Cities and Thrones

by Carrie Patel

  He fell silent. Already, Jane realized, they were getting hopelessly sidetracked.

  “Let’s take turns,” she said. “I didn’t tell you about Lady Lachesse before. But she approached me shortly before you and I met up. Told me she was trying to make the best of her exile and needed some inside information. It made sense enough, and I couldn’t risk making an enemy of her. So I told her about my meetings with Bailey and the Qadi and about my official meetings with you.” She paused. “I didn’t mention your name, of course.”

  He nodded.

  “Your turn,” she said. “Start with Recoletta and the Library.”

  And so he told her about the rumor of marching farmers, a force that had begun moving south some forty-eight hours ago, gathering strength and spreading rumors as it passed from one commune to the next. Their numbers were estimated to be in the thousands now, and they were closing on the Library.

  “What do they want with it?”

  He shrugged. “No one’s had the chance to ask them. Sato had ignored their requests for lower quotas and better opportunities. The chancellor thinks they mean to burn it down for spite. Ruthers is afraid they’re going to dig around for their own secrets.”

  “What do you think?” Jane asked.

  “All I know is that Sato’s apparently left Recoletta to see to the Library personally. Which is why we’re headed to Recoletta now.”

  “So that Ruthers can take back his throne.”

  Roman nodded haltingly.

  “But that’s not all,” Jane said. “This is also about that secret you two share.”

  He looked over at her slowly. “Not much of a secret now.”

  “Then tell me. Because I’m apparently the last person who doesn’t know.”

  He lowered his elbows to his knees and rested his forehead in the heels of his hands. “This is a long story.”

  Jane glanced through the grill at the guards rocking to and fro with the motion of the carriage. “You’ve got twenty minutes,” she told Roman.

  “Fine. But keep it down.” He took a moment to rub circles into his forehead before looking up. “You know that my family came to Recoletta when I was very young.” His voice was low.

  “Yes,” she said. Lady Lachesse had told her as much in Recoletta long ago.

  “There was a reason we fled our home city. And a reason we made friends so fast.”

  “I thought you got your start in Recoletta because of Ruthers.”

  “In a way,” he said. “That’s certainly why we came to Recoletta of all places. The connection isn’t that close – he’s the youngest brother of my grandfather’s brother’s wife. At the time, he was our best chance.”

  “Best chance for what?”

  “Escape.” Roman paused and seemed to search for his next words somewhere in the wood grain behind Jane. “There aren’t many things that have survived the Catastrophe. But the Library isn’t the only one that did.”

  In the near-silence that followed, Jane heard only the shifting of guards in the main compartment. She was certain that no one else could hear Roman’s whisper.

  “There is a vault,” he said, his voice soft. “A place where the peoples of old locked away some of their most potent weapons. Things that even they, in all their reckless savagery, didn’t trust themselves with.”

  “And this... has something to do with you?” Jane tried to keep the tremor out of her own voice.

  “With anyone directly related to my mother. Which, at this point, is only me. There were two keys,” he said, looking down at his manacled hands and running his thumb along one metal cuff. “One hidden in numbers and the other in blood. Whoever sealed the vault wanted to make certain that only a blood relative entrusted with the proper code could open it.” He snorted a brief, humorless laugh. “I’m sure it made sense for the ancients, thinking all of those bulwarks of destructive power would protect their little empires forever. Now, it just means I’m entrusted with a key I don’t want.”

  “But you don’t know the code,” Jane said.

  “My parents did. I refused to learn it. But they taught others – that was the price of Ruthers’s aid. And the reason for the Satos’ friendship.” He massaged his knuckles. “Ruthers is the only other one who knows now.”

  “Jakkeb Sato’s parents told him?”

  Roman shrugged. “Most likely. But he’s never mentioned it. That was a condition of my agreement to support him.”

  “And a reason you were comfortable seeing him replace Ruthers,” Jane said.

