The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels)

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  Moments he was surely losing. He didn’t even dare glance behind to see if they were on his heels. No strength, no magic left to shroud or jump away. His best hope was to get some open space so he could make a clean shot. Maybe if he took one of them out of action with an arrow, he’d stand a chance against the other.

  If the other was Bluejay, at least. She was ridiculously talented, but it was clear that she was a lot like him—a performer with skills that could be used in a fight. She had showmanship in spades, but enjoyed the show more than the kill. He could use that.

  Magpie was a different matter. She was a killer, and her skills were in fighting. She might look like a woman from northern Druthal, but she didn’t fight like one. She had moves the like of which Veranix had never seen, and strength to match it.

  If she got in close again, he was dead.

  The whistling of Bluejay’s blades let him know they were approaching. Veranix forced himself into a sprint, around the corner, into Cantarell Square.

  There had been no final number, from the Constabulary or the Yellowshields, of the injured and dead in Cantarell Square from the other night. Reverend Pemmick wanted to light a candle and give a prayer for each one, but he had no numbers, no names. The authorities had kept him out of the square the previous day, but he would see to it today.

  A handful of the Knights of Saint Julian stood watch at a respectful distance, and more than a few of the stalwart old ladies from the congregation joined in the observance.

  “Saint Julian, bless these unnamed souls,” he said as he lit candles on the stage, which had been hastily reconstructed by the local players. “I have no words, no comfort, as their lives were lost in senseless tragedy.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, and he was grateful that the old ladies were far more invested in their own prayers than listening to him. “What role I might have played in sparking that tragedy, I am not entirely sure. For these unnamed souls and their delivery into blessing, I will dedicate myself to further penance.”

  A sharp whistling sound cut through the air, followed by a sharp impact. A bladed disc—a Kellirac dektha—imbedded itself into one of the wooden posts of the stage.

  Pemmick turned to see a cloaked figure with a staff leaping away from a half-undressed woman spinning hoops around her waist.

  “That’s the Thorn!” one of the Knights shouted.

  The Thorn was backing away when another figure—a blonde woman dressed far more sensibly, at least for the purpose of fighting—came out of an alley and threw a dart at the Thorn, which barely missed. The Thorn ran over and jumped up onto the stage.

  “My apologies, Reverend,” he said as he changed weapons to a bow, “but I need the stage.”

  Pemmick wasn’t sure what to make of this. “I don’t understand, son, but perhaps . . .”

  “Get him to safety!” the Thorn shouted, and Pemmick immediately realized that this was directed to the Knights. They were already getting in front of the congregation women, drawing out their knives.

  “No weapons!” Pemmick shouted.

  The Thorn took aim at the blonde woman, who threw another dart. He fired, and in the same moment, shoved himself against Pemmick. It took a moment for Pemmick to realize that the Thorn was struck in the arm, and that the dart might well have hit him instead.

  “Son—” the reverend started, before the Thorn grabbed him by his cassock and pulled him down behind the stage. Another dektha flew past them.

  “This isn’t the place, I know,” the Thorn said as soon as they hit the ground behind the stage. “I wasn’t given much choice.”

  “You’re in no state—”

  “I’m aware of that,” the Thorn said, drawing out his arrows. The dart was still lodged in his arm, blood gushing. The two women shouted taunts, and the air was pierced with Constabulary whistles. “Tell the saints I’m coming sooner than I’d hoped.”

  Then he jumped up, a higher, faster jump than any man could naturally make, and landed back on the stage with his bow drawn back.

  Suddenly, up there, with the glare of the sun forming a halo around him, his bow, and his billowing cloak, Reverend Pemmick saw the Thorn in the image of Saint Benton.

  It only lasted for a moment, but it burned an idea into Pemmick’s heart. He knew, as surely as if God himself had spoken to him, that he must help the Thorn in any way he could. This was Pemmick’s penance.

  The Thorn fired.

  The Rabbits on Orchid were dispatched in short order. There had been little fight to them, it was almost embarrassing. They left the bird alive—arm set, shivering in a cold sweat—so she could limp back and spread the word that Orchid was purely Prince territory. The sew-up ended up being perfectly accommodating, and as far as Colin could tell, the folks at the secretarial were thrilled to have the Rabbits out of their basement.

  There wasn’t much else to it. The two holdings served little purpose beyond giving the Rabbits a toehold. Plenty of space in the basement, so it might have been they were to use it for storage.

  Now the Princes would.

  “So now what?” one of the bruisers asked as Colin walked out of the secretarial shop. Feckie, probably the sharpest tool among the lot.

  “Now I buy some cheese, head back to the bosses and tell them what’s up. You and Ment will keep an eye on these two new flops with the rest of the boys.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until you hear otherwise, get?”

  “Got,” Feckie said. He scowled for a moment. “Mind if I claim the secretarial basement? That sew-up’s office smells like bleach and vomit.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll make sure you all don’t sit too long. I know—”

  Whistles blew—Constabulary whistles. A lot of them, at that. Something was going on, not too far away.

