The girl slung it over her shoulder, stuffed cartridges into the pockets of her robe, then looped the food packet onto her back. I saw that she was still carrying the cylinder of cigarettes.
"You've got the old man's lighter?"
"Uh, yeah. Sorry. I can put it back."
"We'll need it. Never did learn to conjure fire. That's more a Healer trick."
"I'm standing right here," Owen said. "Don't pretend I'm not coming with you."
"You're not. You're already in trouble for warning us. I won't have you going apostate."
"Is this something we pretend to argue about and then I do whatever I want, or do we pretend to argue and then do whatever you want?"
"We pretend to argue and then I threaten to beat the tar out of you."
"Fair enough." He nodded. "What am I supposed to tell my unit commander? That I chased you down, found you, then lost track of you?"
"Something like that," I said, then stepped smartly in and put my fist under his chin. He dropped like a sack.
"You two are close," Cassandra said. "I hope we're never that close."
"Not a chance. Look through his pockets for anything useful," I said as I turned and ran down the hall.
"Where are you going?" she yelled after me.
"Gonna try to find the rest of my Cult." I turned a corner and then, under my breath, "Some son of a bitch has to be left. Can't all be gone, can they?"
Trick was, they were. Trick was, a lot of them were dead, piled up in the leeside barracks like logs of wood. Someone had done for them awful quick. A lot of puncture wounds, a lot of slit throats. Bloody streaks where they'd been dragged in there, but no footprints of those who'd done the dragging. As soon as I found the bodies, I ran back to where I'd left Cassandra. She was still there, sitting on the ground next to the unconscious Owen.
"I wasn't sure if you were coming back, or if I was supposed to come find you."
"And what were you going to do if he woke up?" I asked. She shrugged. "Well, better that I came back."
"You find your Culties?"
"Nah. Not all of them at least." The Elders weren't there. Simeon was in a hospital somewhere, accused of apostasy. Maybe Isabel and Tomas had been taken too. All those folks in the barracks, they had been initiates, servants, couriers. Chefs. Just folks. Dead folks, now. "We'd best be going."
"There some secret passage out of here?" Cassandra asked, struggling to keep up. I adjusted my stride.
"I haven't thought that far ahead yet. There's other stuff we need."
"We have food, we have weapons. We have the whole city of Ash on our tails. What else do we need?"
"You'll see. Gods-blessed thing it is. Damned, too. Oh, you'll see."
We hurried past the final resting place of most of my compatriots. Cassandra noticed the smears on the ground and gave me a look but didn't say anything. I just kept going on ahead. There were signs of struggle in a couple places. Small fights, quickly over. Blood on the tiles. I cursed myself for having taken Cassandra directly to the mess without checking out the rest of the monastery. All those dead, and no one to stand watch over their bodies in the Rest. No one to say the final rites, to invoke them to their graves. No one.
This would all have been alarming in less radical circumstances. I could hear the voices of Owen's companions below. Kicking in doors, securing rooms. Looking for me. Looking for us. I chanced a glance out one of the converted gun turrets. Sirens all around, the streets packed with whiteshirts. The military contingent hung back. Lot of people. Then again, how many people do you bring to arrest the Cult of the Warrior? Why not double that number, just to be safe?
Cassandra was starting to lag. She made a terrible mule. Twothirds of the way to our destination, in twice the time it should have taken, and I had had enough. I grabbed the pack of food and cut it off her back, then tossed it down the hallway.
"But-"
"We'll find food. We'll be fine. Come on."
"I was going to suggest you carry it," she said.
"Right, great idea. Maybe next time we're on the run."
We made the rest of the trip quick enough. I chanced a look into my room on the way by. The Paladins' quarters were technically two floors below, but they had been empty since I was a teenager. I moved up here to be closer to the Elders and their attendants, but still far enough away for it to be quiet.
My room had been ransacked. Nothing for me there, anyway. We went on. The Elders' rooms were in especial disrepair. No sign of Isabel or Tomas, but no blood, either. Any fight they had gotten into would have involved plenty of blood. Then again, I didn't see them as the type to run away. These were strange circumstances.
"You're spooking me," Cassandra said as I tiptoed around Isabel's room. "Are we looking for something? Someone?"
"Nope. Looks like all the Morganites who're still alive have made good their escape."
"All but us," she said, nervously.
"All but me." I clapped her shoulder on the way out. "Let's not pretend you're warrior material."
I left the living quarters behind and made the final ascent to the ballroom without looking back. Cassandra kept up, but it was straining her. I wanted her a little wiped out for the bit that was to come. Wasn't sure how she was going to react when I showed her the artifact. If she really was some kind of Amonite spy, sent to gain my trust and then steal the machine, I'd rather find that out while she was good and tired.
We paused long enough on the landing to secure the grand entrance doors. The entryway was concealed from the main ballroom by a length of curtain. I looked Cassandra over.
"Doing alright?" I asked.
"Well enough."
"Okay. Just follow close."
I drew my sword and swept the curtain aside. I wish I'd done it sooner. I wish I had been alone.
Barnabas lay there, at the edge of the compass rose. Crushed. The wide, delicate window was shattered, and glass surrounded him like sharp confetti. I stumbled to a halt, the sword sliding loosely to the ground. Without thinking, I was by his side, kneeling, the shards cutting my knees and palms. I turned him on his back, but there was no point. He wasn't breathing, wasn't even bleeding anymore. He just lay there in a pool of stiff blood, his eyes pale and open, his hands clenched into dead man's fists. He had been beaten, while he was still alive. His face showed it. Angry bands around his wrists showed where he had been bound. His gums were bloody from a gag, and he smelled of offal and piss and long confinement. They had beaten him, an old man. They had beaten him, and they had killed him, and they had brought him here.
I closed his eyes, then went back and got my sword. Cassandra was standing by the entrance, her hands to her face. The bitch was crying. For all that it was her godsdamn fault that they had taken him, and she was crying. I knelt by the body of my friend, my only true father, and intoned the words of the Watchman's Dirge. Or tried to, but I was crying.
"We don't have time for this," Cassandra whispered.
"Shut up. I have to get the words right. I have to stand the watch I promised."
"We don't have time. You can pay your respects later, but we need to get-
"I said shut up! I swore to him." I stood, pointing at the stiff old man at my feet. "I swore to the Fratriarch. There's no one else to stand his watch, and I'll be dead and damned if I'm going to let him just rot here. I don't care what they do. I don't care if they arrest me, or shoot me where I stand. I'm going to stand the watch I swore."
She stood there looking at me for a minute. I turned back to Barnabas and knelt, my forehead on the cool hilt of my sword. The words were hard to get right in my head, like everything was pouring out of my skull and all I could do was grab pieces of it. The Dirge went something like… like A thousand walls, and I march my beat. A thousand walls to stand. A thousand nights to chill my soul, a thousand dawns to hope. A thousand-