Shadow's Son (36 page)

"Nothing out there," she reported. "There's some skirmishing over in
the next block, but it seems to be moving away from this part of town. The
worst is down by the docks. I think someone set fire to the city granaries."

"That should keep the tinmen busy," he murmured under his breath.

"I don't know. The harbor is out of control. I didn't see any soldiers.
Not any live ones, at least."

Mother brought over his drink and set it on the table. "Don't know if
you'll want to be finding Hubert just now, Caim. He wasn't in his right
mind when he left, if you take my meaning."

"No, I don't. What happened?"

She rubbed a hand over her prominent bosom. "Well, 'tisn't for me to
say, but you got a right to know what you're walking into."

The front door banged open. All conversation ceased as three men
entered. Caim almost didn't recognize the young man in their midst.
Bloodstains marred Hubert's once-fine clothes, and his hat was missing. By the gore slimed on its hilt, the rapier strapped to his hip had seen some
use this night. The young nobleman's gaze had a strange cast as it swept
through the taproom. When it settled on Caim, a vicious smile twisted
Hubert's bruised lips.

"Mother," he said, "we have a hero among us. Set this man up with
another drink on me."

Hubert's words were slurred, but there was an unmistakable air of
menace behind them as he came over to Calm's table, followed by a pair
of thick-shouldered goons.

"I'm not here to drink, Hubert. I came looking for your help."

Hubert plopped down in a chair. His bodyguards, or whatever they
were, watched the room.

"My help? I'm a little busy right now, Caim. Tonight is the moment
of our grand coup. We've got the Reds on the run, but you already know
that, don't you? You paved the way, so to speak."

"What are you talking about, Hubert?"

Hubert laughed, a dry sound devoid of humor. "Playing the innocent,
Caim? There's no need, I assure you. You can take full credit for my father.
He was, after all, a tyrant at heart."

Caim had a sinking suspicion he knew the answer, but asked anyway.
"What about him?"

"He's dead, Caim. Someone entered his rooms at the palace last night
and killed him. Then they took his head. A bit macabre of you, but it was
a nice touch."

Caim remembered Mathias lying in his bed with his heart cut out.
What had Ral said at the Golden Wheel? Something about taking matters into his own hands. Vassili must have been Ral's secret patron. It
made sense. With the backing of a Council member, Ral would have felt
untouchable. But at some point, he'd decided he didn't need the archpriest. So he'd devised his own plans, which somehow involved Josey. It
might already be too late. She could be dead. The thought ricocheted
inside Calm's head, dashing all his thoughts to pieces. He took a deep
breath. He had to remain in control. That was the only way to save her.

"And you think I had something to with it?"

Hubert leaned forward until their faces were inches apart. The reek of
whiskey hit Caim like a punch to the jaw.

"You're Caim the Knife, slayer of the corrupt and powerful. But my
father wasn't some goddamned monster. He did this city a lot of good."

"So good his own son was out to unseat him?"

"You don't know anything about it!" Hubert slammed his fists on the
tabletop.

The other patrons huddled closer around the hearth while Hubert's
bodyguards inched forward.

Kit materialized behind the bravos. "You better do something,
Caim. These guys are carrying a lot of hardware."

Caim slouched back in his seat. He had never seen Hubert like this.
The young man seemed on the verge of a maniacal rage.

"Listen to me, Hubert. I didn't kill your father, or any of the other
Elector Councilors. That was Ral. He's working with someone, a foreigner. They're plotting to take over the government.
They
killed the
archpriest."

Hubert sneered across the table. "A pretty tale, but there's no need to
deny it. You've done us all a great service."

"I was out of the city taking Josey somewhere safe, or that I thought
was safe."

"Ah, yes. The conspirator's daughter and her faithful knight in
shining armor."

Hubert reached for the cup on the table, and
Caim caught the young
man's wrist in a hard grip. "That's enough."

Hubert's reddened eyes stabbed at
Caim. Then his features crumbled
into a ruin of misery. "Why did they have to butcher him like that? I
know he could be a hard man, even cruel sometimes, but they had no
right ..

Caim released Hubert. He sympathized, but his insides were ice. "The
people responsible are the same ones I'm after. They took Josey and now
they're holed up in the palace with a battalion of tinmen."

Hubert wiped his face with a coat sleeve. "What are you going to do?"

"Storm the palace and get her back."

"Really?" Kit blurted. "That's your plan?"

Caim clamped his jaws together to keep from yelling for her to keep
quiet. "What about you?" he asked Hubert.

"I've been rousing the people. We already control most of Low Town. We could use your help, but it sounds like you've got enough on your
plate."

"We could work together."

Hubert looked more like his old self now. He sat up straighter in the
chair and even managed a backhanded brush down each of his coat sleeves.

"How?"

"You might control Low Town, but the Brotherhood still holds everything above the Processional. You'll never take High Town with a rabble of
shopkeeps and stevedores, so don't even try Go straight to Celestial Hill."

"What will that accomplish?"

"We'll cut off the head of the beast. With Ral and his lieutenants out
of the way, there'll be no one to coordinate their soldiers. Once we control
the palace, the city will fall to us by default."

"That's a big risk. My father died taking a chance like that."

Caim drew his knives and set them on the table. The bodyguards
shifted, but kept their distance.

"You're not your father, Hubert. Prove it tonight. Help me save Josey
and put down this menace for good. She's the heir to the old emperor. We
found the documents to prove it. She's royalty"

"Royalty, eh? Well, she certainly acted the part. But why should my
people risk their lives just to trade one tyrant for another?"

"Because she's not her father either. She's what this country needs to
knit itself back together. You always talk about a return to the old ways.
This is your chance to prove it. This could either be Nimea's last night as
a unified realm, or the beginning of a better life for us all."

