by wildbow
“What we know is that some major players have disappeared from cities where they had bases of operations. Leadership for the firebrands and the spears, doctors working for either side, some experiments and projects they were keeping an eye on, most picked up and moved. Something about the timing of it, it raised eyebrows?”
From the way she phrased that last statement, I figured she wasn’t sure about her recall.
“You’re doing fine,” Mary said. “It makes sense.”
Lillian returned the praise with a smile that had little confidence. Or was it because it was Mary?
“Both groups up and leaving at the same time. They’re communicating,” I said.
“They are,” Lillian said. “Which is strange because the ideologies have been diverging. There’s even been skirmishes between the two groups, right?”
“Right,” Gordon said. He had a minor scuff mark on his nose, but it was his only wound from what had been a pretty thorough thrashing of Rick. I suspected it was from an unexpected swing of the arm as Rick flailed around, rather than anything intentional on Rick’s part.
Hubris was in the train car with us, draped over the seat next to Gordon, head in Gordon’s lap. The animal was a fighting breed, square-headed, eyes obscured by bushy brows. Even with the coarse, rust-colored fur that covered him, Hubris’ raw strength was apparent at a glance.
“Skirmishes between two groups, now sudden cooperation. The higher ups are pretty sure that someone’s stepping in. There’s some speculation that Cynthia is healed and ready to coordinate,” Lillian said. “But, well…”
“We know she’s been active on and off,” I said. “Working for the spears, focused on the Crown.”
“Could be a deception,” Gordon said.
“Could,” I admitted.
“Most of the people who’ve been paying attention agree it’s Fray,” Lillian said. “We have spies paying attention to the trains and roads, and we’re pretty clear about the city they’ve gone to, but we don’t know where.”
“A diplomatic meeting,” Mary said. “All of our enemies in one place?”
“That’s the expectation,” Lillian said. “If the Academy brings too much force to bear in advance, we might scare them off. If they move blind, they risk missing the window of opportunity when they can’t find the targets. We’re part of a limited scouting force, working with a few others. Dog and Catcher will be there, but it’ll mostly be groups from other Academies.”
“They spent the initial momentum,” Gordon said. “They needed victories to carry that momentum forward, and they didn’t have enough of those. Losing Cynthia for as long as they did, they took the only option they had, splitting up, narrowing focus, trying to reinvent themselves based on area and personalities, in order to revive things some.”
“Focus on anti-Crown sentiment in anti-Crown areas, anti-Academy sentiment in areas where people chafe most with the Academies,” Mary said.
“But that’s a hard fire to keep stoked without fresh fuel. It’s been a couple of months and people are tired of fighting,” Gordon said. “The anger is there, but it’s not fresh, hot anger.”
“War peters out, things mostly settle until the next big excuse, the next war, the next revolution, whatever,” I said. “Both sides know it, banding together is the only way to stay strong enough to stay in the fight, but ideologies have diverged too much, they’ve been competing with one another, they need someone very strong or very clever to unite the groups.”
“The person who started the war in the first place,” Lillian said. “Not that they know that.”
Mary leaned forward. “They’re not stupid. They’re going to be covering their asses seven ways from Sunday. Bodyguards, protection, counter-assassins…”
I nodded. “I guess they’ve decided we’re ready. No more soft-lobs to the Lambs. We tackle this one man down.”
“About that,” Lillian said.
“Ah,” I said. I brought my head back until it rested against the window. “I jinxed it.”
“Sorry, Sy,” Lillian said.
“Ashton?” I left the other half of the question unasked.
“I don’t know,” she said. There was a long, painful pause, then she said. “He’s been in classes with—”
“Okay,” I said, cutting her off.
Silence lingered among the Lambs.
“Okay,” I said, a little more brightly.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Mary asked. “This morning, when we were talking, you said there was something to discuss later.”
I spread my arms. “I’ve been peeking at files now and again. Keeping tabs. It doesn’t matter. I knew it was coming. They’re buffering our numbers.”
And I’m having trouble dealing, in little ways, while that weighs on me.
“How long until he shows?” I asked.
“If not tomorrow, then the day after,” Lillian said.
“We finish before then,” I said. “If he shows, he shows. But we’ll have this wrapped up.”
“Sy,” Gordon said.
“It’s going to be disruptive, okay?” I said. “Newbie joining the group? Because he will be new. There’s adjustment, any time we add someone. There’s emotional stuff to deal with, I admit it, I’m going to have to get a handle on it, and I’m probably going to suck at it. I know the rest of you will too, to varying degrees.”
I looked between each of the Lambs in turn.
“I’ve been upfront about how I’m doing and how I’m coping, so you aren’t surprised. What I’m saying there, it’s part of it. You know I’m right. Given what we’re up against, I don’t want any wrenches in the works to make it even harder, for you guys, for me, for our plans, for coordination. We do this clean, we do it in top form, and we do it fast. If he shows, he finds the job done.”
