by Juliet Kemp
“This is the back door,” Asa said. “For messages and that.”
“Right then,” Reb said. “I suppose… Marcia? What’s wrong?”
Marcia had stiffened and was staring up the road, through the crowds that were still coming down the hill.
“Daril,” she breathed. She turned to Reb. “I just saw Daril going up the hill. In a House jacket, no less. He’s going to the Chamber. I don’t know what he’s going to do there, but…”
“But it’s probably closely related to all of this,” Reb said.
If Daril had plans in the Chamber, if they failed to stop whatever was happening here… Marcia was the only one of them who could get into the Chamber.
“I have to go after him,” Marcia said, obviously reaching the same conclusion.
She was already starting to move. Reb put her hand on Marcia’s arm, surprising herself. Marcia stopped and looked round.
“Be – be careful,” Reb said. “Look after yourself.” Marcia’s skin felt warm under her hand.
Marcia stared, then smiled at her, a smile that lit her face up even in their current circumstances, and Reb felt her heart constrict.
“I will. You too. See you… after.” She nodded, fierce and certain, and was off up the hill, after Daril, darting through the crowd that was moving against her, running swiftly.
Asa was looking at Reb, their eyes speculatively narrowed. Reb ignored them, and pretended she couldn’t feel her cheeks turning red.
“So then,” she said. “How are we going to get in here? Quickly, for preference.”
In theory she would have guessed that they might still have half an hour, before the moment of truth. But without knowing what exactly it was that Urso and Cato planned, there was always the risk that they would start early. It would be a damn sight easier to stop things before they’d started. Which would still leave the problem of dealing with the new cityangel, but one thing at a time.
She stepped forwards to try the door, just in case, but it was definitely locked. Beckett was sizing it up, body tensing, obviously ready just to kick it in. The former city angel’s whipcord-thin frame didn’t look capable of it, but that wasn’t a bet Reb would have taken. The expression on Beckett’s face was terrifying. It would make a hell of a racket, but it wasn’t like she could risk using magic right now, either. She sighed, about to tell Beckett to go ahead.
“Wait!” Asa said. “Just – give me a moment, okay? There’s an easier option, if that’s the sort of lock I think it is.”
They went up to the door, a little piece of wire in their hand. “Cover me a bit,” they said over their shoulder. “And yell if you see a guard.”
Beckett and Reb stood between Asa and the passers-by making their way along the street towards the square. A couple of people looked over at them curiously, then took stock of Beckett’s expression and hastily moved away. Reb saw a couple of guard officers passing the end of the street, but they didn’t look down towards the embassy. Behind them, there were some scratching noises, a couple of muffled swearwords, and then a click. They turned to see the door swinging open and Asa grinning with satisfaction.
“Is that a standard messenger skill?” Reb asked, eyebrows raised.
“I learnt it in a pub, a while back,” Asa said, which wasn’t entirely an answer. “Always useful to know things, right?”
Beckett was already pushing past them and through the door, into the empty hallway beyond. Reb and Asa looked at one another, and at Beckett’s back.
“Determined, huh?” Asa said, quietly.
“I cannot imagine having as much to lose as Beckett does,” Reb said.
She took a deep breath and followed Beckett. Asa pulled the door shut, and fell in behind.
SEVENTEEN
The corridor beyond the door was empty. This was evidently not a main entrance; the wooden floorboards were clean but the walls were plain whitewashed and no pictures or banners hung there. Reb paused, listening for footsteps, for someone noticing that they were here and rushing to investigate, but she heard nothing; and the place had an oddly deserted feel.
Beckett was already stalking down the corridor, and Reb hurried after them, Asa trailing behind her. To the left, halfway along the corridor, a big wooden door stood open, and Reb glanced through to see the kitchen, left tidy and with no one in there. Which was surprising at this time of day. Although, perhaps the servants had been cleared out for the day anyway, given that it was the festival.
