“They’re lookin’ for the exit. Know you where it is?”

“I—I—” Rigurd swallowed and wiped his forehead. “Well, I believe, that way, yes, there is a terrace, and some stairs, but I don’t see why you—”

Janx clapped Rigurd on the shoulder, letting his hand linger there, fingers digging into the older man’s flesh. “You done us a service, old-timer. I might just let you live.”

“I would measure your next actions carefully, hooligan.” Rigurd’s voice had changed. Become colder. Harder.

“Janx ...” Avery started, but it was too late.

The air shimmered around Rigurd, and suddenly Janx was thrown aside with such force that he smashed against a moldy wall.

“I knew there was something off about you two,” Rigurd said. “Ah, well, live and learn. That’s why I go amongst my visitors anonymously, to learn their true—”

Avery lunged forward with his god-killing knife. Rigurd saw it and dodged, but the blade nicked his arm. Instantly the half-formed amoebic shape about him faded into nothingness. Rigurd’s eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his arm.

“Damn you!”

Avery lunged at him again, but Rigurd was too fast. He instantly vanished through a doorway, and Avery heard the click of the lock. He tried it, but the door was metal and it held fast.

Avery went to Janx and felt his pulse, but he needn’t have bothered; even as he knelt over the big man, Janx’s eyelids fluttered, and the whaler moaned some expletive under his breath.

“Get up,” Avery said.

“Little bastard was the god of the place, eh? Might’ve known. He was a little shit, that was for sure. Got him with the knife?”

“Yes, but I don’t think we can count on that holding him. I barely scratched him. He can’t have received much of the poison, or whatever the lethal agent is, and we don’t have time to hunt him now.”

As Avery helped Janx to his feet, the noise of the mob reached his ears, louder than ever; the priests and pilgrims were smashing through one of the locked doors, very near.

“They’ll be on us soon,” Avery said.

Janx shook his head and stood straighter, disengaging himself. “I’m all right, Doc. Let’s run. If that Collie was right …”

“I doubt he was lying. He was about to kill us.”

“Good. Then—”

Another door crashed open; Avery assumed it to be the penultimate one standing between them and the mob.

“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.