The Chronicles of Elantra 6 - Cast in Chaos (7 page)

“A large one, dear. Sergeant Kassan is here.”

Ironjaw’s eyes were orange, and he was bristling. He was not, however, angry at Kaylin, and even if he were, she was well out of reach. “You said you were at Lattimar and Gorran?”

She nodded. “It was at Lattimar and Gorran that the rain went…strange, sir.”

“Get your butt back outside and see whether or not there’s a clear line of so-called strange.”

“People are running around screaming in total panic.”

Eyebrows rose; the tufts of Leontine ears were standing on end. “The Swords are already out in the streets, Private. It’s covered. Now get out there and get me some
useful
information.”

There was a clear line of so-called strange, a point at which blood gave way to water. It wasn’t instant, but the blur between the two could be seen both on the ground and in the air itself. They had followed Lattimar past Gorran, heading toward the wall, and when they found the five yards of blur, Kaylin actually muttered what she hoped sounded like thanks to any possible deity who might be eavesdropping.

It was wet, and the rain was cold; the blood-rain wasn’t, but in this case, Kaylin was willing to settle for cold. While the rain lasted, Kaylin and Severn followed its line, and marked the streets where clear water gave way to red fluid. Neither of them had the means to take more than a very small sample of this altered rain, if you didn’t count what could be wrung out of their clothing.

They didn’t manage to trace the periphery of the area, which seemed to be roughly circular in shape, before the rain petered out. It was perhaps the only time she could think of that she cursed lack of rain—and in two languages, at that. But they’d circled a large enough part of the city, sans carriage, before they made their way back to the Halls.

There were guards at the doors, which wasn’t unusual—even in the midnight hours, these doors were manned. But these guards had clearly not only seen the effects of the rain; they’d also been standing in it. They didn’t even lift a brow at the reddened mess that was Kaylin’s clothing. Nor did they engage in anything like small talk; they were silent in that grim, worried way, and they waved both Hawks through the unlocked doors.

The Aerie was as crowded as it was during training maneuvers, and Kaylin glimpsed familiar wings in the artificial light that radiated down from the heights. Aerian shadows looked a lot like giant fish against the stone floors, and she watched them—briefly—before Severn tapped her shoulder.

“Sorry,” she told him, as she picked up her walking speed.

The office was not, as one would expect at this time of the day, empty. But the foul temper the orders from on high had caused had dissipated the way it always did when there was a distinct and obvious emergency. If people weren’t thrilled to be there—and judging from some expressions, they weren’t—they were awake and focused.

They were all also, almost to a man—and one shockingly matted Leontine—in various shades of red. Patches of dried blood lay across the office floor, making a visible track between desks and mirrors; it looked as if Marcus had gone berserk.

“Private!”

Speaking of berserk… Kaylin headed straight to the Sergeant’s desk, and stood at attention, which was hard because he looked like a drowned cat. But huge. “Reporting in, Sir.”

“Well?”

“We have some street coordinates. We gathered the information we could before the rain stopped.”

He turned and shouted at the mirror closest to his desk, not that it mattered much; all of the office mirrors were alive. The window, sadly, was
also
alive, and it reminded people that it was time to leave, that they had to clock out, that they had to check the duty roster before they left, and that they should be careful in case of rain. Kaylin stared at it.

“Every ten minutes,” Marcus growled. “And it has special commentary on the hour.” He added, “Map, center city, low detail.” The mirror rippled, as it often did, and the image that had occupied it before his curt command receded until it was part of a larger network of lines.

“Special commentary?” She walked over to the mirror, looked at her hands, and let them drop to the side.

“It has,” he continued, ignoring the interruption, “stopped attempting to correct ‘obscene’ language.” He gestured to the mirror, stepping out from behind his desk to do so.

Since even Mallory had never attempted to rein in what was politely referred to as local color, Kaylin grimaced. She hated to think that something could be more uptight than Mallory. “I’ll wash up,” she told him.

“Don’t bother. No one else has.” To drive this point home, he ran a claw lightly over the mirror’s surface. It stopped at the intersection of Lattimar and Gorran. “You mirrored from here.”