  “Something’s happening,” Colin said.

  “Best get out of sight,” Feckie said. “They’ve been lockwagoning Princes and anyone else like crazy.”

  “Right,” Colin said. “But I need to get back to the bosses. So you all sit tight here.”

  “Fine by me,” Feckie said. “I don’t want any trouble with the sticks.” He went back inside.

  Colin tore off toward the whistles. It might be that Jutie was caught. Or Veranix. Either way, he needed to know, no matter what the bosses would do to him.

  The Ceremony of Letters was held in the Haveldale Center, a venue that was used for convocations, sports, theater—anything where a large audience was desirable. The whole day would be devoted to presenting finishing students with their Letters of Mastery in front of friends, family, and peers. This was academic regalia at its highest form, and the stands would be filled with people.

  “There’s a loading passage on the south side,” Kaiana said as they approached. “There’re tunnels and storage halls under the center that the ground staff uses.” Master Jolen’s own offices and quarters were down there.

  “You think that’s where he’s going?”

  “Makes more sense than crashing into the front entrance.” Not that she had any real idea. Perhaps this time Cuse Jensett wanted his show. But she was betting that whatever he was doing required setting up, and was going to be big enough that he would want to get far away before it went off.

  “It’s in there somewhere, I can tell you that,” Delmin said. They came up on the loading passage, where there were conspicuously no cadets on guard.

  “All right,” Kaiana said, steeling her courage. “Go find Phadre and Jiarna. I doubt you could get much closer.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “With any luck, find Cuse and crack his skull open before he gets started.”

  “You can’t go down there alone.”

  “No other choice. Go do your part.” She went to the passage.

  Delmin took a few steps away, then turned back. “You think Vee . . . he’ll be
able to . . .”

  “I don’t know, Delmin. But we can’t worry about that now.”

  She went in and only hoped it wouldn’t be the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

  So much about Veranix made perfect sense to her now.

  As soon as she was inside, the first thing she saw was a pile of dead cadets. No tricks or gas or anything like that—just dead bodies with several stab wounds.

  Farther down the tunnel she heard voices and noise. Someone giving instructions, things being moved. She crept closer and saw the wagon. A man stood on the top and shouted another order to one of the Rabbits, telling him to bring a barrel down a different passage.

  That was Cuse Jensett.

  She snuck closer, trying to think of the best way to move in. She was still in the shadows, hadn’t been spotted yet. If she could get him first, then no matter what happened next, his magical-chemical whatever couldn’t be launched. The other Rabbits might beat her to death, but they wouldn’t be able to get his true plan started.

  Her foot hit something soft and wet. She looked down and saw another body.

  Master Jolen.

  She never liked the man. In fact, she hated him, and she was pretty sure he hated her as well. But he had been her father’s friend, and kept her employed for her father’s sake. And the bloody shovel in his cold hand showed he hadn’t gone down without a fight.

  She pulled the shovel free. If she had made noise grabbing it, none of the Rabbits noticed. Cuse was now doing something with powders in a vial, and putting them in place in a contraption he had set up in the back of the wagon.

  There was only one Red Rabbit left with him now. A big bruiser of a Rabbit.

  The Rabbit asked something, to which Cuse replied derisively about not being bothered. The Rabbit shrugged and wandered a few paces away.

  This was as good a moment as Kaiana was ever going to get.

  Resisting the urge to cry out while she did it, Kaiana stormed at the wagon, raising up the shovel. Cuse looked up and shouted something, but it didn’t save him from having the shovel smashed across his knees. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. She delivered another solid slam of the shovel on his back, and raised up to give him another when the Rabbit came at her.

  The bruiser wasn’t too fast, and he came over to grab her in a bear hug. Kaiana dropped to the ground and rolled under the wagon. She got away from his grasp, but dropped the shovel in the process. His meaty hands were already coming after her, so she didn’t have a chance to get hold of it before she had to scramble away. She was almost out from under the wagon when his hand wrapped around her ankle.

  She slammed her other foot into his face repeatedly. While doing so solicited grunts of pain and a liberal flow of blood from his nose, it didn’t diminish his zeal for trying to pull her toward him.

  “I’m going to tear you apart, you crazy Napa!”

  Kaiana pulled the spade out of her pocket. There was no good way to get a solid hit in with it, and her continued kicks weren’t slowing him down. If she moved in to stab him, all she’d do was give him greater purchase to maul her.

  Driving her heel into his face once more, she glanced around for anything else she could use. Then she spotted it: the wagon horses were standing in place, but clearly were a little out of sorts. It shouldn’t take much to spook them.

  She threw the spade at the closest horse’s flank as hard as she could. It struck true, and the horse reared up.

  The wagon surged forward, and Kaiana gave a hard kick to the Rabbit’s hand as the wheels came on him. He screamed and let go, giving her the moment to scurry away while the wagon went over him.

  “Stupid . . . blazing . . . Napa . . .” he wheezed out. She grabbed the shovel off the ground and slammed in onto his face before he said anything else.