Beckett pushed through the door at the end of the corridor, and they came into what was obviously part of the public area of the building. Here the floorboards were a darker wood, more thoroughly polished, and the walls were painted a pale blue. Beckett paused, looking around. They seemed to be smelling the air. Reb couldn’t smell sorcery, but she could feel it, like something crawling on her skin, when she was close to someone else in the middle of a spell. She couldn’t feel anything right now, but at most that only meant that they hadn’t started yet.
There were stairs in the centre of the hallway, and another door stood ajar across the passage. Reb saw a few chairs and a table through the gap; a waiting-room of some sort? Again, though, it was empty. It was quiet down here, a weird hush like the building was waiting for something. Faintly, through the thick front door that faced the stairs, Reb could hear the noise of the crowd outside in the square.
Beckett looked up the stairs. They were wide, with an expensive dark blue stair-carpet running up them. More spaces for public consumption.
“There’s a balcony gives onto the square, on the first floor,” Asa said. They pointed up. “Must be whatever’s up there.”
Beckett’s shoulders stiffened, and they started up the stairs. Reb hurried to catch up with them, though she didn’t dare lay a hand on Beckett’s shoulder to slow the cityangel down.
“I’m the sorcerer, right?” she reminded them. “Let me go ahead.”
Not that she could do much in the way of sorcery right now; but Beckett wasn’t exactly a cityangel any more, either. In any case; this was her responsibility. Illicit, dangerous sorcery in Marek, sorcery that touched on Marek’s foundations, was hers to deal with. She raised her chin, and stomped up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs there was a wide landing, and another staircase, slightly less impressive, at the back right of the landing. The bedrooms must be up there. To left and right there were doors; at least one must lead into the ballroom, whose back wall was over the stairs. Both doors were shut. But now she was up here, Reb was beginning to feel that faint prickle on her skin. She took a breath, and moved to the right-hand door.
She opened it as slowly and quietly as she could. As she did, the noise of the crowd outside grew louder. They must have the doors onto the balcony open. The door was hinged on the right, so as soon as it was open a little, she was able to lean into it and see a little of the room. Beckett stood just behind her, breathing heavily over her shoulder.
Inside, there was another highly polished floor, and dining chairs lining the wall, with a table between them. It had the air of a room that had been packed away; it wasn’t set up at present for the formal receptions it was so clearly designed for. To Reb’s left, towards the front of the house, a folding screen wall was pulled halfway across the room, creating a smaller area which could be shut off when necessary. The space between the door and the folding wall was empty, and the wall blocked Reb’s view into the rest of the room. She opened the door a little further, and stepped gently into the room. She moved towards the windows that overlooked Marek Square, until she could see through the gap between the folding screen and the wall, into the rest of the ballroom.
Cato, short and skinny, stood side-on to her, beyond the folding wall. His shoulders were hunched in irritation, and he was saying something that she couldn’t quite hear, waving a hand. She couldn’t see who he was talking to. Cautiously, she stepped a little further, Beckett and Asa just behind her, until she could see more of the room.
The pe
rson Cato was talking to had their back to the folding wall, and wasn’t looking towards her. Presumably that must be this Urso that Marcia had spoken of? And across from him, halfway between Cato and Urso – Jonas? She blinked in confusion. Of course Jonas was here, but the way he was standing, it looked like he was actively involved in this. The three of them made a circle, and – she looked down at their feet – they were standing in a chalked figure on the floor. A complicated one, too, over-complicated at that. That must be Urso’s work, not Cato’s. Cato wasn’t given to overworking anything.
But what was Jonas doing? He had no magic. Or – angels and devils, had this all been a trap after all? Her stomach turned over, and bile rose in her mouth.
At that moment, he glanced over towards her, blinked, and swallowed. He held her eyes for a fractional moment, then looked away, swallowing again, looking back at Urso, who still hadn’t noticed them.
