Not even boos answered that, so deep was the shock. "Even the cateran commander sent among the Fifth Regiment recognized the atrocity. When he tried to stop Gerrard, the giant killer turned his own troops on the caterans. He slew his own forces."
Groans turned to growls and then to roars. Gerrard could only stand in their midst, head held high, eyes glinting darkly.
"For his acts, he and his coconspirators have been arrested, and all will face trial. For their crimes, they lose their freedom. For their atrocities, they lose the great treasure that they had marched to take from the Cho-Arrim. Their loss is our gain. Behold, Mercadians, our new airship, the glorious vessel-Weatherlight!" He flung his hand outward toward a great bulk covered in billowy shrouds.
Soldiers pulled down the obscuring canvas. Tan cloth fell away to reveal the long, sleek hull of Weatherlight. Her broken spar had been repaired, and both airfoils raked batlike back from slender rails. Her hull was sound again, seamless, as though the wood had healed itself. Her engines were still defunct, of course. The ship had to be brought arduously overland by giants with relays of rolling logs. Sweating crews of them stood beside it even now, clutching the vast ropes they had used to haul the ship forward. Some of the less tidy titans still had rubbish hanging from their heels after shoveling a path through the garbage wall. Despite filthy giants, shoving soldiers, and a gawking rabble, Weatherlight was a glorious vision there on the plains.
A cheer that was one part victory and one part avarice burst from the throng. Gerrard felt crushed beneath its omnipresent weight.
"Yes! This ship is now our ship-a defender of Mercadia. And, soon, the magistrate will complete its repairs and will send it out to conquer our foes in woods, and plains, and seas."
It was too much. As the greedy furor rose into the air,
Gerrard went to his knees.
If the Mercadians succeeded, the massacres had only just begun.
For much of Gerrard's humiliation, Sisay had stood with a dagger at her throat. Now, within the golden cage of the lift, the dagger was gone, but shackles remained. So too did the horrible lump of dread. Takara, Tahngarth, and Orim seemed equally stunned by the events of the last days. They were doomed this time. The Mercadians and caterans had orchestrated every aspect of this day.
Almost every aspect…
Sisay's eyes widened in recognition and alarm when a certain goblin magnate arrived. She shook her head slightly, muttering to herself, "What are you up to, Squee?"
He strode imperiously onto the lift. Squee wore the full regalia of a Kyren: manifold robe in maroon with gold piping, double stole, and ermine hems that dragged in the dust. He was shorter and more rumpled than most Kyren, and he struggled to speak the lofty inquisitions that befitted his station. His words were singsong, as though he had rehearsed all night. "Aren't these the brave soldiers dat brought the giant killer from over there in the woods? Aren't these the thirsty guys dat bested a man not bested by the best-by the bestest of the best giantish fellows dat we've got hereabouts in Mercadia… ?" The words dribbled away in uncertainty.
Sisay leaped in, "They sure are! They bested Gerrard and all of us! But do they get any credit?"
"No. What do we get?" wondered the sandy-faced guard captain. He tried to spit some grit from his teeth, but there wasn't enough saliva to bear the grains away. The sputum landed in an ignominious glob on his yellow riding jacket. "We do all the work, and the traitor's the one that gets cleaned up. Is that right?"
"No-" Squee blurted, and then hurriedly turned the response into a question- "no, urn, no drinks have been given ta you guys?" He tried to snap his fingers, though even that act seemed beyond him.
A nearby wine merchant heard, though-a mere boy with a wheelbarrow filled with wineskins. He lifted his face, nodded a head of tousled black hair, and wheeled his wares up beside the goblin. "Yes, Master? Do you wish to purchase a skin of wine?"
"A skin of wine? Do Squee look cheap to you, Atalla?" Squee asked. "Uh, dat is-do Squee look cheap ta you at all, huh?"
"No, Master!" the young man said, bowing obsequiously.
"Will this money purse buy dat whole cartful?" the goblin asked, pulling a bulging sack from his robes. He tossed it to Atalla, and it chinked with a sound like coins-or, perhaps, river stones.
Tucking the bag into his own robes, Atalla cried, "Wine for everyone!"
"Not the prisoners!" the sandy-faced man said greedily, grabbing two skins for himself.
"Why would Squee buy wine for filthy, scummy, stupid, ugly, bad-stinking prisoners?" the goblin asked, giving a big wink to Sisay.
She sneered in order to hide her smile.
"Might I also offer the work of my brush?" Atalla asked, producing a whisk broom and beginning to clean the dust from the guard captain. "That'll be just one copper more per soldier!"
"Ain't these guys worth a brush-off?" the goblin wondered amiably.
The captain squirted raga wine into his mouth, swallowed, and said, "You're going to earn this copper. I got dust everywhere."
Atalla quickly worked over the riding cloak and then coaxed it from the captain's shoulders. "I'll brush off your uniform too. Lift your arms. There. Your belt is really dirty." The whisk worked furiously over the set of keys hanging there. The captain began to look down.
Squee shouted in sudden startlement, "Is this here claptrap cage safe? Can it hoist these real good soldier guys up ta the uppity city? Doesn't dat console there look kind of banged up, like as if it'd been gotten into by somebody dat shouldn'ta gotten into it? Who's s'posed to fix this?"
A woman standing quietly nearby shoved forward. She didn't look very Mercadian-her face was suspiciously lean. Even so, she had greasy hair, grime on her cheeks, and a bit of a paunch beneath, her yellow cloak.
Sisay's secret smile deepened-Hanna was in on this too?
Hanna bowed, her eyes averted toward the toolbox in her hand. "I am assigned to maintain this lift today, Master."
"Will you open dat console ta show me it's all right and not messed up by… guys trying ta… mess up things?" "Saboteurs?" the woman supplied. "Do Squee not know how ta talk?"
"Yes," the mechanic lied. She ducked past the goblin, set her tool case on the floor of the lift, and began working at the console.
Oblivious, the guards gulped their wine.
The boy had moved on from the captain to brush down Sisay. As clouds of dust went up from her shoulder, she whispered, "Surprised to see you, Atalla."
He flashed her a smile. In a wry murmur, he said, "Father told me I could come back to the city as long as I returned with another thousand gold."
"You will if you get us out of this," Sisay pledged. "What's the plan?"
"Drugged wine," Atalla replied. He brushed the shackles on her hands, and they clicked open. "A skeleton key… a rewired lift… Once Gerrard joins us, we'll soar to the city and disappear."
Sisay nodded. "The best place to hide in hundreds of miles-"
"Hey! What'th thith?" the guard captain slurred. "Why're you brushing off the prithoners?"
Atalla blurted, "To keep your hands clean when you grab them."
The captain nodded blearily and took another drink.
Atalla meanwhile moved swiftly to Tahngarth and Takara, intent on "cleaning" their shackles.
A soldier sprawled beside them, overcome by the drugged wine. Others turned on rubbery legs and stared down stupidly at the fallen man. One man tried to lift his comrade, but he fell too. Realization crossed the faces of the others.
"What thort of wine ith thith-?"
A third went down, and a fourth. The slumping soldiers were beginning to attract attention from the crowd nearby.
"I wish Gerrard would get here," Atalla growled as he unlocked Tahngarth's shackles.