by Jon Skovron
“A leader knows when to press forward and when to fall back. Many of our people have joined the looters. Others ran with the first cannon. Those who are left have been fighting for hours. They’re exhausted, and many of them wounded. The imps are fresh and much better armed. The right choice is clear.”
“Red!” Hope yelled from inside the Three Cups. “We need you!”
Red looked at Big Sig. “Okay. Another day, then?” He held out his hand.
Big Sig gripped it. “Count on it.”
Red nodded, then ran back into the building. Nearly everyone had cleared out, either to run and hide or to take advantage of the chaos to loot. Filler lay stretched out on the bar, his face pale and creased with pain. Hope and Nettles stood on either side of him. Nettles held a bottle of whiskey, and Hope held a large curved needle and thread.
“We need you to hold Filler down,” said Nettles.
“How is he?” asked Red as he moved down to Filler’s feet.
“Weak from blood loss, but the bullet’s out,” said Hope. “We need to disinfect and stitch him up before he loses any more blood.”
“He’ll…be alright, then?” asked Red.
Hope gave him a grave look. “He’ll live.”
“Is it the tourniquet? Did I tie it too tight? It was something I read about but never tried before, so I didn’t know exactly.”
“It saved his life. And I don’t think we’ll have to lose the leg. But the bullet shattered his knee.”
“Won’t it heal?”
Hope shook her head. “I’m sorry. There isn’t enough left. He’ll need a crutch to walk for the rest of his life.”
“It’s my fault,” Red said hollowly. “It’s just like Henny said. My best wag paid for my crazy scheme.”
“Balls and pricks,” Filler said faintly. “My choice to fight for the Circle. My choice to take a bullet for my best wag. Don’t you take that away from me. Don’t you dare.”
“Okay, Fill. Okay,” Red said quietly.
“We done with the poncey dramatics?” asked Nettles. “Time to stitch this wag closed.”
“Do it,” said Filler.
Nettles took Filler’s wrists, and Red took his ankles. Hope poured whiskey on the wound, and Filler’s body involuntarily spasmed so hard, his foot nearly ended up in Red’s mouth. Red had to lean his whole weight down to get his friend’s legs flat on the bar again. Then Hope began to stitch up the wound.
“How bad is it out there?” asked Nettles as she held Filler’s hands pressed to the bar above his head.
“Pretty bad,” admitted Red.
Filler grunted as Hope pulled the needle through the swollen flesh around his wound.
“We got uppity and complicated things for the powers that be,” Red continued. “Now they’re here to put us in our place. Meanwhile, whatever solidarity we had pissed off without so much as a good-bye.”
“I’m still amazed you pulled them all together as long as you did,” said Nettles.
Filler grunted again, this time long and low, almost like a hum. Or a whimper.
“Nearly done, Filler,” said Hope. “You’re doing great.”
Red watched as Hope’s fingers flickered back and forth with the needle. “You’ve got quality on that.”
“When I was younger, the Vinchen brothers would hold regular sparring matches. Often one or both would be wounded. It was my job to patch them up after.”
“You must have been popular, then,” said Nettles. “Especially being the only molly.”
“No, they hated me,” said Hope. “Only my teacher held any affection for me, and he had to withhold it while others were around, or they might have suspected that he was secretly training me in their arts.”
“How long did you live like that?” asked Nettles.
“Eight years.”
“Piss’ell, that must have been lonely.”
“I suppose,” said Hope as she continued to work the needle through Filler’s wound. “I didn’t think much of it at the time. I had become…unaccustomed to warmth or companionship.”
“We made one hells of a team today,” said Nettles.
“We did,” said Hope.
“I can’t promise much warmth, but you and me, we’re alright.”
Hope smiled shyly as she continued to sew Filler’s knee. “Are we wags, then?”
Nettles grinned. “You’ve got the length of it, angel slice.”
Hope tied off the thread. “Okay, Filler, you’re all patched up. That should keep the bleeding under control. Just be careful you don’t tear those stitches.”
