Hope and Red (28 page)

She ran between the first two, slashing right and left. She stopped when she saw the remaining two drop. She looked up at Red, nodded slowly in approval, and smiled. That tiny bit of acknowledgment sent a flush of satisfaction through Red. He allowed himself to bask in it for a moment, then muttered to himself, “Do
not
get sotted with the celibate molly,” because Filler wasn't there to say it to him.

They moved on to each cannon the same way, taking them out as they went. The last one proved to be more of a problem, though. Next to the cannon and its operators was a squad of imps. Red saw them before they struck. He wasn't sure if Hope saw them, but he had no way to warn her other than to wave and point. She nodded tersely and waved for them to continue.

They took the four at the cannon as easily as the others, but then the shouts went out from the squad and they turned toward Hope, fumbling with their rifles. Red reached into his coat for more blades, but came up with nothing. He'd just thrown his last two. He started to scramble down the building, not sure how he could help, but not willing to just sit idly by as Hope was gunned down. But by the time he'd reached the ground, half the soldiers were dead and the other half had turned and run.

Hope stood for a second, breathing hard as she watched them go. Then she wiped her blade on the white tunic of one of the dead soldiers. “Out of blades?”

Red nodded sheepishly.

“You'll have a chance to retrieve them,” she said. “I want to go back and make sure that when the imperial reinforcements arrive, these cannons won't be much use to them anymore.”

Red had never seen Gunpowder Hall so crowded or so subdued. The combination was unnerving. When he arrived, lugging Filler with the help of Nettles and Hope, he found the hall nearly filled to capacity, and yet no one was having sex, or doing drugs. There was no drinking or rowdy laughter. Everyone sat and talked quietly, their faces drawn with worry.

“Piss'ell, this is eerie,” said Nettles as they laid Filler on a table that Handsome Henny and the Twins had staked out.

“You wags alright?” asked Red as he clasped Henny's hand.

“Better than Filler, it looks like,” said Henny.

“I'll be alright, Hen,” Filler said weakly. “Hope patched me up good.”

“Thanks for that.” Henny tossed her an apple from a small sack. “Red? Nettie?”

“God, yes,” said Nettles, gratefully taking a chunk of bread from him.

“I haven't eaten all day,” said Red, taking some bread for himself.

“You know, Red,” said Henny. “When I saw you up there at the Rag and Boards, I thought you were bludgeon. I thought, here's another crazy scheme.” His eyes glistened in the torchlight. “But it wasn't tavern talk, old pot. You pissing
did
it. Brought the neighborhood together, just like you said, and hit them imps hard enough for them to feel it.”

“Yeah, and look where it's gotten us,” said Red.

Henny shook his head. “Nothing without cost, my wag. Nothing is ever free in the Circle, and you know that. But now
they
know it, too, those cunt-droppings. They can only push us so far before we push back.”

“But now what do we do?” Red asked.

“I don't know,” admitted Henny. “I guess we wait and see if they plan to storm the hall.”

The windows were all boarded up, with just enough of a gap to keep an eye on what was going on out on the street. All of the merchants had pulled their wares inside. Those with food were sharing it among their neighbors. People with weapons were spreading them around, trying to arm as many able-bodied wags as possible. The Circle was often a cruel and selfish place. Red had heard about folks coming together in times of adversity, but he'd never seen it before and he'd had a hard time believing it. Now, as he munched on his bread and watched Paradise Circle slowly gather itself together, bracing itself for the inevitable fight to come, he'd never been more proud of his adopted home.

“I haven't seen Sadie.” Hope bit into her apple, looking concerned.

“She'll stay down at the docks with Finn. Probably hide on the ship. It's unlikely the imps will go that far down, so she'll be okay.” He looked at her. “You know, if the ship was ready, you could just leave. Get away from all this.”

“Would
you
do that?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It's not that I want to stay here forever. But leaving right at this moment, with things so uncertain…it just wouldn't feel right.”

