“East main,” said Hugh.
“And I’ll follow whichever west-side team needs pruning most.”
The three of them were silent for a moment. Then Hugh thrust his hand out. “We’ll meet at the fane.” The other two, after a moment’s hesitation, took it. “Or on the farther shore,” said Matilda of the Night before she faded into the darkness.
“She’s good,” said Greystroke. Then, to Hugh, “We’ll make it.”
“As long as she makes it.” He meant Bridget ban.
“It’s an awful box he’s put her in this time.”
“It isn’t the Fudir who put her in it, Grey One. Sure, ’tis bad cases all around, but hush now.” And Little Hugh too faded into the darkness of the deserted building to wait. He knew as well as Greystroke and Matilda the risks of operating in the enemy’s rear.
The power is out, Lord Gidula. No lights. The drop-wells are dead.
The hazards of war, eh, Old One?
It is that, sire. But a darkened building will attract no attention from elsewhere in the city. Stairs and ladders, then. Comets, with me up the left-hand stairs. Tridents, up the right hand. Lions, odd numbers, the stairs at the east end; even numbers up the ladders in the first drop-well. Crows, odd numbers, west end; even numbers, second drop-well. Clear? Go.
Little Hugh emerged from concealment after the intruders had swarmed up. Every plan of battle was complicated by the presence of the other side. He whispered into his throat mike, “Three magpies climbing maintenance ladders in each drop-well.” He hoped that Five Padaborn would relay that to whoever needed to know. Otherwise, assets would be inserted behind Domino Tight and Eglay Portion. Then he set off after the ascending tridents. He felt again as he had felt during the guerilla on New Eireann: terribly alive.
Magpie Seven Bhatvik had thought himself third from the rear, but when he glanced over his shoulder on the stairwell he saw no one behind him. This was not a good thing to see, and he shivered a bit with unreasoning fear. He climbed a few more steps, then quickly looked back. He still saw nothing.
Which was too bad.
“Maintain queue discipline,” murmured Magpie Three Farer to the shenmat-clad figure who had come up beside him on the stairwell. It was the last thing he said.
Four to Double Crow. Gravity grids reactivated in the drop-wells. Featherlight. We can leap the rest of the way up easy.
Negative, my pretty. Power is intermittent. Do not rely. Repeat: do not rely.
Good call. Gravity is cycling. Getting heavier … Lighter now … Heavier … Six, Ten, vacate, now! Oh, by the Fates!
Report, Four. Report.
Double Crow, this is Ten. Gravity peaked at three ji. Four and Six lost hold of the laddering. They’re jam at the bottom. I’m out of the shaft on the third floor. Dislocated shoulder.
Something was wrong. Big Jacques sensed it before he knew it. A quick gesture, propagated down the line of tridents, brought them all to a halt on the stairwell. Malfunctioning gravity grids in a city in chaos he could understand. But the crows and lions were both reporting missing magpies, and he could not imagine that the unoccasioned dread that had gripped them all on entry to this building had impelled them to run. Some of the Names had the means of inducing such trepidation, although the Secret Name had not thought the Technical Name to be one of them.
“Count off,” he said, and listened as the numbers ran down the stairs. He did not need One to tell him that the count came up short. Interesting. Every flock but Gidula’s was coming up short. Was the Old One trimming his allies already? He had needed an escort-in-strength to cross the burning city. Did he suppose he needed them no longer?
A glimmer in Big Jacques’s goggles captured his attention. Something on the wall along the railing. A line of somethings. He recognized pasties—antipersonnel mines—on a wire ignition.
“Down the well!” he ordered his flock. “It’s a trap!”
The trident magpies flew down the stairs, rappeling over banisters, trading grace for speed, and a moment later the pasties ignited, sending a sheet of shrapnel across the stairwell. Big Jacques heard grunts of pain, then, below him, a different sort of cry. Flashes of light and the acrid smell of electrical sparks told of a brief, intense firefight two floors below.
Big Jacques hurried to the scene, found Two down and Five aiming fire systematically into the dark at the bottom of the stairs. “Stalked, Trident,” said Five.
“How many?”
“Saw one, but must have been others. Moved Two, Seven, and Twelve.”
Big Jacques considered that. “Gidula assured us the building would be unguarded. Either Gidula is an optimist or Sèanmazy followed us here after that tussle on Big Fish Street. Could you read the brassard?”
“No shenmat. Coverall. Protector, maybe? Whoever he was I potted him good. Gone doggo, though. Hunt him down?”
“Let him bleed out.” Big Jacques contacted Aynia Farer and Phoythaw Bhatvik and told them the building was being defended, numbers unknown. But he did not contact Gidula, who could figure that out for himself.
The explosions in the east end stairwell took out a goodly number of lions, which evened the odds very nearly to six-to-one. Eglay Portion and Four Padaborn had positioned themselves to cover the exit and waited until three lions were through before opening the dance. The invaders were aware now that they were being opposed and returned fire. Dazers. A bad hit, but short range. A thrown knife was silent and did not betray its origin. Hard to reload, though. One of the three went down; a second reached an office and burst into it. The door had been triggered and the explosion caught her in the doorway. The third magpie ducked back into the stairwell, and a momentary silence ensued. Eglay Portion tried to think what Aynia Farer would do next.
“Maybe the trap on the stairway got everyone,” said Four.
Eglay Portion did not think so, and a moment later a series of explosions suggested that the lions had made their own exit from the stairwell at an unconventional point. They could outflank Eglay’s position now. “Pull back to the second line,” he said.
But Four pointed, “Here comes one!”
A shenmat-clad figure slid from the doorway into the corridor and made a sign with his left hand. Eglay blocked Four’s shot. “That’s the pass-sign. It’s that Greystroke fellow.”
They left cover and retreated up the corridor. Aynia and two magpies came around an unexpected corner. Four stepped between Eglay and the lions and took the brunt of the dazer blast. Return fire drove the lions behind the corner again. Greystroke and Eglay sprinted toward the fane.
Tina Zhi came to the side of Domino Tight as softly as a dream and bearing the same strange weapon that she had brought to the Battle of the Warehouse. “The Secret Name, Big Jacques, five tridents, and a lion who survived Three’s little game with the drop-wells.”
The magpie with them smiled at the compliment, though he was vexed that one had survived.
“Big Jacques,” said Domino Tight. “I always liked the Large One.”
“Like him a little less,” suggested the Technical Name.
Domino Tight sighed. “He could just as easily be fighting on our side, if he had thought it more fun.”