People of the City

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

Minox saw two of them up ahead, running for a wheel. The wheel connected to a chain, the chain to an iron gate, the gate at the tunnel entrance.

  Simple deduction. The gate would close before they made it. They would be trapped. They would capture him and kill Miss Nell.

  Only one course of action available.

  He filled the hand with magic, as much as he could gather.

  They were turning the wheel. The gate was closing.

  “My apologies, Miss Nell,” he said.

  “What?” she asked, looking back at him.

  He held up his hand and, with everything he had, pushed her across the hollow. Her sword skittered to the ground as she went flying into the tunnel as the gate slammed shut. Safe on the other side.

  Minox nearly collapsed from the effort, but scrambled to pick up her sword. If he was going to be taken, he would at least make it hurt.

  He only got a few good swipes in before hands were all over him, pressing him down to the ground.

  On his knees, a dozen zealots and beasts holding him down, he said the only thing he could. “You will be charged with violations of the law, including and not limited to assault on an officer of the law, assault on a citizen, attempted murder, and murder times four. I shall see—”

  “I love his spirit,” Crenaxin said, walking calmly up to him. “I mean, even now, he’s so righteous. It’s very interesting.”

  He knelt down next to Minox, and ran a finger along Minox’s hand, now glowing with just an ember of blue within the hard, dead black.

  “But this, oh, this . . . I think this is something Mister Senek will be very interested in, indeed.”

  Kaiana didn’t know what had happened. She had been fighting with those creatures, those bastards, trying to escape with the inspector, when suddenly she had been hurled off her feet, tumbling down the passage. She had lost her sword—Dad’s sword—in the process.

  She got to her feet and brushed herself off. She knew where she was—the same passage they had come from. She could get back to the Blue Hand house relatively easily, go for help. Maybe Veranix was back. She could get him, bring him back through here, hopefully in time for Inspector Welling.

  Welling.

  She realized what he had done. He had saved her, sacrificed himself so she would get away. She had to go back for him, get him out of there. It’s what Veranix would do for him. It’s what he would do for anyone.

  Though Kaiana wondered what she, an unarmed groundskeeper, could possibly do to rescue Welling from a blazing army of mad cultists and deformed monsters.

  Not a damned thing.

  What would Veranix do?

  More importantly, what would she want Veranix to do in a moment like this?

  Why Veranix was constantly doing stupid things became abundantly clear to her.

  She resolved to go back for him. It was the only decent thing to do.

  She started back down the tunnel toward the encampment, all the while forming a dozen different apologies to Veranix. Not that she would actually tell him any of them. That boy’s head was big enough without being told he had been right. But she’d think of them.

  After only a short walk, two figures came out of the darkness. Robes, wicked blades and wickeder smiles. She screamed and almost fell back, just barely keeping her footing.

  “There she is,” one said.

  “Time for a gift of blood for the Brotherhood,” the other said.

  Before Kaiana could even respond, a whistling sound cut through the air. Then the clang of metal on stone, metal on bone, then again. Both those zealots had been suddenly walloped out of nowhere, and a young woman jumped into view, catching the shield flying through the air.

  She landed, sword high, shield raised, a look on her face of someone who was both very angry and very happy to find a target for her anger.

  “Time to rethink your choices, boys,” she said.

  The zealots turned to her and charged, but they were out of their league. Their blades and punches missed every mark, while the girl—this saint—made quick work of cracking their skulls about. Without even quickening her breath, she flattened them both.

  “You all right, miss?” she asked Kaiana, sheathing her sword as she approached. She was in uniform, but not one Kaiana had ever seen before.

  “No,” Kaiana said. “I mean, I’m not hurt, but . . .”

  “I understand,” the girl said—saints, now that Kaiana saw her up close, she was young. Same age as Veranix. “My name’s Jerinne.”

  “Kaiana.”

  “How’d you get down here with Inspector Welling?” Jerinne asked.

  “You know him?”

  Jerinne nodded. “He got captured, but when I saw them coming down the tunnel after you, I figured . . .”

  “Thank you,” Kai said. “He was investigating something with missing children in Dentonhill, and wanted someone to come with him, and . . . it’s complicated.”

  “So you’re not with the Constabulary in any way?”

  “Not at all,” Kaiana said. How could she explain who she was or why she had been down here with Welling? “I’m . . . I’m an associate of the Thorn. Do you know who that is?”

  Jerinne nodded. “I’ve read a couple things in the newssheets, talk in the Initiate barracks. I didn’t . . . I didn’t think he was a real person.”

  “He is,” Kaiana said. “But he was . . . he was already gone, looking for the missing children with someone else.”

  “Seems to be the thing to do today,” Jerinne said. “All right, can you walk? Are you all right?”

  “More or less,” Kaiana said.

  “I’ve got some other friends in trouble down here, so I’m going to go back for them and Inspector Welling. Can you find your way back up to street level?”

  Kaiana nodded. “Yeah, I marked the way from where we came in.”

  “Smart,” Jerinne said, her smile practically lighting up the tunnel. “Where are you going to come up?”

  “Dentonhill. North side of it.”

