“I found Devedian falconeers several places once I looked. Those people need to be reined in.”
Hecht said, “We should’ve expected it. I knew they’d arm themselves better. That was my unstated reward for all the good they’ve done me. But I never meant them to arm the world. I’m going back to Krulik and Sneigon. If I find anything suspicious…” What could he do short of filling graves? The firepowder genie was out of the bottle. He would have no more luck stuffing it back in than the Night was having ending the threat of the Godslayer.
Cloven Februaren asked, “Who told you about your brother?”
“Bo Biogna. An old friend. I met him the same day I met Pinkus Ghort and Just Plain Joe. He’s one of Ghort’s sneak arounds, now.”
“I know him.”
Muniero Delari sighed.
Hecht asked, “Is there a problem, Grandfather?”
Delari said, “I’m just tired. Helping Hugo Mongoz, and now this new man, stay alive is exhausting. Health sorcery is the most draining kind.”
Also the most common, though the majority of people with a healing touch had only a small portion of the gift.
Delari continued, “And Piper’s Nightside defector isn’t helping. Because of him I’m getting less assistance than I’d hoped.” He looked pointedly at his grandfather.
“You’ll get more help, Muno. Once Piper goes back to the Connec he won’t need guarding so much. And if you really wanted to ease your load, you’d let Heris do the easy stuff down in the Silent Kingdom.”
“But…”
“But you want to manage everything yourself. Every little facet. So they all get everything just right.”
“But…”
“I know you, Muno. I used to be you. I still can’t help poking my nose in. But not so much anymore. Look. Heris is a grown woman. She’ll be right there with the Construct. She can yell for help. If the end of the world comes, she can translate out.”
Sounded like the old man was trying to convince himself. “I won’t need guarding so closely? Is there something going on that I haven’t been told?”
“No,” Februaren said. “But you’re in Brothe. Brothens have strong opinions and act impulsively.”
The Ninth Unknown was an accomplished liar. Hecht did not believe him.
Februaren revealed a small, smug smile. “Once you leave the rest of us will have time for the Construct, for investigations, for conspiring with the thing you brought out of the Jagos.”
“I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“And you said the boy isn’t bright enough to lace his own boots, Muno.”
That night with Anna was more melancholy than usual before Hecht’s departures. She seemed sure she would not see him again. She did not want to talk about it and would not be reassured.
Hecht had just swung his legs out of bed, rising to use the chamber pot, when the earth began to shake. A rumbling came from the south. Earthquake and thunderstorm in concert?
No. This was what had happened the night the Bruglioni citadel went up. Only more sustained.
“What is it?” Anna asked.
“Krulik and Sneigon,” he said as the children rushed in. “Paying the price of perfidy.” He was sure. He knew the collector, too.
That old man was one cold, murderous bastard.
The hole in the ground was ten times that left by the Bruglioni explosion. It continued to smolder. Minutes ago there had been a secondary explosion down there somewhere.
Pinkus Ghort observed, “We’re gonna need a new law. No more stowing firepowder in the cellar or the catacombs.”
“That should help.” Hecht watched Kait Rhuk.
Rhuk and two hundred Patriarchals were searching the rubble, recovering the occasional corpse. But that was not their principal task. They were watching the Deve rescuers and confiscating firepowder weapons. And unexploded firepowder, where that turned up. Carefully.
There were a lot of weapons. Many more than contracted for by the Patriarchal forces.
Hecht noted several senior Deves watching. Nervously. None were men he knew. The Devedians he had known in his early days had all died, many by suicide.
That old man was a ruthless bastard.
The Krulik and Sneigon who had given their names to the business had died in the explosion. Hecht collected those likely to take over, all from the Krulik and Sneigon families. “I’m not happy,” he told them. “My principal isn’t happy. We feel betrayed. Our very generous contracts have been violated repeatedly, even after our warnings.” He glared at the Deves. “I’m not feeling especially sympathetic today. But I give you one last chance.
“The people who worked here were the best at what they did. They can go on doing it. Somewhere where there’ll be less devastation next time there’s an accident.”
One hundred eighty-one dead had been recovered already. Most had been denizens of the tenements surrounding the works. Scores continued missing. It was a miracle the fires had not spread through the whole crowded Devedian quarter.
Damp weather had proved a blessing.
“I didn’t plan this but I’m not unhappy that it happened. Though I do wish I had that firepowder back.”
Departure for the connec had to be delayed. Hecht and a band of lifeguards took the damp road to Fea, the village where the creature from the Jagos was being kept. Hecht enlightened no one about the reason for the trip. Madouc was in a sour mood. No tempers were improved by the ongoing drizzle.
Feeble rains had fallen irregularly since the explosion at the Krulik and Sneigon works. Old people complained about their joints and proposed unlikely theories to explain the weather. Those in the midst of life were amused because their elders usually claimed everything was bigger, brighter, prettier, deadlier, and just generally more so in every way in decades gone by. Not so, the rain.
Hecht’s destination proved to be at the heart of Fea, a tower seventy feet tall. It was a primitive example of architecture beginning to appear in various republics and even a few Patriarchal cities where local politics could overheat. Entry was accomplished through a doorway sixteen feet above ground level, after climbing a ladder. Its few windows were archer’s embrasures well above that. Food and water, sufficient to endure a brief siege, were stored inside.
The towers were not fortifications in a traditional sense. City politics being volatile, they needed to protect their owners for hours only. Days at the most. Rioters seldom came equipped with siege trains. Or martial determination.
Hecht thought these family fortresses might be worth consideration in the Collegium. They could make difficulties for Patriarchal troops trying to control local disorders.
This tower was different from similar towers in that the ladder was stored outside. The Captain-General swung that into place. “Wait here, Madouc. I won’t be long.”
Madouc did not want to risk his principal to a thing that had harvested lives by the score. He argued. But Piper Hecht had no fear. Asgrimmur Grimmsson had reclaimed himself from the Night.
“Madouc, I do most everything you ask. Even when I don’t see the point. But not this time. I need to talk to this man alone.”
Madouc reddened. Would this be the one time too much?
But Madouc controlled himself. He had his men hold the ladder.
“Thank you, Madouc.” Hecht climbed. He felt it in his thighs. Too much comfort lately. And too many years.
The tower door swung inward at a touch. Hecht swung off the ladder, stepped inside. He saw no immediate evidence that the place was occupied. He moved through the gloom to a narrow stairs that had no rail. Stepping carefully, one hand against the wall, he climbed a riser at a time, testing each before he put his weight on it.