Hope and Red (27 page)

“I want no part of a crew that helps imps and biomancers,” said Red.

“Now listen, that's all a misunderstanding. You know how gossip in the Circle gets twisted around.”

“I don't need the gossip. I watched you with that biomancer when he killed Thorn Billy. I heard the whole pissing plan. You are no man of the Circle, betrayer.”

“You think that matters?” Drem's light tone went dark. “You've lived in this gutter your whole life. The world is so much bigger than you could understand. The entire Circle could get wiped clean out tomorrow and nobody would even pissing care.”

“The people who lived here would,” Red said quietly. “That's your problem, Drem. You think small equals worthless. We aren't worthless.”

“Oh, yes, we pissing are, you bludgeon ponce. You have no idea how insignificant, how pathetic, how—”

Drem stopped talking as his throat filled with blood, a throwing blade protruding from his neck. He gasped and gurgled, firing his last shot uselessly into empty space. Then he dropped to his knees, gurgled one last time, and died.

Red had always wondered if he'd be able to make a ricochet shot. It worked out well enough. Although judging by the ragged wound, the side of the safe had blunted the blade. And he'd been aiming for Drem's gun hand, so clearly he needed practice.

The influx of people through the front door scattered the knot who had been trying to get at Hope, Nettles, and Palla. It gave them enough room to come down and enter the larger fight that was now raging on the dance floor.

Hope scanned the crowd, looking for that white hood. She found him in the center. He had no weapon that she could see. When an attacker came at him with a knife or club, he would hold up his hand, palm facing out, and the moment the weapon touched his hand, it would crumble to dust. If he touched the person, they would wither, decay, and crumble as well. It didn't take long for people to avoid him. Hope wasn't sure what she could do to beat him, but she knew that if she didn't try, no one would.

She hacked her way through the crowd, her eyes never leaving the biomancer. Most of her assailants were so unskilled, she only needed her peripheral vision to counter and strike. As she drew near, the biomancer's eyes widened with surprise. No doubt the strangeness of seeing a Vinchen warrior in this place—a female one, no less—was clearer to him than most. But as she rushed at him, he quickly recovered. He smiled coldly as he lifted his hand.

But the Song of Sorrows did not crumble. Its mournful tune continued as it sliced clean through the center of the biomancer's hand. There was a split second of both surprise and horror on his face, then the Song of Sorrows continued its trajectory and lopped off his head. A font of blood gushed up from the stump of his neck, drenching Hope in crimson. Then the body toppled over.

Hope stared down at the Song of Sorrows, wet from hilt to tip with blood. A blade that was immune to the power of biomancers. No wonder it was such a treasured weapon. And it was clear that Hurlo had insisted she take it so that she could fulfill her vow of vengeance on the biomancer who murdered her parents and her village.

“Thank you, Grandteacher,” she whispered.

Big Sig burst through a clump of people, his hammer slamming into a man's chest so hard, he flew back several feet. Sig stopped to wipe his sweat-, blood-, and grime-streaked forehead with his sleeve, and looked down at the beheaded biomancer.

“Nicely done,” he said.

Hope nodded.

“Shall we, then?” he asked.

The two of them turned back and continued to fight. Hope could tell Drem's men were losing their nerve after seeing their biomancer struck down. Their posture became more defensive, and they began eyeing the exits.

“STOP FIGHTING! DREM IS DEAD!”

Red stood on top of the bar, a body over his shoulder. Everyone backed away as he threw it on the ground.

Hope had thought that when she saw Drem dead, the pain of losing Carmichael would leave her. Or at least lessen. But she stared at his lifeless body, his eyes open and glassy, a gash in his throat, and all she felt was the darkness that always lingered on the edge of her awareness, still hungry. She wondered if it would ever be satisfied.

She turned to Drem's remaining men, her sword ready. But they threw down their weapons. The battle was over.

Then from the street came a thunderous boom, followed quickly by the sound of cracking stone and shattering glass.

Filler appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame. His face was ashen, but determined.

“We got a problem,” he said. “The imps are here. And they brought cannons.”

22

R
ed had a vivid imagination. He'd thought of many different ways the march on the Three Cups could have gone leeward. What he hadn't thought about was how bad it might get even if they won.

When he stepped out onto the street, it looked like the whole of Paradise Circle had been consumed by one of the more terrible hells. The rage that he'd stirred up had grown, unchecked, and was now directionless. Buildings were on fire and people climbed out of broken shop windows, their arms full of loot. To make matters worse, every couple of minutes, the distant
boom
of a cannon would sound, and a barrage of shot would rain down on the block, smashing windows, shredding wooden signs, peppering walls, and occasionally ripping through someone not fast enough to find cover.

“This isn't what I wanted,” he said to Big Sig.

“I know,” Sig said quietly. “But there isn't anything we can do to stop it. It's turned into a full-blown riot. I'm taking my people back to Hammer Point. I expect Palla will do the same.”

“You're leaving us like this?” Red said accusingly.

