Chapter 12
Making it Rain
By the time Hadrian returned to the Rat's Nest, he could see Quartz had returned and there was trouble. Arista stood in the middle of the room with arms folded stubbornly, a determined look on her face. The rest watched her, happily entertained while Royce paced with a look of exasperation.
"Thank Maribor you're back!" Royce said. "She's driving me insane."
"What's going on?"
"We're going to take control of the city," Arista announced.
Hadrian raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "What happened to the meeting with Gaunt?"
"Not going to happen," Quartz answered. "Gaunt's gone."
"Gone?"
"Officially, he's disappeared," Royce explained. "Likely he's dead or captured. I'm certain Merrick is behind this somehow. It feels like him. He stopped us from contacting Gaunt and used both sides as bait for the other. Brilliant, really. Degan went to meet with Arista just as Arista went to meet him and both walked into a trap. Arista avoided hers but it would appear that Gaunt was not so fortunate. The Nationalists are blaming Her Highness and Melengar, convinced that she's responsible. Even though the plan failed to catch the princess, there is no chance for an alliance. Definitely Merrick."
"Which is exactly why we need to prove ourselves to the Nationalists," Arista explained while Royce shook his head. She turned to face Hadrian. "If we take the city from the inside and hand it over to them, they'll trust us and we'll be able to get them to agree to an alliance. When you took this job I reserved the right to change the objectives, and I'm doing so now."
"And how exactly do we take the city?" Hadrian asked carefully, trying to keep his tone neutral. He was usually inclined to side with Royce, and at face value Arista's idea did seem more than a little insane. On the other hand, he knew Arista was no fool and Royce often made choices based solely on self-interest. Beyond all of that, he could not help but admire Arista, standing in a room full of thieves and opportunists proclaiming such a noble idea.
"Just like Emery said at The Laughing Gnome," Arista began. "We storm the armory. Take weapons and what armor we can find. Then attack the garrison. Once we defeat them, we seal the city gates."
"The garrison in Ratibor is made up of what?" Hadrian asked. "Fifty? Sixty experienced soldiers?"
"At least that," Royce muttered disdainfully.
"Going up against hastily armed tailors, bakers, and grocers? You'd need to have half the population of the city backing you," he pointed out.
"Even if you could raise a rabble, scores of people will die and the rest will break and run," Royce added.
"They won't run," Arista said. "There's no place for them to go. We're trapped in a walled city, there can be no retreat. Everyone will have to fight to the death. After this afternoon's demonstration of the Empire's cruelty, I don't think anyone will chance surrender."
Hadrian nodded. "But how do you expect to incite the city to fight for you? They don't even know you. You're not like Emery with life-long friends who will lay their lives on the line on your behalf. I doubt Polish here has a reputation that will elicit that kind of devotion—no offense."
Polish smiled at him. "You are quite right. The people rarely see me, and when they do I'm thought of as a despicable brigand—imagine that."
"That's why we need Emery," Arista said.
"The kid dying in the square?"
"You saw the way the people listened," she said earnestly. "They believe in him."
"Right up until they were flogged at his side," Royce put in.
Arista stood straighter and spoke in a louder voice, "And even when they did, did you see the anger in the faces of the people? In The Laughing Gnome, they already saw him as something of a hero—standing up for them against the Imperials. When they flogged him, when he faced death and yet stood by his convictions, it solidified their feelings for him. The Imperials left Emery to die today. When they did, they made him a martyr. Just imagine how people will feel if he survives? If he slipped out of their grasp just as everyone felt certain he was dead—it would be the spark that could ignite their hopes."
"He's probably already dead," Quartz said indifferently, as she cleaned her nails with a dagger.
Arista ignored her. "We'll steal Emery from the post, spread the news that he's alive and that he asks everyone to stand up with him and fight—to fight for the freedom he promised them."
Royce scoffed but Hadrian considered. He wanted to believe. He wanted to be swept along with her passion but his practical side, after waging dozens of battles, told him different. "It won't work," he stated. "Even if you managed to take the city, the Imperial Army will hear about it and take it back. A few hundred civilians could overwhelm the city garrison, but they aren't going to stop an army."
