Chapter Thirty
The darkness fell and fire broke it.
For long and confused seconds, Indrajit didn’t know where the flame had come from. Did one of the survivors of the Dawn Priest Procession have a magical gift with fire? Or some sorcerous device? Had the fire in the streets—set by the Kattak, he thought—burned its way through the building?
The fire burned and he staggered aside. He expected to die, burned or crushed or impaled.
Instead, the fire rose into the sky and shattered the Kattak assault.
Wiping sweat from his eyes, he saw Gannon’s Handlers. The Handlers, and the Huachao. They had torches, buckets of pitch, bows and arrows, and javelins. The first wave of flaming missiles they launched upward stopped the Kattak, sending several away on fire and dropping many dead into the candy-speckled mud. But then they continued, not in waves but in a ragged and constant barrage. Kattak hissed and shrieked and fled and died.
“There will be fires in the city,” Bolo Bit Sodani said solemnly.
“There is a fire constabulary contract,” Thrush said. “It was doubled for the festival, as always.”
Indrajit’s knees wobbled. “Thank you,” he said, to no Handler in particular and to all of them.
A Luzzazza stalked up to him, mud sucking at his sandals.
“Thank you,” Indrajit said.
The Luzzazza slapped him in the face, knocking him to his knees. “I am no longer on the path.”
Indrajit stayed down. For one thing, he felt too tired to stand. Also, he didn’t want another fight, especially not with one of the jobbers who had just saved his life. “Sorry to hear that,” he said.
“Fix,” Munahim said, before plunging into the open door.
The Handlers and the Huachao continued to apply fire to the Kattak. Two Huachao hurled buckets of pitch down the well and then several others, including the pridechief Budhrriao, launched flaming arrows in after them.
Budhrriao snarled at Indrajit. It felt like a friendly greeting.
Indrajit followed Munahim.
They raced through an off-kilter warren of brick rooms. They smelled occupied, and filthy, but whoever slept on the cots and bedrolls and ate off the leaning tables had vacated, at least for the moment. Indrajit heard feet behind him and looked back to see one of the surviving Dawn Priests, or maybe a bodyguard—a man in white linen, holding a sword.
They wound their way through a tenement, and eventually found a door that was opening just as they arrived. Philastes let them in; he was bloodied and filthy and he held a stone in the pouch of his sling, ready to shoot, but he was grinning.
Indrajit looked at the man following him and saw a tall, lean fellow, with a Kishi complexion. He wore the true compass of the Lord Archer on his chest.
On the balcony, Fix knelt on the chest of the assassin. After all the struggle against this would-be killer, Indrajit was disappointed that in person, the man seemed weak and defeated. He breathed with difficulty and Fix gripped him by the hair. Ax, falchion, and scimitar all lay on the floor of a room that was otherwise full of crates and the smell of dirty straw.
“Tell me a name,” Fix said.
“No.” The assassin grinned, teeth bloody.
“Tell me a name and you live.”
“You fool.” The assassin laughed. “There’s no chance I survive. I failed and I have been caught.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“You can’t protect me,” the assassin said. “You don’t even know who you’d be protecting me from.”
“You’re from the House of Knives,” Fix said.
“I don’t deny it.”
“Sent by one of the Gray Lords?”
“Stop wasting your time,” the assassin said. “I won’t tell you.”
“Hired by a rival jobber company?” Fix pressed. “What did I do to anger them?”
The assassin guffawed, choking.
“Some Paper Sook fraudster we stopped?” Indrajit asked. “Someone whose smuggled shipment we impounded?”
The assassin laughed.
“Eion Osiah?” Fix sat up, straddling the man. “Did Eion Osiah hire the House of Knives to kill me?”
That might explain why the assassin had seemed to want Fix’s death more than Indrajit’s.
The assassin hesitated, then opened his mouth.
“Chode!” The Lord Archer’s bodyguard leaped forward. In one sudden motion, he sliced through the assassin’s neck, severing his head from his body.
Fix sprang to his feet. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The bodyguard, face still obscured with a linen mask, wiped blood off on his Dawn Priest robe. “The Lord Archer’s bidding. This man and his guild will not trouble you again.”
He sheathed his sword and walked out.
Fix stepped briskly to follow the bodyguard, but Indrajit moved into his way.
“That man knows something,” Fix growled.
“He does,” Indrajit said. “He clearly does. Chode was the name the assassin gave to Illiot. Also, he’s the Lord Archer’s bodyguard.”
“Who is Illiot?”
Indrajit explained.
