She rounded the corner and felt flagstones under her feet instead of dirt. Ahead was one of the fountains in the classical style with which Ohnlei was so generously supplied. A broad, low pool, contained by a stone lip, fired jets of water against a stone pedestal that supported an equestrian statue of Raesinia’s great-great-grandfather, Farus V. It was ringed by a circle of flagstones, already cracked and uneven in places where underground roots had wreaked havoc on the builders’ perfect order. A low stone wall, backed by a more imposing hedge, cut the little clearing off entirely from the rest of the Bower.
The fountain. Raesinia realized, belatedly, what she’d been trying to remember. There’s only one entrance. She skidded to a halt against the lip, and Marcus clomped and jingled his way to a stop beside her, panting hard. Raesinia had to remind herself to breathe, for verisimilitude.
“We’re. Stuck,” she managed. Marcus, bent over with his hands on his knees, was too out of breath to reply.
A few moments later, Grays started pouring into the clearing. They were disheveled from the long chase, sweating into their tailored uniforms, and most of them had lost their neat little caps. Half still had muskets, while the others had drawn their swords.
“That’s about enough, alvaunt,” gasped one, who had a sergeant’s stripes on his shoulders. He took a deep breath and straightened up. “We got you, yes? Sword down, hands up. You come with us.”
“Captain. .,” Raesinia began.
“Marcus,” he said, “under the circumstances.”
“I appreciate what you’ve done. But this is enough, don’t you think?”
Marcus let his sword fall. The clang of steel on stone echoed over the quiet babble of the fountain.
“I think you’re right,” he said. He was smiling.
The sound of boots on the flagstones behind them made a couple of the Noreldrai turn. The sergeant gestured angrily for them to keep their eyes on their prisoners, then spun to face the man who’d just sauntered through the archway.
“What in volse do you think you’re doing?” he barked.
Janus, wearing his dress blues in place of the civilian costume of the Minister of Justice, put on an innocent expression.
“Going for a walk?” he said.
The sergeant snorted. “You can explain that to His Grace.”
“I think it would be best,” Janus said, “if you and your men would stack your arms and sit quietly against the wall.”
“Excuse me?” The sergeant looked from Janus to his men. “Perhaps I speak your kishkasse language not as well as I thought.”
“I just thought I would warn you.”
The sergeant ran out of patience. He gestured with his sword, and the Grays advanced on Marcus and Raesinia. Two sword-wielding men sauntered over to deal with Janus, who wasn’t even armed.
Janus sighed, and raised his voice. “In your own time, Lieutenant Uhlan.”
Everyone froze, looking around to see whom he was addressing. In the same instant, two dozen long rifle barrels slid over the wall that edged the clearing.
Something hit Raesinia hard in the small of the back. It was Marcus, bearing her to the ground. He courteously put his other arm underneath her to cushion her fall against the flagstones, so she ended up pulled tight into a kind of embrace. The staccato crack of rifles at close range split the air, and billows of smoke filled the clearing with the scent of gun smoke. One or two blasts, closer to them, indicated that a few of the Grays had gotten a shot off, but in less than a half minute the burbling fountain was again audible.
“Very good, Lieutenant,” Janus said, in a conversational tone. “Captain?”
Marcus relaxed his grip on Raesinia’s shoulders. Raesinia took a deep breath-it had been like being hugged by a bear-and got a lungful of smoke, mixed with the scent of his sweat. She coughed, and wiped her eyes.
“Are you all right, Your Majesty?”
“Fine,” Raesinia said, automatically. She’d skinned an elbow in the fall, but the cuts were already closing.
“No injuries, sir,” Marcus said aloud.
“Nobody hit here, sir,” said another voice, in a harsh accent Raesinia didn’t recognize.
“Good shooting,” Janus said.
There was another shot, not so close, but still loud enough to make Raesinia flinch. Marcus rolled off her, climbed to his feet, and offered her his hand. She took it, feeling a little unsteady. Another couple of shots drifted over the Bower, like distant handclaps. The clearing was wreathed in floating wisps of gun smoke, but she could see men in red uniforms climbing over the wall, long weapons in hand. The Grays were all down, either dead or keeping silent. The red-clad soldiers began to move among them while one bearing a lieutenant’s bars hurried over, saluted Janus, then bowed deeply in Raesinia’s direction.
“Your Majesty,” Janus said, “may I present Lieutenant Medio bet Uhlan, of the First Mierantai Volunteers. His family has been in the service of the counts of Mieran for four generations.”
“It’s an honor, Your Majesty,” Uhlan said, in what Raesinia assumed was a Mierantai accent. It sounded as if he spent his days gargling rocks.
“I owe you my life, sir,” Raesinia said, a slight exaggeration for dramatic effect. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Another couple of shots made both Uhlan and Janus cock their heads, listening carefully.
“Still just ours,” Uhlan said, and Janus nodded.
“Quite a few Grays got shaken loose in the chase,” he said to Raesinia. “They ended up wandering around the Bower, and the rest of Lieutenant Uhlan’s men are rounding them up. We should give them a couple of minutes.” He sighed. “I hope a few of them decide to surrender.”
“We got the bulk of them at their barracks, when Orlanko’s orders arrived,” Uhlan said. “They were ready to fight their way out, but it turned out that some absolute bastard had soaked all the powder in the armory the night before.” His grin was concealed behind a thick woodsman’s beard, but his eyes twinkled.
Raesinia looked at Janus. “You knew?”
“Not for certain, but it’s always wise to plan for contingencies.” He frowned. “Though I must admit this seemed a fairly probable contingency. What our friend the duke does not understand is that a perfect record of treachery is just as predictable as one of impeccable loyalty. You simply must always expect to be stabbed in the back, and you’ll never be surprised. Keeping faith occasionally would make him much harder to anticipate.”
“Orlanko.” Raesinia’s hand twisted into the fabric of her dress, fingers tightening. “Do you have enough men to storm the Cobweb?”
“Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” Janus said. “We have it blockaded, but there are too many tunnels and bolt-holes to cut him off completely. It’s possible the duke has already fled.”
“He’ll hang for this, I swear.” Her breath caught. “What about Sothe? Have you found her?”
“Her Majesty’s maidservant,” Marcus supplied. “She helped hold off the Grays. Last I saw her, she was running for it with a Concordat agent in hot pursuit.”
“I haven’t heard anything,” Janus said. “But affairs are very confused at the moment. And, unfortunately, we have larger problems.”
It was hard for Raesinia to tear her mind away from Sothe, but once she did she jumped to the obvious conclusion. “The deputies. Andreas-the Concordat agent who came to arrest us-said they were going to be taken in hand.”
“It would be a foolish play to take the palace, only to lose it to the mob,” Janus agreed. “And Orlanko is not entirely a fool. I suggest we proceed to the cathedral at once. Lieutenant?”