  That seemed to do it.

  Then she went back to Cuse.

  He was still lying on the wagon, though he had propped himself up on his elbows, chuckling through shallow, pained breaths.

  “I’ve already triggered the catalyst,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do now.”

  Chapter 25

  “TELL THE SAINTS I’m coming sooner than I thought.”

  He tried to sound light, but he doubted he was fooling the reverend at all. Because he knew he was going to die, today, in Cantarell Square. If he was lucky he could stop one of these two Deadly Birds before the other killed him. But that meant there was nothing to keep in reserve. Nothing to hold back anymore.

  With a wisp of numina he jumped back up onto the stage while nocking three arrows at once. He drew back and took the first shot he had, which was Bluejay. The arrows sang out across the square, and she quickly shifted her hoops to protect her chest, shredding two of the arrows before they reached her.

  The third arrow landed squarely in her thigh.

  Magpie had jumped up onto the stage in the meantime and delivered a kick to his stomach that he had no chance of dodging. He went down hard and managed to roll onto his back to see her foot about to drop onto his face.

  “Rose Street!”

  The foot flew out of sight as a blur shot past Veranix’s field of vision and tackled Magpie.

  Veranix used the moment to get back on his feet, despite the pain. Jutie was locked in a furious struggle, wrestling with Magpie, trying to get his knives buried into her chest. She wasn’t giving him any chance to do that, holding his arms back. Despite being on top of her, he couldn’t press any advantage. She twisted enough to force his knives into the stage floor. As soon as they weren’t a concern, she twisted her arm through his and jerked. Jutie screamed, and a sickening crack came from his arm.

  She knocked him off of her with a combination of elbows and fists, then leaped on top of him and pummeled his chest, until Veranix took the moment to bash her across the back with his staff, right where she was cut from Bluejay’s blades.

  “I thought you wanted me,” he taunted with as much bravado as he could muster. The last thing he wanted was another of Colin’s Princes dying to help him. He jumped off the stage and backed away into the street.

  Magpie hopped down. “We were commissioned to give a show,” she said. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

  A whirring sound to his right confirmed that Bluejay was still on her feet. She limped forward slowly, spinning the two hoops on her hands in whirling death.

  Veranix kept backing off, holding his staff defensively as they approached. They were boxing him out, forcing him into a corner, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. He hadn’t even realized how far back he had gone until he bumped into a building.

  They had him now, pinned against the Trusted Friend.

  “I’m telling you,” Jensett said through bloody teeth. “It’s already started. You cannot stop it.”

  Kaiana answered with another punch in the face. Then she crawled up on the wagon, looking at the large triangle of glowing objects. She reached to grab one, and got a sharp charge up her arm for her trouble.

  “Told you,” he chuckled. He was making no attempt to fight or stop her. Of course, she had probably broken his leg and some ribs, so he didn’t have much ability to fight back.

  She picked up the shovel. “Then I’ll get your men and their barrels.”

  “Pointless. Further catalyzers that have already done their job. Want to know a secret?” He laughed and coughed up blood. “The real reactant is the limestone and iron used to construct this building. You going to get rid of that?”

  “So what’s it going to do?” she asked. Since he seemed to be interested in talking, maybe she could get something meaningful out of him.

  “Already doing it. Feel a little warm in here to you?”

  It was.

  “It’s building, slowly at first. A few more minutes and the heat will be nearly impossible to bear. But then it will feed into itself, and soon t
his whole building will burn like the sun!”

  “The whole—”

  “Frankly, I didn’t do the calculations with this much power. It’s not impossible it would ignite the whole campus.”

  “Or the whole city.” Delmin was being carried by Jiarna and Phadre, his body shuddering. “You really are insane, Jensett.”

  “No argument on my end, friend,” Jensett answered, craning his neck to see the other three.

  “What is this?” Phadre asked.

  “It’s quite impressive,” Jiarna offered, pulling a monocle out of her pocket and looking through it. “I mean, the power levels alone.”

  “It makes my teeth hurt,” Phadre said.

  “It makes my everything hurt,” Delmin moaned.

  “I don’t care how impressive it is,” Kaiana said. “How can we stop it?”

  “Is it warm in here?” Jiarna asked.

  Cuse laughed and coughed up blood.

  “Everyone in this building, on campus, will die—”

  “Be incinerated,” Cuse offered.

  “If we don’t stop it. And if the two of you can’t manage it—”

  “Right, right,” Phadre said. “All right, those are clearly some form of numinic storage devices, charged with an absurd amount of numina. On the order of kilobarins.”

  “And look at the web of the flow patterns,” Jiarna responded, still looking through her monocle. “It’s creating convergences that build off each other . . .”

  “Probably some kind of harmonic expansion . . .”

  “Because, of course, there are twenty-seven of them. Three to the third power.”

  “That’s brilliant.”

  “Stop it!” Kaiana snapped. “Don’t marvel at it. Just make it stop.”