“But—”
“Let it go, Fix.”
Grit Wopal had only one comment, after the Battle of Last Light was over and the Lord Chamberlain safe in his palace, and Wopal had ordered the Protagonists to recount the three preceding days in detail as he gazed upon them with his third eye.
“You Protagonists grow symmetrically,” the Yifft said. “Two men with large noses, and two with animal heads.”
* * *
Indrajit and Fix stood at Zac Betel’s forge as the Gray Lord of the Sootfaces immersed an iron blade into water, then examined it, and set it aside.
“Eventful day, yesterday,” Betel said. His men stood guard, but at a distance that granted the two Protagonists a measure of privacy. “A lot of fires.”
“A lot of deaths,” Fix added. “The Lord Chamberlain’s understeward was saved, and the Lord Stargazer’s night steward. Many others were lost.”
“I’m composing an episode for the Epic now,” Indrajit said. “To be fair, that’s supposed to be the task of the Recital Thane who follows my successor, but at least I can hand down some notes for him to work on.” He hesitated. “And, of course, there’s no guarantee I’ll have a successor.”
“The best account is always that of an eyewitness,” Betel said.
Indrajit nodded. “It’s hard to make the lines about squishing Kattak nymphs underfoot scan. There are already lots of good lines to describe the fires, fortunately. And you’re in it.”
“Perhaps not wise,” Betel suggested.
“Not by name,” Indrajit said. “And not as a Gray Lord. As a noble blacksmith, from whose fires the resistance to the insect invaders arose. Not false.”
“Not true, either,” Betel said.
“Poetically true.”
Betel harrumphed.
“Apparently, enough of the Dawn Priests emerged from the Dregs to finish the Battle of Last Light,” Indrajit said. “To the priests’ satisfaction, at least, which hopefully means that Spilkar and the other gods are also pleased.”
“The city is saved, so they still exist.” Betel shrugged. “How can they be displeased?”
Indrajit nodded. “The city is saved, so we all still exist.”
“We’re here to make sure that we’re at peace with the Conclave,” Fix said.
“You work for the Lord Chamberlain,” Betel said. “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything to you.”
“We work for the Lord Chamberlain,” Indrajit agreed. “Isn’t it better that we know each other? Don’t you want the Lord Chamberlain to keep the peace in Kish?”
“More or less,” Betel agreed. “You shouldn’t imagine that I’m in your debt.”
“We don’t,” Indrajit said.
“Are the Sookwalkers in good standing?” Fix asked. “Yuto Harlee is part of the Conclave?”
“The Conclave has yet to gather since the meeting at which you participated,” Betel said. “But it is the general view of the Gray Lords that Yuto Harlee should be made to feel uncomfortable, and then, without any official approbation, admitted into normal dealings with the rest of us.”
Indrajit nodded.
“And Jaxter Boom?” Indrajit asked.
“He conspired against the Conclave,” Betel said.
“He conspired to enter the Conclave,” Indrajit said. “I’m not sure that’s quite the same thing.”
“Why do you care?” The Luzzazza Gray Lord of the Sootfaces folded his visible arms and squinted at Indrajit.
“At the end, his Huachao fighters were part of the group that rescued us,” Indrajit said. “With Gannon’s Handlers. Broke through to where we were pinned down and drove away the Kattak with fire. Saved most of the Lords of Kish, and us personally. Maybe saved the city, I suppose.”
“They helped the Handlers find us there,” Fix added. “They know the Dregs well.”
“Did they do it at Boom’s direction?” Betel asked.
“No idea,” Indrajit said. “Budhrriao and his pride vanished as soon as the fight was over.”
“We’ll enter into negotiations with Jaxter Boom,” Betel said. “We’ll see how the negotiations go.”
“And are we . . . marked men?” Fix asked.
Betel laughed, a deep rumble. “You enforce the law at the direction of the Lord Chamberlain. Are you asking me whether some of Kish’s thieves, or even some of her Gray Lords, may hold a grudge against you? Or may seek to stop you in the future? I’d say that’s fairly certain.”
Indrajit nodded. “Fair enough.”
“But.” Betel raised a finger. “But, no one will take revenge on you for anything that’s happened in the last three days. The Gray Lords have agreed it. Harlee will agree, if he wants to join us. So will Boom.”
“Thank you,” Indrajit said.
Betel inclined his head. “Thank you.”
“Marek Kotzin?” Indrajit asked. “Toru Zing?”
“Beneath my notice,” Betel said. “As they should be beneath yours.”
