But what's to say that he wasn't in the Church somewhere? If he really meant to make a play for the angel, that would be a delicate operation. Maybe he needed to be on site? Camilla seemed pretty confident that they had captured Crane. And maybe they had, or at least he had allowed himself to be taken, so that he could be close when the next phase of his plan went down. Whatever that was.
I looked from the lazy cyclone of crows to the bulbous domes where I had left Wilson in Camilla's custody. Would he still be there? Different directions. I could get to both, but I had to pick which one to hit first. Save Wilson, kill Crane.
They seemed like the same thing, to my addled mind. That grin came back, stiff and tight. Shells clattered to the floor and I reloaded. Gotta be careful with my shots. Not many bright little shells left on my belt, and I had so many people to shoot. So many people to put down.
But first, Crane. Like I should have when we first met. Such trouble that would have saved.
Mottled gray light glimmered through the thick panes of the greenhouse, illuminating the room in a dull, pewter-like glow. There was no other light. Rows of wretched shrubbery huddled under the vaulted glass ceiling. It was cold in here, colder than the rest of the building. Like the glass panes were made of ice, sucking the warmth out of the damp, foggy air. Raised crosswalks ran between the plants, so that I was walking among their leaves. Below me was dirt and the creaking pipes of the irrigation system. Above me, beyond the greenhouse ceiling, the crows circled.
Crane was here, under guard. From the entrance to the greenhouse I could see four small fires at the center of the room, glimmering in their brass braziers. Crane stood in the middle of them, bound tightly in a tall cage, not much wider than his chest. His arms were bound to the bars, and his head was bolted into an iron box. Around him stood a dozen former Wrights, all of them showing signs of having changed into the cog-dead. These were presumably still under Camilla's control.
Logical Jacob would have dropped down among the trees and snuck up to the central platform. Taken them from below. But that grin was in place, and whatever fire the Mother Fehn had kindled in my blood was having no patience with stealth. I walked right down the center of the aisle, revolver in hand. Didn't take them long to see me. One waved and came to meet me halfway, leaving his brothers behind. It was a former Elder, his lips smeared in the stiff black gore of the cog-dead.
'Jacob Burn,' he said. 'We wondered if you would return. As poetic as your execution was, we began to doubt it would be sufficient to kill you off. Did the girl survive?'
'She did. Don't know where she is now, though.'
'Of course. Why keep track of your ladies?' he said, smiling. When he was about ten feet away I raised the revolver and he stopped, hands up. 'Calmly, Jacob. This is something we can talk through.'
'I'm here to kill Crane, your master,' I said. 'So I don't really have time for talking.'
'You always seem to have time for talking, Jacob. And you're mistaken. Camilla is in our hearts, and in our souls. This man Crane is merely the conduit.'
'You're about to get bitten by your conduit, Cam.' I addressed the cage. 'He's had access to the Mother Fehn. He knew you were here. You're the one who's trapped.'
'She can't hear you, Jacob. The connection's not that good.' The Elder folded his arms and cocked his head at me. 'But we really can't let you kill this man. He's proving very useful.'
'As useful as he wants to be,' I said. 'Useful until he's figured his way into your angel's head. Then we'll see how useful he is to you.'
'Listen, I know you're the hero type and all, but we really do have things properly in hand, here. You're nothing but a distraction, Jacob. That must be terribly disappointing, hmm? Not being anything more than in the way?'
'Listen to me. Crane knew Camilla was here. He didn't fly into a trap, no matter what Camilla thinks. He came here to get close to the angel, to figure her out. Right now, in that cage, he's worming his way into her. Through you, most likely.'
'Jacob, you offend me. As if we know nothing of our opponent.' He raised a hand dramatically to the cage, sweeping to take in the whole room. 'You're right, the Church is a dangerous place for him. His power seems to derive from cogwork, and we have more than a little of that here. But not in this room. Nothing but plants and glass. We even have fires to light our vigil, rather than frictionlamps. So, as you can see, everything is under control.' He turned back to me. 'Now. Get out of the Church, or we're going to have to kill you.'