“You know you can’t run away from this forever,” Gordon said. “If we succeed, we might scatter them to the wind, and we’re going to get a half-dozen missions one after the other, chasing after the most dangerous and cunning of the survivors, cleaning up. If we fail and Fray comes out ahead, then we’re going to be asked to deal with whatever messes she concocts. There won’t be downtime like we’ve had.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Likely one or the other, Sy. If they think we’re ready to get back into the game, we’re going to have to be ready. You’re going to have to deal with the adjustments without breaking stride.”
He wasn’t talking about Ashton.
“Probably,” I said.
“Just making sure you know.”
“I know,” I said.
He reached over to give me a pat on the shoulder.
The train slowed. My eyebrows went up, and I twisted around a hundred and eighty degrees to look out the window.
I turned, asking Jamie, “Does the map—”
I finished turning, pausing as I looked at the pale white curtain beside the window, opposite me. It had looked different out of the corner of my eye.
Forgot.
“We’re there already?” I asked, barely missing a beat.
Nobody commented, except for Gordon to say, “We were on the outskirts of town. We’re heading into the city proper.”
“Alright,” I said. I managed a smile. “Good debrief, Lil.”
“Thank you,” she said. Then she kicked me, hard. “But don’t call me Lil.”
I smirked.
The train slowed to a halt. The soldiers in the car with us waited patiently as we collected our luggage.
We made our way out onto the platform, doing what we could to work through the crowd. It didn’t even need to be said, but if we could keep an eye on the train stations, they could as well.
Our quiet, careful movements were interrupted as we collectively came to a halt. The soldiers in front of us had, too, so it wasn’t too damning.
Heads craned, and we stared.
The city sprawled, a proper city, with several skyscrapers, trees growing freely, and other design touch
es. One building looked like half of it had been peeled away to reveal a great stone giant, flensed of flesh but not muscle or organ. An anatomical figure crossed with architecture.
A proper Academy city, as Radham was.
Except for the fact that the largest set of structures sitting atop the highest hill in the city were on fire. I was guessing from the look of it that it would be a lack of fuel rather than anything else that saw it go out. It looked pretty damn thorough.
“Don’t suppose that’s our rendezvous point?” I asked.
“It is,” Lillian said.
“Huh,” I said, brightly. “That’s inconvenient.”
Previous Next
Tooth and Nail—7.2
We rode on the back of a wagon, bumping and jostling as much as the twelve or so crates that were stacked back there with our luggage. The crates had straps keeping them in place, which I envied. My hands were already cramping up, and we weren’t even halfway to our destination.
On either side of the wagon, soldiers were standing with the toes of their boots wedged between two rails, holding onto straps. Smaller warbeasts walked alongside, more like jungle cats in proportion and fluidity of movement, and squadrons of stitched marched doubletime in front of and behind us.
It was dusk, but the city was well lit—the neighborhood-scale bonfire notwithstanding. Brechwell was an interesting city in terms of layout. Radham had developed an Academy first, the city following naturally, with the Crown and Academy both taking a periodic hand to the development of that city in stages, as needs developed. It was loose, a design I’d often likened to a living body, every part having a purpose, or to a tree, pruned now and again, parts cut away or used for resources as needed, be it the tree-like growths that supported structures, entire neighborhoods, or even sweeping districts of the city.
Those parts of Radham were sloppy, though, the result of a long series of successful accidents, the mistakes done away with. Brechwell was the opposite, in a way. It had been a military base first, and the Academy had been plopped down on top of it at a later point, the Academy adapting to the needs of the city and the area.
The streets were winding, just wide enough for two carts to pass side by side, very occasionally twisting to pass other under streets, through short tunnels that had portcullis gates at either end. Buildings were made up predominantly of stone, with only aesthetic touches of vines, ivy, or branches, a stark contrast to Radham. The roads were cobblestone, neatly fit together, and segued neatly into the base of each row of buildings, leaving me feeling as if we were traveling along the lowest point of a series of deep, wide trenches.
Every surface was soaked wet by the cold rain that poured down from above. They looked alive, they looked cold, and if I unfocused my eyes, I had the vague impression that this city was reptilian. The stones akin to scales, slick with moisture. Only half of the windows were lit, and they were so small I doubted I could have crawled through them, high off the ground, and often round or narrow. I imagined the eyes of serpents, narrowed, catching the light.
Soldiers at either end of the wagon were eyeing us. We’d approached superior officers with badges in hand, and they’d agreed to escort us up. The foot soldiers hadn’t been filled in, and were wondering at the odd addition to their ranks.
We ceased going uphill, settling onto more level ground. I stopped feeling like I was going to bounce off the back of the wagon with every bump, and shifted my weight around, reaching back to hold on to a strap with one hand. My other hand reached out for Hubris’ furry head.
He didn’t react in the slightest.
Gordon, for his part, reached out to give Hubris a brief rub. The dog turned his head to better position it for Gordon’s scratches.
“If you’re going to be an honorary member of the group, you’d better learn to play nice with others, mutt,” I said.
“Maybe you just suck at giving scratches,” Gordon said. “Or he might like you better if you called him by his name.”