“I have one last question,” Fix said. “Do you know anything about a House of Knives assassin who was sent to try to murder us? And maybe specifically sent to murder me?”
“I didn’t do that,” Betel said. “I doubt any of the Gray Lords would do it. We have our own men, why tangle with the mysterious House of Knives?”
“I thought so.” Fix sighed.
“What are you going to do about that?” Betel asked.
“We think we know who did it,” Indrajit said. “We’re going to pay him a visit.”
The four Protagonists made their way across the rooftop of Eion Osiah’s palace. Philastes was surefooted as well as a good climber, and didn’t slow them down a bit. The night sky overhead was deep and cold, and Indrajit found it relaxing.
A nice change of pace from three manic days.
“I think I should go first,” Indrajit said, when they lowered the rope. He had an additional length of rope this time, coiled over his shoulder.
“You’re worried I’ll kill him,” Fix suggested.
“Should I not be worried? Our warrant is to grab Osiah and deliver him to the Lord Chamberlain to face trial.”
“Okay, you can go first,” Fix conceded.
“Maybe I should take Munahim with me, and you should stay up here on the rooftop with Philastes.”
“Maybe you should get sliding down that rope.”
Munahim and Philastes took up their positions with sling and bow, watching for uninvited guests. Munahim’s bow was new and he had a quiver full of new arrows, and he had spent two hours in the afternoon shooting at straw targets in the courtyard of the Protagonists’ inn. Indrajit slid down to the balcony where Osiah’s children slept and checked the room inside; they breathed deeply. Fix followed close on his heels.
“Funny how the warrant is for kidnapping and assault,” Indrajit said. “No mention of hiring an assassin to kill us. Or kill you, anyway.”
“I think that’s going to be quietly swept under the carpet,” Fix said. “For reasons of state.”
Indrajit snorted. “Don’t you mean, for reasons of who exactly is the Lord Knife after all?”
“That’s the same thing.”
“What was being healed like?” Indrajit asked. “By the Vin Dalu, I mean?”
“I felt sick,” Fix said. “I thought I was going to explode. I could feel my flesh being eaten from the inside. Then they put me in the Girdle of Life and activated the device.”
“Cast their spell.”
Fix shrugged. “I felt hot, and then intensely nauseated, and then both sensations passed. There was fire in the Dregs, so Philastes and I came running.”
“Glad you did.”
“I have passed dead Kattak nymphs in my stool,” Fix said.
“I didn’t need to know that,” Indrajit said. “That’s not going in the Epic. And I’m not going to tell Munahim, either. He’s way too interested in that sort of thing.”
“He had a similar experience.”
“I didn’t need to know that, either.”
“Shh, let’s go get Osiah.”
They tiptoed across the children’s room; the rhythmic breathing continued unchanged.
“It occurs to me that I lost track of Danel Avchat,” Indrajit murmured, when they were in the bean merchant’s hall. “Did he stay with the Vin Dalu?”
“He was terrified to leave,” Fix said. “So I told Grit Wopal to take him into custody. For his own protection. No doubt Wopal is having him generate map after map of Underkish as we speak, for use by the Lord Chamberlain’s Ears. Perhaps one of those will come back to us.”
“And Alea?” Indrajit whispered. They had rescued her from a secret room on this very floor of this very building. Well, not rescued her. Collected her dead body.
“She’s lost some hair and struggles to keep food down,” Fix said. “She’s weak and says she feels fragile.”
“So she’s with the Vin Dalu? Being treated? Recovering?”
“She returned home. To her husband.”
“Will you see her again?” Indrajit asked.
They peeked into doorways by the light of a small lamp burning in the hallway niche. Indrajit remembered that there was a bedroom on this floor, but he didn’t recall exactly where it was. Earlier in the evening, they had spent hours hidden inside a rented Rover wagon, watching until they saw Eion Osiah come home and go upstairs.
“I don’t know.”
“Does she know what you went through? To rescue her, I mean? You were injected with wasp eggs. You nearly died yourself.”
“So did you.” Fix hesitated. “I don’t think she knows. I doubt she does. I certainly didn’t tell her.”
Indrajit shook his head. “You’re being surprisingly cavalier about all this.”
“Funny,” Fix said, “I don’t feel cavalier at all.”
Indrajit pointed at the next door. “This is it. I’m pretty sure.”
“Be ready with the rope,” Fix whispered.
There was no knob, just a simple brass latch that could be lifted from either side. Fix raised the latch and opened the door a handsbreadth; they both listened.
Deep breathing sounds.
