Denni didn’t even slow down. He raised his cane and swung with his powerful shoulders, forcing Adamat to parry the blow or risk being brained about the head. Adamat felt the cane sword wrenched from his fingers and saw it clatter off down the cobbles. Denni planted a shoulder in his chest, and Adamat felt like he’d been hit by a charging horse. He was flung to the ground with enough force to rattle his bones.
He rolled onto his hands and knees, spitting blood and cursing. He looked up, expecting to see Denni disappearing down the street.
But Denni had stopped and turned toward Adamat, just twenty paces away. Adamat’s heart leapt into his throat as Denni pulled a stoppered glass vial from his pocket. He didn’t have time to think as Denni flung the vial at him and turned to sprint away.
Adamat threw his arms up over his face. The whole world seemed to slow to a crawl, every regret and mistake flashing before his eyes as the blasting oil arched toward him. He’d seen the power of the stuff. There wouldn’t be enough left of him to scrape off the cobbles, and he found himself grimly hoping that Denni had misjudged the distance and was still within the blast radius.
There was a flash of movement as Fell sped past him. She reached out one hand and snatched the blasting oil out of the air. She pivoted on one leg, spinning, and went to her knee, setting the blasting oil carefully on the cobbles before Adamat’s eyes. A moment later she was off again, chasing after Denni.
Adamat’s hands trembled, but he snatched up the blasting oil lest a passerby accidentally kick it. He wondered how the pit the stuff hadn’t gone off during the scuffle and chase, and chastised himself for ever doubting Fell.
“I thought you said he wouldn’t be armed!” Adamat said as Ricard rounded the corner behind him, huffing and puffing.
Ricard gasped out, “He wasn’t supposed to be.”
“He either got tipped off or he was planning on finishing the job tonight. Hold this.” Adamat put the vial in Ricard’s outstretched hand. “Don’t drop it!” He grabbed his cane sword and set off in pursuit of Fell, hoping that Denni didn’t have the other missing bottle on his person.
He sprinted down the road, listening for sounds of the chase over his own labored breathing. He caught sight of Fell as she raced across a side street. Adamat followed, then crossed another road and ran into a shoe shop. Shoes lay on the floor, shelves tipped over by Denni in his rush to get away. An old cordwainer crouched behind his workbench and let out a startled moan as Adamat tore through the front room, down the hall, and out into the alley.
He entered the dimly lit alleyway just in time to see Fell corner Denni at a dead end. Denni whirled toward her, his spent pistol held by the barrel. When he saw Adamat, he lunged at Fell, likely hoping to take her down before Adamat could help.
The first swing went wide. Fell leapt, catlike, to one side and jabbed Denni in the throat with one hand. The blow would have sent any other man to the ground, windpipe collapsed, but Denni seemed to shrug it off and swung his pistol again.
“We need him to talk!” Adamat shouted, his voice echoing down the alley.
Fell caught the falling pistol butt with one hand, dropping to one knee beneath the force of the blow. Her fist shot out once again, slamming Denni hard in the balls before she got to her feet and closed the gap between them, her hand clawlike on his throat. She ducked, slipping beneath one arm, and came up behind Denni, stiletto in her hand, pressed against his cheek just below the eye.
Denni froze.
The whole fight occurred in the time it took Adamat to reach them. He slowed to a walk, and his heart felt near to bursting. He had to put a hand against the alley wall to support himself.
When he’d finally recovered, he stood up and straightened his jacket, stepping up to Denni with his cane sword in hand. “You have a lot of explaining to do. Where is the last vial of blasting oil?” Adamat asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t have it.”
“Who has it? Who hired you to bomb the union headquarters?”
Denni sniffed, putting up a tough façade.
“The easy way gets your ass thrown in a cell. The hard way, and she carves out one of your eyes, and then we break your kneecaps.”
Denni choked, then inhaled slightly as Fell pressed the stiletto harder against his cheek. “It was Cheris!”
“Excuse me?” Adamat lowered the tip of his cane sword.
“Cheris, the head of the bankers’ union! She sent me to buy the blasting oil. She had me hire men to throw those bombs into Ricard’s office, and she told me to kill him tonight at the Society meeting.”
“That was easy,” Fell said. The tip of her knife didn’t leave Denni’s cheek.
“Bloody pit! Bring him with! Ricard,” Adamat said as the union boss entered the alley from the cordwainer’s back door. “Get the police. We have to move quickly.”
Chapter 41
Nila felt exhausted. Her head drooped and she had to wrap the reins around her hands to keep them from slipping from stiff fingers as she rode. Every inch of her body throbbed from the pain of running and riding, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down in the grass, wet though it was with morning dew, and sleep.
But she knew that if she did that, Olem would die.
If he wasn’t dead already.
Bo looked worse than she felt. He seemed to have gained a second wind, head up and eyes alert, but she could see the rings under his eyes and the grimace that he tried to hide as he was jostled in his saddle.
“Your leg,” she said quietly as they rode just behind the vanguard of the Riflejack cavalry. The scouts were up ahead, following the trail her Kez pursuers had left.
Bo slouched in his saddle. “What about it?”
“They couldn’t…”
“No, they couldn’t. The flesh was too damaged at the knee. Healers can work miracles, but there’s a limit to what they can do. If they had managed it, I’d be two inches shorter on the left side and unable to bend my leg.”
Nila imagined Bo strutting down the street, jerking along like a marionette, trying to look casual. She swallowed an inappropriate laugh, covering her mouth, and tried to play it off as Bo glared at her. When he finally looked away, he said, “Yeah, that would have been kind of funny.”
“I’m so sorry, Bo.”
“Don’t be. I’m lucky to have everything above the knee. Let’s just get this over with so I can get out of this bloody saddle. Are we getting close?”
Nila looked around. “It all looks the same in the fog,” she said, then pointed to a scuff in the dirt on a hilltop. “That’s one of my marks.”
“All right.” Bo took a flask from his pocket and took a swig.
“Should you be drinking before a fight?”
“Better I drink now than pass out from the pain halfway through the battle.”
They rode on in silence until word was passed quietly back that they were to halt. One of the scouts approached Nila and Bo, and tipped his hat. “We have them, Privileged. They’re camped in a valley over the next hill.”
“Carry on,” Bo said.
“Do you want me to stay close?” Nila asked.
“Any other time I would say yes,” Bo said with a tired but flirtatious smirk. “But not this time. The magebreaker might know about you by now. He might not. Regardless, he’s gonna think there’s only one Privileged with the cavalry. If we stay well apart, he might not be able to cover us both with his nullifying sorcery. Remember, air in front of you to stop bullets. Keep your fire to a short distance, lest you blast our own people. A fight like this requires deft execution, not brute force.”
The cavalry split into two groups and created a horseshoe-shaped formation around the valley in which the Kez had camped. Nila could smell cook fires now, and she thought she heard muffled voices in the fog. Her wedge of cavalry formed up and she was assigned an escort of two heavily armed cuirassiers to keep her safe.