Above His Proper Station (10 page)

Within five minutes of that first thrown rock, a score of thieves and outcasts, Anrel among them, held watchmen's swords. The only watchmen still on their feet were backing up stairways. Within ten minutes the streets were clear, the iron gates on the stairs slammed shut and locked. Anrel jabbed uselessly through the bottom gate on Golden Street one last time, then lowered his blade and turned to look over the situation.

At least a dozen watchmen were still in the streets, but down and disarmed; most had children sitting on them, holding them down, while a few had women standing over them with improvised clubs of one sort or another. None were putting up any resistance. Some of them appeared to be unconscious or dead.

Doz had chased one group of watchmen up the Tranquillity Street stair, preventing them from closing the gate at the bottom; the top gate, though, was secured. Now Doz and his men were emerging back out onto the street, talking and laughing excitedly.

“Doz!” Anrel shouted.

Doz turned. “Dyssan?”

“It's not over, Doz. They'll be back with reinforcements. Maybe sorcerers.” He pointed up at the walkways; a few strategically placed archers were still in sight, but the other watchmen were either hurrying away or already gone.

“He's right,” someone called.

“Let them come!” a woman shouted.

“No,” Doz barked back, as he walked toward Anrel. “No, Dyssan is right.”

“But there are hundreds of us!”

“There are hundreds of
them
, and they have swords and bows,” Doz replied. He turned to look at the wounded guardsmen on the street.

“We should slit their throats. That would be a dozen fewer of them.”

Doz shook his head. “No. Then they'd kill all of us.” He looked around as he walked, then beckoned to a witch. “Keila, take a look at them, see what you can do for them.”

The witch nodded, and stepped forward.

“They'll come back, whether we kill these men or not,” Anrel said, as he stepped forward to meet Doz.

“Are you saying we
should
kill them?” Doz demanded, stopping his march a few feet away.

“Oh, by no means! You're absolutely right, we should do what we can for them and send them on their way; anything else would be tantamount to cutting our own throats as well as theirs. But we should also ready ourselves for another visit.”

Doz looked around at the other inhabitants of the Pensioners' Quarter. “And how would you suggest we do that?”

“I don't know,” Anrel admitted. He pointed up. “But they'll be coming along those walkways before nightfall, I'd wager.”

Doz looked up thoughtfully at the arch across Golden Street. “They'll be exposed up there. We'll see them coming.”

Anrel frowned. “Do you think they might come in on the streets, then?”

Doz shook his head. “They'd be worried about ambushes—and with good reason. They always use the walkways. I just meant they couldn't take us by surprise.”

“Perhaps the women and children should seek shelter elsewhere, until this is over?”

“Where?” Queen Bim demanded. Anrel had not noticed her approach, but she was there at Doz's shoulder.

“I don't know,” Anrel said.

“If we had anywhere else to go, why would we be here in the first place?” another woman demanded.

“I don't know,” Anrel repeated.

“We could hide in the tunnels,” Mieshel suggested. “Watchmen won't go down there.”

“Neither will I,” declared a woman Anrel didn't recognize. “There are
things
down there.”

“The ruins on Wizards Hill?” Shoun suggested.

“That's worse than the tunnels.”

“These are our
homes,
and we didn't do anything wrong!” Mother Baba said. “Why should we hide?”

“Right or wrong doesn't come into it,” Doz said. “We fought the Emperor's Watch, and that means they'll come teach us a lesson.” He was still gazing thoughtfully at the arch. “But you know,” he added after a brief pause, “we don't need to make it easy for them.” He turned and looked at the crowd. “All right, I want the witches and anyone else who knows any healing to tend to those watchmen, and then get them to the old hospital, and I want anyone who can swing a hammer to find tools.” He pointed at the arch. “They've been able to keep an eye on us too easily for too long. Let's make it a little more difficult.”

“What?”

“I don't understand.”

A hundred voices called out questions, but Doz raised his hands for silence.