  “Saints, I’ve gone far underground,” Jerinne said. “All right, get over to the Inemar stationhouse, look for Inspector Satrine Rainey. No one else.”

  “Why—” Kaiana started.

  “Because there are people up there who are working with these bastards down here,” Jerinne said. “Satrine can be trusted.”

  “What about the Thorn?”

  “Maybe he’s already down here in this mess,” she said with a smile. “If you can get him, I’ll take it. But make sure you tell Satrine Rainey. Tell her what happened. Tell her about Welling. Tell her I sent you—Jerinne Fendall.”

  “Jerinne Fendall,” Kaiana repeated. “What if she’s not at the stationhouse?”

  “Then you find her at home. Fourteen Beltner, in High River.”

  “Fourteen Beltner. All right.” She took a deep breath. “Anything else?”

  “She’ll know what to do,” Jerinne said. She hesitated for a moment, and then wrapped Kaiana up in an embrace. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” Kaiana said, not sure how to react to that. Jerinne released her, a shy, awkward smile on her face, and then ran off into the darkness.

  Kaiana turned around and started to make her way back to the Blue Hand house, hoping that Jerinne was right, and Inspector Rainey knew what to do.

  Verci had tried to be patient. He tried to wait it out.

  Seeing that fellow jump off the roof to his death didn’t help one bit. Nor had seeing that Waishen-haired inspector on the scene. Whoever had hired Essin to steal that statue, they were part of the Brotherhood, and they were ready to die rather than let themselves be taken by the constables. He had heard the examinarium saying the other two had slit their own throats.

  He didn’t stick around longer. That inspector had stared at him a bit too long for his comfort
. As curious as he was, he didn’t want to get wrapped up with the constables.

  So he went back to the Gadgeterium and closed things up. He checked in on Essin—sleeping fitfully—and focused his energy on preparing dinner. Raych came home from the bakery, carrying little Corsi, and he kissed them both and ate quietly. Raych told him about her day, but his attention was on the empty chair and plate where Asti should be sitting.

  They finished and cleaned up, and the sun had definitely set into night. He played with Corsi and then settled the boy down to sleep.

  Asti still hadn’t returned.

  He had waited enough.

  “What do you intend to do?” Raych asked him when he started getting dressed.

  “Don’t try to tell me not to go,” he said.

  “I’m not,” she said. “But I am going to say, don’t go stupidly.” She got up from the bed, pulling her dress on.

  “You’re not coming.”

  “Don’t you tell me what I’m not doing,” she said. “But whatever we do, we’re going to do it smart.” She pointed to the statue, sitting in the corner of the room. “You think that’s a part of all this, right?”

  “Right,” he said.

  “So, whatever we do, keeping that secure has to be a part of it. Right?”

  She was spot on about that. “Right. Plus we need to remember that Essin is sleeping in the next apartment.”

  “You don’t trust him, right?”

  “Not a bit, but I believe his story. And I doubt he’ll live to Terrentin.”

  “All right, let’s think about his story. He went to . . . who was it?”

  “Ren Poller.”

  “Someone he trusted. But he was mixed up in this business, too. So we need to think. What are we going to do? Are you planning on going into the tunnels alone?”

  He actually had, but she was right. “No, of course not.”

  “So who are you going to ask to help you?”

  Names rattled through his head. Plenty of people he could call on. Helene and Julien. Helene had made herself scarce of late, spending her nights with Lieutenant Covrane, and Verci wouldn’t take Julien on something like this alone. Jared Scall had been walking around with his mace, hungry for a chance to use it. Jhoqull and her cousins. Going into the tunnels with a small army of Ch’omik warriors definitely had its appeal. He could even go over to campus, get Mila.

  But did he trust them? Trust them not to be . . . compromised, like Poller was? He wanted to. He thought he ought to be able to. But Essin’s story gave him pause.

  The shop bell rang below.

  “Who is at the door?” Raych asked.

  “That’s a very good question.” No one should be ringing the shop at this hour, though Verci had to think about what might happen if things went wrong underground. What if the Thorn or his scrawny friend were the only ones who got out? Wouldn’t they come, and ring the bell?

  Raych went over to the peek mirror he had set up in the apartment and had a look. “Well, that’s odd.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a cloistress.”

  “For real?” Verci asked.

  “Well, that’s how she’s dressed.”

  Verci grabbed three darts and palmed them. “Stay here, lock behind me.”

  “For a cloistress?”

  “Just be safe.”

  He went down the stairs to the front door, leaving the floor bolt in place as he opened it. Unless she was as strong as Julie, she wouldn’t be able to force the door open more than the crack he was allowing.

  As Raych said, a cloistress—young blond girl. She was staring at him with intense, disturbing eyes.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Blessed Saint Terrence! Builder and toymaker! Savior of children!”

  “I, er . . . well, I make toys, but, I don’t know about . . .”

  “You do, blessed saint. And that is such vital important work. I know—I know right now you want to turn your eye to other work, but it is not yet time.”

  “I . . . what do you mean?”