Not a trap, then. But Jonas was involved, somehow. He’d gone over to Urso, to help Urso? Was that why they’d been let into the Salinas embassy, because of Jonas’ influence? But then, in that case, why had he summoned them here? Whose side was he on? If he was betraying them then he wasn’t betraying them wholeheartedly, so what was he doing?
Beckett growled over her shoulder, and Reb swallowed. There was no time to work this out, now. Jonas wasn’t about to give them away, but he wasn’t going to help them, either, that was the only reasonable conclusion. They were here, now. The only thing to do was to get on with it.
The noise from the crowd outside was still rising. Reb’s gaze roamed around the room as she wondered what to do – just rush all three of them? But if they were already in the circle, and had already activated it… and how was Jonas involved, since he didn’t have magic? None of this made any sense.
Cato shrugged hugely, threw his hands wide, and then dropped them to his sides and squared his shoulders.
Reb had just enough time to recognise that they were starting the ritual, whatever it was, before all three of them in the circle raised their arms. Jonas was fractionally slower than the others, but he did it anyway. He looked scared, but – he had to be playing both sides, didn’t he? Reb clenched her teeth against her unexpected fury and sense of betrayal.
Not important now. Deal with what was there, that was what Zareth would have told her. Look at what’s in front of you, not at what you’re imagining in your own head. In front of her, there was a circle, and a casting. Start with the basics.
Reb put her good hand into her pocket for a handful of salt and rosemary, and stepped forwards, towards the main room. As soon as she was close enough, she cast the salt and rosemary underhand towards the circle.
It bounced back off the invisible barrier with a rattling sound. Reb swore. Of course that would be too easy.
The roar of the crowd was still increasing. She could see the open balcony doors now, and the mass of people outside in the square.
All three of them must know she was here now, but if they said anything outside the ritual, or left their places, the whole thing would crumble. Jonas still wasn’t looking at her, but his eyes were wide with what might be hope. Would he even know that he could break this just by stepping backwards? Would he dare?
Cato smiled across at her, seraphic and open. Reb narrowed her eyes, and Cato blinked at her innocently. What was his game, then? She was standing behind Urso, and he must know something was happening, but he couldn’t turn around without breaking what they were building. His back stiffened, and he raised his hands a little higher and said the next words more loudly, a little faster maybe.
The air in the room was humming in time with the ebbs and flows of the crowd noise, and a column of air had begun to circle in the middle of the circle. So. Salt and rosemary hadn’t worked. Could she disrupt the circle itself? Scuff a hole in it? Or would that just release that column of air. She couldn’t help but remember what had happened in Cato’s room; and then in her own workroom. Her arm throbbed under the bandages.
She couldn’t think of anything else. She had to try it. She darted forwards, around Urso, just out of reach between both him and Jonas, and used her good hand, wrapped in her sleeve, to scrub at the floor.
The circle didn’t shift, but her hand burned unbearably even through the cloth. She pulled it away, unable to repress a sob of pain. She heard a satisfied huff from Urso, but he didn’t break the flow of his words.
Kneeling on the floor, cradling her hand, she heard something behind her, and turned around. Beckett was staring at the centre of the circle, their eyes wild, their hands twitching.
“Mine,” Beckett said. “It is mine, mine, MINE.”
Reb turned back to the circle just in time to see Cato’s smile widen just a fraction. Jonas grunted, and Reb turned sharply to look at him. He blinked again, flicked his eyes towards her then towards Beckett, and swallowed hard. Then he staggered as if he’d been hit in the stomach, looking over at Cato as he did it, and dropped his hands. Cato swore and dropped his too, dropping to one knee. Theatrically, almost, Reb couldn’t help but notice.
That should have been it. Two of them had fallen. The circle should fall with them. But the column of air was still circling, whipping round ever faster.
