Sato robbed you of your dignity along with your position.” He paused just long enough to let Ruthers cringe, the ends of his ears beginning to redden. “But the best thing you can do now to regain it is to cement your place in Recoletta. Return in triumph when Sato has fled in ignominy. The people will welcome a decisive and familiar presence.”

  Ruthers looked overpowered rather than convinced, but he kept his head high. “Very well. But they come with me,” he said, pointing at Jane and Roman.

  Jane’s heart raced as the city leaders looked over at her, wondering and calculating.

  “He’s my family,” Ruthers said before anyone could object, “and my responsibility.”

  It wasn’t the kind of thing Jane would have imagined Ruthers saying. The others looked equally dubious.

  “Not to be crass, but you’ve made him the subject of collective interest,” Father Isse said.

  “Without me, he’s of no use to you,” Ruthers said. “He comes with me.”

  The others looked between one another with stoically forbearing expressions, their mouths pressed into thin lines.

  “Take Roman, then. But you’ve no need of her,” the Qadi said, nodding at Jane.

  “She and I have a history,” Ruthers said. “And she’ll be useful for keeping Roman in line.”

  Jane’s blood chilled.

  The Qadi didn’t meet Jane’s eye. She said nothing further.

  Lady Lachesse looked at the chancellor and Father Isse. “We need to move. The farmers have two days’ head start. There’s no telling what will happen if they reach the Library first.”

  Father Isse nodded, his spectacles winking in the lamplight, and Chancellor O’Brien folded his arms and grunted as if the hurry had been his idea in the first place.

  But when Ruthers trudged off to one carriage, the nearest two guards nudged Jane and Roman toward the same. Lady Lachesse, Father Isse, and Chancellor O’Brien hurried toward the other, their voices lowered in urgent conference.

  As Jane was packed away into the back of the coach, she stole one last glance back at the door to the Majlis. The Qadi stood beneath the ornate
wooden frame, silhouetted by a faint halo of light.

  Once the guards had chained her and Roman to the benches in the back compartment, the door slammed shut and the carriage pulled away.

  A thin haze of light filtered into their compartment from a two-foot wide grill into the main section of the carriage. Jane looked at Roman, seated across from her, his eyes averted. They were, at last, alone together, though she couldn’t guess for how long.

  “It’s going to take days to reach Recoletta like this,” she said.

  He looked up as if at a sudden noise. “They’re taking us to the train station. About half an hour away. Supposedly, Sato’s only blocked off one railway leading to the city.”

  “Then we don’t have much time to talk,” Jane said. Still, it seemed like as much as they’d ever had for their secret soirees at the Jeweled Pheasant.

  He sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Why did Sato leave Recoletta? What’s going on at the Library? And what’s this secret between you and Ruthers?”

  He smiled in defeat. “That’s a lot of everything.”

  “Not my fault. There’s a lot you’ve been keeping from me.”

  “That goes both ways,” he said, suddenly serious again. “You never told me you’d been meeting with Lady Lachesse.”

  “It didn’t seem relevant at the time,” Jane said, scowling and looking away. She knew it only made her seem guilty, but she was too angry to face the accusation in his eyes. He, of all people, had no right.

  “Jane, if you’d told me–”

  “You’d have done what?” she said, snapping her gaze back to him. “You’d have seen this all coming? You’d have found a way to turn it all around to your favor?”

  He tried to raise his hands in a placating gesture, but the chains stopped them just short. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that you don’t know these people as well as you think.”

  “Given what’s happened with Sato in Recoletta, I don’t think you do, either.”