"That's why we have to coordinate our attack with the Nationalists. Remember Emery's plan. We'll shut the gates and lock them out. Then the Nationalists can crush them."
"And if you don't manage to close the gates in time? If the battle against the garrison doesn't go perfectly to plan?" Royce asked.
"It still won't matter," Arista said. "If the Nationalists attack Lord Dermont at the same time as we launch our rebellion, they won't have time to bother with us."
"Except the Nats won't attack without Gaunt," Quartz said. "That's the reason they are still out there. Well, that and the three hundred heavy cavalry Lord Dermont has. The Nats haven't ever faced an organized Imp army. Without Gaunt they have no one to lead them. They aren't disciplined troops. Just townsfolk and farmers Gaunt picked up along the way here. They'll run the moment they see armored knights."
"Who's in charge of Gaunt's army?" Hadrian asked. He had to admit Arista's plans were at least thought out.
"Some fat chap who goes by the name of Parker. Rumor has it he was an accountant for a textile business. He used to be the Nat's quartermaster before Gaunt promoted him," Quartz said. "Not the brightest coin in the purse, if you understand me. Without Gaunt planning and leading the attack, the Nats don't stand a chance."
"You could do it," Arista said, looking squarely at Hadrian. "You've commanded men in battle before. You got a medal."
Hadrian rolled his eyes. "It wasn't as impressive as it sounds. It was only small regiments. Grendel's army was—well—in a word, pathetic. They refused to even wear helms because they didn't like the way their voices echoed in their heads."
"But you led them in battle?"
"Yes, but—"
"And did you win or lose?"
"We won but—"
"Against a larger or smaller force?"
Hadrian stood silent, a beaten look on his face.
Royce turned toward him. "Tell me you aren't considering this nonsense?"
Am I? But three hundred heavy cavalry!
Desperation slipped into Arista's voice, "Breckton's Northern Army is marching here. If the Nationalist Army doesn't attack now, the combined imperial forces will decimate them. That's what Lord Dermont is waiting for—that's his plan. If he sits and waits he will win, but if the Nationalists attack first, if he has no support, and nowhere to run…this may be our only chance. It's now or all will be lost.
"If the Nationalists are destroyed, nothing will stop the Empire. They'll retake and punish all of Rhenydd for its disobedience, and that will include Hintindar." She paused, letting him consider this. "Then they will take Melengar. After that, nothing will stop them from conquering Delgos, Trent, and Calis. The Empire will rule the world once more, but not like it once did. Instead of an enlightened rule uniting the people, it will be one of cruelty dividing them, headed not by a noble, benevolent emperor, but by a handful of greedy, power-hungry men who pull strings while hiding behind the shield of an innocent girl.
"And what about you, Royce?" She turned toward the thief. "Have you forgotten the wagons? What do you think the fate of those and others like them will be when the Empire rules all?
"Don't you see?" she addressed the entire room.
"We either fight here and win or die trying, because there won't be anything left if we fail. This is the moment. This is the crucial point where the future of yet unborn generations will be decided either by our action or inaction. For centuries to come, people will look back at this time and rejoice at our courage, or curse our weakness." She looked directly at Royce now. "For we have the power. Here. Now. In this place. We have the power to alter the course of history and we will be forever damned should we not so much as try!"
She stopped talking. Exhausted and out of breath.
The room was silent.
To Hadrian's surprise, it was Royce who spoke first. "Making Emery disappear isn't the hard part. Keeping him hidden is the problem."
"They'll tear the city apart looking, that's certain," Polish said.
"Can we bring him here?" Arista asked.
Polish shook his head. "The Imps know about us. They leave us alone because we don't cause much trouble and they enjoy the black market we provide. No, they'll most certainly come down here looking. Besides, without orders from the Jewel or the First Officer, I couldn't expose our operation to that much risk."