“I feel the same,” she said.

It was a tense night. People slipped out now and then to get provisions and scout out the imps. A large force was heading toward the hall, but it was still some ways off. As the hours crawled by, the tension boiled over here and there, and small fights started to break out. To pass the time and keep people sunny, Red regaled the hall with a somewhat exaggerated account of “The Storming of the Three Cups.” Many of them had been there, but none of them had known the whole story. When asked how he knew where Drem would be hiding, he then went into a highly exaggerated account of the attempted robbery of the Three Cups two years before. He decided to cut that story off before it reached the part where he kissed Nettles. Some things were better left to the past.

Once he had finished, applause rang out in the hall.

“Your gift for storytelling is as good as your aim,” said Hope.

“His gift of exaggeration, too,” said Nettles. “I certainly don't remember taking down thirty boots in that alley with just a chain.”

“Now, now, Nettie,” said Red, his eyes sparkling. “Just because it didn't happen, don't make the story less true. This wasn't for the history books, anyway. Just a way to take folks' minds off what's coming. Surely you don't begrudge that.”

“So long as nobody ever actually expects me to be able to take out thirty armed boots at once with a bit of chain,” said Nettles.

He grinned. “You could always tell people you've gotten too
old
for that sort of thing.”

“Or I could break that pretty face of yours so it stops spouting lies,” offered Nettles.

Red laughed.

It was afternoon the next day that one of the scouts, a boy about thirteen, burst into the hall, his face flushed, his breath coming in gasps. “Better lock the door! The imps are almost here!”

A murmur went through the hall. A few people slid the thick wooden bar into place across the door, and Red hurried to the boarded-up front window. Nettles, Hope, and Henny followed right behind him. They peeked through the cracks in the boards and watched as a full battalion of imps, ten wide and five deep, all armed with rifles, marched up to the hall.

“No cannons?” asked Henny in surprise.

“Hope and I blew them up before we got here,” Red said smugly.

A commander in a shining gold helmet with a white plume rode to the front on a fine white horse. He held one hand up and the soldiers immediately came to a stop.

“Very disciplined,” Hope said approvingly.

“Whose side are you on?” asked Red.

“A Vinchen warrior gives credit where it is due, even to his enemies,” she said.

“
Her
enemies,” muttered Nettles.

“PEOPLE OF PARADISE CIRCLE!” The commander spoke through a large metal cone that amplified his voice enough for the sound to filter into the hall. “WE HAVE NO WISH FOR FURTHER BLOODSHED. HAND OVER THE WOMAN DRESSED AS A VINCHEN AND WE WILL ALLOW YOU TO RETURN TO YOUR HOMES UNHARMED.”

There was a moment of silence in the hall. Maybe the first true silence that Gunpowder Hall ever had.

“The choice is obvious,” Hope said loud enough for everyone to hear. “One life for many. A Vinchen warrior must always be ready to give his life to protect the good people of the empire. And make no mistake. None of you are perfect, but all of you are good.”

“Hope, don't you pissing dare,” said Red.

Hope ignored him and turned to Nettles. “I am grateful for your acceptance and your friendship. I have never had another woman as a friend before, and I am glad to have that experience.”

Nettles nodded.

Hope walked over to Filler, who lay unconscious on the table. She laid her hand on his sweaty forehead. “Take care of this one. His loyalty is as great as any warrior I have known.”

“Hope, there is no way I'm letting you do this!” said Red.

Her face was tight, and her deep blue eyes were harder and colder than he had ever seen. “Red, it has been an honor to fight at your side. And…” She hesitated. “And a joy.” Then she turned toward the door.

“No!” Red grabbed her arm, but she moved so fast, there was only a blur, and then he was on the ground, dazed from the sharp rap on the head she had given him. He struggled to his feet, trying to gather his thoughts as he watched her walk through the door and shut it behind her.

