“Move!” Janx said, but Avery stayed where he was.
“Move,” Janx repeated, worry in his face.
Avery shook his head, and Janx stared at him as if he were mad.
“They’re going to sacrifice Denaris tonight,” Avery said calmly. “You must return to Muscud and inform Layanna. She can strike Rigurd at City Square, while you lead some of Boss Vassas’s men to provide cover. Get Hildra to convince him. Send Evers after General Hastur. Now’s the time. Get her moving.”
“Not enough time to return to Muscud, Doc. It took us most of a day just to get here.”
More sounds of bashing. The mob had reached the final door.
“That’s why you’ll have to go directly there,” Avery said. “No back ways. I trust Jeffers to lose any pursuit.”
“We’ll come on the other squid, the one that got Evers’s folk.”
“I know, and that’s why it must be you who goes, and I who distracts the mob to give you time to find Jeffers and get clear.”
Janx’s face was rigid. Through clenched teeth, he said, “I can’t just leave you, Doc—”
The final door broke through. Voices filled the hallway.
“Go!” Avery said, slapping Janx on the shoulder. “Run and don’t look back!”
Janx hesitated, then, as the noises grew even closer, turned and ran. Avery waited a moment, then situated himself beside a doorway. He drew his gun, taking deep breaths.
When the mob rounded the bend and came in
sight, Avery fired twice at them and fled through the door.
Chapter 9
Avery couldn’t believe he was doing this. This was mad. More than mad—suicidal. In that moment all he could think about was Ani. If I die what will become of her? Sure, she had Mari’s family, but they didn’t know her. They hadn’t raised her. A deep love of his daughter washed over him, and an anguish; if he was caught, he would be killed—torn to shreds by the mob or even fed to Rigurd, an appetizer to the Prime Minister.
Shouts and occasional gunfire shook the ratty, leaning halls behind him, but he didn’t look back, only pausing occasionally as he rounded a bend or a doorway to stick his arm back through and fire in what he hoped was the direction of the mob; more likely he hit plaster and wood. A couple of times he came across occupants of the upstairs rooms, and both times they were sprawled across couches in some sort of deep trance, probably drug-induced. They gave him no trouble.
He darted right, left, left again, then right, becoming more and more lost. But, miraculously, the noises of the mob began to recede behind him. Was he losing them? It seemed too much to hope for. At least he was leading them away from the direction Janx had taken.
And then, so suddenly it shocked him, he shoved through a doorway and found himself on a terrace. It was small and wrought-iron, encrusted by some brown growths. But he was outside. A swarm of bats poured past him, chasing a type of glinting, fishy bug, and joy filled him. He hadn’t realized how claustrophobic he’d been until he was free of the complex interior. He gulped deep breaths and gripped the balustrade tightly, feeling his fingers shake.
Above him and to the right stretched another terrace, jutting out from the roof. This one was larger, and moored to it were a dozen dirigibles. Avery had heard the priest’s announcement but hadn’t really had time to reflect on its meaning. But here it was, the fleet that would take Rigurd and Denaris to City Square, where the Prime Minister, newly infected, would be given to Grand Admiral Haggarty, who would give her immediately back. None of the dirigibles boasted the Lightning Crest of Octung, but all had clearly been Octunggen aircraft, sharp and black, before being seized and retrofitted by the Ghenisan Navy.
Sharp, black ... and roomy.
Hardly daring to believe his own pluck, Avery mounted the balustrade, hauled himself onto the roof and crawled toward the dirigible platform. Beyond it he could see a large hole in the ceiling of the cistern chamber where the fleet had obviously entered from; presumably it was sealed above. What concerned him more were the several soldiers—Navy—who patrolled the platform. There seemed to be about five of them, with more in some of the dirigibles. Others had been below, Avery remembered, bearing witness to the giving of the Sacrament. Sheridan was likely their leader.
Avery held his breath as he approached the terrace, then hunkered against the balustrade as a soldier marched past.
This is it, he thought. I should be committed. He would just have to hope the Drakes did a better job of parenting than he had.
Keeping his head down and himself as invisible as he could, he scuttled along the outside of the terrace, shielded by the balustrade, hanging on only by fingers and toes, until he reached the first dirigible, which had been drawn close to the terrace for boarding. There he remained for some minutes, his arms and legs trembling, not with fatigue but with sheer fright. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this.
When no one was looking (he peeked between two rotten boards), he cleared the dirigible’s gunwale and lowered himself next to a large trunk. He lifted the lid, seeing a range of weapons filling the space. He opened another, to the same result, and was about to try a different tack altogether—could he impersonate a soldier?—when the third trunk showed the way: blankets and foodstuffs, not completely filling the space.
Someone shouted.
Avery threw himself into the trunk and pulled the blankets over his head, knowing even as he did what a foolish thing it was. If the shout had been given because he’d been seen, he had only cornered himself. Janx would never have been so stupid.
He waited, breathless, expecting to be discovered and taken prisoner, but instead, again miraculously, rough voices rose, then fell, and footsteps moved away; apparently members of the mob had emerged, consulted with the soldiers about Avery’s whereabouts and, hearing nothing amiss, retreated below.
Slowly, quietly, Avery let a breath out, then drew one in. Could he have possibly pulled this off?
It seemed he waited in the trunk for hours. Perhaps he did. Long enough for his joints to ache and for claustrophobia to dig into him again. Fortunately the trunk was porous, otherwise he would have had to lift the lid every so often and risk exposure. But eventually footsteps returned, a great many of them, and the airship shook as soldiers boarded it, and other sounds confirmed the boarding of the rest of the fleet. Avery assumed Denaris and Rigurd were among the group, but he didn’t dare look.
A captain called out, and Avery could feel the ship unmoor from the terrace and begin to rise.
They were away. Going to the Square.
Mentally, Avery did a checklist, detailing his resources. It didn’t take long. He had his god-killing knife, a couple of bullets in his gun, two fists, two feet, and surprise.
He wasn’t able to see by what mechanism the hole in the ground was concealed, or if it was at all (though his imagination painted them rising up through a hollowed-out building, perhaps a factory; the entrance was surely why Rigurd had chosen the town’s location), but shortly he felt the craft rock with wind and knew they were outside, in the open air. Judging by the creaking and snapping all around, the other ships of the fleet were, as well. Soldiers called to each other, going about the business of sailing through the air, and Avery tried to tune them out, concentrating on various scenarios by which to liberate Denaris without getting them both killed. The best thing to do would be to steal a dirigible and take off with her, giving the others the slip, but he had no idea which ship she was on—or which he was on, for that matter; Rigurd could be right outside, ready to eat him at a moment’s notice—or how to elude a full company of air-mobile soldiers, for that matter. The more he thought about it, the more he realized saving her was impossible, at least alone and airborne. There was always the chance that Janx would deliver his message to Layanna and that some opportunity would present itself on the ground.
Even so, Avery could imagine few likely outcomes that he, or Denaris, would live to see.
From time to time, frustrated by not knowing what was going on, he began to peek, lifting the lid of the trunk, just slightly, and casting his gaze quickly about before shutting it again. He saw mostly what he expected: a bustling dirigible surrounded by other dirigibles sailing over Hissig toward the Square. No sign of Rigurd, though the Collossum must be present. He did catch sight of Sheridan, who commanded a dirigible to port.
