“That is only the fourth most stupid plan I have ever heard from an Abhorsen,” replied Mogget. “I like the part about sleeping for a while, though you neglected to mention dinner.”
“I’m not sure you should be the one to fly down,” said Sam uncomfortably. “I’m sure I could get the hang of the owl shape, and I might be better able to convince Nick to come with us. And how can the Dog fly?”
“There won’t be any convincing required,” growled the Dog. “Your friend Nick must be largely a creature of the Destroyer. He will have to be compelled – and we must be wary of him and any powers he may have been granted. As to flying, I just make myself smaller and grow some wings.”
“Oh,” said Sam. “Of course. Grow some wings.”
“We’ll have to watch out for Hedge, too,” added Lirael, who was belatedly wondering if perhaps there wasn’t a better plan after all. “But it will have to be me who uses the Charter-skin. I made it to my size – it wouldn’t fit you. I hope it isn’t too crumpled in my pack.”
“It’ll take me at least two hours to get down to that creek – since I can’t fly,” said Sam, looking down the ridge. “Perhaps we should all go on later tonight; then you can fly from there. That way I’ll be closer and ready immediately if there’s any trouble. And you could lend me your bow, so I can spell some arrows while I’m waiting.”
“Good idea,” said Lirael. “We should go on. But the bow won’t be much use if it keeps raining – and I don’t think we can risk any more weather magic to stop it. That will give us away for sure.”
“It’ll stop before dawn,” said the Dog with great authority.
“Humph,” replied Mogget. “Anyone could have told them that. It’s stopping now, for that matter.”
Sam and Lirael looked up through the canopy of the trees, and sure enough, though the storm to the northwest was constant, the clouds above and to the east were parting to show the fading red wash of the sun and the first star of the night. It was Uallus, the red star that showed the way north. Lirael was heartened to see it, though she knew it was only a shepherd’s tale that said Uallus granted luck if it was the first star in the sky.
“Good,” said Lirael. “I hate flying in the rain. Wet feathers are a pain.”
Sam didn’t answer. It was getting dark, but the lightning around the pit made it possible to make out some things down in the valley in a sort of stop-start way. There was a square-shaped blob that could easily be a tent. Presumably Nick’s tent, for there were no others visible.
“Hang on, Nick,” whispered Sam. “We’ll save you.”
first interlude
Touchstone’s hand clasped Sabriel’s shoulder as they lay under the car. Neither of them could hear after the explosion and they were dazed from the shock. Many of their guards were dead around them, and their eyes could not process the dreadful human wreckage that surrounded them. In any case, they were intent on their would-be assassins. They could see their feet approaching, and their laughter sounded muffled and distant, like noisy neighbours on the other side of a wall.
Touchstone and Sabriel crawled forward, their pistols in their hands. The two guards who had also made it under the car crawled forward too. One was Veran, Sabriel saw, still clutching her pistol despite the blood that ran down her hands. The other survivor was the oldest of all the guards, Barlest, his grizzled hair stained and no longer white. He had a machine rifle and was readying it to fire.
The assassins saw the movement, but it was too late. The four survivors fired almost at the same time, and the laughter was drowned in an assault of sudden gunfire. Empty brass cartridges rattled on the underside of the car and acrid smoke billowed out between the wheels.
“To the boat!” shouted Barlest to Sabriel, gesturing behind him. She couldn’t hear him properly at first, till he had shouted it three times: “Boat! Boat! Boat!”
Touchstone heard it too. He looked at Sabriel and she saw the fear in his eyes. But it was fear for her, she knew, not for himself. She gestured back towards the lane that ran between the houses behind them. That would take them to Larnery Square and the Warden Steps. They had boats there, and more guards disguised as river traders. Damed had carefully prepared several escape routes, but this was the closest. As in everything, he had thought only of the safety of his King and Queen.
“Go!” shouted Barlest. He had changed the drum on his automatic rifle and he began firing short bursts to the right and left, forcing any of their attackers who had made it back to cover to keep their heads down.
Touchstone gripped Barlest’s shoulder for a brief, final moment, then wriggled around and moved across to the other side of the car. Sabriel crawled next to him and they briefly touched hands. Veran, next to her, took a deep breath and hurled herself out, leaping to her feet and running the second she was clear of the car. She got to the lane, crouched behind a fire hydrant and covered Sabriel and Touchstone as they followed. But for the moment there were no shots apart from the disciplined bursts from Barlest, still under the car.
“Come on!” roared Touchstone, turning at the entrance to the lane. But Barlest did not come, and Veran grabbed Touchstone and Sabriel and pushed them down the lane, shouting, “Go! Go!”
They heard Barlest shout a battle cry behind them, heard his footsteps as he charged out from under the car on the opposite side. There was one long shuddering burst of automatic fire and several louder, single shots. Then there was silence, save for the clattering of their own boots on the cobbles, the pant of their laboured breaths and the beating of their hearts.
Larnery Square was empty. The central garden, usually the habitat of nannies and babies, was completely devoid of life. The explosion had probably happened only a few minutes ago, but that was enough. There had been plenty of trouble in Corvere since the rise of Corolini and his Our Country thugs, and the ordinary citizens had learned when to retreat quickly from the streets.
Touchstone, Sabriel and Veran ran grimly through the square and clattered down the Warden Steps on the far side. A drunken bargeman saw them, three gun-wielding figures splattered in blood and worse, and was not so drunk that he got in the way. He cowered to one side, hunching himself into as small a ball as possible.
The Sethem River flowed dirtily past the short quay at the end of the steps. A man dressed in the oilskin thigh boots and assorted rags of a tide dredger stood there, his hands inside a barrel that he’d presumably just salvaged from the muddy river flats. As he heard the clatter on the stairs, his hands came out holding a sawn-off shotgun, the hammers cocked.
“Querel! A rescue!” shouted Veran.
The man carefully decocked the shotgun, pulled a whistle out from under his many-patched shirt and blew it several times. There was an answering whistle and several more Royal Guards leapt up from a boat that was out of sight beneath the quay, the river being at low tide. All the guards were armed and expecting trouble, but from their expressions none expected what they saw.
“An ambush,” exclaimed Touchstone quickly as they approached. “We must be away at once.”
Before he could say any more, many hands grabbed him and Sabriel and practically threw them on to the deck of the waiting boat, Veran jumping on after them. The craft, a converted river tramp, was six or seven feet below the quay, but there were more hands to catch them. Even as they were hustled into the heavily sandbagged cabin, the engine was going from a slow idle to a heavy throb and the boat was shuddering into motion.