“Thanks, Hope,” Filler said weakly.
Hope nodded and stepped away from the bar, wiping the blood off her hands with a rag. Outside, the cannon fire was coming more frequently. Two or three shots a minute. “We can’t stay here, though. It sounds like they’ve brought in more cannons. We’ll need to transport you somewhere safe.”
“Gunpowder Hall,” said Nettles. “Everybody who’s not already dead or caught up in the looting will go there.”
“It’s the only place the imps have never been able to control,” said Red. “But getting there is going to be tricky. Normally, I’d say we use the back alleys to avoid the cannon shot. But there’s no way we can carry Filler all the way there. We’ll need a wagon. Which means taking the main streets and putting ourselves right in the line of fire.”
“So we’ll have to take out the cannons first,” said Hope.
“How do we do that?” asked Nettles.
“If we took the rooftops,” said Red, “we could get to where the cannons are positioned without getting torn apart or detected. Nettles, you guard Filler, I’ll show Hope the way.”
“Why don’t you guard Filler and I’ll take Hope,” suggested Nettles.
“Because you don’t know the roofs like I do,” said Red. “It’s not going to be a straight line from here to there. Some of them are too steep even for me to cross, and I’ve been climbing them for years.”
“Let’s get going, then,” said Hope. “I think I know how we can get to the roof of this building, at least.”
* * *
Hope led Red up to the third floor into a room with two rows of sleeping cots.
“This is where we came in,” she said. “Through that window.”
Red stuck his head out the window and looked down at the alley several stories below. “How did you get up here?”
“The alley is narrow enough that I simply vaulted back and forth, working my way up,” said Hope.
“Simple as sideways,” muttered Red. He craned his head up. The roof was just out of reach, so he’d have to jump from the sill. He hadn’t done something that foolhardy since he was a boy, but with Hope’s talk about vaulting, he couldn’t exactly beg off now. So he climbed out the window, stood up on the sill, and before he could think about it too deeply, jumped. He overshot the edge, but caught it on the way down. The leather of his fingerless gloves kept his hands from getting cut up by the jagged slate edge. He pulled himself slowly up until his elbows rested on the edge, then hooked a leg over and clambered up to the roof.
He stood for a moment, feeling pretty pleased with how that had gone. He leaned down over the edge. “Are you coming?”
Hope’s head popped through the open window, looking up at him. “Be right there.” She grabbed the top edge of the window, then pulled up and out, flipping in the air and landing feetfirst on the edge. “Ready?”
“Show-off.”
Red led her to the front edge of the building. Several blocks down, he saw a blossom of smoke in the fading light of day. A moment later he heard the shot whistle below as it scattered across the street. If they’d been in a wagon right then, they’d all be dead. He turned back to where the shot had originated, his eyes scanning the rooftops for the best possible route.
“Oh,” said Hope.
“You okay?” Red asked sharply.
“Yes.” Hope stared west out across the rooftops, her face serene as the red light of the se
tting sun tinted her yellow hair. “The skyline is lovely, don’t you think?”
Red felt a flash of irritation. “Now’s not really the time.”
“A Vinchen warrior strives to see the beauty all around him,” Hope said quietly. “So that he knows the value of what he fights for.”
That brought Red up short. Had he really been bothered by Hope doing something he’d done countless times himself? He recalled the day he’d brought Nettles to the roofs, excited to share its beauty with her. It had been wasted on her. And this had almost been wasted on him. He refused to let that happen. So he took a deep breath and stood with Hope. The two of them watched the sun drop slowly behind the uneven line of rooftops.
Hope turned to him. “The cover of darkness should give us some advantage, too.”
“That’s why you wanted to wait?”
She shrugged. “They’re both good reasons and I don’t think they contradict each other.”
Red stared at her a moment, thinking nothing was ever simple with this molly. He realized that it was one of the reasons he liked her. “True as trouble. Let’s go.”
