Lord Falk.
As he watched, another man on horseback galloped up and exchanged words with Falk. Falk, who had been sitting still, suddenly seemed galvanized, wheeling his horse, shouting something loudly enough that, though he couldn’t make out the words, Anton heard a hint of the sound, two or three seconds later.
And then the guards began streaming through the streets.
Lower and lower Anton sank, closer and closer he drifted. He would have to make up his mind soon to either land in the Square or lift again and perhaps circle back. But that would take time, and setting off the burner and starting the propellers would announce his presence in a way Falk could not miss. And in the back of his mind, Anton couldn’t help wondering just who it was Falk was searching for through the streets of New Cabora in the middle of the night. He wasn’t privy to all the security concerns of someone in Falk’s position, of course, but he could certainly think of one person Falk would turn out all the guard for.
Brenna.
Anton judged his rate of descent against the Square. He would make for it, he decided. He could abort his landing up until the very last moment. The night was still, and the airship silent. As he got closer, he might hear something that would confirm or deny his suspicion… if the damned dogs would shut up long enough… and then make a final decision.
The Square, still bordered mostly by crumbled ruins-the buildings Falk had singlehandedly destroyed, Anton remembered with a quiver of apprehension-slipped slowly toward him, growing larger and larger. A few blocks from it, a good two miles north of the Lesser Barrier and the bridge into the Palace, the guard had now formed a cordon around a nondescript building with a tall central chimney, and a lot of wagons drawn up around it.
I’ll have to make my mind up within ten minutes, Anton thought. He aimed his glasses at the gathered guards, and waited to see what would happen.
Brenna had begun the day well north of Berriton, spent most of it riding in the tense silence of Falk’s magecarriage, been dragged socked-footed through the Lesser Barrier and into the snow, and now, in borrowed boots and cloak, had hurried through the streets of New Cabora to the one place that, for all her interest in the city during her previous visits, she had somehow never thought to ask to be taken to: the stable of the nightsoil collector.
The place didn’t smell as bad as she feared, but she suspected that was due mostly to her good fortune-such as it was-to be making her visit in midwinter rather than in high summer.
Silent wagons stood around them now, still some hours from being harnessed to horses. They were black, to slip as unobtrusively as possible through the dark streets-and to hide any unattractive stains, no doubt. In the back of each were sealed wooden barrels, empty now. It occurred to Brenna that one way to sneak out of the city would be to ride inside one of those barrels, but the thought sent a shiver of disgust through her.
Fortunately, that was not what was planned. Vinthor took them down the line of wagons on one side of the huge echoing space in which they stood, a long, narrow building with the wagons at one end and stables for the horses at the other. After one brief whinny and a few snuffles, the animals had accepted their presence, and now stood silent and sleeping.
Behind the stable area was a chamber containing a furnace, used not to provide magical energy-this was a strictly Commoner enterprise-but to burn some of the refuse that a second fleet of wagons in another long stable on the other side of the furnace collected each evening. That which could not be burned or salvaged made its own journey, to a tip a mile or so east of the city.
The nightsoil went several miles farther, as a matter of good public hygiene, to a noisome pit where it was buried by Commoner laborers. A horrible job, she thought, but they’re probably glad to get it. At least there they work for Commoners instead of Mageborn.
Vinthor halted behind a wagon that appeared exactly the same as all the others to Brenna’s tired eyes. “Help me,” he said to Karl, and together they lifted down the empty barrels. Vinthor reached underneath the wagon and pulled or twisted something that made a loud click. Then he put his hand underneath the wagon’s back end and lifted.
The floorboards, hinged at the front, raised to reveal a space swathed with sacking, just deep enough for someone-provided they didn’t have a large belly or breasts, Brenna thought in horror-to lie in. “We’ll smother!”
“No, you won’t,” Vinthor said shortly. “I’ve ridden in these myself. It’s not pleasant, but it certainly isn’t fatal.” He looked around. “The night watchman is a Causer. And we’ll need him to seal us in. But I haven’t seen him since we entered.”
Brenna peered around in the darkness. The only light came from a couple of lanterns in the central space between the wagons and the stable, and two more at the other end, one on either side of the big double doors that would swing open to let the wagons exit. Nothing moved in the gloom, but down in the stable, a horse stamped its foot and whinnied. As though that were a signal, all of the horses suddenly became restless, shifting in their stables, making loud snorting noises. Another horse whinnied, a shrill cry of challenge…
… and from outside the stable, that cry was answered.
Vinthor whirled at the sound. “Someone’s outside!” he said. “I’ll-”
Whatever he would do was lost in a huge, splintering bang as the double doors blew inward, hurtling through the air like fallen leaves caught in an autumn gale. One door crashed into the wagons on the far side of the stable, snapping the axle of one and bringing it thudding to the ground in a cloud of dust. The other skidded down the center of the wagonry. Karl and Brenna were beside the wagon with the false floor and thus out of its path, but Vinthor wasn’t so lucky.
The door slammed into his feet, tossed him heels over head into the air, and then smashed into the last wagon in line, folding its rear wheel under it so that it crashed onto its side. The empty barrels it carried rolled across the floor with a noise like thunder, one ending its journey against Vinthor’s unmoving body.
Karl and Brenna hadn’t had time to do more than cower between the wagons. Karl recovered first, grabbing Brenna by the hand. “Come on,” he shouted above the noise of the now screaming horses, and, pulling her after him, he ran toward the central space.
The stable doors were also open, though they hadn’t been blasted inward; instead, perhaps to spare the horses, they had been forced outward, ripped off their hinges. Guards were entering from that end as well, and as Karl and Brenna emerged into the light of the lanterns, the one in the lead pointed and shouted.
His companion raised his hand and Brenna felt an icy chill as something like a rope of blue fire lashed out at them…
… touched Karl…
… and vanished, as the guard who had cast it was hurled from his horse, hitting one of the stable doors so hard it smashed open. The terrified horse inside reared, hooves flailing at the motionless body, and then raced into the stable, shouldering past the other guard and thundering toward Karl and Brenna.
Karl pulled Brenna out of its way and through a door into the furnace room. A wave of heat met them. They ran around the massive round brick structure. Karl eased open the door in the far wall and took a look into the refusecollection side of the building, but slammed it shut again at once. “More guards!”
“Trapped!” Brenna said bitterly.
Karl bolted the door. “There must be another way out of here! Where do they tip in the garbage?”
“Outside?”
“But it doesn’t come in here. There must be a lower level…” He cast around on the floor. “There!”
“There” was a trapdoor, with a big ring to pull it open. Brenna was closest; she grabbed it and pulled with all her might, but it wouldn’t budge. Karl joined forces with her. No luck.
Karl swore. “They’ll be ripping the doors off the hinges any second!”
But Brenna wasn’t looking at him. She’d looked past him, and saw, on the side of the rounded brick wall, a metal ladder… going up. She let her gaze follow it. It ended in another trapdoor. “There!” She pointed.
Karl spun, saw what she was looking at, and shouted, “Come on!”
He clambered up the ladder, and seized the bolt. It stuck, then flew open with an enormous crash. Karl flailed, almost fell, then caught a rung with his hand and pulled himself back onto the ladder again. Holding on with his left hand, he pushed the door open with his right, and peered up.
Above them towered the great central chimney. The ladder continued to its top. “Dead end!” Brenna said.
But both doors into the furnace room had suddenly turned white with frost, and Karl said, “Better up there