“Maybe you smell like a butt, but you don’t hear me bringing it up.”
He rolled his eyes.
We came to a stop in the midst of a checkpoint, and waited as a squad of soldiers checked over the wagon.
Lillian and Mary were talking, with Helen sitting nearby, listening more than participating. Rather than listen in on the secret lives of girls, I turned my attention to the front of the wagon.
The officers in charge of the group were riding up front, leaning forward as they exchanged words with the group at the checkpoint. I could only pick out segments of the conversation.
“Same as last night… four of them, led by someone different…”
“How many nights?”
“Last night…” something something “…the night before. Different types of attack.”
“…time?”
“Same time. The freaks from out-of-town…”
The man at the front of the wagon cut the checkpoint officer off right there. I saw him turn his head to look our way.
I raised my hand, giving a short wave.
“Them?”
“From Radham. They’re—”
“The Lambs.”
“Yeah. The Lambs.”
The checkpoint guard lowered his voice, but I could still make it out. “Shit, I thought they’d be uglier. Shriveled? Or like small stitched?”
“Nope. Apparently they look like ordinary children.”
“Huh.”
I watched as the search of the wagon progressed to the back. I raised my arms, feet still dangling over the end, and patiently underwent the pat-down. Mary faced a little more trouble.
“I have weapons,” Mary said. “I don’t want you to be surprised—”
“Hands on your head,” the soldier told her.
“You’re not listening to me,” Mary said, not listening. “If you pat me down and you aren’t careful, you’re going to get cut. You—”
Helen grabbed Mary’s wrists, lifting her hands up, before firmly pressing them down on top of Mary’s head.
The guard pat her down, his expression changing as he stopped mid-pat.
“I’m telling you—”
“Shh.”
I looked from the scene to the commanding officers, who were still embroiled in a discussion. Interesting that he hadn’t called for his superior officer’s attention. What was the relationship like, there?
Let’s see if this works.
I leaned closer to the other side of the wagon, where the girls were. “Sir?”
“Quiet,” he told me, automatic, sounding tense. Grumpy fellow.
I pulled out my badge. “We’re the Lambs.”
I saw his expression change. Momentary confusion, then he pulled the particulars from memory. The uniforms who were at either side of the wagon reacted, murmuring quietly among themselves.
“Huh,” the man said. He squinted at the badge. He indicated the superior officers, “They know about this?”
“They’re discussing us right now,” I said.
“Huh,” he said. He let go of Mary, gesturing that she could put her arms down. He looked at us, giving us a concerned look.
The man in uniform who’d been patting me down commented, “I thought you’d look more like dolls or something.”
“Your boss just said something like that,” I commented. “What stories are they telling about us, anyway?”
“The slaughter in Whitney?” he asked. “Group passed through to get information on prisoners of war, brought back stories.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, that was a night.”
“And some man in Iverness? Every other bone in his body broken?”
“Don’t remember that one.”
“The Lonely Man,” Gordon said.
“Oh! Yeah.”
“That was me,” Helen said.
“Might’ve been better if we didn’t actually broadcast who we were and that we’re here,” Gordon commented, under his breath.
“They know we�
�re here,” I said. “If they don’t know already, then they’re so incompetent we don’t need to worry in the first place.”
“Don’t do that thing where you get in a mood and start taking chances,” Gordon said.
“I’m not. I’m being realistic.”
“Mm, yeah,” he said. Hubris nudged his arm, and he gave the dog a scratch.
“What’s with the fire?” I asked one of the soldiers. “Third attack in as many nights? Same time of day?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Except this one is bad. Everything they could set fire to, they did. Mostly stone there, but they got indoors, and floorboards are floorboards. The library is the part that’s going to hurt most.”
“Oh no!” Lillian said. “I really wanted to see the library.”
“It was overrated,” one of the soldiers said. By his badge, he was one of the ones who looked after the stitched who were lined up against the walls of the tunnel. He was young, fresh faced enough I doubted he could grow facial hair if he wanted, and kept straight, neatly-parted black hair under his military cap. “Professor Tobermory talked it up quite a bit, but it’s small, more about decoration, hunting trophies on the wall. I think anyone who had anything nice to say about it had a lot of drink pushed at them by Tobermory.”
“It was that bad?”
“Don’t know,” the man replied. “I wasn’t impressed.”
“Phooey,” Lillian said.
“You’re a student?” the young man asked. “I thought you were a Lamb.”
“Both.”
He nodded, taking that in. “What year?”
“Third, but my schedule is bumpy. I spend a lot of time out of school.”
“Third is impressive. Why the interest in the library? Are you working on a project?”
“I’m starting to think about it. I have to do a project next year, I don’t have a lot of free time, and I keep hearing that the subject of my project opens and closes doors, and that goes double for me, because I don’t have a lot of time to study. If I pick something, I’ll have to do research on it on my own, and then the year after—”
“You’ll want to focus on things you have some grounding in, things you researched. I ran into the same thing.”
Lillian nodded.