No one had lit the street lamps, so the block was unusually dark. But the lingering twilight drenched everything in a faint sepia. They moved from roof to roof, zigzagging gradually closer to the cannons. The cannon fire seemed to be coming more rapidly now. Red suspected they were trying to clear the streets as much as they could so that they could sweep in with a couple of squads of soldiers.
Night had fallen in earnest by the time they reached the cross street where the cannons were set. There were five of them, distributed evenly so that one pointed down each street. There were four soldiers stationed at each cannon.
“Our best chance of taking them all out quickly is to hit each one so fast, they don’t have time to alert the next one in the line,” whispered Hope as they stood on a rooftop nearest the first group. “Can you accurately throw two blades at once?”
“Two, but not four,” said Red.
“You take the two on the sides, I’ll take the two in the middle.”
Red nodded and pulled his coat back so he was ready to draw.
“Now,” said Hope.
Red snapped a blade from each hand as Hope launched herself from the roof, drawing her sword in midair. She spun like a top, her blade flashing as it struck the two soldiers in the middle in rapid succession. At the same time, the soldiers on either side dropped to the ground, clutching at the blades in their necks.
Hope landed softly on top of the cannon. She signaled to Red to move to the building across the street.
Red gauged the distance to jump and winced. He wasn’t at all sure he could make it, but he wasn’t about to tell Hope that. He took a deep breath, got a nice running start, and jumped. It wasn’t graceful, but he made it. His midsection slammed into the edge of the roof so hard, he had to pause a moment, clinging to it as he tried to get his breath back. Once he recovered, he slowly climbed to his feet. He saw Hope watching him, still standing on top of the cannon, her head cocked to one side curiously. He waved her on, feeling a little embarrassed.
She nodded. With her sword held low, she moved in a silent crouch toward the next cannon. Red saw that their best chance was for her to hit the two on the near side, while he hit the two on the far side. He hoped she would realize that, too. There wasn’t really a way for him to get her attention without attracting theirs.
She ran between the first two, slashing right and left. She stopped when she saw the remaining two drop. She looked up at Red, nodded slowly in approval, and smiled. That tiny bit of acknowledgment sent a flush of satisfaction through Red. He allowed himself to bask in it for a moment, then muttered to himself, “Do not get sotted with the celibate molly,” because Filler wasn’t there to say it to him.
They moved on to each cannon the same way, taking them out as they went. The last one proved to be more of a problem, though. Next to the cannon and its operators was a squad of imps. Red saw them before they struck. He wasn’t sure if Hope saw them, but he had no way to warn her other than to wave and point. She nodded tersely and waved for them to continue.
They took the four at the cannon as easily as the others, but then the shouts went out from the squad and they turned toward Hope, fumbling with their rifles. Red reached into his coat for more blades, but came up with nothing. He’d just thrown his last two. He started to scramble down the building, not sure how he could help, but not willing to just sit idly by as Hope was gunned down. But by the time he’d reached the ground, half the soldiers were dead and the other half had turned and run.
Hope stood for a second, breathing hard as she watched them go. Then she wiped her blade on the white tunic of one of the dead soldiers. “Out of blades?”
Red nodded sheepishly.
“You’ll have a chance to retrieve them,” she said. “I want to go back and make sure that when the imperial reinforcements arrive, these cannons won’t be much use to them anymore.”
* * *
Red had never seen Gunpowder Hall so crowded or so subdued. The combination was unnerving. When he arrived, lugging Filler with the help of Nettles and Hope, he found the hall nearly filled to capacity, and yet no one was having sex, or doing drugs. There was no drinking or rowdy laughter. Everyone sat and talked quietly, their faces drawn with worry.
“Piss’ell, this is eerie,” said Nettles as they laid Filler on a table that Handsome Henny and the Twins had staked out.
“You wags alright?” asked Red as he clasped Henny’s hand.
“Better than Filler, it looks like,” said Henny.