'It'll take more than an Elder and a dozen dead Wrights to stop me, sir.'
'We know. That's why we've been talking, you and I.' His face became serious, all of the genial glee washed out. 'Chatting away while my friends showed up.'
Light from below. Torches. The room was filled with Wrights, each holding a torch, creeping along the paths between the trees, under the crosswalks. Dozens of them. Maybe a hundred. Maybe more.
'Yeah,' I whispered, looking down and flexing my free hand. 'That's probably enough.'
'Right. Crane has played with you, Jacob. He got you to deliver the virus to the Fehn, he got you to disrupt the Council enough that they turned their attention inward, instead of looking for the threat from outside. They spent so much energy wondering if you were working for the other Families, trying to start a civil war in their midst, that they never saw Crane. Right under their eyes. And now he's arranged events to convince you that you need to kill his body. I don't know why, or what purpose it could serve. But Camilla has seen enough of this game to know that whatever you're doing, no matter how clever you think you're being, it's just Crane pulling your strings. So if you'll just surrender your weapon and come with us, we can get past this bit of unpleasantness and proceed with Camilla's plans for you.'
'I said 'probably,' Elder.' And snapped the pistol up, put one in his forehead, bulled him off the edge of the platform and made a break for Crane.
They rushed me, but the platform was only so big. The dozen that were up here already were the only ones that had a chance to stop me. I only had so many bullets and the quarters were tight, so I wrapped my fist around the cylinder of the revolver and used it like iron knuckles, battering my way forward.
They had hammers, but the Wrights were clumsy. Clumsy and strong. The first one I punched twice in the face, each blow shattering bone, but it wasn't until the third strike that he stumbled backwards. Didn't fall. Just stumbled. And then his companion was on me, hammers swinging. I dodged to the side, then jumped forward to get under the arc of the backswing. Caught his elbow with my shoulder, ducked under and lay the barrel of the revolver against his armpit. The shot came out the top of his skull and he slumped. One less bullet, and still ten guys up here, and dozens more at my feet, clambering up the support girders to the crosswalk.
I snatched up the fallen Wright's hammer in my other hand, flipped the revolver around so I could use it as a sap, and turned back to the guy whose face I had dented. He was swaying, arms outstretched, waving about. I came at him from the side, switching blows with the hammer and the grip, drumming his head until he keeled over. Two down. I turned back to Crane.
The rest of the Wrights had gotten organized. They stood in a loose half-circle between me and the cage. I was hurt, my rational mind could feel the bruises where hammers had skidded off my shoulder and arm, but the Mother burning through my veins was still grinning. Still going. I supposed I should be glad for that. Rational Jacob would be down on his knees, howling. Then again, Rational Jacob probably wouldn't get me killed. I had no idea what the Mother burning through me was planning, but it felt kind of terminal.
Beneath me, the crosswalk shuddered. The dozens of Wright who were climbing up it clenched their fists and hugged the metal, but a couple fell screaming to the dirt below. I almost lost my feet. The clumsy Wrights squatted and looked around, bewildered.
Not sure what caused that. Not sure I cared. It was all the opening I was going to get. I threw myself at the center of their little arc, shouldered into the lead guy and spun around once. I put each of my tools, the hammer and the gun, into the side of his knee. As he buckled I grabbed the hem of his robe and pulled him over me like a cape, putting him between me and the fastest-reacting of his companions. His pal swung with abandon, doing him a lot of harm, even after I rolled clear. Took them a second to refocus on me, and by then I was circling behind the cage. They closed on me like a pincer.
The one to my left looked a little weaker, in the sense that he actually had a neck and fairly average shoulders, as opposed the rest of the brutes. Camilla had picked her biggest Wrights for this little duty, and they were all built like pack-mules. But this guy was the least pack-mulish of the bunch, so I jumped at him.