"We need a safe house where the Imps won't dare look," Royce said. "Some place they won't even want to look. Is the city physician an Imperialist or a Loyalist?"
"He's a friend of Emery, if that's any indication," Quartz explained.
"Perfect. By the way, princess, conquering Ratibor wasn't in our contract. This will most certainly cost you extra."
"Just keep a tally," she replied, unable to suppress her smile.
"If this keeps up we're going to own Melengar," Hadrian mentioned.
"What's this we stuff?" Royce asked. "You're retired remember?"
"Oh? So you'll be leading the Nationalist advance will you?"
"Sixty, forty?" Royce proposed.
***
Despite the recent rain, the public stable on Lords Row caught fire just after dark. More than two dozen horses ran through the streets. The city's inhabitants responded with a bucket brigade. Those unable to find a place in line stood in awe as the vast wooden building burned with flames reaching high into the night's sky.
With no chance of saving the stable, the town fought to save the butcher's shop next door. Men climbed on the roof, and braving the rain of sparks, soaked the shake shingles. Bucket after bucket doused the little shop as the butcher's wife watched terrified from the street, her face glowing with the horrific light. The town folk, and even some imperial guards, fought the fire for hours until at last, deprived of the shop next door, it burned itself out. The stable was gone. All that remained was charred and smoking rubble, but the butcher's shop survived with one blackened wall to mark its brush with disaster. The townsfolk, covered in soot and ash, congratulated themselves on a job well done. The Gnome filled with patrons toasting their success. They clapped their neighbors on the back, told jokes and stories of near-death.
No one noticed Emery Dorn was missing.
The next morning the city bell rang with the news. A stuffed dummy hung in his place. Guards swore they had not left their stations but had no explanation. Sheriff Vigan, the judge, and various other city officials were furious. They stood in Central Square, shouting and pointing fingers at the guards then at each other. Even Viceroy Androus interrupted his busy schedule to emerge from City Hall to personally view the scene.
By midmorning, The Gnome filled up with gossipers and happy customers as if the town had declared a holiday, and Ayers was happily working up a sweat filling drinks.
"He was still breathing at sunset!" the cooper declared.
"He's definitely alive. Why free him if he was dead?" the grocer put forth.
"Who did it?"
"What makes you think anyone did it? That boy likely got away himself. Emery is a sly one, he is. We shoulda known the Imps couldn't kill the likes of him."
"He's likely down in the sewers."
"Naw, he's left the city, nothing for him here now."
"Knowing Emery, he's in the viceroy's house right now drinking the old man's brandy!"
This brought laughter to go with the round of ales Ayers dispensed. Ayers had his own thoughts on the matter—he guessed the guards freed him. Emery was a great talker. Ayers heard him giving speeches in The Gnome dozens of times and he always won over the crowd. It was easy to imagine the boy talking all night to those men set to watch him and turning them around. He wanted to mention it, but the keg was nearly empty and he was running low on mugs. He did not care much for the Imps personally, but they sure were great for business.
A loud banging at the tavern's entrance killed the laughter and people turned sharply. Ayers nearly dropped the keg he was lifting, certain the sheriff was leading another raid, but it was only Doctor Gerand.
He stood at the open door, hammering the frame with his shoe to get their attention. Everyone breathed again.
"Come in, Doctor!" Ayers shouted. "I'll have another keg brought up."
"Can't," he replied, "need to be keeping my distance from everyone for awhile. Just want to let people know to stay clear of the Dunlap house. They've got a case of pox there."
"Is it bad?" the grocer asked.
"Bad enough," the physician said.
"All these new immigrants from down south bringing all kinds of sickness with them," Ayers complained.
"Aye, that's probably what did it," Doctor Gerand said. "Mrs. Dunlap took in a boarder a few days back, a refugee from Vernes. It was that fella who first come down with the pox. So don't be going near the Dunlap's place until you hear it's safe from me, in fact, I'd steer clear of Benning Street altogether. I'm gonna see if I can get the sheriff to put up some signs and maybe a fence or something to let people know to keep out. Anyway, I'm just going around telling folks, and I would appreciate it if you helped me spread the word before this gets out of hand."