Urso, staggering himself, knees bent against the strain, was holding it by himself, his voice shaking as he kept speaking words Reb couldn’t hear over the noise of the whirling air mixed with the road from the crowd. Reb looked back at Cato and saw a flicker of surprise and anxiety cross his face. The column of air in the middle of the room was taking on features, and shape. Urso was gasping harshly, and the noise of the crowd was peaking.
Then Beckett hurtled past her and into the centre of the circle, to hurl themself at that column of air. It shouldn’t have been possible; Beckett should have burnt like Reb’s hand when she’d tried to scrub the markings out. Jonas and Cato must have weakened the circle at least that much.
“MINE, you bastard,” Beckett shrieked, grappling with the air.
But it wasn’t working. Urso was sweating, his voice hoarse now, but he wasn’t stopping, and Beckett wasn’t winning against the air. Reb could admire Urso’s stamina even as she tried to think of something to break it. She dug her hand, still throbbing, into her pocket, thinking furiously. Salt again? Couldn’t hurt. She looked up to see Cato, his eyes narrowed, evidently trying to make a decision. Then he looked up, behind Reb, and looked startled. Reb turned. Behind Urso she saw Asa, teeth bared, a chair in their hands. They swung it with all their might straight into the back of Urso’ knees.
Urso screamed, and crashed to the floor.
There was a massive echoing crack, and Beckett and the air column both disappeared.
k k
Marcia ran up the Hill, through alleyways and passages towards that centre of Marek political and social power, the Council Chamber.
At each crossroads, she glanced in both directions along the main street. At the third one, she saw someone emerging from the next cross-street along. Her hind-brain recognised Daril before her conscious awareness did, and she dived across the street, narrowly avoiding a pair of porters trundling a large cart. She disappeared up the next alleyway with their complaints drifting behind her. She didn’t pause at the next crossroads; and the one after that was the top street. She came out nearly opposite House Fereno.
She slowed to a brisk walk. A run would merely attract unwanted attention here, deserted though the street was. She couldn’t see Daril ahead of her. Had she beaten him here?
When she turned through the gates of the Council onto the white marble courtyard in front of it, the doors stood slightly ajar, and there were two city guards, in full formal wear, standing beside it. Marcia frowned. They’d let her in, as Fereno-Heir. (Indeed, she should really have been here already, beside Madeleine. Who was going to be furious.) Would they let Daril in? Probably. And if not, he’d take steps to ensure his entrance. But he might be there already. Cautiously, she stepped inside, nodding at both the guards.
No Daril inside the foyer. Had he just gone straight in?
As she hesitated, she heard footsteps outside, then a muffled conversation. She turned, and Daril walked through the door. His eyes widened.
“Marcia Fereno-Heir,” he said. “What could you be doing here at this hour? Shouldn’t you be in there?” He gestured at the Chamber.
“I could ask the same of you. Except you’re not entitled to be in there.” She raised her chin. “It ends here, Daril.”
They stared at one another.
“I don’t know what you could be talking about,” Daril said, but his tone lacked conviction. His right hand strayed to a twist of gold wire around his left wrist. Daril wasn’t normally one for jewellery. There were lines of strain around his eyes.
“Oh, come on, Daril,” she said. “We’ve known each other for a long time. Don’t give me this absurdity. I could ask you what you’ve done with my brother, but I know now. Failure ten years ago wasn’t enough for you, apparently. Now you have to try all over again.”
His control cracked and he bared his teeth. “But this time, Marcia, I am not going to fail.”
“I regret to disagree,” Marcia said. “I left my friends down there to deal with Urso and my brother.”
“Finally given up on him, have you?” Daril sneered. “I wondered what it would take.”
That stung, just for a moment. “You leave Cato out of it. I fell for your words ten years ago. Happily I’m less credulous now.”
“Fell for,” Daril scoffed. “You were perfectly aware of what was going on, you just chose not to think about it.”
Marcia’s cheeks flamed. “You lied last time. You were defeated last time. Here we are all over again. How terribly dull, Daril.”
To her surprise, it was the first part that he flared up at.