Upon reaching Axciss, the entire crew went on a visit to the arena. Petal seemed terrified of the crowds and Andel was surprisingly absorbed in the fights, but they all came to the same conclusion.
The exits behind the victor’s stage were the easiest place to smuggle Urzaia out. There, Petal only had to blow up one wall. Anywhere else, there were at least two walls that required destruction. And Jerri was quick to point out that the section of wall behind the victor’s stage could be removed without affecting any load-bearing columns, while the other exits came with a risk of partially collapsing the arena.
That was a risk Calder might be willing to take, but not with a coliseum full of spectators. And he wasn’t sure where Jerri had learned anything about architecture or demolition, but she sounded certain.
So they began their clandestine operations. Two charges packed under a rain-barrel outside the arena, leaning against their target wall. Foster and Petal both assured him that the charges were shaped appropriately for their needs, though Calder neither knew nor cared what a shaped explosion looked like. All he needed to know was whether it would work when they needed it to.
“Absolutely,” Foster said, looking him in the eye and daring him to doubt.
“I think so,” Petal mumbled into her hair.
Good enough for him.
For redundancy’s sake, there were two other charges hidden in the stairwell leading out. It would be more difficult to leave without stairs, and more dangerous to any bystanders caught in the blast, but that was their only plan in case the rain barrel was moved or emptied during the blast.
Besides that, they carried six other charges for a potential manual detonation. As Foster had said, “When you’re dealing with explosions, you need backups for your backups.”
Now, the night before Urzaia’s scheduled fight, there was one more step. Calder and Petal would bribe their way underneath the arena for a few minutes with the Champion. Urzaia deserved to know the plan.
And if there were any other problems, it would be better to find them out now.
Petal had finished hiding half a dozen cigar boxes in various places around her coat and skirts—their backups, if some of the charges needed to be replaced. She was along to make sure all their equipment was working. It was Calder’s job to get them into the arena.
Not that he had any idea how to do that, but he found that a smile, a Guild crest, and five goldmarks would work as well as a key in most places.
They were heading out of their room at a nearby inn when they ran into Andel. He stood in their way like a white-clad wall, hat perfectly in place, face impassive as he watched them.
Calder faced him with a carefully calculated puzzled expression. “Andel? Is something wrong?”
Inside, he was seething. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of all along.
Never, at any point, had Andel questioned their plan to rescue Urzaia. At first, Calder and Jerri had gone to great pains to hide it from him, but eventually it was inevitable that he would find out. When he did, he’d said nothing. Not a word. He accepted it and continued doing his duties about the ship.
The closer they got to the actual execution of the plan, the more helpful he’d been: putting advice in here and there, accompanying them to the arena, doling out correction or encouragement or sheer cynicism.
He’d helped too much. For at least a year, Calder had been waiting for the man to stand in their way.
And now here he was, actually blocking the hallway so they couldn’t pass. He’d known it wouldn’t last.
“What’s your plan?” Andel asked.
“Get inside, check the charges, compare notes with Urzaia. Tonight is our only chance.” They’d planned on speaking with him two nights before, but it seemed he only fought every three days. They could certainly wait for his next fight, later in the week, but Calder had rejected that idea.
He’d made the man wait four years. There was no way he was going to show up now and say, “Here I am to rescue you, Urzaia! Now, keep risking your life and wait until I’m ready.”
No, he’d waited until absolutely everything else was in place to speak with the Champion. And now that the time had come, Andel had a problem.
“That’s not a plan,” Andel said. “That’s a series of goals.”
“I’d be happy to fight a semantics duel with you another time, Andel. Tomorrow evening, perhaps, while we’re making full speed away from this city.” Hopefully with Urzaia onboard and a minimum of fuss behind.
Andel adjusted his hat. “I’ll get you into the arena,” he said. Calder immediately tried to figure out how those words could possibly be a trick. “Under tradition and Imperial law, gladiators have the right to invite a member of the Order to give them death-rites on the night before a match. I may have parted ways with my Guild, but I am still a Pilgrim.”
Calder leaned closer to Andel, trying to pierce the shapeshifting Elderspawn’s clever disguise. “You’d like to help us violate Imperial law? That would make you an accomplice.”
“From a legal standpoint, I’m quite certain we’d be tried separately. Rather than your accomplice, which is what I’d be in the Heartlands, an Izyrian court would likely find me a separate offender and hang me.”
Petal shuffled uncomfortably at the mention of hanging, but Calder was still waiting for an explanation.
“…this may come as a surprise to you, Marten, but I had a look at Urzaia’s charges on the way over from the Capital. He doesn’t deserve to be where he is, and even if he did, he’s paid the price by now. I have a great respect for Imperial law, but I am not a slave to it.”
He spoke so succinctly, so matter-of-factly, that Calder almost forgot the man was speaking nonsense. Until this point, Calder would have called Andel Petronus passionately devoted to the law.
But here he was, ushering them out the door to detonate some Imperial property.
Clearly, Calder had missed something somewhere.
Andel’s White Sun medallion got them through the arena guards faster than Calder would have thought possible. In fact, one of the guards pulled the former Pilgrim aside for a few private words before they entered.
Then they were allowed inside the arena, directed to Urzaia’s room outside the sand, and given full run of the facility. Just like that.
“Either the security here is much more forgiving than I would have expected, or having you along has made things significantly easier,” Calder said.
“I’m twice your age,” Andel said, without slowing his pace or turning around. “I give the commands, because I know what I’m talking about, and you execute them with energy and enthusiasm. That’s how it works.”
Not long ago, that reminder of Andel’s authority would have stuck Calder’s lips together like some of Petal’s alchemical resin. No way he would say anything to encourage the man after a comment like that. Now, though, Calder was used to it. “You were right this time. Edge case. Take your praise, beggar, and begone.”
“I’ve had to beg before,” Petal said softly, and that killed the conversation.
Urzaia was waiting where any gladiator would the night before a match—in a small room just outside of the arena. The only difference between Urzaia and his fellow fighters was that Urzaia got his own room.
Either he was too dangerous for company, or no one wanted to share a room with the Woodsman. Both ways worked for Calder.
They used the key Andel had been given by the guard, and then again on a second, inner door. Before Andel opened the second one, Calder stopped him.
“We have the keys. Let’s take him now.” He was getting excited the more he thought of it. “Why not? No need to blow anything up. We take him and just walk out. The worst we’ll have to face is a few guards.”