Below the rooftop where Epri had crouched, some taijis had noticed the disruption and had glimpsed Domino Tight when he had opened his Cloak to stab Pendragon. Two were directing speculative fire at his position, so he shifted to the other side of the guardhouse and went to ground. If he played it right, he might get the taijis to fire on Chrysanthemum One when he arrived.
Domino Tight was still using the special lenses, and so saw a second cloaked figure appear on the rooftop, one who in appearance might have been a male version of Jimjim Shot. Perhaps a fraternal twin; or an identical twin altered in the womb. He rushed to aid the Beautiful Name, and Epri himself scrambled back from the rage in his eyes. Yes, thought Domino Tight. Take her away from this. It is not mete that she should be here.
The newcomer seemed altogether more accustomed to a battle and bore the instruments of valor on his belt. He knelt by Jimjim, touched her gently, and then glared across the battle space with the pitiless gaze of a raptor.
And his eyes found Domino Tight. His mouth set into a grim line and he spoke into his balled fist. Then with calm deliberation, he lifted a hand weapon of unfamiliar design. Death was no more than Domino Tight deserved for marring the perfect beauty of Jimjim Shot, but long years of training in the Abattoir had given his body a will of its own and he raised his own dazer and fired first.
Perhaps it was surprise that he saw in the face of the man of golden bronze, as if he had not expected so defiant an act. If so, it was followed closely by the rage it had momentarily displaced. Domino’s bolt had no apparent effect on him, and he continued to aim.
Domino Tight cloaked himself and ran in a random direction, knowing that he was surely visible to the man of the roof. He changed directions like a rabbit, using the random number generator in his shenmat. Then something hit him hard and he flew aside as if swatted by a great open hand.
It might have been a fatal swat, had his gyros not stabilized his flight and brought him down on crouching feet directly beside Ravn Olafsdottr and three of Oschous’s magpies. He staggered, blocking two of their shots and taking a third on his dispersal armor before he could identify himself.
“Well, well,” said the Ravn, who alone had not fired. “You are quite spry, Domino Tight, for a dead man.”
Big Jacques and most of his magpies had waited in his main headquarters until he had been certain that Sèanmazy had committed herself to attacking the decoy. As soon as he had learned that Pendragon had taken down Domino Tight and most of his boys in one fell swoop, he had sent two more magpies to the decoy site with orders to simulate greater activity, had shut down the link to the main site, and had folded up shop.
Oschous Dee Karnatika had discovered the fighting and had rallied his own flock to its support, attacking the mums in the rear. Big Jacques had not planned on that, but it added a greater touch of authenticity to the defense of the decoy and not incidentally had saved Big Jacques’s considerable butt. Sèanmazy had waited for likely rescuers before closing in with her taijis. Had Oschous Dee not triggered the trap, it would have been Jacques caught in the pincer.
Now, Jacques would add a final touch of irony to the entire engagement, ambushing Ekadrina in turn. Unless there were still another Shadow on-world to attack him in turn. He laughed.
“Ever play jenga?” he asked his team. A few nodded; the rest looked puzzled. “It’s a game where you stack a bunch of wooden blocks, and the players take turns pulling out one block at a time—until the tower collapses. Whoever collapses the tower loses the game.”
“All shut down, chief,” said Number One, as he buckled his weapons harness. “Best we be a-getting over there.” His accent revealed roots on Broad South Continent, on Brannon’s World.
Jacques sighed and pushed to his feet. “Twenty, you shepherd the jennies to the spaceport. Don’t balk, kid. You ain’t got the seasoning yet. Contact Seven and tell him to bring the ship down from Elfour and be ready for a full catch. Make sure our boat’s prepped and ready.”
He sent outriders ahead on scooters and the rest of his flock followed in a ground-bus they had commandeered earlier. A mile from the battle space, his tridents disembarked and made their way on foot through a wooded park across the roadway from the battle space. There, they waited Oschous’s call. Jacques dispatched Three and Nine to reconnoiter the loyalist positions, and they vanished without a sound. Then he unrolled a holomap on the ground and a glowing miniature of the surrounding terrain rose from its surface. His flock clustered about. “Second Section,” he told them, pointing. “The black horses chewed up the mums pretty good in the original ambush before the taijis drove them into the warehouse. But don’t discount them. Suss ’em out, locate them, then strike hard and fast on my click. First section. Ekadrina is mine, but her flock is tough and ain’t been through the grinder like Pendragon’s boys. Oschous Dee tells me she’s reinforced by Epri Gunjinshow and a couple of lilies. We’ll get support from the black horses and the rest of our boys what took refuge inside the warehouse. So don’t shoot long if you can help it. There’s a white comet over there, too. A free lance named Olafsdottr who took Gidula’s service. And, boys, Padaborn’s with them.”
The name ran like fire across the lips of his magpies. Padaborn. Padaborn’s back.
Big Jacques, and his senior magpies, said nothing. Twenty-four years ago, Geshler Padaborn had been a traitor, an experiment gone bad. And Jacques himself had been in the team that assaulted the Education Ministry. They had killed Issa Dzhwanson, the actress who had been the voice of the Rising during that mad, tumultuous week. Her last words, broadcast to all Dao Chetty, had been: They shall not silence us. But of course they had. On the rooftop, he had found a mixed squad of magpies and commoners who could not even be dignified as walking wounded, left behind as a rear-guard. The magpies had died fighting, of course; but Padaborn himself had somehow escaped the net.
“Yeah, Padaborn is directing the defense,” he told his flock. He doubted it was true. Any direction was Oschous’s doing. Way he heard it, Padaborn was not up to snuff. But if it fired up the boys, the lie would serve.
Nine slipped back into the caucus. “Mums in confusion. Some withdrawing. Mum Two trying to rally. Pendragon out of link. Saw three, maybe four mums throats cut. Fresh kills. Nice precision close-in work. Black horse sortie?”
“No. They’re bottled up pretty tight. Prick your spots on the map here.”
While Nine was detailing the mum positions and movements, Three slipped back with the intel on the taijis. “I saw a couple take pots at the mums. Someone over there was firing into Ekadrina’s people, and wounded Epri up on the roof, so some of them think the mums flipped. Something happened on the roof, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Didn’t want to get closer and risk blowing the play, so I folded up my parabolic and came back.”
Big Jacques considered that, and the positions pricked on the map. “Okay, change of plan. One, you take half of Second Section—even numbers—against the mums. Someone out there done half your work already. Don’t let ’im show you up. Odd numbers, you’re with me and First Section against the taijis. Upload the map, boys and girls. Same rules as before. Locate, mark—two apiece, I think—click when ready and in position. When you hear my click, strike hard and fast. That should give us near simultaneous kills and take out at half the loyalists before they even know we’re behind them. Understood?” He gathered their nods. “Great plan, right? Expect it to go wrong. Remember, an estimate of what the enemy will probably do is important, but don’t be surprised when he does something else. Combat is always complicated by the presence of the other side.”