Rojan Dizon 03 - Last to Rise (20 page)

“The cardinals would have a collective shit-fit at the thought of anyone from Under having a gun, so they’re having to rely on Specials and guards, whatever weak-chinned wonders they can dredge up from Over and anyone from Under who’s volunteered to be part of a meat shield without weapons. It’s not enough – it’s not going to be anywhere
near
enough. The Archdeacon can’t get around the cardinals. Not officially. But we can. Because I just happen to know where the last lot of guns are. I suspect one or two of you know as well. Factory Three.”

A few eyes lit up at that, and I made a mental note to keep an eye on those particular men, but most of them looked thoughtful. One of the bigger guys – belatedly I realised it was Cabe’s father, Quillan – said, “And when we have guns, what are we going to do with them?”

“Shoot a few cardinals and priests,” someone muttered, adding hurriedly when Guinto looked like he was about to faint, “Present company excepted, of course.”

It was hard to disagree with him, mainly because I felt much the same.

“Maybe later,” I said, to Guinto’s gasping shock. “After we’ve survived this, if we survive, then things are going to be different I think. They sure as shit will be if I have anything to do with it. But first – you’ve all got family down here, right? Where will they go when the Storad come? How will they hide? They can’t. The Storad will make for Top of the World if they’re sensible.” I neglected to mention Allit’s magic, because that would be a stupid move on my part. It was bad enough Quillan knew what I was, and I could only hope he kept that quiet. “But they won’t stay there. Once they’re done with the Ministry, where do you think they’ll go next? Maybe they won’t wait for that, maybe they’ll be down here at the same time they aim for up there. One thing’s for certain: they want rid of Mahala, in her entirety. They want us gone, so they don’t have to depend on us for trade, so they can start selling their own machines, so we won’t have a stranglehold on them any more. They’ll either come down here and scour us out, or just wait till we starve to death. So, if I give you a gun, what are you going to do with it?”

The guy who’d said shoot cardinals piped up. “Shoot some Storad. We can screw with the Ministry later. All right. But Factory Three – that’s sewn up tighter than a gnat’s arse. None of us managed to get a working gig there; it’s all Ministry. How do we get the guns?”

I grinned at him, and pulled out the chit that Perak had given me.
I authorise the bearer to requisition any equipment that he sees fit
,
followed by Perak’s signature and the official archdeacon’s seal.

Quillan laughed, and all of a sudden I had my own little army. Better than any Specials or guards, because these were men from Under, used to fighting their way through all the shit life down here had to offer.

Getting the guns and bullets, given Perak’s back-handed assistance, didn’t prove to be too much of a problem. Controlling my army did. It was like trying to herd cats.

The factory workers weren’t too bad – they were mostly honest, mostly not too bloodthirsty and mostly sane. Quillan seemed to be their natural leader, so I let him. The rest – well, let’s just say I kept my back to a wall as much as I could. But if they were scaring me, I was hoping they’d scare the Storad too.

All in all, we were about thirty men, two guns apiece, which would make it easier because reloading was a pain. I didn’t want anyone to pay too much attention to us, not until we were ready, so I had them all drift up towards the Buzz in ones and twos.

“What’s the plan?” Quillan had asked. He hadn’t said anything about me being a mage, I noted.

“Pretty simple really.” Mainly because I was making it up as I went along, but no point mentioning that. “We stick to where we know, what we know. Round the Buzz. If – no,
when –
the Storad make it past the men holding what’s left of the gates, we hold them off from Under. Make it not worth their while. Send them up.”

“Then what? Once they’ve fucked over Ministry, we’ll still be in for a load of shit.”

“Don’t you worry about that. The Archdeacon has a plan for Top of the World.” I had no intention of revealing the fact I had no idea what the plan actually was. “Maybe it’ll work, and maybe it won’t. Either way, we need to stop the Storad getting into Under. Even if it’s only until we can get as many people out of the Mishan gate as possible. By sheer force if we have to, because we’ve got some firepower now and the Mishans don’t, and a gun in the face concentrates the mind wonderfully. The longer we can stop the Storad, the more people can get out. We’ll be a shield, but a shield with guns. Agreed?”