“A bit down the road, but yes, that was the general area.”

Severn stepped up to the mirror, to the left of their Sergeant. “Magnify. Center Lattimar and Gorran.” The mirror obeyed, and Kaylin found herself holding her breath as the buildings came into view. But they didn’t leap out of the mirror’s surface, and they didn’t turn into something monstrous or strange, which was good because she needed to exhale.

Severn pinpointed the boundary—and the boundary’s width. The point just beneath his finger began to glow; gold for the outer bounds, bright pink for the inner. When she snorted, he said, “I don’t choose the colors.”

Marcus growled, which was tired Leontine for Shut the Hell Up. Since it was aimed at Kaylin, Severn continued to call cross streets. The map would blur and shift, he’d add two points, and then repeat the process. When he was done, he called “Map” again, and this time the line of dots—in gold and pink—formed a pattern. To emphasize this, a line, in each color, ran between the points, terminating at the start and the finish of their trek.

It was a third of a circle, give or take some math.

Marcus actually purred. If you had very little experience with Leontines, it sounded a lot like growling. “Good work,” he said. He barked an order, and the map began to extrapolate, from their coordinates, the perimeter of these two circles; the theoretical portions were in slightly dimmed colors, which in the case of the pink, was a distinct improvement.

“Good work, Private Neya, Corporal Handred.” He turned and then bellowed at the rest of the office. “No,
don’t
crowd around this mirror. Use the ones closest. Teela, Tain—you were out on the eastern edge. If what we’ve got is inaccurate, mark it. The same goes for the rest of you.” He turned to her and added, “What did Lord Sanabalis say about your report?”

Kaylin froze. “We were on our way to the Palace when it started to rain blood, Sir.”

“And you didn’t head there before you reported in.”

“No, sir. You said—”

“I
know
what I said, Private.” He growled. Because Kaylin
did
have experience with Leontines she couldn’t tell herself it was a purr. But he didn’t bite her head off, and he didn’t demand that she expose her throat, although she’d already started to lift her chin. “Did you get anything from the Halls?”

“Gibberish, mostly.”

“Useful gibberish?”

“I’ll tell you in a month or two.”

He did chuckle at that. “I’ll mirror Lord Sanabalis. You two, hop in a carriage.”

“The yard’s closed.”

“I didn’t tell you to use one of ours.”

“Sir.”

“The department,” he added, “will reimburse you.” Which meant he really was pleased.

Severn had enough money to pay the driver; Kaylin didn’t.

Severn shook his head as they parked themselves on opposite benches. “You can’t be paid so little that you’re scrounging for meals for the last week or two of every month.”

“Clearly, I can.”

“I live in a larger apartment than you do, and I can afford to eat.”

“My point. You’re a Corporal. You get paid more.”

“Some, yes, but I have the larger expense. I realize now is not the time for this discussion, but if you sat down and ran some numbers, you could plan out a month in advance.”

“What do you mean?”

“Budget.”

She snorted. “You need money to budget.”

“You have money. At the start of the month.”

“You’ve been to my place—it’s not like I’m spending it on anything. It just doesn’t last.”

It wasn’t exactly an old argument, but the few times they’d had it, it sounded the same, although admittedly sometimes there were more actual Leontine words thrown in.

He raised a brow, and then said, “Maybe you should cut back on the betting, given how often you lose.”

This, on the other hand, was new. He might as well have told her to stop
speaking
. She opened her mouth and no words came out. That lasted for about a minute, and she gave up on the effort and turned to look out the window instead. It was dark now.

There were puddles in small dips in the road, but their color wasn’t immediately obvious.

Given a combination of Records, the rest of the Hawks, and their own trek into and out of warm, red rain, they now had a roughly circular area. Elani fit easily within its parameters; the Halls of Law and the Imperial Palace were close to the edges, albeit on opposite sides. The circle didn’t encompass the Arcanum, for which they could all be momentarily thankful.