“What would you have me do? Have my people stop your people from looting and start a neighborhood war? Or would you rather I send my people into the face of imp cannon fire?”

“No, of course not,” said Red. “I just—”

Big Sig put his massive hand on Red's shoulder, completely engulfing it. “We did something good today. Whatever happens next doesn't change that. We stood up for ourselves. That scares them.”

“Shouldn't we take advantage of that?”

“A leader knows when to press forward and when to fall back. Many of our people have joined the looters. Others ran with the first cannon. Those who are left have been fighting for hours. They're exhausted, and many of them wounded. The imps are fresh and much better armed. The right choice is clear.”

“Red!” Hope yelled from inside the Three Cups. “We need you!”

Red looked at Big Sig. “Okay. Another day, then?” He held out his hand.

Big Sig gripped it. “Count on it.”

Red nodded, then ran back into the building. Nearly everyone had cleared out, either to run and hide or to take advantage of the chaos to loot. Filler lay stretched out on the bar, his face pale and creased with pain. Hope and Nettles stood on either side of him. Nettles held a bottle of whiskey, and Hope held a large curved needle and thread.

“We need you to hold Filler down,” said Nettles.

“How is he?” asked Red as he moved down to Filler's feet.

“Weak from blood loss, but the bullet's out,” said Hope. “We need to disinfect and stitch him up before he loses any more blood.”

“He'll…be alright, then?” asked Red.

Hope gave him a grave look. “He'll live.”

“Is it the tourniquet? Did I tie it too tight? It was something I read about but never tried before, so I didn't know exactly.”

“It saved his life. And I don't think we'll have to lose the leg. But the bullet shattered his knee.”

“Won't it heal?”

Hope shook her head. “I'm sorry. There isn't enough left. He'll need a crutch to walk for the rest of his life.”

“It's my fault,” Red said hollowly. “It's just like Henny said. My best wag paid for my crazy scheme.”

“Balls and pricks,” Filler said faintly. “
My
choice to fight for the Circle.
My
choice to take a bullet for my best wag. Don't you take that away from me. Don't you
dare
.”

“Okay, Fill. Okay,” Red said quietly.

“We done with the poncey dramatics?” asked Nettles. “Time to stitch this wag closed.”

“Do it,” said Filler.

Nettles took Filler's wrists, and Red took his ankles. Hope poured whiskey on the wound, and Filler's body involuntarily spasmed so hard, his foot nearly ended up in Red's mouth. Red had to lean his whole weight down to get his friend's legs flat on the bar again. Then Hope began to stitch up the wound.

“How bad is it out there?” asked Nettles as she held Filler's hands pressed to the bar above his head.

“Pretty bad,” admitted Red.

Filler grunted as Hope pulled the needle through the swollen flesh around his wound.

“We got uppity and complicated things for the powers that be,” Red continued. “Now they're here to put us in our place. Meanwhile, whatever solidarity we had pissed off without so much as a good-bye.”

“I'm still amazed you pulled them all together as long as you did,” said Nettles.

Filler grunted again, this time long and low, almost like a hum. Or a whimper.

“Nearly done, Filler,” said Hope. “You're doing great.”

Red watched as Hope's fingers flickered back and forth with the needle. “You've got quality on that.”

“When I was younger, the Vinchen brothers would hold regular sparring matches. Often one or both would be wounded. It was my job to patch them up after.”

“You must have been popular, then,” said Nettles. “Especially being the only molly.”

“No, they hated me,” said Hope. “Only my teacher held any affection for me, and he had to withhold it while others were around, or they might have suspected that he was secretly training me in their arts.”

“How long did you live like that?” asked Nettles.

“Eight years.”

“Piss'ell, that must have been lonely.”

“I suppose,” said Hope as she continued to work the needle through Filler's wound. “I didn't think much of it at the time. I had become…unaccustomed to warmth or companionship.”

“We made one hells of a team today,” said Nettles.

“We did,” said Hope.

“I can't promise much warmth, but you and me, we're alright.”

Hope smiled shyly as she continued to sew Filler's knee. “Are we wags, then?”

Nettles grinned. “You've got the length of it, angel slice.”

Hope tied off the thread. “Okay, Filler, you're all patched up. That should keep the bleeding under control. Just be careful you don't tear those stitches.”

“Thanks, Hope,” Filler said weakly.

Hope nodded and stepped away from the bar, wiping the blood off her hands with a rag. Outside, the cannon fire was coming more frequently. Two or three shots a minute. “We can't stay here, though. It sounds like they've brought in more cannons. We'll need to transport you somewhere safe.”

“Gunpowder Hall,” said Nettles. “Everybody who's not already dead or caught up in the looting will go there.”

“It's the only place the imps have never been able to control,” said Red. “But getting there is going to be tricky. Normally, I'd say we use the back alleys to avoid the cannon shot. But there's no way we can carry Filler all the way there. We'll need a wagon. Which means taking the main streets and putting ourselves right in the line of fire.”

“So we'll have to take out the cannons first,” said Hope.