  “Terrentin is coming, dear saint,” she said, tears coming to her eyes. “And soon you will bless the world with your toys. But right now, no, it is not the time. Now you need to be here, doing this work.”

  Verci had no idea what to say to that. Who was this girl?

  “But—”

  “Trust in God, good saint. Wait for the time, it will be clear.”

  She nodded and walked off. Verci shut the door and latched it, then went back up.

  “What did she want?” Raych asked.

  “To spook the blazes out of me, I think,” Verci said. “And . . . it worked.” He took his boots off. “I . . . I think I need to wait here for now.”

  Somehow, that made him feel calm, at least for a moment. That he was making the right choice.

  He just hoped Asti could wait.

  Chapter 15

  ASTI WAS OUT OF CHOICES. Big magic machine, the gears and gimbals spinning. Mage so powerful, it was terrifying this kid out of his mind. No less than ten creatures, misshapen horrors that might have once been men. Asti remembered what Tarvis had said. Skin his knives couldn’t get through. Was that what these were? Unkillable monsters.

  “All right,” Asti told Delmin. “You’re a mage, right?”

  “I mean, yes, but—”

  “I don’t want to hear you saying ‘but.’ You are, yes?”

  “Not a good one.”

  “Kid,” Asti said. “You’re good in school, right?”

  “Top marks.”

  “Well, this is your exam.” Asti snuck a peek back at the machine chamber. Fortunately, the beasts and the mage had their attention on the machine. “We’re going to slip our way out here, behind the machine to the tunnel we came in, and you’re going to get us up there fast. Got it?”

  “And what if they see us?”

  “Then I’m going to start taking those bastards down, and you’re going to get us up there fast. I want you to say, ‘I’m going to pass this exam, Professor Rynax.’”

  “Professor is a rank bestowed—”

  “Say it!”

  “I’m going to pass this exam, Professor Rynax.” Delmin looked over to the door. “Things are heating up. All right, now or never.”

  Asti pulled out two knives. “You still got that knife I gave you, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Just keep it in your hand. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. No matter what, you get up there. And you run.”

  Asti creeped the door open, and slipped into the machine chamber. Mouse quiet. He’d done a dozen sneaks harder than this. They were going to make it.

  A steam piston extended on the machine, and the rings around the cages started spinning.

  Delmin winced and stumbled. Asti grabbed him before he fell. Then he saw something new with the machine.

  The machine was occupied. There was a metal platform in the center, where two people were shackled together: a man and woman. The man was wiry, hairy, with spectacles; the woman, Asti had seen before. The reporter he and Verci had met a few months back.

  And the cages each held a child.

  Asti swore under his breath.

  “Change of plans,” he told Delmin.

  “What are you going to do?” Delmin asked.

  “Something stupid,” Asti said.

  “Wait,” Delmin said. “The numina is building up. Maybe I can do something about that. So, my stupid plan, then your stupid plan.” He set his jaw.

  “What’s your stupid plan?”

  “Make a ruckus even the Thorn will hear.”

  Suddenly a green glow surrounded him and the machine, and the glow around the machine grew sickly as his became brighter.

  “What is happening?” someone on the othe
r side of the machine shouted.

  Asti dove toward the machine, going for the cages. The rings were spinning too fast, he’d be torn to pieces if he tried to get close. He had to figure out how to stop them. That meant the machine controls, and the dozen hairy grotesques between him and them.

  So be it.

  Delmin held his hands out and yanked them in close to his body, and as soon as he did the entire room shook and echoed with thunder. And with a terrible pop, Delmin vanished from sight.

  “Kid!” Asti shouted. He was skunked now, that was certain. As the creatures started to lumber over, he ran over to where Delmin had been.

  “Look out!” a tiny voice said at his feet. He looked to the ground, and there was Delmin, the size of a mouse.

  “What—” was all Asti had a chance to say before one of the monsters was on him. Its horrible hands, swollen and shrunken at the same time, grabbed onto him, as its half-mouth roared. Asti drove both blades into its throat.

  Fortunately, this one did not have skin that Asti couldn’t stab through.

  “Help!” Delmin’s tiny voice called.

  Asti pulled his knives out of the dying beast’s neck, and threw one knife at the next monster. But they were coming too fast. Asti dove in a roll to get out of the way of one of them, scooping up tiny Delmin in the process. “I got a crazy idea, kid.”

  “What’s that?”

  Asti focused on dodging out of the way of the creatures so he could get to a place where he could see the tunnel they came in. He just needed to hold out a few seconds, and then he could tear his way through these bastards. Or die trying.

  He placed tiny Delmin on the hilt of his knife. “No matter what, get out, get help. You hear? Hold on.”

  “Hold on what?” Delmin shouted. Then he seemed to get the idea, and wrapped his arms and legs around the grip.

  Asti flipped the blade once in his hand, and then threw the knife as straight and true as he could at the tunnel opening, twenty feet above him. He heard it land and skitter inside the tunnel.

  Then a fist smashed his head. He went flat down to the ground. That massive hand picked him up by the skull and lifted him off the ground.

  “Asti.” The delusion of Liora Rand was in front of him again. “Asti, you have to survive.”