Demonbane (Book 4) (26 page)

Kara held up a cautionary hand. “It’s me.”

Maklavir stared at her for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He smiled. “You’re awake. Splendid. I was hoping you’d be just bully again once we got you all warmed up.”

Kara glanced down at his arms. “Is that what you were doing?”

The diplomat gave an uneasy cough. “Um, yes, in a manner of speaking. Couldn’t be helped, really. Body warmth and all that.”

Kara shivered. She pulled the blanket around herself even tighter. “This is what you call warming me up? I’m freezing.”

Maklavir tugged at his collar. “Yes, well, these sewers are rather cold. I suppose you know that already. I found
this
,” he reached up with the tip of his sword and banged on a rusted metal pipe that ran just over their heads. “Steam pipe. Must be one of those that supply the glow-globes. Anyway, it’s not much, but it does put out a little heat.”

Kara reached out one hand towards the pipe, and felt a dull heat emanating from it. Maklavir was right. It wasn’t much, but it did help a little bit to chase some of the prevalent chill away.

She looked over at Maklavir. “Where’s Joseph? And Kendril?”

Maklavir set his sword back down on the ground. “Yes, well, I’m afraid that there’s a bit of a story behind all that.”

Kara kept looking at him.

The diplomat scratched his bare face. “Ah, yes. I imagine you probably want to hear it. Well, suffice to say, we rescued you from the cult, got you upstairs to the opera house to warm you up—”

“Opera house,” the redhead murmured. “That makes sense.”

“Kendril went after that assassin…you remember? The one who killed poor Galla.”

Kara nodded, trying to be as patient as possible.

“Well, anyway, Joseph left to help Kendril, so it was just me and you—”

A flash of hurt showed in the young woman’s eyes. “Joseph…left me?”

Maklavir sat up. “Well, he had to. He didn’t want to, of course, it was just…well we could
hear
Kendril was in trouble, and you know how useless I am with a sword, and—”

“But why are we back in the
sewers
?” Kara asked, the frustration rising in her voice.

“Yes, I was
getting
to that,” Maklavir responded a bit testily. “Somehow or other the opera house must have caught fire. Don’t ask me how, I don’t know, but when I tried to get us out…the way was already blocked. I had to backtrack down here into the sewers again before the smoke and heat got us both. I made it a little way, but then I got tired, and I put you down by the steam pipe for a moment, and then, well…”

“You fell asleep,” Kara ended scornfully.

Maklavir crossed his arms. “I was
tired
. I’ve barely slept for two days. And besides, you were, well…
heavy
.”

“Thanks, Maklavir.” Kara pulled the blanket up around her neck. “What about Joseph and Kendril? Did they make it out of the theater?”

The diplomat shrugged. “Eru only knows. I hope so. I heard a lot of commotion, sounds of shouting and screaming. It was hard to tell what exactly was going on.”

“Well, naptime is over,” Kara said with finality. “We have to find a way out of these sewers. I’ve almost frozen to death once tonight, and I don’t intend to try a second time.”

Maklavir rubbed his hands briskly together. “You’ll brook no argument from me. I should warn you, though, the few grates I found were either locked or out of reach. It might be a while before we can find a way out of here.”

Kara glanced down the gloomy sewer tunnel. “We’d better get started, then.”

Maklavir stretched, then yawned. “Yes, yes, of course. No rest for the weary, eh?”

“Maklavir, one more question.”

The diplomat raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Kara?”

Kara pulled the blanket more closely around her. “Where are my clothes?”

Joseph swerved through the milling people, his booted feet sliding in the trampled snow. “Kendril!”

The Ghostwalker looked up from the water pump he was manning. He kept pulling and pushing, sweat on his face despite the freezing cold air.

Joseph stopped beside him. He glanced up at the smoking structure of the opera house.

A group of gendarmes and other able-bodied men had formed a bucket line. Some were using fire hoses attached to the two pump-operated fire engines that had been dragged up to the steps of the opera house.

“How’s it going?” Joseph asked, though he could already see the answer for himself.

Kendril shook his head, and wiped his sleeve across his face. “The Grand Theater is already lost. The fire is just too big. At this point it’s damage control, trying to keep the fire from burning down all of the Vines.” He signaled over to a gendarme to take his place, then stepped back from the engine with a groan. “My arms feel like they’re going to fall off.” He paused. “Any sign of Kara or Maklavir?”