The carriage pulled up the road that led to the Palace; it was met before the courtyard. Kaylin jumped out; Severn followed. It was
not
, inasmuch as they existed, visiting hours for the Emperor or the Imperial Staff. On the other hand, like the Hawks, the Palace Guards had seen their share of blood-rain, and they didn’t blink at the sight of either Kaylin or Severn.

Kaylin wished she’d had time to clean up, anyway.

“We’re here to see Lord Sanabalis,” she began.

“We know,” was the curt reply. “He’s been expecting you.”

She wilted.

“For the past two hours.”

Sanabalis was not, however, waiting at the front doors. A pinched-face, somewhat harried man was. He was obviously aware that there’d been some difficulty outdoors, because he didn’t even blink at the state of their tabards. Or hair. Or, Kaylin thought, clasping her hands behind her back, their fingernails.

“You are Private Neya?”

She nodded.

“Corporal Handred?”

“I am.”

“Good. Lord Sanabalis is waiting for both of you. Please follow me.”

“We know the way—”

“He is not waiting for you in his usual chambers,” was the clipped reply. “He is waiting for you in the Library.”

It seemed a bit unfair that she could piss off both Sanabalis and the Arkon at the same damn time when she was only doing her job; she had no doubt whatsoever that the Arkon had
also
been waiting. For two hours. She glanced at Severn, whose expression had fallen into a state of grim which offered no comfort.

The man led them through the halls at a speed that was almost a run. Since the Library was not close to the entrance halls or any of the rooms that appeared to be used as semipublic meeting space, it took a while. But at this speed, Kaylin didn’t have time to let the usual height of ceilings and random finery intimidate her. Nor did she have time to try to recognize the almost-familiar halls.

She did not, however, have any problems recognizing the Library doors. They were huge, and they were warded. They were also closed.

Any hope that their escort would open the door himself, sparing her the momentary pain of placing her own palm against the ward, was instantly dashed as he performed a curt, but mostly respectful, bow. “I will leave you both and return to my post.”

“It’s your turn,” Kaylin told Severn when she was certain the man was far enough away he couldn’t hear them.

He chuckled. Easy for him to do; the first time she’d touched the door, alarms had sounded—and she’d been expected. But he lifted his hand and placed it firmly across the ward. Blue light spread in an instant uniform layer across the face of both doors, twitching slightly.

“This is…different,” he said.

They waited until the light faded, but the doors remained closed. Kaylin cursed under her breath, which meant she had to settle for the slightly inferior Elantran words she knew. She lifted a hand and pressed it firmly against the ward. This time, there was no loud noise, and she didn’t
feel
as though she’d been struck by lightning. The same blue light covered the doors like a translucent, fitted sheet, fading slowly.

The doors, however, didn’t open.

“I don’t suppose we could tell them we’ve been trying to get in for two hours?”

“No. Here, help me push them open.”

She put her shoulder into the motion; the doors were large and, more important, they were heavy.

The Arkon was standing about ten yards from the door, looking as if he’d swallowed whatever was left of the storm clouds that had caused so much panic. Beside him, less obviously annoyed—or at least less surprised—was Sanabalis.

“Sorry,” Kaylin began.

“While I’m sure it would be amusing to hear your excuse this time,” Sanabalis broke in, “it would probably take at least another half an hour.”

She shut up.

“We’ve set up a mirror in the Library,” he added, as the Arkon’s eyes narrowed. “There are containment fields in the Library which are stronger than any other such enchantments to which we have immediate access. Sergeant Kassan has kindly sent some preliminary reports of your evening’s work.” He turned and began to walk away, by which Kaylin understood he meant them to follow.

The Arkon, however, said, “I have volunteered to cede some space in my collection for use by the Dragon Court, so that we might deal with the difficulties that this current crisis has caused. I will not regain that space until the crisis is deemed to be concluded.”

Which would, Kaylin thought, explain some of his mood.

They passed through the largest of the Library rooms—in which the books were placed on shelves so high there were rolling ladders to accommodate people who were still about half a foot taller than Kaylin—and into another hall. This in turn led to a room with multiple doors nesting against one wall that seemed to be curved stone.