“I don’t like that part so much,” he said. “Just a meat shield.”

“If it comes to that, we’re pretty much screwed anyway. But it won’t come to that. I’m hoping we can beat the living snot out of them instead.” If it did come down to that, to just being a shield while everyone got out of town, then I was going to give in to the black and blow the hell out of everything I could reach. Because if it came to that, I was as good as dead anyway, we all were. Naturally I didn’t say that – admitting to being a mage was still a tricky business that might well end up with my head on a stick and, while Quillan knew, I didn’t want the rest of them in on my dirty little secret.

“Thirty men with guns though – how’s that going to be enough?” he asked.

“It isn’t. Which is why, on your way up, you are all going to find a few good men you can trust and bring them with you. Make sure they bring whatever weapons they can find. And when we get there, we are not going to be out in the open, because that would be stupid. I’ll meet you there.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Find some friends. I hope.”

While they were dredging up likely-looking mates to help out, I was pretty busy myself. Now that I had at least the beginnings of a plan, I had all the energy I needed. First I checked with Halina, and she was right where I’d said we’d meet, along with a small phalanx of Stenchers and some suspiciously smelly barrels. I got them going to where I thought we’d need them, and was comforted by the truly evil grin that Halina was wearing.

“You’ve no idea how often we’ve dreamed of doing something like this,” she said.

I then took the time to slip to Erlat’s house, only to find it in chaos. I managed to grab Kersan as he bustled past me, his arms full of various little gewgaws. I didn’t even need to say anything before he jerked his head in the direction of Erlat’s rooms and scuttled off.

Her room was stripped almost bare, with her at the centre, surrounded by all the others – not all working girls, because Erlat’s place wasn’t just a brothel but a safe-house too. The younger kids, refugees from the pain factories that I’d destroyed in the ’Pit, ran around picking up anything that was valuable and stuffing it into sacks.

Erlat talked rapidly to two of the oldest women, who still probably weren’t over twenty. She held out something that glittered gold and ruby. “Look, this should be enough, don’t you think? It’s worth more than anything else in the place, and with everything else you should have a chance. You buy your way through, and remember what I taught you – when you get there, you don’t let any man run your business. You do the work, you pick your customers, you run yourselves. The Mishans are easy enough to please, from what I’ve seen of them. Just keep safe, and together, OK? Hopefully you can all come back when it’s over.”

“If you’re not going, I don’t see why we should,” one of the women snapped back. “And who says there’ll be a city to come back to? Or anyone in it? Erlat, please, you come too. If it’s not safe for us, it’s not safe for you.”

Erlat caught my eye, just for a heartbeat, before she turned back. “I’m staying, but I can’t ask you to stay with me. The younger ones… Someone has to get them out, if we can, and someone needs to look out for them once they’re out. Please.”

The women went off, muttering about “buggered if I’m going if she’s not”. Erlat turned her polished smile on me. “Rojan, a pleasure as always. I’m afraid you find us in a moment of disarray.”

I looked around to where a boy a year or two younger than Kersan was rolling up Erlat’s favourite rug, while another took a nicely done oil painting off the wall. Within moments, pretty much all that was left was me, Erlat, the bath and the bed.

She noticed me noticing and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Tempting, but maybe now isn’t the time?”

“Coward.” She dropped the teasing and became serious, as serious perhaps as I’d ever seen her. Another crack in the diamond facet. “They’re going to win, aren’t they?” and then, before I could say anything, “No, don’t answer that. Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be out saving the world? Or at least this bit of it?”

There were a lot of things I could have said to that, but they would have been uncomfortably close to the truth so instead I said, “Why aren’t you going with the rest of the house? Do you think they can get through?”