Hubert eyed the blades, and then nodded. "I'm in. What do you want
me to do?"

Caim smiled across the table. "I've got a plan."

ain pelted
Caim as he crouched in the half-finished bell tower
of the new cathedral. The wind howled in his ears. Rain
pounded on the stone roof. No stars shined this night, and no moon, only
a screen of tumultuous storm clouds stretched across the city.

A good night for killing.

High Town spread below him in a carpet of gray and black. Celestial
Hill rose against the sky like a great wave. Lightning flashed, and the
bleached shoals of white rooftops appeared before the night washed back
over the city. Flames flickered along the Celestial's broad avenues, where
a thousand plebeians struggled against the city militias. True to his word,
young Vassili had assembled an army: milliners and bakers, porters and
servants armed with all manner of weapons, from torches and lengths of
raw timber to pikes stolen from slain tinmen.

Their goal was the Luccian Palace, sprawled atop Celestial like a
crowning jewel, surrounded by concentric walls with watchtowers and massive barbicans. Hubert's spies reported Ral had withdrawn all of his pet soldiers inside in anticipation of a siege. Exactly what Caim wanted him to do.

"They're almost in position," Kit said. "Hubert says he doesn't expect
much resistance."

The rain was freezing cold, but Caim paid it no mind. "They'll fight
back. They don't have any choice."

"It's really burning out of control."

Caim turned his head. Billows of ugly black smoke shrouded the boroughs of Low Town. Fire had claimed entire blocks, devouring homes,
storefronts, and public buildings in its wrath. The rain was the only thing
keeping the blazes contained, but many would die before morning. More
would die if his plan didn't succeed.

Hubert's people had finally reached the palace gates. The young
nobleman was a tiny figure striding at their head, his sword flashing in
the torchlight. His assault got a reaction. Like a kicked anthill, masses of
soldiers rushed to defend the walls. Arrows filled the air and men spilled
their lives into the overflowing gutters.

Caim descended from the tower. He had seen enough. Hubert was
buying him the window of opportunity he needed. Kit floated beside him
as he dropped to the cathedral's marshy grounds and started up the
winding boulevards to Celestial Hill. Within minutes they reached the
outer wall of the palace at a spot well away from the fighting. Caim had
already scouted his entry point. The stone of this section of wall was riddled with cracks and creeping vegetation that created convenient handholds. He took his time and made sure each hold was firm before trusting
his weight to it. At the top, he crawled over the smooth apex and dropped
down the other side.

Caim paused at the foot of the wall. A manicured lawn extended toward
his next obstacle, the forty-foot interior wall of the palace. Beautiful gardens
filled the space between, adorned with delicate flower trees and swollen
streams. The sweet fragrances of lilac and oleander lingered in the damp air.
Caim passed through the luxurious grounds without a second glance.

Kit spotted the first sentry under the branches of a redbud tree. Caim
squatted behind a hedge of flowery bushes and watched. The soldier was
looking toward the palace gatehouse, possibly waiting for his relief. Every
few moments he blew into his hands and rubbed them together, his spear
propped against the tree trunk.

While he watched, Caim thought about Kas, lying dead in his cabin,
blood seeping from gouges in his torso. The old man hadn't asked for
trouble, but it had come to his door nonetheless, garbed in the Church's
flimsy excuse for the law. Caim imagined Josey as she was stripped naked
and dragged away, cursing him for leaving her alone. An image of a
corpse-strewn courtyard formed in his mind.

Moments dripped by like the falling rain, and all the while Calm's
anger burned hotter, a smoldering coal in the pit of his stomach fueled by
recrimination. He had been fooling himself. He'd only ever been good at
one thing his entire life. It was time he went back to it and forgot about
being the hero.

With images of Josey gnawing at his mind, he got up and started
toward the tree. He kept low and worked his way around behind the
sentry. He could pass by, unseen, but tonight wasn't a time for taking
chances.

As he moved into position, Caim found not a knife in his hands, but
the leather cord from Josey's necklace, wrapped around his palms with a
foot of length stretched between. He clenched the key amulet in his fist
as he stole up behind the sentry. His heart beat harder. He had never
strangled anyone before; some stray dogs, years ago when he had been
living on the streets and it had been kill or starve to death, but never a
man. He supposed it was all the same.

Then, the moment was upon him. Caim slipped the cord around the
guard's neck and pulled tight. His arms were nearly wrenched from their
sockets as the man lurched forward. The guard kicked and grunted like a
wild animal. Caim slammed a knee into his back and hung on. If not for
the key, which Caim gripped like a garrote handle, the cord would have
been ripped from him. As it was, the loops of leather sawed into his left
hand until he started to fear he might lose the fingers.

The sentry stumbled to the wet grass and Caim kept up his hold, and
it was a lucky thing because his victim fought for a good long time. Minutes passed before the guard was still. Caim stood up, a little shaky. His
hands and wrists ached like he'd been wrestling a bear. As he unwound
the cord from his stiff fingers, a flicker of lightning lit up the gardens and
he got a glimpse of his victim's face. It was a sight he could have done
without. The man's features had turned an ugly shade of purple. His
tongue lolled from his mouth like a swollen red worm, his eyes open wide.
Worse, he was a kid, maybe seventeen at most.

Calm's gaze fell to the crimson surcoat covering the youth's armor.
Not a kid. A soldier. An enemy.
Older than I was when I chose my path.
He wrapped the cord around his wrist again.

After hiding the body in a clump of tall fronds, Caim continued
onward. Another fifty paces brought him to the foot of the inner wall. No
sign of additional sentries. He ran a hand across the granite facing, too
smooth to climb and too hard for pitons. From around his waist he uncoiled
ten fathoms of braided silk cord, a gift from one of Hubert's contacts.