Colmuir nodded in agreement. "But we can't let the lad languish. He's our responsibility and he's no legal captive until the battle's doon." He pointed with the muzzle of his Macana. "There'd be a service way in from the back?"
Petrel peered at the front of the hotel, noting the garish, gilt-embossed balconies were now draped with blankets and reinforced by rows of sand-bags. Machine-gun barrels snouted from the lower windows. The main doors were wedged back, allowing entrance into the building, but again there was a redoubt of sand-bags draped with camouflage netting in the entryway. The carpets in those dining rooms will be ruined, she imagined. Very pretty they were.
Voices were whispering to her again, and Greta turned slightly to keep her earbug away from Dawd, who was staring at her in a puzzled way.
"There is a delivery entrance in the rear," she said, as if remembering. "But not directly behind the front doors of the hotel – it's offset behind that dun-colored building. There are – there will be – guards, but not so many as in front."
"Right," the master sergeant said, eyeing her with suspicion. He produced a slim little comp from a thigh pocket. The device made a creaky sound, but lit at his finger-press. Colmuir tabbed up a map of the city and popped through several views before finding the street intersection. Once he'd oriented himself, the Skawtsman peered around the corner and checked out the adjoining streets. Wisps of hazy smoke drifted among the buildings. To the right, a shop selling imported Imperial toys was still burning, spilling a cloud of dark gray ash out into the avenue. The sun had mounted past noon, but in the thick, polluted air down in the city, with the air reverberating with the distant bang and crash of explosions, the hour felt very late.
"Back a block," Colmuir announced, "and over one and we can get into that service access."
Dawd nodded, offering Mrs. Petrel a hand and then they crept back away from the barricade. As they moved, two of the spyeyes drifting above the woman darted off ahead, letting Lachlan's controllers spy their path for unseen foes.
A wide loading dock stood at the back of a particularly rundown-looking building. Three Jehanan soldiers with modern rifles slung forward at their hips stood in the shelter of an overhanging awning made of wooden slats. Coils of yellowish smoke drifted above their heads as they passed a bhang from claw to claw.
"That's the place…" Colmuir waited for the reptilian heads to turn and then signed for Dawd to leap-frog past him to a square-linteled doorway on the opposite side of the of the tiny lane. The younger Skawtsman dodged past, taking a long step over a pair of water-filled ruts worn into the cobblestones by the passage of generations of runner-carts. The master sergeant watched for any sign of alarm until Dawd was ensconced in the shadows of the doorway, automatic pistols in either hand.
"Now miss," Colmuir said, giving Petrel a worried look, "you're in no shape t' be invading the stronghold of the enemy today. You'd best stay in hiding out here somewhere. Do y' know -"
"I do." Mrs. Petrel nodded. Her face looked notably pinched and she stood only by dint of leaning into a sooty brick wall. She motioned back down the alley. "Just off that last turn is a very nice little bed and breakfast on the Court of Yellow Flagstones. The owners are friendly towards humans." She laughed bitterly. "If their avant-garde politics have not gotten them murdered, I will be safe there."
The elder Skawtsman nodded slowly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. "Well, then. We'll be about rescuing the prince – again! – from the heathens." He paused, watching her right leg, which was trembling under her tattered, dirty festival skirts. "But we could go with you…"
"I will be fine, Master Sergeant." Mrs. Petrel drew herself up and wiped her hands on the bottom of her mantle. "The hotel has a small sign – three Nem flowers in a triangle. I will wait for you there." She essayed a brave smile. The Eagle Knight nodded, dubious about abandoning her on the streets of the war-torn city and equally anxious to burst in amongst his enemies and recover the person of his lord from captivity. "Go on now, time may be wasting…"
"Aye," he said, unmoving, "it might. But we should -"
"Go on," Mrs. Petrel waved an imperious hand at him, starting to feel rather faint from standing unsupported. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and strode off down the alleyway. Colmuir cursed, started to follow and then heard Dawd whistle softly behind him.
Turning, the master sergeant saw the other Eagle Knight sign the way is clear.
Hooting among themselves, the guards had finished their smoke and gone back inside.
"Ah, that tears it," he mumbled to himself and checked the ammunition level on his assault rifle. Colmuir signed for Dawd to advance and then ducked around the corner himself.
Finally!
Petrel watched the two Eagle Knights glide up to the loading dock, weapons at the ready, and breathed a sigh of relief. She tapped her medband awake again and sighed with relief at the cool touch of painkillers flooding into her system. Her injured leg was throbbing with each beat of her heart.
"I'm clear," she muttered, checking to make sure her earbug was firmly planted. The replacement unit didn't have the same fit and finish as her usual one. "Where to now?"
Excellent. The chittering voice of the old N'huatl woman sounded like a cricket had crawled into her hair. Back to the main street, but right instead of left. You'll meet an old friend within fifteen minutes – he's bringing your poetess – and some others of use…
"Bhazuradeha is here?" Petrel frowned, limping quickly along the alley. She found the emptiness of the streets unsettling – Parus was so densely populated even these back lanes were usually the scene of constant traffic and commerce – and her shoulders twitched with the sensation of being watched by hundreds of hostile eyes. "I thought you didn't approve of her!"
I've thought upon the matter, Itzpalicue said in a very smug voice. She could be of great use to us, if properly handled.
Petrel snorted. "You think everything and everyone is of use, if properly handled. Can your little friends find me a gun? I feel naked out here without my Webley."
The old Nahuatl woman chuckled. Gehr Shahr can provide you with whatever kind of weapon you desire, as soon as you find him. He has an extensive collection to claw.
Mrs. Petrel winced, feeling a trickle of fear at the back of her throat. "Gehr Shahr is a murderous thug, a notorious villain and entirely untrustworthy. What is he doing here?"
Nonsense, Itzpalicue said, sounding self-satisfied. He is a gentleman of impeccable honor, as long as the benefits of my employment outweigh his natural inclination to steal or burn everything he sees. He and his cousins have been of great use in the last several days, so you must treat him politely…
"His cousins?" Mrs. Petrel started to feel faint despite the drugs and cleaning agents coursing through her bloodstream. "Just how many Arach slavers did you bring into the city?"
Only a few hundred, the old woman said in an offhand way, just enough for all the murdering and thieving I needed done. It is always a joy to employ craftsmen.
"Oh, Holy Mother of Tepeyac," Petrel moaned, limping out onto the street leading towards the court of Yellow Flagstones. "Hundreds of Arachosians are loose in the city? They'll – oh, hello!"