Fix nodded and swung the door open. Well oiled, it swung wide without a creak.
Within, a wide canopied bed filled the center of the room. Hallways led away to washrooms; Indrajit could see a washbasin through one opening and a bath through another. Against the walls stood vanities and cupboards of various sort. Mirrors hung in several corners. Niches the height of a man stood in every wall, with white statues of Haduri standing in them. Some looked like warriors, others like kings, others like farmers. Haduri gods? Indrajit gave them barely a glance, and focused on the bed.
Two long lumps under the cushions, and slow breathing.
Indrajit uncoiled his rope, prepared to tie Osiah up, and to tie up his wife, as well. Some servant would free her in the morning, but there was no point in letting her sound an alarm in the meantime.
Each Protagonist grabbed an edge of the thick winter blanket covering the bed. Counting down from three with gestures, they pulled the blanket back at the same time.
Beneath it lay a Haduri woman in a night dress. She continued to breathe deeply, and made no sign that she was awake. Beside her lay not Eion Osiah, but a collection of bolsters.
“Don’t move, or I kill you.”
The voice came from behind them and above. It was Osiah’s voice.
“The Lord Chamberlain wants to talk to you,” Fix said.
“I wager he does,” Osiah said. “Drop the rope, hands up, and turn around slowly.”
Indrajit turned to see that Haduri bean merchant standing in one of the wall niches. His skin was caked with some thick white concealer. He wore a sword at his side, and held a double-layered crossbow.
“You’re just making trouble for yourself, Osiah,” Fix said. “If we don’t bring you in, another jobber company will come next. And if you kill us, the next jobbers will be bigger and meaner. Come along, stand trial, and your family can live unmolested.”
“I wonder if the Lord Chamberlain would be interested in a trade,” Osiah said.
“For us?” Fix shook his head. “No.”
“Hey,” Indrajit said, “I feel like I’m worth something.”
“To Thrush?” Fix laughed.
“Hey.”
“Walk.” Osiah climbed down from his perch, stepping first onto a vanity and then a stool and then a chair, descending without ever removing his aim from the Protagonists. “You know where my special little room is. Let’s go there.”
“Is this your wife?” Fix asked. “Does she know what you’re doing? Maybe she’d like you to cooperate?”
The Haduri chuckled. “That’s my wife. She’ll sleep until the morning like a corpse, thanks to the potions I slipped her. I’m an expert at knocking women unconscious.”
“Of course,” Indrajit said. “You Haduri are really charming.”
“I am as the gods made me.” Osiah shrugged. “Now go, or I shoot you and just keep the short one as a bargaining chip.”
“I’m not short,” Fix complained.
Indrajit and Fix exited the bedroom and turned, heading toward the office and the secret room. Indrajit whistled, but would Munahim really hear? Even with his keen ears?
“Shut up,” Osiah snarled.
Indrajit reached the office door. He and Fix turned.
Osiah stood in the center of the hallway, facing them with his crossbow. “So, back where we started. I could take you to trade with. But I feel like I would really enjoy killing you. Or at least one of you.”
As the Haduri spoke, a door behind him opened slowly and quietly. Munahim and Philastes crept through. Their feet were bare and their hands were empty.
“I think the trading option is a good idea,” Indrajit said. “But if you really feel the need to shoot someone, let us help. We can find someone who deserves it.”
Munahim tiptoed to stand directly behind Osiah. His nostrils flared. Philastes crouched at his side.
“Oh, believe me,” Osiah said. “You deserve it.”
Munahim reached his long arms around Osiah, grabbed the crossbow and yanked it upward, to point at the ceiling. The bolts both launched, cracking against the ceiling and then angling downward and down the hall. Munahim continued his motion, dragging the Haduri’s hands up and falling backward, until he toppled over and landed on his back, Osiah clutched to his chest and squirming.
Philastes leaped astride Osiah and clamped his hands over the bean merchant’s mouth.
“Get the rope,” Munahim grunted.
Fix sneaked back for the rope.
“You guys didn’t hear me whistle,” Indrajit said.
“We did,” Philastes told him. “But we were already down here.”
“You didn’t wait,” Indrajit said.
“After the last three days,” Philastes said, “it seemed like a good idea to stick close.”
Fix returned with the rope.
“Let’s tie this piece of garbage up and get him out of here,” Indrajit said. He took the rope and began to bind the Haduri.
“You didn’t stay where you were supposed to,” Fix said. “If you’re down here, who has our backs?”
“Obviously,” Munahim told him, “we do.”