A brittle smile that baffled me. “Because I’m not, and nor are some of the others. Probably for the same reason you’re not heading that way yourself. And because I have some very wealthy clients who have been very generous, so I can afford to get some of us out. Not to mention some of my girls have been down that Mishan gate every day for the last week, softening up the captain. He’s got a real thing for one of them by now and his sergeant is a sucker for a pretty face. Add in a few little trifles worth a month or two of a captain’s salary, and the fact I’m sure you can guess who entertained the Mishan diplomats when they were here, and of course my special friend, the Mishan liaison. When we entertain, men don’t forget us easily. Which you’d know if you ever let me entertain you. I’d say they’ve got a good chance. Better than ours.”

I knew better than to ask again why she wasn’t going. Exhaustion fuddled my brain, made me struggle to think why I was here – I’d come to tell her something. Only now, even here the black was with me. The black never got me at Erlat’s, but this wasn’t her house any more. This was a room with her in it. I blinked and the world seemed to shift around me. I blinked again and I was sitting on the bed, shadows dancing in all the corners, and not just shadows either – the darkness growled and showed me its teeth.

“You can’t stay here,” I said at last to the wavering face in front of me. “Storad will be through any time. You should all go, now.”

“Rojan —”

“Even if you don’t go to the gate, get out, you have to move. I mean it. Go to the lab, or something. It’s pretty safe there, I think, locked up tight – Perak had it reinforced when he found out your Mishan friend wanted Lise. It’s a damn sight safer than here will be. They’ve got guns; Lise has booby-trapped the whole place. Dench knows where it is, so they might try for it, but if all else fails, Lise can blow it and them sky-high.”

Erlat put a soft hand on my arm and the shadows receded back to where they should be, out of my head so that I could think clearly again. Something – no, some
one
– I should have been thinking of, and hadn’t, hadn’t dared to because to think of her meant to face my own shortcomings. I didn’t have a lot of choice though, because my shortcomings were scattered at my feet like snow.

“Jake, is she…” I almost said, “Is she all right?”, but that was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t, but I needed to know that she was, well, not all right, but going to be. I owed that much to Pasha. That and not taking advantage of the fact he wasn’t around. Only now, now it came to it, that was the last thing I was going to be doing. Maybe I was finally growing up.

Erlat shook her head ruefully, as though I was some little kid who just couldn’t quite grasp how to tie his bootlaces. “She’s back on duty, up with Perak. What else has she got now? She needs something to keep her mind away, help her lock it all down. Once she had the matches to do that, but now she has this. She blames herself, of course. If it hadn’t been for – No, that’s not for me to say. But she won’t show a damned thing if she can help it, not even to me.”

“Blames herself? But —”

A soft knock at the door, as though the knocker was ashamed of interrupting.

“I thought you’d be here.” Guinto came in, a flush creeping up his neck because here he was, a good and pious priest, in a brothel. Or what had been a brothel – there wasn’t much left by now.

“Look, if you aren’t going to the gate with the rest, get to the lab. The Storad will be through here anytime. Please, Erlat?”

I waited for the lash of her words, about how she didn’t need big old me to protect her, but she winked at Guinto, making him blush worse than I had, and said, “Maybe, we’ll see. I do have a gun of my own, you know. I suppose you’re off to save the world now?”

Funny how all the time she talked to me, had her soft hand on my arm, the black buggered off. No quiet voice in my head, no sing-song temptation. It meant I could fool myself into thinking she was right, and that made me grin. “Maybe. Not sure it’s worth saving.”

She laughed – my reward – and squeezed my arm. “No, perhaps not, but you’re going to try.” She laughed again, all teasing like she used to, fear pushed back for now. I never knew how she managed to chase the fear away, for both of us. She rolled her eyes and winked at Guinto again, a slow seductive flick of her eyelid that had him blushing fit to burst. “My heroes.”

And that thought kept me warm, kept the black at a safe distance, right up until we hit the snow-streaked streets of the Buzz.