He stumbled toward the door, but Nettles spun him back around to face her.

“And where do you think you're going?” she asked.

“After Hope, of course!”

“All by yourself?”

“If I have to.”

“Do you have to?”

That brought Red up short. “What?”

Nettles turned to the rest of the hall. “Well, don't you all look an inch tall. There she goes. Our Bleak Hope. Yes,
ours
, I say. She may not be from Paradise Circle, but she has risked her life several times over. For us. So I name her a Hero of the Circle. Would any of you disagree?”

Nettles's gaze swept the hall, and none spoke.

“And now,” she continued, “this hero of ours has gone to die
for us
. And we're just going to let her? Is
that
how it is in the Circle now?”

23

H
ope stepped out of the hall into the golden afternoon sun. She never would have thought the air of New Laven would seem fresh, but after nearly a day stuck in Gunpowder Hall, she breathed it in deeply. She looked up at the commander astride his horse. He looked down at her with mild curiosity. Behind him, fifty soldiers held rifles, all of them pointed at her.

“Will you kill me now?” she asked calmly.

“There is one who wants to speak with you first,” said the commander. “Surrender your sword and I will take you to him.”

“And no one else will get hurt.”

“I will withdraw my men from this place,” he agreed.

Handing the Song of Sorrows to the imperial commander may have been the hardest thing Hope had ever done. Other events had been far more painful, but those she had been helpless to prevent. The act of relinquishing one of the most sacred items of the Vinchen order, entrusted to her by Grandteacher Hurlo, to a man who neither knew nor cared about it, was something she had to do of her own free will. With icy hatred blazing in her eyes, she held the sheathed sword up to him horizontally with both hands. He leaned over in his saddle and took it almost indifferently.

“Chain her,” he said.

Two soldiers hurried over and wrapped her wrists in a chain, securing it with a large padlock. One handed the padlock key to the commander. The other handed him the end of the chain, which he fastened to the front of his saddle.

“Come along, then.” The commander wheeled his horse around and gave the chain a yank as he led her away from Gunpowder Hall. The soldiers parted to let them pass, then closed ranks behind them. Hope glanced back, expecting to see the soldiers turn as well and follow them. But they remained with their rifles pointed at the hall.

“You said you would withdraw your men.”

“I know the Vinchen have an almost religious zeal concerning honor,” the commander said. “But the thieves, cutthroats, whores, and traitors hidden away in that place are the worst scum in the empire. They have no honor and deserve none in return. I cannot allow them to think they have won a victory today, however fleeting. We'll keep them pinned down in there until we repair the cannons you disabled last night. By that time they might be so starved, they'll already have killed each other. If not, we'll sweep in and clean up that filthy hall at last.”

“You tell me this and still expect me to cooperate with you?” Hope asked quietly.

The commander chuckled. “You are disarmed and in chains. What could you possibly do?”

A strange roar came from within Gunpowder Hall, like a hundred voices shouting in unison.

“What in God's name was—” began the commander.

Then the door burst open and Red and Nettles charged out, a mass of people behind them. The soldiers had not been expecting a frontal assault and fumbled with their rifles. But Hope knew they would recover before Red and Nettles reached them. It would be a massacre, unless someone stopped them from firing.

“This is what I can do.” She pulled hard on the chain, jerking the horse a little off balance. In the second it took the commander to steady his mount, she jumped up behind him. She pulled her chained hands over his head, pressing her upper arms against the sides of his neck, cutting off part of his airflow as she yanked the reins from his hands. She wheeled the horse back toward the soldiers, and snapped the reins on the horse's neck, sending the animal charging back into the battalion of soldiers. Their shots went wide, and they didn't have time to chamber another round before the people of Paradise Circle crashed into them.