“We are going to tear down those damned arches,” he said. “If the watch wants to come talk to us, they can come on the streets, like anyone else.”

For a second there was silence; then a cheer broke out, like the roar of a mighty beast.

“Tear them down! Tear them down!”

“Put the watch on the streets!”

“Tear them down!”

The crowd scattered, searching for anything that could be used to smash or pry. Anrel hesitated for a only a moment, then looked at the sword in his hand. It was a shame to ruin the blade, but it wasn't a very good one to begin with; he turned and began chipping at the mortar of the staircase.

“Not here,” Doz said, catching his arm. “We start with the ones that connect the quarter to the outside; once those are down, we can hammer at these at our leisure.”

“Of course,” Anrel said, feeling slightly foolish. “Of course.”

Ten minutes later he and a dozen other men were attacking the base of the arch above the Duty Street Gate, a few feet inside the barricade that closed off that portion of the Pensioners' Quarter from the adjoining neighborhood of Catseye. Decades of neglect had made their task relatively easy; the ancient mortar crumbled away after only a few blows, giving room to set axes and crowbars solidly in place. Half a dozen men throwing their weight onto an iron bar was then enough to shift even the larger stones.

It was hard, heavy labor, nonetheless, and before long every man present was sweating and stripped down to just breeches and boots—at least, those who
had
boots. Some wrapped their blouses and shirts around the handles of their tools, to protect their hands, while others simply flung the unwanted garments aside.

Women and children did not try to join in the actual demolition, but they did fetch water for the men, and cart away stones to make room for the work to continue.

An hour or so after the Emperor's Watch had withdrawn Anrel heard the grinding of stone on stone when no one was pushing, and looked up to see the top of the arch starting to move.

“Get back!” he shouted. “Get away!”

He took his own advice, scrambling back up Duty Street with his ruined sword in hand. Then he turned to watch as the arch, which he knew had stood for at least a hundred years, broke apart and collapsed.

Ancient stone shattered and tumbled with a crash and a roar, and as the sound of that destruction began to subside a cheer went up.

“There are five more,” a woman's voice called, but just then came a roar and a cheer from blocks away.

“Four,” a man said, and most of the crowd laughed.

Anrel did not laugh; he looked at the rubble and regretted his part in bringing down this piece of history. This would make it more difficult for the emperor's men to enter the Pensioners' Quarter, but it might also make them more determined to do so. It wasn't as bad as killing the wounded watchmen would have been, but it would certainly not help mollify anyone.

“Come on!” someone shouted. “The arch by Twilight Square is still standing!”

With a cheer, most of the crowd ran in that direction, tools waving, but Anrel did not join them; instead he watched them go, then turned and marched toward the old hospital, wiping away sweat as he walked. He intended to speak with the captured watchmen to gauge their mood.

He pulled his blouse back on, and the rest of his clothes, along the way; he wanted to look like a civilized man when he questioned the captives.

He found them laid out in the courtyard of the hospital ruins. Most of them were sitting up now, their heads bandaged; a few had their arms in slings or other signs of injury. A faint scent of corruption told Anrel that some of the wounds were already infected; that was not good, but perhaps the witches might attend to it.

Several Pensioner women were gathered in the courtyard, tending to the wounded. Anrel stepped up behind one.

“Excuse me,” Anrel said. “Might I have a word?”

Mother Baba looked up from the watchman she was tending. “With me?” she asked.

“No, with him.”

She looked up at Anrel, looked back at the watchman, then shrugged. “If you want,” she said. “This one's skull is cracked, but if he's careful he'll be fine.” She stepped away to check on the next man.

Anrel knelt beside the watchman, who looked at him warily.

“Good day,” Anrel said. “My name is Dyssan. Can you speak?”

“I can talk,” the watchman replied. He gave no name.

“Good, good! I trust you have been well cared for?”

“I suppose.”

“I'm afraid I have a favor to ask.”

The man did not reply; he just stared at Anrel through slightly clouded eyes.

