"Let me have a look." She fumbled with the buttons on Cosca's jacket, but before she got the second one undone he reached up, gently took her bloody hand and her twisted one in his.
"I've been waiting years for you to tear my clothes off, but I think I'll have politely to decline. I'm finished."
"You? Never."
He squeezed her hands tighter. "Right through the guts, Monza. It's over." His eyes rolled towards the gate, and she could hear the faint clattering as soldiers on the other side struggled to lever the portcullis open. "And you'll have other problems soon enough. Four of seven, though, girl." He grinned. "Never thought you'd make four of seven."
"Four of seven," muttered Friendly, behind her.
"I wish I could've made Orso one of them."
"Well." Cosca raised his brows. "It's a noble calling, but I guess you can't kill everyone."
Shivers was walking slowly over from one of the doorways. He barely even glanced at Ganmark's impaled corpse as he passed. "None left?"
"Not in here." Friendly nodded towards the gate. "Some out there, though."
"Reckon so." The Northman stopped not far away. His hanging axe, his dented shield, his pale face and the bandages across one half of it were all dashed and speckled dark red.
"You alright?" asked Monza.
"Don't rightly know what I am."
"Are you hurt, I'm asking?"
He touched one hand to the bandages. "No worse'n before we started… reckon I must be beloved o' the moon today, as the hillmen say." His eye rolled down to her bloody shoulder, her bloody hand. "You're bleeding."
"My fencing lesson turned ugly."
"You need a bandage?"
She nodded towards the gateway, the noise of the Talinese soldiers on the other side getting louder with every moment. "We'll be lucky if we get the time to bleed to death."
"What now, then?"
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. There was no use fighting, even if she'd had the strength. The palace would be swarming with Orso's soldiers. There was no use surrendering, even if she'd been the type. They'd be lucky if they made it back to Fontezarmo to be killed. Benna had always warned her she didn't think far enough ahead, and it seemed he'd had a point—
"I've an idea." Day's face had broken out in an unexpected smile. Monza followed her pointing finger, up to the roofline above the garden, and squinted into the sun. A black figure crouched there against the bright sky.
"A fine afternoon to you!" She never thought she'd be glad to hear Castor Morveer's scraping whine. "I was hoping to view the Duke of Visserine's famous collection and I appear to have become entirely lost! I don't suppose any of you kind gentlefolk know where I might find it? I hear he has Bonatine's greatest work!"
Monza jerked her bloody thumb at the ruined statue. "Not all it's cracked up to be!"
Vitari had appeared beside the poisoner now, was smoothly lowering a rope. "We're rescued," grunted Friendly, in just the same tone as he might have said, "We're dead."
Monza hardly had the energy even to feel pleased. She hardly knew if she was pleased. "Day, Shivers, get up there."
"No doubt." Day tossed her bow away and ran for it. The Northman frowned at Monza for a moment, then followed.
Friendly was looking down at Cosca. "What about him?" The old mercenary seemed to have dozed off for a moment, eyelids flickering.
"We'll have to pull him up. Get a hold."
The convict slid one arm around his back and started to lift him. Cosca woke with a jolt, grimaced. "Dah! No, no, no, no, no." Friendly let him carefully back down and Cosca shook his scabby head, breathing ragged. "I'm not screaming my way up a rope just so I can die on a roof. Here's as good a place as any, and this as good a time. I've been promising to do it for years. Might as well keep my word this once."
She squatted down beside him. "I'd rather call you a liar one more time, and keep you watching my back."
"I only stayed there… because I like looking at your arse." He bared his teeth, winced, gave a long growl. The clanging at the gate was getting louder.
Friendly offered Cosca's sword to him. "They'll be coming. You want this?"
"Why would I? It was messing with those things got me into this fix in the first place." He tried to shift, winced and sagged back, his skin already carrying that waxy sheen that corpses have.
Vitari and Morveer had bundled Shivers over the gutter and onto the roof. Monza jerked her head at Friendly. "Your turn."
He crouched there for a moment, not moving, then looked to Cosca. "Do you want me to stay?"
The old mercenary took Friendly's big hand and smiled as he gave it a squeeze. "I am touched beyond words to hear you make the offer. But no, my friend. This I had better handle alone. Give your dice a roll for me."
"I will." Friendly stood and strode off towards the rope without a backward glance. Monza watched him go. Her hands, her shoulder, her leg burned, her battered body ached. Her eyes slunk over the bodies scattered across the garden. Sweet victory. Sweet vengeance. Men turned into meat.
"Do me one favour." Cosca had a sad smile, almost as if he guessed her thoughts.
"You came back for me, didn't you? I can stretch to one."
"Forgive me."
She made a sound—half-snort, half-retch. "I thought I was the one betrayed you?"
"What does it matter now? Treachery is commonplace. Forgiveness is rare. I'd rather go without any debts. Except all the money I owe in Ospria. And Adua. And Dagoska." He weakly waved one bloody hand. "Let's say no debts to you, anyway, and leave it at that."
"That I can do. We're even."
"Good. I lived like shit. Glad to see at least I got the dying right. Get on."
Part of her wanted to stay with him, to be with him when Orso's men broke through the gate, make sure there really were no debts. But not that big a part. She'd never been prone to sentiment. Orso had to die, and if she was killed here, who'd get it done? She pulled the Calvez from the ground, slid it back into its sheath and turned without another word. Words are poor tools at a time like that. She limped to the rope, tied it off under her hips the best she could, twisted it around her wrist.
"Let's go!"
From the roof Monza could see right across the city. The wide curve of the Visser and its graceful bridges. The many towers poking at the sky, dwarfed by pillars of smoke still rising from the scattered fires. Day had already got a pear from somebody and was biting happily into it, yellow curls blowing on the breeze, juice gleaming on her chin.
Morveer raised one eyebrow at the carnage down in the garden. "I am relieved to observe that, in my absence, you succeeded in keeping the slaughter under tight control."
"Some things never change," she snapped at him.
"Cosca?" asked Vitari.
"Not coming."
Morveer gave a sickening little grin. "He failed to save his own skin this time? So a drunkard can change after all."
Rescue or not, Monza would have stabbed him at that moment if she'd had a good hand to do it with. From the way Vitari scowled at the poisoner, she was feeling much the same. She jerked her spiky head towards the river instead. "We should have the tearful reunion down in the boat. The city's full of Orso's troops. High time we were floating out to sea."
Monza took one last look back. All was still down in the garden. Salier had slid from the fallen statue's pedestal and rolled onto his back, arms outstretched as if welcoming a dear old friend. Ganmark knelt in a wide slick of blood, impaled on The Warrior's great bronze blade, head dangling. Cosca's eyes were closed, hands resting in his lap, a slight smile still on his tipped-back face. Cherry blossom wafted down and settled across his stolen uniform.
"Cosca, Cosca," she murmured. "What will I do without you?"