“How do we do that?” asked Nettles.

“If we took the rooftops,” said Red, “we could get to where the cannons are positioned without getting torn apart or detected. Nettles, you guard Filler, I'll show Hope the way.”

“Why don't
you
guard Filler and I'll take Hope,” suggested Nettles.

“Because you don't know the roofs like I do,” said Red. “It's not going to be a straight line from here to there. Some of them are too steep even for me to cross, and I've been climbing them for years.”

“Let's get going, then,” said Hope. “I think I know how we can get to the roof of this building, at least.”

Hope led Red up to the third floor into a room with two rows of sleeping cots.

“This is where we came in,” she said. “Through that window.”

Red stuck his head out the window and looked down at the alley several stories below. “How did you get up here?”

“The alley is narrow enough that I simply vaulted back and forth, working my way up,” said Hope.

“Simple as sideways,” muttered Red. He craned his head up. The roof was just out of reach, so he'd have to jump from the sill. He hadn't done something that foolhardy since he was a boy, but with Hope's talk about vaulting, he couldn't exactly beg off now. So he climbed out the window, stood up on the sill, and before he could think about it too deeply, jumped. He overshot the edge, but caught it on the way down. The leather of his fingerless gloves kept his hands from getting cut up by the jagged slate edge. He pulled himself slowly up until his elbows rested on the edge, then hooked a leg over and clambered up to the roof.

He stood for a moment, feeling pretty pleased with how that had gone. He leaned down over the edge. “Are you coming?”

Hope's head popped through the open window, looking up at him. “Be right there.” She grabbed the top edge of the window, then pulled up and out, flipping in the air and landing feetfirst on the edge. “Ready?”

“Show-off.”

Red led her to the front edge of the building. Several blocks down, he saw a blossom of smoke in the fading light of day. A moment later he heard the shot whistle below as it scattered across the street. If they'd been in a wagon right then, they'd all be dead. He turned back to where the shot had originated, his eyes scanning the rooftops for the best possible route.

“Oh,” said Hope.

“You okay?” Red asked sharply.

“Yes.” Hope stared west out across the rooftops, her face serene as the red light of the setting sun tinted her yellow hair. “The skyline is lovely, don't you think?”

Red felt a flash of irritation. “Now's not really the time.”

“A Vinchen warrior strives to see the beauty all around him,” Hope said quietly. “So that he knows the value of what he fights for.”

That brought Red up short. Had he really been bothered by Hope doing something he'd done countless times himself? He recalled the day he'd brought Nettles to the roofs, excited to share its beauty with her. It had been wasted on her. And this had almost been wasted on him. He refused to let that happen. So he took a deep breath and stood with Hope. The two of them watched the sun drop slowly behind the uneven line of rooftops.

Hope turned to him. “The cover of darkness should give us some advantage, too.”

“That's why you wanted to wait?”

She shrugged. “They're both good reasons and I don't think they contradict each other.”

Red stared at her a moment, thinking nothing was ever simple with this molly. He realized that it was one of the reasons he liked her. “True as trouble. Let's go.”

No one had lit the street lamps, so the block was unusually dark. But the lingering twilight drenched everything in a faint sepia. They moved from roof to roof, zigzagging gradually closer to the cannons. The cannon fire seemed to be coming more rapidly now. Red suspected they were trying to clear the streets as much as they could so that they could sweep in with a couple of squads of soldiers.

Night had fallen in earnest by the time they reached the cross street where the cannons were set. There were five of them, distributed evenly so that one pointed down each street. There were four soldiers stationed at each cannon.

“Our best chance of taking them all out quickly is to hit each one so fast, they don't have time to alert the next one in the line,” whispered Hope as they stood on a rooftop nearest the first group. “Can you accurately throw two blades at once?”

“Two, but not four,” said Red.

“You take the two on the sides, I'll take the two in the middle.”

Red nodded and pulled his coat back so he was ready to draw.

“Now,” said Hope.

Red snapped a blade from each hand as Hope launched herself from the roof, drawing her sword in midair. She spun like a top, her blade flashing as it struck the two soldiers in the middle in rapid succession. At the same time, the soldiers on either side dropped to the ground, clutching at the blades in their necks.

Hope landed softly on top of the cannon. She signaled to Red to move to the building across the street.

Red gauged the distance to jump and winced. He wasn't at all sure he could make it, but he wasn't about to tell Hope that. He took a deep breath, got a nice running start, and jumped. It wasn't graceful, but he made it. His midsection slammed into the edge of the roof so hard, he had to pause a moment, clinging to it as he tried to get his breath back. Once he recovered, he slowly climbed to his feet. He saw Hope watching him, still standing on top of the cannon, her head cocked to one side curiously. He waved her on, feeling a little embarrassed.

She nodded. With her sword held low, she moved in a silent crouch toward the next cannon. Red saw that their best chance was for her to hit the two on the near side, while he hit the two on the far side. He hoped she would realize that, too. There wasn't really a way for him to get her attention without attracting theirs.