figures it out.'
'You didn't steal anything, did you?'
'You're kidding, right? We're talking about breaking into the holiest house in the city, which will undoubtedly involve armed opposition, and you're worried about me stealing things?'
I shrugged. 'I've got plenty of blood on my hands, but none of it was innocent.'
'I seriously doubt that. But whatever you believe.' She flipped a hand dismissively. 'Just put on the robe.'
I did, and so when we shushed our way across the last road and into the light of the Spear, we didn't look completely out of place.
The administration buildings were dull gray boxes against the Spear's white brilliance. Probably a psychological thing. Even though it was night, there were plenty of lights on in the various windows that looked down on the plaza. We moved purposefully, straight to the nearest door. No guards that I could see, so I put my hand on the knob and pulled.
Locked. I rattled the door and peered inside. Empty hallway. Cassandra was humming nervously behind me.
'I'm going to have to break it down,' I said.
'You are not. We're administrators of the throne of god. We don't break down doors. We have keys, and permission to be wherever we are.' She pushed me away from the door and knelt in front of the lock. 'You break this door down and someone sees it, that's our cover blown. I'll pick it.'
'You have a tool for that?'
'I can make one. Just give me a-People coming.'
She was right. I could hear voices from around the corner of the building, approaching fast. There was a vehicle too. Moving slowly for a vehicle, but faster than was convenient.
'Open it now,' I hissed.
'Can't.' She stood. 'Not enough time. Look natural.'
'Not bloody likely.' I turned away from the voices and hurried along the side of the building, toward the far corner. Cassandra was quick behind me. It was too much distance, and too little time.
The party that came around the corner got quiet when they saw us. I dared a glance back and saw an open- bed carriage, big knobbly wheels, with something huge on the bed. It was covered by a tarp and tied down with heavy rope. The carriage strained under its weight. Around it walked a circle of officials, carrying the familiar staffs and wearing half-masks over their faces. I turned around.
'Chanters,' I said, and quickened my pace. They hailed us. Not much to do now. Run, or fight, or turn and be civil. Never my strength.
'Sire and lady!' the lead Chanter called, then stopped when I turned. 'Ladies of the Throne! Can you give us a hand, perhaps?'
'What business have you at the Spear?' Cassandra called back. By the time they answered, they were upon us. The carriage smelled like bilge water.
'God's business, of course.' The lead Chanter was a big man, heavy in the jowl and sweating profusely under his mask. He jerked it off, wiped his mouth, then returned the binding to his mouth. 'We're delivering something, for his honor's collection.'
'Alexander?' I asked. Of course Alexander, I thought to myself. Don't be an idiot. They were thinking the same, judging by the way they looked at me. 'His collection. Of course.'
'Yes. We were to meet an official, but he wasn't at the door as declared. So we thought we'd bring… this.' He turned nervously to the carriage, then winced and turned back to us. 'We thought we'd bring it around to the front. Perhaps you can lead us inside?'
'Are you late, or are you early?' A voice called from the corner, back where the carriage had come from. 'Or do you simply not know when to stay put and follow orders?'
We all looked back. A man in a long gray robe was coming around the corner. He wore no sign of office and carried no elaborate staff. His clothes were plain, but his form was full of authority. The Chanters turned gratefully to him. Cassandra and I shrank behind the carriage.
'Someone told you to haul this abomination around front, did they?'
'No, your… sir. No. But we thought it would be best to get it inside.'
'Yes, yes. You were wrong. Admirable thought, but utterly wrong. Come on, turn it around. Don't just stand there.'
With a great deal of noise and drama, the Chanters got their automated carriage turned around and rumbling back toward the corner. We tagged along. The gray man noticed us and scowled.
'You brought your own administrators? They won't be necessary.'
'Sorry, lord. They asked us the best way in, and we were about to direct them back to you. Your arrival was fortuitous,' Cassandra purred. Again, too good for my comfort.
'Hm. Well, it's best you come along. Don't lag. No telling which Betrayers' eyes are watching, on a night like this.'
Together we all made our way around the corner. When the man's attention was diverted, Cassandra tugged at my robe and leaned in.
'His wrists,' she whispered. I turned and looked. Bracelets, one on each wrist, and matching rings. He even had a tight collar around his throat, made of thin chain. Very odd. Cassandra tugged at my elbow again. She had something in her hand. The light was bad so I leaned in to get a look.
It was her soul-chain, from her time in the Library Desolate. One of the links was snipped in half, the cut so clean it appeared to have been forged that way. I looked back at the man in gray.
Amonite.
'The Special Collections Agency is around the corner,' the gray Amonite was saying. 'Here.' He led us to a nondescript loading door in a nondescript wall. It took some time for the door to open, time we spent listening to the lift chains rattle, loud in the silence of the street. The Chanters looked around nervously. Once the door was open they hurried inside as fast as the automated carriage would chug. The door closed behind us.
We were in a plain brick room, the walls and floor painted white. Another gray man stood just inside the door, his hands still on the mechanism that opened the door. The Chanters looked much more comfortable now that they were out of the open air. I was getting nervous. Cassandra felt it, and so did the neutered sheath on my back. Sheath without a sword can't do much but twitch.
'My dear brothers and sisters of the Song. I want to thank you for performing this duty for our lord Alexander.' The Amonite put a hand on the tarp and smiled thinly. 'Your god is pleased with you.'
'We were lucky to save it from the drowning, your sir,' the fat one said. 'It seemed those bloody dead were coming right for it.'
'And through your great works, we were able to prevent that most unfortunate event. We would hate for all the Chanters' work to have been lost in that tragedy.'
'Aye. Many hours have gone into this. Though I was surprised his godship put an interest in this, rather than, say, the Song itself.'
The Amonite shrugged. 'Alexander will always have the Song in his heart. And you?' he asked, turning to us. 'What was your part in this retrieval?'
'As we said, my lord,' Cassandra answered. 'Happenstance. We were leading them inside.'
'Ah, well. Unfortunate.'
The Amonite before us drew first. My guess was the guy by the door was already aiming, because three of the Chanters fell before this guy got iron clear of leather. Good shooting, for a Scholar. And they were putting the Chanters down, because they were the obvious threats. Couple pencil pushers weren't any kind of dangerous.
Cassandra unmade the weapon behind as the fourth bullet went into the chest of one of the Chanters. I heard the jigsaw tumble of metal parts, familiar from my previous fight with her. The guy in front of us had loosed one shot, killing the fat man. That guy had gotten off a couple notes, his mask rattling open, his chin wobbling as he incanted pure notes of destruction. Just enough to singe the air and leave us all feeling a little like we had met the sun. Not enough to kill.
I fractured my staff of office, the quick-fall shaft and flanges butterflying apart to present the blade and the bully. I took the sword and invoked hard, splintering the air with light as I vaulted across the room and opened the lead gray from teeth to ribs. He stumbled back, grinning at me from two sides of a bloody gash, his revolver