  He only nodded. The carriage rattled on through quiet streets before Jane spoke again.

  “Do you know what’s in the vault?”

  “No,” he said quickly.

  Given everything else he’d said about it, Jane suspected he was telling the truth. In either case, there was no point in pressing him on the subject.

  He leaned forward, reaching for her hands. The chains stopped him short. “Damn it,” he said. “I wish you’d trusted me.”

  Jane was taken aback by the emotion in his voice and the hopelessness in his eyes. She reminded herself that she’d done what she’d needed at the time. “Coming from you,” she began. But the words tasted cold and bitter, and she swallowed the rest of them. “I’ve learned not to give away more than I have to,” she said. “And I would imagine that’s something you understand, too.”

  He laughed bitterly. “After my parents traded our independence for the illusion of safety? I’d say so. But I’d thought...” He sighed, rubbing his knuckles again and looking at the toes of his scuffed boots. “I’d hoped you were different.”

  Jane winced. “Circumstances change, Roman. People change.”

  He looked again at the manacles on his wrists. “I wish that were true.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Confrontations

  Malone, the farmers, and the Revisionists reached the Library at sundown after almost three days of travel. They had begun with almost a hundred from Meyerston, but their group had snowballed as they’d continued south and east past other communes. Malone had stopped trying to count around Woodsey, but she estimated that they must have nearly a thousand. Word had it that more were gathering in their wake.

  It was a larger, clumsier approach than Malone had planned, but the revolutionary enthusiasm proved contagious. By the end of it, they’d sequestered a train stopped outside Shepherd’s Hollow to carry their swelling number the rest of the way to the Library. As busy as the routes between the cities had become, and as busy as the spies from the cities had gotten, such bold maneuvers hadn’t remained hidden for long – a small advance force had staked out the Library and revealed that Sato had beaten them by a day.

  The faces of the men and women around her were flushed with exhaustion and exhilaration. She only hoped that their momentum would carry them forward even as they hunkered down for what could be a wearyingly long or a violently short stay.

  And, looking at the curling rows of razor wire that stretched between their encampment and the Library, she feared the stay might be longer than her cohorts had expected.

  The dome of the Library rose against the darkening sky, much as she’d remembered it. Sato’s soldiers crawled across the hill and between the barricades of rubble and ruin that lay along the path to the Library. They were making their presence conspicuous, she suspected, but they’d kept their distance.

  The multitude with Malone was large enough to present a danger even to several squads of armed troops. And Malone could only hope they’d positioned themselves far enough away to be safe from Sato’s Greek fire.

  Farrah approached from the edge of the crowd, her swift, decisive stride distinct even in the growing darkness. But she still hadn’t grown accustomed to the outdoors – she hunched her shoulders and lowered her head like a cat doused in water.

  “More of the same all the way around,” Farrah said, drawing close. A musk of sweat and smoke hung around her, the odor of days of travel. Malone suspected that she smelled th
e same. “Guards, barricades, razor wire. Looked like a few spots had even been dug up.”

  “Land mines?” Malone asked.

  “Probably.”

  “There’s got to be someplace where the defenses are a little thinner,” Malone said.

  Farrah shrugged. “There’s a narrower passage off to the east. Still guarded and fortified, mind you, but if I were going to send a small group in under the cover of darkness, that’s where I’d do it. Of course,” she said, looking toward the broad, trap-strewn field ahead of them, “if you sent a larger group – say, a few hundred – this would be the place to do it. It’d be messy, but there’s no way Sato’s traps or his troops could stop them all. Enough would get through.”

  Farrah was right, but something in Malone’s gut tightened. She’d seen enough massacres lately that the thought of another turned her stomach. “We’ll find another way,” Malone said.

  Farrah nodded, her features and her posture relaxing.

  Other footsteps, heavy but no less quick, pounded toward her. Malone turned to see Salazar hurrying toward her, another man she’d seen a handful of times trailing just behind him.

