But the bar was closed and I was drunk, and so I didn’t make anything out until they were almost up the stairs. I rolled off the bed and grabbed the dirk I keep stuck in the floorboards beneath it.
Three solid knocks at the door that I didn’t answer, then a pause and three solid more.
‘Who is it?’
‘Hroudland. Let me in.’
Fuck fuck fuck. ‘Now’s not a good time. I’ll see you at the rally.’ I tiptoed towards the window but knew it wasn’t an option. The drop was two stories, and these were competent men – they’d have someone down there waiting to finish me if the fall didn’t.
‘Tomorrow won’t do. The commander needs to see you. Now. Open up.’
They say a trapped wolf will gnaw off his paw and escape three-legged, take bleeding to death in the woods over being a skin above a fireplace. I can’t swear to it, not being a country sort myself. One thing I can own, however, is that a man is not a wolf. Face-to-face with the end, your average soul does not struggle – doesn’t kick and scream, doesn’t throw himself at his attacker. He makes peace with She Who Waits Behind All Things, takes her hand quietly, without fuss.
I pulled on my pants. I pulled on my shirt. I pulled my socks on, and my shoes. I unbarred the door.
Hroudland hustled in, Rabbit, Roussel and three others coming after him. I’d never had so many people in my room before. It was cramped. ‘You bring enough men?’ I said, trying to keep it casual.
‘Things are afoot.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘The commander will break it down for you.’
‘All right. Give me a minute to gear up.’
Hroudland shook his head. ‘We’ll sort you out at headquarters.’
And that was that. I nodded feeble acquiescence, my tongue thick in my throat.
Out of the Earl and they surrounded me, three ahead and three behind. I wondered what I’d done to tip them, where I’d run off the track. I’m not as smart as I think I am. I hoped they’d make it quick. A look over at Roussel and his vacant smile and I figured they probably wouldn’t.
No one said anything, but then they didn’t have to. That they hadn’t done me in my bedroom suggested the commander wanted a word, likely punctuated with a scream or two. Belatedly I realized that my facial swelling was gone – whatever Mazzie had given me had worked wonders. I savored what I felt confident would be my last few minutes without pain. Outside the temperature had nodded off a few degrees, and the stars were very bright. Under different circumstances, it would have been a pleasant walk. Rabbit whistled tunelessly. Pedestrians hurried away at our approach.
A pair of guards stationed outside of the main doors stiffened up when they saw us. It was late enough in the evening that there wasn’t much traffic, but still I was surprised to be going in through the front. I wondered how I’d go out, doubled into a pauper’s grave or chopped up fine and dumped in the harbor.
The main room was empty, and quiet. A dim row of torches illuminated the path ahead. Roland stared down at me from the wall. He seemed displeased. We continued past him, toward the cells reserved for the inner members of the organization. Hroudland put his hand on the door latch, then turned and nodded, the signal for his men to fall on me. ‘Here we go.’
I held my breath.
The back room was a bustle of motion, well-lit and hectic. A line of newly sharpened trench blades had been laid out on a long wooden table, along with a selection of similarly purposed tools, curved daggers and single- headed axes. A half-dozen veterans I knew by sight but not name were arming themselves, slipping sharp things into their belts, checking the sights on their crossbows, preparing themselves for violence. My escort broke around me, and started to do the same.
‘I’m to see the commander,’ Hroudland said, then gestured at the table. ‘Take what you want. We’re out in ten.’
I counted about four of these before realizing I wasn’t dead. Business continued as usual in the meantime, the men readying themselves for tonight’s escapade, the exact nature of which was still unclear. Rabbit broke me out of my stupor, synching the straps on his leather armor. ‘You want a suit?’
I shook my head. ‘What exactly is going on?’
Rabbit just smiled and went back to what he was doing. Made no damn sense asking him anyway – Rabbit was the tip of the quarrel, the last man alive involved in making decisions. ‘Guess it’s been a while for you, eh?’ he asked.
‘It’s a nice break from my knitting.’
‘You still remember how to use one of these?’ Roussel asked, leaning against a wall, his palms resting on a matched pair of swords swaying from his hips.
‘The sharp end points away from you, right?’
Rabbit laughed. Roussel spat on the floor. It was his floor, but I guess that hadn’t occurred to him.
There wasn’t anything to do but go along with it and thank the Lost One for the opportunity. I buckled a trench blade onto my hip. Trailing down off the wall were bandoliers of black-powder grenades. I hadn’t seen one since the war – they weren’t easy to come by, even for people used to getting hardware. I took one off the wall and ran my fingers along the rough canvas, then looped it over my shoulder.
The back door opened and Hroudland came out with Joachim. The commander looked happy, damn near elated. ‘Hope we didn’t disturb your sleep,’ he said, too polite to smirk outright.
‘I never sleep.’
I don’t think I’d ever heard him laugh – I really was fucked.
‘Don’t you have a rally to attend?’ I asked.
‘I’ll be heading there directly.’
‘And where exactly will I be heading?’
Pretories patted me on the shoulder. ‘Something loud, I believe you said. Send Giroie a message.’ He nodded at the weaponry, and the men taking it. ‘I hope you don’t mind running it over to him.’
‘Nice to know about this kind of business beforehand.’
He was enjoying off-footing me. ‘First thing a soldier learns – adapt to survive.’
That was one of the many things I hadn’t liked about the army, but I kept my mouth horizontal. Now wasn’t the time to show teeth, not surrounded by a dozen hardened killers. The fact that I was here at all meant that Pretories questioned my loyalty – to raise an objection, even to look insufficiently enthusiastic, would seal my fate. Better to have a hand in bringing Artur Giroie to heel than replace him as a target.
Hroudland motioned for the men to approach, and they spread into a semi-circle radiating out around the commander. ‘All right, boys,’ Joachim began. His voice was low by nature, and no one would ever accuse him of being a great speaker. But then oration was more in Roland’s line – strategy and execution were the two areas in which Pretories had made his name. ‘Today we put four of our brothers into the ground. Tonight we make damn sure they don’t get lonely. The Giroie family has been owed for ten years. It’s a long time to let a debt lapse – let’s make up for our poor etiquette.’
Measured rumbles of agreement. Dress it up with whatever rhetoric you want, we were on a mission of murder. And these weren’t soldiers anymore; they were bully-boys, no different than you’d find working the ranks of a syndicate. Professionals don’t get excited at the prospect of killing – it’s what distinguishes them from those in the amateur ranks.
Pretories whispered a few more words to Hroudland, who nodded and turned to face us. ‘Transport is outside.’ His voice was the standard-issue bellow. I hadn’t heard it since I’d left the ranks, and I hadn’t missed it.
I followed the line through a hallway and into the alley behind. A crumbling transport wagon was waiting for us, the kind used to carry supplies to restaurants and businesses. It was big, slow-moving and ugly, and there wasn’t any reason to look at it. This time of night there would be hundreds of identical craft navigating the city. Our expedition had been well planned.
We piled into the back, grabbing seats along two small wooden benches. Chance or cruel fate dictated my spot next to Roussel, who at this point was a walking armory, having added a crossbow and two sets of bombs to the trench blades he’d held earlier.
‘You looking a little shaky, Lieutenant,’ he said, voice like a choirboy.