Had the commander been able to speak, he might have kept his troops in line, rallying them to fight off the horde of thieves, cutthroats, whores, and traitors that descended on them. But at that moment, the commander could barely breathe, much less speak. He fought weakly for control of the horse as Hope grabbed the padlock key from his belt. He managed to take hold of the reins, but by then, Hope had opened the padlock. She shook off the chains, grabbed the Song of Sorrows, and pulled them both off the horse. She twisted as they fell so that the commander hit the cobblestones first, and she landed on top of him. She hauled him to his feet, but he had already been knocked unconscious by the fall.

“Hope!” called Red from the other side of the battle. “You okay?”

She smiled as she drew the Song of Sorrows, then she threw herself into the thickest part of the fight. The soldiers were better trained, better disciplined, and better armed, but they were outnumbered and without their commander. They did not run, however, and for that reason, Hope gave each one she confronted a quick and honorable death.

It wasn't long before most of the soldiers lay dead or dying on the cobblestones. That was when Hope saw the man in the white robe standing on the other side of the street. She wiped her blade clean on a nearby soldier's tunic, then walked purposefully toward the hooded figure.

“When I first heard the report of a female Vinchen leading a rebellion at the Three Cups, I thought it a mistake,” the biomancer said with a voice that crackled like fire. His head was bowed so that Hope couldn't see his face. “After all, women are no more allowed to join that order than they are allowed to join mine. But when I heard a second report of a female Vinchen disabling my cannons, I knew I must investigate.” He lifted his head to look directly at her.

It was the biomancer with a burn mark on his cheek. Hope had been so afraid that Big Sig had been wrong, or that there was another biomancer with similar features. But there was no mistake. He was older, the hair beneath his white hood mostly gray. But she knew at a glance that it was the man who had murdered her village.

“Even though I came to find this supposed female Vinchen,” continued the biomancer, “I did not expect her to be wielding the Song of Sorrows. My great-grandfather helped forge it for Manay the True. How is it you come by that blade?”

A cold wave of wrath surged within Hope's body. Through gritted teeth, she said, “This sword was entrusted to me by my teacher, Hurlo the Cunning. And it will be your doom.”

“Perhaps,” said the biomancer. “But not today.”

He snapped his fingers and there was a sudden flash of light. Hope blinked back the spots as she lunged in his direction. But it was too late. Her blade met only emptiness. When her vision cleared, she saw him several blocks away, running away like a coward.

“No!” she snarled, and ran after him.

A Vinchen warrior was balanced in all aspects, at one with his surroundings and at peace with himself. When things became faster on the outside, he became quieter on the inside. He remained in the current moment, undistracted by memories of the past or thoughts of the future.

Bleak Hope was none of those things.

She sprinted after the biomancer, all the buried rage and pain of the past ten years burning through her system like lamp oil set ablaze. She was vaguely aware that a sound somewhere between a growl and a hiss was escaping from between her clenched teeth, but it was nothing compared to the roar of vengeance in her mind. This night she would do it. This night she would be free.

The biomancer led her through winding back alleys and crooked side streets. She wondered if he knew where he was going, or if he was randomly weaving from street to street. He had been smart to get away from the main roads. In these darkening skies, the gas lamps would have starkly illuminated his white hood. But even in those unlit back streets, the white on unrelieved gray mortar and brick was easy to spot. She would lose him for a moment, but a flicker out of the corner of her eye was all she needed to stay on his trail.

Still, it wouldn't be long before the sun was completely down. Then it would be too dark to even pick out white on gray. She needed to catch him before then. She could continue chasing him, hoping he began to tire before the sun set. Or she could try a different tack altogether. Captain Carmichael had once said to her,
Hope, my girl. Sometimes you've headed right into the wind and you make no progress at all. That's when you have to tack from side to side. Some problems are better to come at from an angle.
She needed a different angle now if she was going to cut the distance in time.

