Later on, if need be I would turn my face away from Blackblood, and even the Lily Goddess. Tonight I would defend them, so that when I did walk free of their influence, my escape would be on my own terms. With my child free as well.
Such foolish hopes I had then.
The storm was breaking up as I hurried toward the twins’ warehouse lair. The clouds spread ragged across the sky, and a tired moon glimmered down. My feet slipped on icy cobbles, and I felt so huge, so unbalanced, like a tree on the edge of falling. I had no idea what I hoped to accomplish now-all my plans seemed to have flowed out of me, leaving only a curious admixture of determination and fatigue.
But I knew that I must face down the twins, and trust Mother Iron and Endurance to stand at my back when I needed them most.
Nothing moved on the streets. The wind still knifed. All sane persons were long indoors. By the time I reached the warehouse, stars stabbed the night sky, and the moon had found a sliver of her usual courage. If anything, the air was even colder.
I didn’t bother with the roof. I recalled all too vividly what had happened the last time I tried that route. Not so many days ago, but the baby kept changing me. Robbing my lithe balance to feed her growth. What could I do but honor that? I could hardly postpone protecting her.
That left the side, where I’d exited from my previous raid here. And where was the Rectifier? I’d expected him somewhere around the area, since he hadn’t been at the Tavernkeep’s place.
Or there was always the front entrance. Big, rolling doors meant to admit heavy freight wagons. I wished one or another of my little divine interventions had left me with some pyrotechnic magic, but the gods seemed far more interested in annoying me than gifting me.
Such an entrance would certainly make an impression.
I looked up and down the street. Several unloaded wagon rigs were parked for the night, but their teams were safely stabled out of the horrid weather. While I could in theory roll a wagon through the doors, the practical mechanics of accomplishing that were a bit beyond my current resources. Still, the idea of a dramatic attack certainly appealed to me far more than breaking in through the entrance they’d be watching most closely.
No one left cargo in a wagon overnight, not unless they were sleeping atop it weapon in hand, but what was in the warehouses around me?
A quick fifteen minutes invested in peering through windows-no roof climbing here either, not on this icy night-confirmed that the second warehouse up Theobalde Avenue from Iso and Osi’s lair supplied at least some portion of Copper Downs with candles, wax, paraffin, and lamp oil. If I couldn’t make trouble out of a couple of barrels of high-grade lamp oil, then I might as well give up and open a restaurant.
Forcing entry was trivial. Their locks were simple, meant to discourage vandals and children. On a night such as this, the watchmen were off drinking with the thieves, or huddled over a stove somewhere in the back. And there were no stoves in this warehouse, I was certain of it. The air inside smelled like an accident waiting to happen. No one smoked tabac here either, I’d guess, or hempweed. Or anything else involving sparks and flame.
Surely these people have heard of vents?
But not when the air was freezing. I’d guess it might grow cold enough to gel some of their oils.
The interior was a bit lower-ceilinged than the twins’ building, surrounded by catwalks near the top. I thought I saw a crane up there, but sorting out its mechanisms was more trouble than I cared to take right now. Rows of shelves and racks and wooden footings held the seeds of destruction that I sought. This place was a pyromaniac’s delight, better even than a fireworks factory.
I smiled.
Working only by the moonlight from the high, narrow windows-and who would hoist a loaded barrel of oil up and out a window?-I found a rack of exactly what I was looking for. Lamp oil, with taps already placed in three of the barrels. I wasn’t about to shift that kind of dead weight around, but the collection of ramps and levers meant to load barrels on and off the rack were stored close by. How thoughtful.
I worked the first two barrels off. One of them was decidedly light in weight, so I pushed it aside and fetched the third out. It made a nice, heavy slosh. I had to be careful not to knock the taps off. They weren’t meant to roll about in this condition, but I didn’t need to move them far. From the inside, I opened the streetward freight door, and trundled both barrels outside. Slipping back in, I secured the freight door, then chocked the office door shut on my way out. No sense in inviting criminal behavior to follow me wherever I went.
The barrels rumbled on the cobbles outside as I shifted them one at a time to the front of Iso and Osi’s warehouse. Fine, if they heard me, they heard me. I was too involved in my plan to stop now. At any rate, that noise was nothing like what someone alert for me dropping through the skylight would be listening for.
I positioned the second barrel so the bung was almost at the top of its rotation. This rendered the side-mounted tap useless, but meant I could break it off at need to set a fire. My last step before doing so was to scavenge some relatively dry wood from the bottom of a junk pile in the alley beside the warehouse. Using one of the short boards, I knocked the tap off.
Oil spilled. Terrific.
I let the stuff soak my lengths of dry wood, then stacked them against the still-sealed barrel. A few moments later, lucifer matches had a flame started that the oil took nicely even in the whistling, cold wind.
I figured I could not lose. Either the barrels would burn, which would spill flaming oil under their front door; or they would blow up, which would shoot flaming oil under their front door. That the Interim Council would be seeing a substantial bill was a bit of a bonus, so far as I was concerned. Or even better, Lampet’s Reformed Council. As for myself, I was cold, hungry, and tired. And I had not yet begun to fight.
Let someone else suffer a bit.
The oil caught and bloomed. I scooted away fast, keeping upwind in case the barrels decided to explode and spray. A doorway across the street and one building over beckoned me with a deep vestibule. I’d noted earlier that the floor there was an imitation of a Sunward Sea mosaic, done either by someone homesick or a student of the foreign art. It wasn’t bad, really, and a fine place to rest my feet while I waited to see what might erupt at the twins’ warehouse.
I hadn’t counted on the doorway being occupied on my return.
“Green,” said the Rectifier. He loomed close. His fur stank of wet weather and drowned cat.
I stifled a shriek. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” He glanced up at my little fire, which was burning merrily. It seemed the flaming leak was going to be the answer, as nothing had exploded yet. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to smoke out Iso and Osi.”
“They have gone to the Temple Quarter. Apparently this was an auspicious night for them to challenge your Blackblood.”
I was in the wrong place!
Everything was at risk. As he fell, so fell the Lily Goddess in time. “By the Wheel, I need to be there.”
One enormous hand lay heavily on my shoulder. “Have a care.” Claws pricked, even through layers of my leather vest and canvas shirt. “I do not think you should walk alone.”
“I have you,” I said recklessly. Behind me, one of the barrels went “whoosh.” The Rectifier’s face was suddenly a study in glare and chiaroscuro.
He shook his head. “Can you call your ox god? Or one of your friends Below?”
Sighing, I turned to look back on my act of pyromaniac vandalism. The barrels were burning ever stronger, the warehouse door was smoldering, but the wind was whipping both the flames and the spilled oil away faster than they could spread.