Joseph looked down at the ground, then shook his head. “No.”

Kendril leaned back against a glow-globe post set near the street. “They made it out, Joseph, they must have. Maklavir’s not stupid enough to stay in a burning building.”

“If they did, they’re nowhere here,” Joseph said. “We have a lot of wounded people out there. Dead, too.”

Kendril looked away, his breath billowing out in a white gust. “Joseph, look, I—”

“I know,” Joseph said. “You did all you could for her. I saw you down in the sewers, when you shot that cultist.”

Kendril had the sudden image of Wanara’s dying face flash into his head. He winced, trying to force it from his mind. “Yes. But I—”

Joseph suddenly straightened. “The sewers. Of course.”

Kendril massaged his sore shoulder. “The secret passageway we found?”

“It would have been their only way out.” Joseph’s eyes sparked with new life. “They could still be alive, right under our feet.”

Kendril nodded, his mind working. “Makes sense. They’d be safe enough down there for the time being, assuming they don’t freeze to death before morning. Given enough time they’ll find their way out.”

Joseph gave a relieved sigh. “Then there’s still hope.”

“Yes.” He looked over at Joseph. “Did you…did you find Madris at all?”

The scout slowly shook his head. “I tried to keep an eye open for her, but there’s a lot of dead and wounded out there in the square, not to mention wrecked carriages and ruined storefronts.” He gave Kendril a curious glance. “You…really care about her, don’t you?”

The Ghostwalker looked away. “Madris and I go way back.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for her,” Joseph said quietly.

Kendril looked back at his friend, his face showing his surprise. “Aren’t you leaving? I assumed you’d be running off looking down every sewer grate you found from here to the Central Plaza.”

Joseph shook his head. He looked up at the flickering sparks that were floating upwards out of the ruin of the opera house. “No, I can’t, as much as I want to. There are a lot of people who need help right here and right now. Kara and Maklavir are capable enough. They can take care of themselves for a few hours.”

Kendril cleared his throat.

Joseph gave a half-smile. “Well,
Kara
can, anyways.”

Kendril smiled as well, though his face still showed signs of weariness. He lifted his head suddenly, looking across the square.

A regal-looking carriage pulled up across the snow-covered cobblestones, flanked by four mounted gendarmes.

 “Looks like the Lord Mayor is here,” Kendril said. “Why do I think that means things are about to get worse?”

“Because they are.” Joseph looked off to the north with a frown. “Take a look.”

Kendril pivoted his head.

Past the rooftops of the buildings at the north end of the square was a dull orange glow on the horizon.

“A fire?” Kendril glanced back at the burnt-out shell of the opera house. “Another one?”

Joseph nodded, then grabbed his herbal bag. “Looks to be west of the river, up past the Library.”

Kendril stepped away from the post. “See to the wounded. Keep an eye out for Madris.” He started out into the street.

Joseph slung the bag over his shoulder. “Where are you going?”

The Ghostwalker didn’t look back. “It’s time I had another chat with the mayor.”

The bell at the shop entrance tingled as the door opened.

Captain Potemkin looked up from the map of Vorten he had spread on the table before him. Lieutenant Gradine and Baron Dutraad stood across from him.

“It’s a bloody mess out there,” the Lord Mayor boomed as he entered. He stamped the snow off his feet and wrinkled his nose. “Eru, it smells awful in here.”

Potemkin rose to his full height. “It’s a fish store, your honor.”

“You couldn’t have picked a better place to set up in?” The Lord Mayor crossed to the table, stripping his gloves off as he did.

The gendarme captain took a breath, trying to control his words. “Our options were rather limited, your honor. You can see that many of the storefronts on the square were destroyed. We only—”

“Yes, yes,” the Lord Mayor said irritably, waving his hand. The place is a mess, no doubt. The fire is contained, correct?”

Potemkin and Gradine exchanged glances.

The captain cleared his throat. “Yes, your honor, for the most part. But the Set—”

The Lord Mayor raised a finger. “Don’t start with me, Captain. I’ve had enough of that nonsense from the Ghostwalkers. It
was
the Ghostwalkers who set this fire, wasn’t it?”

