When she looked me over in turn, even a light touch to the back of my head made me sickeningly dizzy. Mother Argai swore softly and explored the spot until I made her leave off.
“You need to be abed, or at least be looked to,” she told me.
My head was down between my knees, my breathing deep and ragged. “Just check the rest of me.”
It seemed I still possessed my usual inventory of fingers, toes, ears, nostrils, and so forth. I’d done more damage to myself the night I’d mutilated my beauty in the Pomegranate Court than Surali’s team of eight Street Guild thugs had managed today. Somehow I’d escaped even any significant stab wounds.
“Two against eight,” I gasped. “And no stitches after.” Especially since we lacked needle and thread for those wounds of Mother Argai’s.
“They were fools,” she muttered. “And frightened of us.”
We sat a little while and ate the withered pears. They were honey to my fighting-honed appetite. Even the baby seemed to appreciate the fruit. After that, we polished our blades, removing blood and muck and looking for nicks from weapons, belt buckles, or stone. When a ruckus arose in the hall outside the glass-paneled door, Mother Argai and I both slipped to our feet and stood against each side of the entrance with bared blades.
Jeschonek burst in, slamming the door behind him. He tilted his head back to avoid having his lower jaw sliced open by the points of our weapons pressing up into his neck.
“Green,” he gasped.
“None other,” I said. “You were expecting someone else? I believe I left a calling card in the street.”
“Oh, yes.” Jeschonek rocked back on his heels, trying to pull his neck away from the blades. “Could you put down the cutlery?”
I ignored him. “What happened out there?”
“Betrayal.” His face flushed ruddy dark.
“What, against you for a change? I know how this Interim Council behaves.”
Jeschonek grimaced. “I survived Federo’s rule.”
“A lot of other people didn’t,” I snarled.
Mother Argai spoke up, in Seliu, for of course she had no Petraean. “Tell him to be answering your questions or I am making certain he never answers any more.”
“You understand Petraean?” I asked her.
“No. But I understand what it is being to stall a question.”
“Huh.” I switched back to Petraean. “Mother Argai here says to pick up the pace. She grows impatient.”
“Take those knives out of my face,” he snarled.
The man deserved credit for his sheer nerve, if nothing else. I pulled my short knife away, but kept it in hand. Mother Argai did the same after a nod from me. “Who betrayed whom?” I asked.
He gasped, rubbed his neck and glared at our still naked weapons. Then, with a sigh, he said, “Lampet. And Johns.”
“They betrayed the Interim Council? Isn’t that rebelling against yourself?”
“Don’t be naive, Green. They’ve declared a Reformed Council. Lampet swore out a writ before an arbitrator over on Letterblack Street requiring the city seal and the treasury’s records be turned over, then sent that Selistani woman of yours to serve the writ.”
“She’s not my woman,” I grumbled. “I recall warning you about her. You told me she was my problem.”
Clearly Surali had expected the writ to suffice, as it would have in Kalimpura. Nast had done the right thing in staving her off. For all the old clerk’s fanatic attention to the details of law and process I could not imagine him being impressed with such paperwork from a rebel authority. Even if he had served both the old Duke and the new Interim Council.
“You were right.” Jeschonek eased himself into his chair, then noticed the blood smearing the leather. With a moue of distaste, he wiped his fingers against the arm. “Worse, Lampet controls the Conciliar Guard. The city guard, such as it is, seems to have followed him as well. I tried raising the harbor patrol. The Harbormaster is claiming this is no affair of his.”
I could hardly blame Jessup for not taking sides. Which had been his strategy since the fall of the Duke in any case. Still, somebody could certainly show some spine around here. “Two women ran off eight men attacking your offices. Surely your own could do better?”
He sighed. “I should have hoped. No matter now. Ostrakan and the bankers are sitting this out, protecting their money and waiting to see who they’ll bow to on the morrow. I don’t know where Kohlmann is. The Reformed Council is carrying the day by sheer default.”
Leaning close, I spoke through clenched teeth. “I don’t give a pickled fig for your councils, Jeschonek. Surali attacked me, tried to kidnap and tried to kill me. She has injured and murdered my friends, snatched a child I’m sworn to protect, brought my baby nearly to harm, and threatens my patron goddess. She even burned down my favorite bakery, and slew the baker. I will take care of her. And I will take care of the city in the process. But what happens to you…”
I let my voice trail off. He could take that as a threat or not. Mother Argai tugged at my elbow. I realized I’d placed the point of my short knife into Jeschonek’s chest once again. Where is my long knife, anyway? In someone’s ribs? Then I realized by the weight on my thigh that I still had the weapon. Mother Argai had just resheathed it for me. Focus. I needed badly to focus. I pulled the short knife away from the councilor and wiped the bead of blood off the tip, using the folds of his robe to clean it.
“I can’t-” he began, but I interrupted. “We’re not working for you anymore. I will address these problems. But the bill is coming to you. If I burn down any more buildings, if any weregeld is claimed, I will send the complainants to Mr. Nast for compensation. And when I’m done, we are done. If you are very lucky, I’ll have rescued you in the process.”
“Yes,” Jeschonek said.
I hadn’t actually asked him a question.
“Are we finished?” Mother Argai, in Seliu.
“I think so. I believe I’ve made my point.”
She spat at Jeschonek’s feet. “Fool,” she said in reasonable Petraean, to everyone’s surprise.
We walked out of the Interim Council’s meeting room.
I expected further trouble in the street. For one, Surali had more men in the city. The embassy grounds had been nearly empty when I’d been there in the morning, and she’d had less than a dozen swords with her here at the Textile Bourse.
The sleet had let off, brightening the day, but the street was a mess of blood and ice and water. No thugs, though. Even the severed bits and corpses were gone. Wherever they happened to be at the moment, the Street Guild muscle were not showing themselves on Lyme Street.
I glanced toward the ruined teahouse. People still milled about. I could do nothing for that poor little family except seek some justice. I could do nothing for Corinthia Anastasia until I’d cut Surali further down to size. Preferably bite-sized chunks. I could try a raid to grab the child when they moved her out of the embassy compound, if I found no greater success before then.
Mother Argai and I scuttled away to locate a quiet rooftop where we could talk. It wasn’t snowing today, at least, but the slushy, cold night had left its spoor on the buildings of Copper Downs. Misery fit my mood. We crouched among the copper domes and long clerestories of the Musicians’ Hall. The wind plucked at us both, which made me realize that we would need very different attire for winter running. If there ever were a resident Blade handle in Copper Downs, the women would need seasonal wool linings to their working clothes, at the least.
Surali burned bright in my hatred, but she was not my sole focus. Spider at the center of the web, surely, but the web stretched far and wide. Of the problems left to me to solve, Iso and Osi were the more difficult. Even Archimandrix and whatever strange mechanical magics he brought forth were likely to be insufficient to them. I’d warned the god Blackblood as well. But I needed another approach.