We gathered in the Buzz outside one of the fake-shabby bars that was now boarded up and looking lonely in the dark – almost all the Glow lamps had faded, with power being diverted to other things. Moonlight made it down here intermittently, slicing over the top of Trade and through a few gaps in Heights. We were close enough to Over, to real true sky, for that, though clouds massed over the pass and after a short time the moon dipped behind them, the wind picked up and it began to snow again. It looked like it meant business this time – not small, bitty flakes all ready to melt at the hint of settling but big, fat dollops that feathered over every surface and stuck there as though they meant to hold out for eternity.

We’d lost two men on the way – they faded out of sight and off into the dark of Under, and I could only hope like crazy I hadn’t just unleashed a wave of terror and mugging, aided and abetted by free guns. But we’d gained a load more: factory workers, pimps, gang members, call-girls and street walkers, shop owners, housewives, bouncers who came prepared with brass knuckles and faces so scarred from impromptu glass fights that only their mother could love them. All sorts, more than four hundred all told, and more came in dribs and drabs behind them as word got out. All men and women from Under. All looking a mixture of grimly determined and nervous.

They all rise.

I shivered in the bone-aching cold, and not for the last time I wished Pasha was there too. To rummage in the heads of all these men from Under I’d given guns to, find out what they were thinking. More importantly just to be there, and tell me whether I was being a stupid dick. Yet I had the feeling he’d approve of this – I was going a bit lion, and I think it would have tickled him.

The square was utterly silent, the few scuffles and murmurs stifled by the thickening snow that made it hard to see the whorehouse opposite or even much of the man or woman next to you – Quillan was a dark shape beside me, outlined in melting snow but with his face obscured.

Here it was silent, but vague, disturbing sounds of fighting drifted over from the inner gates. Muffled shots, screams. The rank smell of burning people. An ominous thud that sounded like the gates of hell had just opened.

We grouped together, more or less. In the murk it looked like whole gangs had turned up, and they kept themselves apart. For the best, probably, or they’d have turned on each other way before the Storad could get us.

No one said anything – there wasn’t anything to say except the few murmured prayers that hung in the air like a bad smell. All we could do was wait and, in my case, try not to think too hard about not being able to use my magic, about how I would anyway if I had the guts. How I’d probably end up going batshit and blowing myself and part of the city up if I did. About Pasha and Jake and a hundred other regrets, like how I had the stupidest feeling I should have said more to Erlat, though I didn’t know what. I only knew I probably wasn’t going to get another chance.

Another thud, even more ominous than the first, and the sound of Storad flamers hissed through the air.

“I hope Cabe’s all right up there. Sent my other kids down to the Mishan gate,” Quillan said. “You think… think they might get through? I mean, that’s why most of us are here. To give them enough time to get through, if they can.”

What the hell do you say to that? “I think they’re as screwed as we are”? That they probably didn’t have a hope in hell unless he was a lot richer than he looked? Even I’m not that hard-hearted, so I lied through my teeth.

“Cabe will be fine – the lab is the safest place in Mahala right now. And the rest —” Another lie: “They’ll get through. I don’t think even the Mishans would turn away the thousands of refugees they’re going to get, not if it was that or let them die – especially if they can make money off them. The Mishans might fleece everyone, but at least they’ll still be alive.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say, which didn’t make me feel any better about lying to him. Quillan hefted his gun and gave a determined nod. A few others who’d listened in looked much the same.

I’d picked here for a reason. The inner gates weren’t far away, and anyone coming through had two choices which way to go. Straight on to the Spine which spiralled its way from Top of the World right down to Boundary, and which I knew from listening in to Perak and Malaki was filled with as many men as he’d thought he could spare. The men at the gates would fall back to the Spine in the event of the gates failing, and hope the Storad followed them. Then they might go down, but I doubted it. If they did, we could be there in moments across a handful of walkways. But I didn’t think they would – what was there Under for them? Instead, I thought they aimed to control the Spine from there on up. Whoever controlled that area controlled the city, and from there it would be a matter of working their way to Top of the World like Allit had seen, and then the city was theirs.