Potemkin stared at the mayor in surprise. “I—I’m not sure exactly how the fire started, your honor. But right now we have a larger issue. There’s—”

The mayor rolled his eyes. “Please, Potemkin, don’t tell me you’re believing these religious nuts now too. I’ve heard a couple of the gendarmes babbling nonsense about a goddess or some such. Obviously a case of nerves, nothing more. Our priority is to contain the fire.”

Potemkin and Gradine both stared at the mayor.

“I saw the Seteru myself, your honor,” Potemkin said roughly. “I assure you, this situation is very real.”

“I see a burning theater and a lot of dead and wounded people out there,” the Lord Mayor shot back. “But I don’t see any pagan gods. Or am I missing something?”

“Those people weren’t injured in the fire,” Potemkin protested. “It was the goddess herself—”

Potemkin stabbed a pudgy finger towards the shop’s windows that looked out on the square. “One woman did all
that
?”

“She’s not just a woman,” Dutraad said, speaking for the first time. His face was pale in the flickering light of the shop’s fire. “Captain Potemkin is telling you the truth, your honor. You can ask anyone outside. There is a demon loose in Vorten.” He lifted his head. “I formally request permission to begin mobilization of the Orange Regiment, and the other Trained Bands as well.”

“Have you gone out of your mind, Dutraad?” The Lord Mayor thundered. The bell jingled as the door opened again. “You actually believe this…this
nonsense
?”

“It’s not nonsense,” Kendril said from the shop’s entrance. He held the door of the fish shop open. “Take a good look, your honor. You have a war on your hands.”

The Lord Mayor turned, and growled at the sight of the Ghostwalker. “Not you again. Where’s that old woman, the leader of these so-called Ghostwalkers? What was her name?”

“Madris,” Potemkin reminded.

“Madris. Where is she? Dead in that fire you and your fellow rogues started?”

Kendril crossed over to the table. The door banged shut behind him.

Two gendarmes standing guard inside the room both tensed. Their hands moved to their weapons.

“You are in the middle of a
war
, whether you like it or not,” Kendril snarled. “Every minute you waste here is another minute our enemy gains.”

“Enemy?” the mayor snorted. “The only
enemy
of Vorten I’ve seen so far is you and your companions. I’ll not be threatened by—”

“Captain!” A flustered gendarme crashed in through the door. “There’s—” His spotted the Lord Mayor, and his eyes went wide.

“Spit it out, man,” Potemkin rumbled. “What’s your news?”

The gendarme saluted, still breathless. “Begging your pardon, sir, but reports are flooding in from all over.”

Potemkin lowered his eyebrows. “What reports, gendarme?”

“The city, sir. It’s in a bloody uproar.” His gaze flashed nervously back and forth between the men in the room. “There’s fighting and looting down in the Residential section, a fire up in the Shackles—”

“A fire?” The Lord Mayor stared at the man. “
Fighting
? What on Zanthora are you talking about, gendarme?”

“Sir,” the man sputtered, his voice shaking with stress and anxiety, “our gendarmes are being shot at in the streets. We have several men dead already.”

Potemkin glowered, his face dark and somber. “Any word from Jennovan? The East Barracks?”

The frightened gendarme shook his head.

The Lord Mayor swung his head around towards the gendarme captain. “This is insanity, Potemkin. Complete and total insanity. I expect you and your men to restore order and get to the bottom of whatever is happening here—”

“What’s
happening
,” Kendril growled, “is the Fourth Despair. You have a demon loose in your city, and every secret pagan cult in Vorten is rising up at the same time.”

Potemkin closed his eyes. “The note, the one we found in the barracks. It’s an uprising.”

The Lord Mayor pounded a fat hand on the table. “Ashes, none of you are making a lick of sense. There are no pagan cults in this city, much less a demon.”

Dutraad leaned forward, his hands spread on the table before him. His face was deadly serious. “Your honor, I beg you, mobilize the Trained Bands before it is too late. I’ll get the other officers out of their beds personally. We have to act quickly, or we won’t be able to act at all.”

“Mobilize your regiment?” Kendril gave Dutraad a look that would have stopped most men in their tracks. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You could take your men and join your wife in the Despair.”

The Lord Mayor gave Dutraad a confused look. “Your
wife
? What—?”