“I’ll be alright, Hen,” Filler said weakly. “Hope patched me up good.”
“Thanks for that.” Henny tossed her an apple from a small sack. “Red? Nettie?”
“God, yes,” said Nettles, gratefully taking a chunk of bread from him.
“I haven’t eaten all day,” said Red, taking some bread for himself.
“You know, Red,” said Henny. “When I saw you up there at the Rag and Boards, I thought you were bludgeon. I thought, here’s another crazy scheme.” His eyes glistened in the torchlight. “But it wasn’t tavern talk, old pot. You pissing did it. Brought the neighborhood together, just like you said, and hit them imps hard enough for them to feel it.”
“Yeah, and look where it’s gotten us,” said Red.
Henny shook his head. “Nothing without cost, my wag. Nothing is ever free in the Circle, and you know that. But now they know it, too, those cunt-droppings. They can only push us so far before we push back.”
“But now what do we do?” Red asked.
“I don’t know,” admitted Henny. “I guess we wait and see if they plan to storm the hall.”
The windows were all boarded up, with just enough of a gap to keep an eye on what was going on out on the street. All of the merchants had pulled their wares inside. Those with food were sharing it among their neighbors. People with weapons were spreading them around, trying to arm as many able-bodied wags as possible. The Circle was often a cruel and selfish place. Red had heard about folks coming together in times of adversity, but he’d never seen it before and he’d had a hard time believing it. Now, as he munched on his bread and watched Paradise Circle slowly gather itself together, bracing itself for the inevitable fight to come, he’d never been more proud of his adopted home.
“I haven’t seen Sadie.” Hope bit into her apple, looking concerned.
“She’ll stay down at the docks with Finn. Probably hide on the ship. It’s unlikely the imps will go that far down, so she’ll be okay.” He looked at her. “You know, if the ship was ready, you could just leave. Get away from all this.”
“Would you do that?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It’s not that I want to stay here forever. But leaving right at this moment, with things so uncertain…it just wouldn’t feel right.”
“I feel the same,” she said.
It was a tense night. People slipped out now and then to
get provisions and scout out the imps. A large force was heading toward the hall, but it was still some ways off. As the hours crawled by, the tension boiled over here and there, and small fights started to break out. To pass the time and keep people sunny, Red regaled the hall with a somewhat exaggerated account of “The Storming of the Three Cups.” Many of them had been there, but none of them had known the whole story. When asked how he knew where Drem would be hiding, he then went into a highly exaggerated account of the attempted robbery of the Three Cups two years before. He decided to cut that story off before it reached the part where he kissed Nettles. Some things were better left to the past.
Once he had finished, applause rang out in the hall.
“Your gift for storytelling is as good as your aim,” said Hope.
“His gift of exaggeration, too,” said Nettles. “I certainly don’t remember taking down thirty boots in that alley with just a chain.”
“Now, now, Nettie,” said Red, his eyes sparkling. “Just because it didn’t happen, don’t make the story less true. This wasn’t for the history books, anyway. Just a way to take folks’ minds off what’s coming. Surely you don’t begrudge that.”
“So long as nobody ever actually expects me to be able to take out thirty armed boots at once with a bit of chain,” said Nettles.
He grinned. “You could always tell people you’ve gotten too old for that sort of thing.”
“Or I could break that pretty face of yours so it stops spouting lies,” offered Nettles.
Red laughed.
It was afternoon the next day that one of the scouts, a boy about thirteen, burst into the hall, his face flushed, his breath coming in gasps. “Better lock the door! The imps are almost here!”
A murmur went through the hall. A few people slid the thick wooden bar into place across the door, and Red hurried to the boarded-up front window. Nettles, Hope, and Henny followed right behind him. They peeked through the cracks in the boards and watched as a full battalion of imps, ten wide and five deep, all armed with rifles, marched up to the hall.
“No cannons?” asked Henny in surprise.
“Hope and I blew them up before we got here,” Red said smugly.