“Yes, well,” Anrel said. “I was hoping you might give me some idea what you intend to tell your superiors when you see them.”

“I wasn't planning to tell them anything,” the man said.

“But won't they ask you about how you were treated? How you came to be injured?”

“They can ask, but I can't tell them anything. I don't remember what happened. I was up on the walks, and the sergeant started us toward the stair, and the next thing I know I was here, with a girl feeling the side of my head.” He put a hand to the area in question. “Right here.”

“Ah,” Anrel said.

“That happens when you get hit hard on the head. I've seen it before. Helps if you're drunk at the time, but I wasn't, and I still can't remember it.”

“I see.” Anrel looked around. “Do you think anyone here
does
remember the fighting?”

“I have no idea.”

“I see. Well, thank you, and I hope your recovery will be swift.” He patted the man on the shoulder, then turned to the next man in the row of wounded.

That one was only semiconscious, and apparently delirious. Anrel grimaced, and proceeded to the next.

“I heard what you asked him,” this third man said. “I remember just fine; I didn't get a brick to the head the way he did, I got my leg broken.” He gestured toward his right leg, which was bandaged and splinted from thigh to ankle.

“I'm sorry for your injury, sir,” Anrel said.

“Not as sorry as I am.”

Anrel sighed. “Probably not,” he admitted.

“So what did you want?”

“I was hoping to avoid further conflict,” Anrel said. “We are all loyal Walasians, faithful subjects of the empire; we should not be fighting.”

“Those people should have thought of that before you started throwing rocks.”

“Sir, innocent citizens were threatened and abused, falsely accused of theft and other crimes. It was very unfortunate that someone lost his temper and began throwing missiles, I fully admit that, but you can't deny there was provocation.”

“What did they expect, hauling those sacks of bread through the streets? Did you really think anyone would believe that people in the Pensioners' Quarter came by them honestly? They're all thieves and beggars and whores—you know it and we know it. We don't bother them in the ordinary way of things, but when they parade all that food past hungry people…!”

“But we
did
come by them honestly!”

“‘We'? Who
are
you?”

Anrel realized that the man had taken him for an outsider, perhaps an investigator sent by some local official. He grimaced. “I am a resident of the Pensioners' Quarter, sir, and Master Graun earned that bread honestly.”

The watchman looked at Anrel's clothes, which were reasonably clean and new and not at all typical of the Pensioners' Quarter, and shrugged. “So you say.”

“Ask the baker!”

“And what do you think he'll say, if he's the one who spoiled it all? You think he'll admit he tried to palm off bad bread on you?”

That had not occurred to Anrel. He did not have a ready reply.

“Besides,” the watchman continued, “what does it matter now? What's done is done, and nothing you or I might do is going to change that.”

“I was not hoping to change the past, I assure you, but I do hope to prevent further conflict.”

The watchman shook his head. “Too late for that,” he said. “I suppose you people don't know it, but for years now the emperor has been looking for an excuse to rid the city of you once and for all. He doesn't want your sort of people in his capital. Up until now the watch always said it wasn't worth it, that trying to clean out the quarter would be too expensive and too dangerous, and that some of you weren't criminals, just poor. Now, though—you attacked us. You've sealed your own doom.”

Anrel wanted to argue with that, to suggest alternatives, but he could not. Tearing down the arches was a fine gesture, but it wasn't going to stop the emperor's men from retaliating. They would find some way into the quarter whether the arches were there or not.

“I had hoped I might convince you and your compatriots to speak on our behalf,” Anrel said. “We could have killed you all, if we really considered you our enemies, but instead we have done our best to care for you. Cannot that earn us some forgiveness?”

The watchman snorted. “We could speak until we can't breathe. It wouldn't help. They won't listen to us any more than they would listen to you. The Emperor's Watch was chased out of a part of the emperor's own city; that can't be allowed to stand. It doesn't matter how it happened, or why, or who was right, or who was wrong. All that matters is that the emperor's authority must be upheld.”