  “Trains approaching from the northwest,” he said. “They’ll be here any minute now.”

  “Any idea whose?” Farrah asked.

  “They all look the same from here,” he said.

  The three looked at one another. They wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.

  “Farrah, round up Attrop and Clothoe and meet me on that ridge,” Malone said, pointing to a rise half a mile away that sheltered their camp from the train tracks. “Salazar, get a few of your people to keep a lookout, but don’t cause a stir. We’ll check it out together.”

  Malone trudged up the hill, choosing her steps carefully in the gathering dark. The slope was rugged and uneven, but the night was clear enough that Malone could see her destination as a lip rising just below a field of brightening stars. Only the low hum of conversation rose from the plain behind her. Malone had been adamant that they avoid campfires and anything else that could make their position easy to target from a distance, and to her great surprise, Salazar had communicated her request and his farmers had complied.

  She reached the top and savored the cool breeze that swept the crest, the wide vista stretching all around her, and the dull ache in her legs. The endless expanse, with everything laid bare, haunted and enchanted her. She looked below and beyond her hill to where tracks stretched away from the main rail line and to a makeshift depot. Sato had ordered it built to facilitate travel to and from the Library.

  Whoever Salazar’s scout had seen in the distance was just pulling in amidst shuddering black iron and groans of steam.

  “Who’s it look like?” Farrah asked, climbing up behind Malone. Attrop and Clothoe followed behind her, two heaving, gasping presences.

  “We’ll find out soon,” Malone said.

  More footsteps crunched up the hill. “Now, we’re going to be stuck with Sato on one side of us and these people on the other,” Salazar said. “All we need is a small group to slip past the Library’s defenses. He may expect something, but he won’t know when or where.”

  Malone heard the scowl in Farrah’s voice. “I’m sure the troops on that train days ago thought the same thing about fifteen minutes before they were roasted alive.”

  “Sato snuck an entire army into Recoletta under the Council’s nose,” Attrop said. “We won’t get him by surprise.”

  “Someone’s yet to explain how we are supposed to get him,” Salazar said.

  “Look,” Malone said, pointing down toward the train. It was almost half a mile away, but shadows of movement stretched and spread around it. They moved with oiled precision, and she heard nothing more than the distant roll of train car doors.

  “Seems like a lot of them,” Farrah said. At least a dozen cars were strung along behind the engine, and they all appeared to be shedding personnel. The farmers still outnumbered the newcomers, but if these were armed and trained soldiers – as Malone was beginning to expect – their numbers would be a poor advantage.

  “Reinforcements from Recoletta?” Salazar asked.

  “If they were, they wouldn’t be moving so quietly,” Attrop said. “This is someone else. A force from one of the neighboring cities, most likely.”

  “The same neighbors who sent a trainload of troops to Recoletta before you people left?”

  Attrop gave a low, quiet laugh. “You’re learning, dear boy.”

  A throaty sigh came from Salazar’s direction. “What I want to know is whether they’re friend or foe to us.”

  “That probably depends,” said Attrop.

  “Then we need to move camp. Pack up our people and get some distance before they find us,” he said.

  “We’ll do no such thing. The five of us need to lie low until we’ve figured out how we’ll get to Sato. That these newcomers might stumble upon the camp is simply a risk we’ll have to take.”

  “Like hell we will,” Salazar said, his voice rising. He turned and pointed back down the hill. “They’re less than a mile away. Those are my people. My responsibility. They–”

  “They knew the risks when they came along,” Attrop said. “And now, you need to decide whether your priority is stopping Sato or protecting them.”

  Salazar fell silent. Malone could feel him fuming, but Attrop was right, and he knew it. No one else said anything for several moments.

  “I’ll go,” Malone finally said. “It would help us get to Sato if we at least knew what they were up to.”

  “Good luck to you, then,” Attrop said.