She jumped to a narrow awning above a door, then to a window ledge, and finally to the roof. Then, even though every instinct in her cried out to run, she knelt down on the hard wood slats. She closed her eyes and listened. She heard her own breath and heartbeat, fast and hard from exertion and anger.
Beyond that
, she imagined Hurlo saying. She heard the coo of a nearby dove and the scritch of a rat.
And beyond that
, Hurlo would have said. She heard someone opening a window and dumping something liquid. She heard a horse whinny.
Further still
. And there it was. Harsh gasps of breath and the soft leather shoes on cobblestone zigzagging unevenly.

She launched herself across the rooftop, to the next, and the next. He didn't know she had stopped following after him, so while he continued his circuitous route, she headed straight as an arrow to intercept. Six blocks later, she landed in front of him just as he rounded a corner.

He skidded to a halt. “You are as skilled as any Vinchen I have seen. But it will take more than skill to kill me.”

“What is your name, Biomancer?” hissed Hope through clenched teeth.

“Teltho Kan,” he said, looking slightly amused. “If you think to report me to some authority, you are—”

She snapped her sword out so fast, it was nothing more than a flicker. His eyes widened as a trickle of blood ran down from a horizontal line freshly made on his forehead.

“Ten years ago, you massacred the village of Bleak Hope. I am its vengeance.”

Teltho Kan sighed heavily. “Vinchen and their precious vendettas. It couldn't be helped. I was doing important work, developing a new weapon to protect the empire. The parasitic wasp program is one of our most promising—”

“Any emperor who throws away the lives of his people so carelessly is not fit to rule. Now, if you have a weapon, I suggest you draw it. I will grant you every warrior's courtesy, though you deserve none.”

Teltho Kan's eyes were looking increasingly uneasy. He glanced up at the setting sun and said, “Even if you did manage to kill me, you would not last a day. They would hunt you down and kill you by some means too horrible for you to even contemplate.”

“That doesn't matter,” said Hope. And in that moment, it didn't. With the death of Teltho Kan, all debts would be paid, all oaths fulfilled. The idea of a life beyond vengeance was not something worth considering.

Teltho Kan's eyes narrowed. “I see.” He pulled his hands inside his sleeves. “It is a shame you chose to betray the emperor. Despite your gender, you would no doubt have been useful to him. Steadfast determination of this kind is rare. But I'm afraid I must deny you your life's ambition.”

He stretched out his hands, which were as burn-scarred as his face. A silver bracelet on each wrist gleamed in the fading light of the sun.

Hope raised her sword, unsure what biomancery he had planned.

But instead of attacking, he brought his wrists together sharply so that the bracelets gave a muted chime. The sound of the chime grew, and his hands and face began to shimmer. Hope thrust the Song of Sorrows into his chest, but it was too late. He was gone, leaving only the empty white robe, which now hung limply on the end of her sword. She stood there for a moment, staring dumbly at it. She had been close. If she had simply killed him on sight, it would all be over. But she had insisted on a warrior's courtesy: knowing his name, declaring her intention, and giving him a chance to fight, just as Hurlo taught her. Now she was back to the beginning, not even knowing his location. Worse, he knew she was after him now, and would no doubt be far more cautious.

She suddenly felt so heavy, so sick, and so tired. Even her sword felt heavy in her hands. She let the tip droop so that the robe slid off and fell to the cobblestones. It felt like the earth was pulling her down. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head until her chin touched her chest. The final light of the sun cast everything in sharp relief. The sounds of the city buzzed all around her, but in this empty alley, there was nothing. No light, no sound. No hope.

She looked down at the Song of Sorrows, gleaming even in the dim twilight, a small line of Teltho Kan's blood where she had nicked him along the edge. She had failed. She was not worthy of this blade or this life. She turned the sword so that the point faced her. She placed the pommel against the cobblestones, and set the point to her breastbone over her heart. She may not be truly a Vinchen, but she could die a Vinchen death.

“Never did knock you for a quitter,” said Red.

She looked up and saw him, arms folded, leaning against the wall. His attitude and voice were casual, playful even. But his eyes were crimson steel.