“It’s me, it’s Cass,” she shouted at him. The man stood paralyzed for the seconds it took for his brain to process what had just happened, and then his face melted from terror to pure dismay.
“Lady Cass, I’m so sorry, I thought–”
“I know! Did you hit the alarm?”
“The alarm?” He looked confused, like “alarm” was some word she’d just made up.
“Yes, did you hit it?” she asked.
“What?” he said. Cass could see the realization dawning in painful slowness. “No. I…”
Below, the gate boomed again, followed again by secondary impacts. Cass released the watchman’s wrist and gave him a firm shove towards the guard post. “Go, do it now! Go!” The watchman stumbled backwards, and then the shock finally seemed to wear off.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m on it!” He raced towards the post, and Cass ran to the edge of the wall and looked over. What she saw stole her breath.
The Weir were massed against the gate, dozens of them, in a writhing knot of flesh and claw. And as she watched, they fell back, scattering away from the wall. Then they turned again, and charged once more towards the gate. As one they collided into it, the few stragglers following closely behind and throwing themselves into the crush. They were trying to break through.
Cass felt the alarm charge up, an electric tingle just before the alert went out across the network to the City Guard. There was no blaring horn or screaming siren, no citywide notification of danger. The last thing the Guard needed in times of crisis was the mad panic of frightened citizens. Best to keep the sheep in their pens and let the sheepdogs do their work. Help would come.
Below her, the Weir continued their maddened surge, a near-human tide, momentarily receding, before racing forward again to crash against the iron gates. Cass couldn’t see the use. The gates were far too heavy, and securely barred besides. It was almost like watching a child throw a tantrum, a too-small fist landing meaningless blows. She wondered briefly if the other gates were also under attack, but footsteps on the stairs behind Cass caught her attention.
Gamble was the first to reach the top, jittergun in her hand and fire in her eyes. Her dark hair was in tight braids, and she pushed a stray aside as she jogged to join Cass.
“They coming through?” Gamble asked, breathing heavily from her sprint.
“No, gate’s secure and holding.”
Gamble leaned over the wall to see for herself. “What’re they doing?”
“I have no idea.”
More footsteps on the stairs, and Able appeared, followed closely by Gamble’s husband, Sky. Able, focused and intense, flowed past Cass and Gamble and took up a position further down the wall. Sky moved to the women at the edge of the wall, his long rifle pointed skyward but ready to deploy in an instant.
“What we got, Ace?” Sky asked.
“Forty, forty-five, I’d guess,” Gamble answered. “Not sure what they’re up to though.”
For a few moments, they just stood and watched in silence as the Weir continued their futile assault. Boom. Withdraw. Boom. Withdraw. A few Weir had fallen and lay unmoving at the gate, heedlessly trampled by each new wave.
“They sure hate that door, huh?” Sky said.
Swoop and Wick came up the stairs and fell in on either side of Sky and Gamble.
“You boys are getting slow,” Gamble said.
“Pff, you been here, like, thirty seconds,” Wick replied.
“Forty-eight. Where’s Finn?” she asked.
“With Mouse.”
“Well, where’s Mouse?”
“On the way. Running slow on account of carrying the boy.”
“Not my boy,” Cass said, looking sharply at Wick. Surely Wren wouldn’t be so reckless.
“Uh… well,” Wick answered.
“Figured you wouldn’t want him coming on his own, ma’am,” Swoop said, his tone even, his face completely devoid of emotion. “And he wasn’t stayin’ put.”
“On account of being governor and all,” Wick added.
There was an awkward moment of what would have been silence, if not for the continued rage of the Weir below. Cass had to watch herself, to be careful not to undermine Wren’s authority with her mothering. But she’d been his sole protector for so long, it was hard to break old habits. To remember how much had changed.
“You want me to drop a couple?” Sky asked. He had his rifle shouldered now, sighting in on a target in the crowd below with easy grace, tracking it with unmatched fluidity. His weapon was all angles: long and thin with a flat top and an optic attached; his left arm was almost fully extended as he held a fore-grip, while his right hand, tucked in close to his body, kept the weapon in the pocket of his shoulder and pressed against his cheek. A precise instrument of death in the hands of an even deadlier man.
“What do you think, Cass?” said Gamble.
Cass thought for a moment. The crushed Weir at the gate hadn’t seemed to have any effect on the others. She didn’t see how shooting a few would be any different. And now that she knew some of them might be able to come back, she was less inclined to slaughter them without cause.
“Wait for Wren,” she answered. “We’ll see what he says.”
The watchman who’d nearly shot Cass a few minutes before finally returned and stood off to one side, stealing sidelong glances at Sky and Gamble and the others. It was rare for regular watchmen to get to see, let alone talk to, the governor’s elite bodyguard, and Cass could tell the young man was trying to work up the nerve to say something.
“Lady Cass,” he finally said. “The alert’s been sounded. My men should be here in just a few minutes.”
Cass smirked at his use of the phrase my men, as if he were an officer of rank. But she made no mention of it. “Thank you…?” she trailed off.
“Espin.”
“Thank you, Espin. Good work.” It hadn’t really been good work, since he’d forgotten to do his job and nearly killed her, but she saw how it puffed him up and didn’t mind the lie. Espin looked at Swoop and smiled. Swoop’s flat expression didn’t change. Espin quickly looked away and bowed slightly to Cass.
“I’ll just uhhh… take up a position over here.”
“Actually, Espin, sorry to do this to you, but you can cancel the alarm. They’re not coming through.”
His shoulders slumped, and for a moment Cass thought he was actually going to protest. But in the end, he just nodded and jogged back towards the guard post, obviously embarrassed. Wick let out a little laugh that he didn’t quite cover with a cough.
Cass turned her attention back to the Weir. It was almost like watching a hand, spreading out its fingers and then sharply clenching them to a fist. Crazed. Or perhaps haywire. She wondered if any of the Weir ever short-circuited.
“Here they come,” Wick said, and Cass looked over her shoulder to see Finn at the top of the stairs with Mouse close behind, carrying Wren on his back. Finn was Wick’s older brother, though you could hardly tell they were related just by looking at them. Finn caught her eye and gave a little shrug.
“Hi, Mom,” Wren said, sliding off Mouse’s back. He said it a little too casually, the way he did when he knew he’d done something wrong and was hoping she wouldn’t notice. His blond hair was matted on one side and sticking up in the back, eyes still clouded by sleep. “What’s going on?”
“Well… since you’re here,” she said, hoping her look made it clear how displeased she was, “maybe you can tell us. Come take a look.”
Wren came over to her side, and she went down on one knee, offering the other as a step for him. He climbed up on it, using her shoulder for support as he did, and his heel dug into her quadriceps with a dull ache. When had he gotten so heavy?