By noon, the city guard was turning everyone out of their houses and shops searching for the escaped traitor, and the very first place they looked was the Dunlap's home. The five guards on duty the night Emery disappeared were forced to draw lots, and one lone soldier went in. He came out finding nothing but a couple of sick people, neither of whom were Emery. After making his report at a distance, he returned to the Dunlaps to remain under quarantine.
The soldiers then tore through The Laughing Gnome, the marketplace, the old church, and even the scribe's office, leaving them all a mess. Squads of soldiers entered the sewers and came up soaked. They did not find the escaped traitor, but they did find a couple chests that some said were filled with stolen silver.
There was no sign of Emery Dorn.
By nightfall, a make-shift wooden fence stood across Benning Street and a large whitewashed sign read:
Quarantined by order of the Viceroy!
Two days later, the soldier who searched the Dunlap's house died. He was seen in the yard covered with puss-filled boils. The doctor dug a hole himself while people watched from a distance. After that, no one went near Benning Street.
The city officials and those at The Gnome concluded Emery left town or died—secretly buried somewhere.
***
Arista, Hadrian, and Royce waited silently just outside the entrance to the bedroom until the doctor finished. "I've taken the bandages off him," Doctor Gerand said. He was an elderly man with white hair, a hooknose, and bushy eyebrows that managed to look sad even when he smiled. "He's much better today. A whipping like he took," he paused, unsure how to explain, "well, you saw what it did to the poor lady that hung alongside him. He should have died, but he's young. He'll bounce back once he wakes up and starts eating. Of course, his back will be scarred for life and he'll never be as strong as he was—too much damage. The only concern I have is noxious humors causing an imbalance in his body, but honestly, that doesn't look like it will be a problem. Like I said, the boy is young and strong. Let him continue to rest and he should be fine."
They followed the doctor downstairs, escorting him to the fro
nt door of the Dunlap's home where he bid them goodnight.
Pausing in the doorway he looked back. "Emery is a good lad. He was my son's best friend. Jimmy was taken into the Imperial Army and died in some battle up north." He paused a moment, glancing at the floor. "Watching Emery on that post was like losing him all over again. Whatever happens now, I just wanted to say thank you." With that, the doctor left.
Arista saw the inside of more commoners homes over the last week than she had in her entire life. After visiting with the Bakers of Hintindar, she assumed all families lived in identical houses, but the Dunlap's home was nothing like the Bakers'. It was two stories with a solid wooden floor on both levels, the upper story creating a thick-beamed ceiling to the lower. While still modest and a bit cramped, it showed touches of care and a dash of prosperity that Hintindar lacked. The walls were painted and decorated with pretty designs of stars and flowers, and the wood surfaces were buffed and stained. Knickknacks of glazed pottery and woodcarvings lined shelves above the fireplace. Unlike Dunstan and Arbor's sparse home, the Dunlaps had a lot of furniture. Wooden chairs with straw seats circled the table. Another pair bookended a spinning wheel surrounded by several wicker baskets. Little tables held vases of flowers and on the wall hung a cabinet with small doors and knobs. Kept neat, clean, and orderly, it was a house loved by a woman whose husband was a good provider, but rarely home.
"Are you sure you don't want anything else?" Mrs. Dunlap asked, while clearing the dinner plates. She was an old, plump woman who always wore an apron and matching white scarf and had a habit of wringing her wrinkled hands.
"We're fine," Arista told her. "And thank you again for letting us use your home."
The old woman smiled. "It's not so much a risk as you might think. My husband has been dead six years now. He proudly served as His Majesty Urith's coachman. Did you know that?" Her eyes sparkled as she looked off as if seeing him once more. "He was a handsome man in his driver's coat and hat with that red plume and gold broach. Yes, sir, a mighty fine-looking man, proud to serve the king, and had for thirty years."
Nyphron Rising Page 24