Her breath came out in a hiss, unnoticed, only to catch again when he came to the climax. Illian, despairing, hurled himself from the promontory, all the while daring Death to lay a skeletal finger on him. Raesinia could feel the air rushing all around her, and the shocking cold of the final impact.
“From this world, or from the next, I will have-”
Danton stopped. Illian hits the water; the lights go down; the curtain falls. Intermission while they change the sets for Act Three. Raesinia let out a long, shaky breath. Danton smiled at her, flopped back into his chair, and reached for his beer.
“Brass balls of the fucking Beast,” Maurisk swore.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Faro said. “How long did it take to teach him that?”
“No longer than it took him to say it,” Raesinia said. “He can’t read, but if you start telling him a story, he remembers everything. He had it word-perfect, first try, and it was”-she shivered-“like that.”
Cora was huddled in her chair. Sarton was staring at Danton, unblinking, and Ben at Raesinia with something like admiration. There was a long silence.
“So,” Faro said, “is he a wizard? A demon? That can’t be natural. How does he know how to say it?”
Maurisk snorted again. “Don’t start that Sworn Church nonsense-”
“I don’t care if he is,” Raesinia said, cutting off the argument. “Sorcerer, demon, whatever you can think of. We need him. He can be the symbol we’ve been looking for.” Besides, she thought, I’m not exactly in a position to look down on a little magical assistance. She wondered if Danton’s binding had been forced on him, as hers had been, and felt a pang of sympathy for the man.
“Maybe,” Maurisk said. Something new had entered his voice. He was seeing the possibilities.
“We’ll need somewhere for him to stay,” Raesinia said.
“I can find something,” Faro said, staring.
“Good.” Raesinia hesitated. “Do you think you could also. . clean him up a bit?”
“He does have a certain lunatic-beggar charm, doesn’t he?” Faro smiled. “I’ll take care of it.”
Raesinia turned. “Ben, you find us a venue. Somewhere not too public, not yet. And with plenty of ways out in case something goes badly wrong. Maurisk, Sarton, you’re in charge of the text. You’re writing for the masses, so go easy on the classical allusions, and remember that not everyone knows Rights of Man by heart.”
Cora looked up. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks streaked with tears, but she was grinning now. “Can I sell tickets? We’d make a fortune.”
“We already have a fortune.”
“Another fortune.” The girl shrugged. “All right. Maybe later.”
–
By the time they broke up, it had gone three in the morning. The air was still as damp and warm as a laundry, and the street was scarcely better than inside. The members of the conspiracy left one at a time, going their separate ways, except for Faro, Cora, Raesinia, and Danton.
“All right,” Raesinia said to Danton. “I’d like you to go with Faro. He’ll find you somewhere to sleep, and make sure you get plenty to eat as well. Please do what he says until I get back.”
Danton nodded amiably, wobbling a bit. He’d put away an astonishing amount of beer over the course of the evening. “Sure. Okay, Princess.”
Raesinia winced inwardly. She’d told him to stop calling her that, but the admonition had gone through his mind like lead shot through custard, without leaving much of an impression. “All right. Faro, you’re going to be okay?”
“No problem.” He smiled and sauntered out, with Danton following like an obedient puppy.
Raesinia turned to Cora. The teenager had washed her face, but her eyes were still red.
“Are you all right?”
Cora gave a vigorous nod. “Fine. It was just that speech. I’d never heard anything so. .” She shook her head. “Do you really think it’s magic?”
“I have no idea, and I don’t care if it is.” Raesinia smiled. “Have you never seen The Wreck? We’ll have to take you sometime. Leonard Vinschaft is doing Illian at the Royal now, and I’ve heard he’s amazing.”
Even as she said it, Raesinia wondered if she would get any pleasure out of the show. After all, how could another rendition compare to Danton’s?
Good God. She stared after him for a minute while Cora put on her coat. He’s a weapon, isn’t he? A bomb that we’re going to set and prime, light the fuse, and hope we’ve found the right place to stand. .
The two of them left the room and said their good-byes in front of the Mask. Raesinia waited until Cora had turned the corner, then said, “When I tell you what happened to me today, you’re not going to believe it.”
Sothe materialized out of the shadows. She’d traded her maid outfit for her working blacks, drab and almost invisible in the darkness, bunched tight to her body with leather cords so that no hanging fabric would betray her with a whisper.
“There’s news from the palace,” Sothe said.
Raesinia’s breath caught in her throat. “My father?” Too soon, it’s too soon. We’re not ready! Those were her first thoughts, followed promptly by a crushing wave of guilt. My father is dying, and all I care about is-
“No,” Sothe said. “Vhalnich has arrived.”
“Already?” Raesinia frowned. “I thought he wasn’t expected for another few weeks at least.”
“Apparently he left his command and made a faster crossing.”
“How is the Cobweb?”
“Buzzing.”
Raesinia smiled in the darkness.
CHAPTER FOUR
MARCUS
Marcus had never really understood the point of inspections by senior officers. It certainly made sense for a sergeant to turn out his men now and again to make sure everyone’s kit was in order, but the deficiencies of individual rankers were generally beneath the notice of a captain. At the War College, he’d known some officers who liked to play the martinet, find some tiny deficiency and fly into a frothing rage to show that they weren’t to be trifled with, but Marcus had privately considered such performances to be more trouble than they were worth.
He would gladly have dispensed with the whole ritual, but the men seemed to expect it, and so he found himself walking along a line of well-turned-out Armsmen an hour or so after officially taking over his new command. At his side was Vice Captain Alek Giforte, who’d served as acting commander since the dismissal of the previous Minister of War. The vice captain seemed to know the name and service record of every man in the unit, and he kept up a running commentary as Marcus went along the lines, accepting stiff salutes and dispensing nods and smiles.
“That’s Staff Gallows, sir.” “Staff” was apparently a position in the Armsmen equivalent to “ranker,” named for the tall wooden staves they carried that served as both weapon and badge of office. The man the vice captain had pointed out was tall and broad-shouldered, standing at rigid attention, a pair of unfamiliar decorations glittering on his chest. “He won the Blue Order for his bravery in breaking up a riot in the Flesh Market in ’oh-five.”