The other way from the gates led directly to the Buzz, to this junction overlooked by bars and whorehouses, gambling dens and shops which in better times could have sold you all you could dream of, and a few things you couldn’t. Malaki had been of the opinion that the Storad wouldn’t bother coming this way, not at first. Maybe he was right – I figured they would want to block it off at the least – but if they didn’t come I had ways of making them, at least some of them, or we could move forward and block them off, corner them between two forces, the guards in front and us behind. Halina and I hadn’t planned any further than that because once people start moving, start making weird and crazy-arsed decisions, plans go out of the window.

A signal from Halina, who I’d had stand on a walkway by the top of the plushest whorehouse in town, right at the point where the Storad would make their choice on which way to go. The signal was that the Storad had split, and some were coming our way. Every man and woman tensed, and whispered prayers to the Goddess filtered into the silence. I almost wished I believed so that I could pray too, told myself not to be so stupid and said a prayer to Namrat instead. Even I believe in death. My prayer went
Fuck off, you furry bastard, you aren’t eating me today.
I can’t say I put a whole lot of faith in it, but it helped a bit.

The first of the Storad inched into the faint light from a last lonely Glow at the end of the street. He was big and mean-looking, with a face the colour of curdled milk and hair so dark it dissolved into the shadows around him. Fluttering snow alternately hid and revealed him, making him seem almost imaginary. Bits of metal armour jangled and clanked as he moved – he was real enough. I gripped my gun so hard I almost cracked a knuckle as he crept forward, more and more Storad appearing behind him. Crap, there seemed like a whole battalion of them, watchful and wary, trying to peer into every crevice. They looked like they did this every day of the week, whereas all I had were people who merely tried to stay alive on any given day. I wondered who had the edge in that contest, and then realised I was about to find out.

I waited till I couldn’t wait any longer then signalled to the walkways that criss-crossed the little square.

There’s one thing about living in a city like Mahala, one that grows more upwards than it does outwards. It gives you a real sense of the possibilities of threats from above and below as well as those on your level – the ever-present threat of being mugged from overhead will do wonders for that. Something these Storad were about to find out.

A series of wild, blood-curdling screams echoed round the square and something very like heavy rain poured down over the Storad. Very like rain in that it was wet, but not like it at all because rain doesn’t usually stink that badly, or have lumps in it. The Stenchers kept on whooping and pouring the contents of their reeking vats to the last drop, leaving Storad blind, choking and probably unable to work out which way was up as several were knocked from their feet by the deluge. It was suddenly slippery underfoot, and getting back up seemed to pose them a few problems. If I hadn’t been so stomach-clenchingly scared, I’d have laughed till I had no breath left.

As it was, I pulled the gun and as one man we leapt into the fray.

The thing about episodes like that is you can never remember them clearly. That battle flashes across my mind in a series of moving portraits with occasional thoughts as a running commentary. The only things those flashes share are the stench of shit and the gentle fall of snow.

I recall pulling my gun and hoping I didn’t need to use it, all while knowing I was going to have to. I kept groping for my pulse pistol on instinct, then remembering: no magic, not if I wanted to stay sane and alive, no matter that the black was whispering to me, the shadowy tiger was stalking across the snow-ridden square, the throb of my hand was filling me up with juice I couldn’t afford to spend.

A Storad turned his flamer my way, snow hissing and popping from the heat, and I only just got away in time – half my jacket went up in flames and I had to roll to put the fire out before I started burning too. Rolling in a mixture of snow and shit isn’t pleasant, you can trust me on this, but at least I wasn’t burning any more.

Halina acquitted herself far better than I did – she didn’t seem to give a steaming pile of what she’d just dumped on the Storad who knew she was a mage. Her wild laugh punctuated the gloom like lightning as she used her magic to pick up Storad and bash them into other Storad, to lob the now-empty barrels down an alley to bowl over men and just generally cause mayhem. She hovered above us, just out of range of the flamers and hard to see in the swirl of snow, and seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. I wished I was.