  Malone looked at the older woman and the contours of her arched eyebrows and dismissive frown. “You’re coming with me,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “If these are representatives from other cities, you’re more likely to recognize them.”

  “I admire your pluck, but the field down there is crawling with soldiers. If they hear us–”

  “Then you’d better be quiet,” Malone said. “Farrah, keep an eye on things here. Hopefully, this won’t take long.”

  They set off down the hill, cleaving to a line of trees that tumbled down toward the train tracks. For all her protestations, Attrop proved silent and nimble. The woman had shed her skirts and ruffles for spare corduroy trousers from Meyerston when the march had begun, and she moved easily enough in them. They were down the hill and crouching in the foliage some two hundred feet from the train in less than twenty minutes.

  Men and women in gray uniforms had filed out of the cars to bind together as disparate parts of some collective organism. Several rows of the straight-backed figures formed a layer of tissue around the train while others raked the grass like probing fingers. So far, they’d ignored the copse where Malone hid with Attrop. In any case the thicket seemed deep enough to give them room to retreat if the soldiers ventured closer.

  Then, as if at some silent, invisible command, the patrols returned to the train. A signal spread from the sentries to the troops and on toward the middle car of the train like an impulse jumping synapses. At last, the door of a middle carriage opened, and out stepped three figures, backlit from within the compartment.

  Attrop raised her head, bracing herself against a slender tree trunk. “I don’t believe it,” she said.

  “What?”

  “It’s her,” Attrop said between clenched teeth. “Lachesse.”

  The three figures had moved away from the glare in the carriage, and Malone could make them out more clearly now: a slender, bald, dark-skinned man in a fitted black cassock; a bearded man who wore a finer version of the gray uniform the troops wore; and a woman about Attrop’s age, sturdy and substantial in her wide skirts.

  Malone looked to her side and saw murder in Attrop’s eyes. “Control it,” she muttered.

  Lachesse and the two other figures standing in the pool of light exchanged whispers and retreated back to the train compartment as decisively as they�
��d left it. Malone shot Attrop a hard glare, and the older woman followed her deeper into the woods. They stopped behind a thick screen of trees, well out of earshot of the train.

  “You know these people?” Malone asked.

  “I know the woman. A whitenail from the old days.”

  “Does that change things?”

  “You mean can we trust her? Absolutely not.” Attrop directed her icy stare at the undergrowth, and Malone wondered whether she could trust the woman’s embittered assessment.

  “What does she want?” Malone asked.

  Attrop shook her head. “Sato. A seat on a reconstituted Council. A night’s diversion. Could be any, all, or none of the above.”

  Malone thought back to the two men. “Did you recognize the others?”

  “The leaders of other cities. The Hollow and Underlake, most likely. Lachesse has been busy making useful friends.” She looked slowly back at Malone.

  “Yet this Lachesse isn’t with us.”

  “No. But her useful friends could be.”

  “To get to Sato, you mean,” Malone said.

  Attrop nodded.

  “They’d never cooperate with the farmers.”

  The older woman gave her a slow shrug. “It’s like I said before. How badly do you want to stop Sato? You may not be able to save everyone.”

  The words struck Malone like a hammer blow. As much as she hated to admit it, there was a cruel logic to the idea. And yet she couldn’t help but wonder how much of Attrop’s suggestion came from days of simmering in silence alongside the farmers, of looking for an escape from the unsuitable alliance they presented.

  Besides, there was a simpler, cleaner option. If the city leaders had come with a trainload of troops, it was because they already had a plan. One that did not involve the thousand farmers.

  Unless they had come to resolve both threats – Sato and the communes – at once.

  Too late, Malone realized that she couldn’t allow Attrop to reach the train.

  “Over here,” the older woman called, rising to her feet. “In the forest.” A thunder of shouts and running feet answered Attrop’s cries, and she held her empty hands over her head. “I’d raise my arms if I were you,” she said. “They sound nervous.”