Gunshots went off all around, the flash of the muzzles searingly bright in the darkness, the sound of the shots deafening, echoing round and round the square, over and through each other till I thought I’d happily go deaf. Other noises – thuds, screams, gurgles. Men and women with no guns doing what they could with what they had. I can clearly recall a man whose ancestors must have been butchers, back when we had animals to slaughter, because he was brandishing two old and rusted meat cleavers like he was Namrat and they were his teeth. Others used kitchen knives or rough clubs made out of whatever they’d had to hand. Swear to the Goddess, I saw a man take out two Storad from behind with a chair leg. It snapped across the back of the head of the first, and then the man used the jagged end to stab the next in the side of the neck.

No one gave a shit who was Downsider and who was Upsider: it was us, Mahalians, against Storad and that was all that mattered. I like to think maybe, after all this, they’ll remember that: that when it came to it, when they had to, they fought together and battered the crap out of a common enemy. I don’t hold out much hope, but I have some.

But my clearest memory – I hesitate to think on it even now. My clearest memory is when I knowingly killed a man for the first time. I’d let off wild shots before, down at the gates, but apart from one lucky shot to the shoulder, had never known whether they’d hit. I’d once left a man – my father – knowing that if I did he’d die. But never like this. I’d never knowingly shoved a gun in a guy’s face and pulled the trigger.
How far would you go?

He came at me with a flamer and I had nowhere left to turn, nowhere left to run, stuck in a corner between the bar and a neighbouring shop. Even with the heat of the flames singeing my eyebrows I hesitated, but instinct, craven self-preservation took over. I raised the gun, shut my eyes and shot him. A messy wound in the side of his head when I opened my eyes again, surprised I was still in one piece. It didn’t kill him straight away, oh no. He had time to stare at me with an almost comical look of surprise before he slid to the ground and bled his life out into the snow and shit. And all I could think was,
Why does death have to be so
stupid
?

I didn’t think it for long, because there was always another Storad with a gun or a flamer, so I fumbled another bullet into the gun and on we went. The battle – if you could call it that, it was more a protracted brawl with added guns – seemed to last a lifetime, but I don’t suppose it was more than fifteen minutes before the square was quiet. Or quieter at least – plenty of moans from the wounded, the occasional scream as someone set a bone or finished somebody off. Bodies all over, slumped and humped shapes on the ground, snow falling again now to cover them over decently, like shrouds. Mostly Storad bodies, but a fair few of ours. I couldn’t seem to think, except,
They all rise
. For good or ill, we were rising. All I could do was stare through the whispering snow.

I was still staring when a man ran into the square. He almost got a face full of bullets, but he stopped with his hands up and a startled look and I recognised the Specials uniform. So did everyone else, and the sound of multiple guns being cocked echoed around us.

“Wait!” the Special said, and they did, thankfully. “On the Spine. They’re… too many of them. We’re getting massacred. The Archdeacon ordered me to come and find you. Please.”

Funny, how human he looked. Specials had always seemed so, well, untouchable, imperturbable, like nothing could shake them if they didn’t want to be shaken. That was part of why they scared the crap out of everyone – they, and the fear they inspired, were the rock we were built on. But this one, the tone of pleading in his voice, the sweat and blood drying in his hair, the wild stare of his eyes – he was a man first. The rest saw it too. They didn’t see the uniform, or at least didn’t let it blind them to the fact that the man wearing it was desperate. Or most of them didn’t.

“Why should we help you?” a voice growled out. “Who cares if Top of the World goes? I might even give them a hand.”

“Wait a minute,” someone else said behind me. “How does the Archdeacon know where we are and what we’re doing?”

All heads turned to me. They didn’t look very happy, so I tried a grin that probably came out sickly and weak.