Bridget ban tried to speak, but Black Shuck raised a palm. “No, hear me. Your quest is worthy. Not for the Vestiges—although if found they may soothe the nerves of the Little One—but for your daughter. For her—and aye, for your Donovan, however little you’ve mentioned him—I would approve the quest. I will go—but I will go to High Tara for you. I will be your champion in the Kennel, secure you resources, deliver you what information might smooth your path. You will need identities, comm. channels, transportations. But none of this will I do unless…” And he turned his eyes on the seven other Hounds and Pups who sat at the table. “Unless you go in for Méarana Harper. If it is merely for the glory of it, or for the chance to snap up ancient baubles, it is not worth the going. So, tell me that this is so.”
Over the next two weeks, they reviewed the recordings Bridget ban had made of Ravn Olafsdottr and her tale, studied gazetteers of the Confederation, digested Gwillgi’s intelligence reports, planned their entries, their points of rendezvous, studied clothing styles, loaded earwigs with Confederal dialects, established passwords, and learned the identities they would assume. Black Shuck supplied them with contact information for agents-in-place—and for Gwillgi, too, should they find themselves in position to make contact.
“Though if Gwillgi ain’t wishful o’ being found,” joked Cŵn Annwn, “it ain’t likely that we’d be a-findin’ him.”
They split into two teams and worked tactical plans at opposite ends of the hall. Bridget ban naturally took the lead in planning the extraction of her daughter from Gidula’s stronghold on Terra. This proved remarkably difficult, since they knew almost nothing of its layout and facilities. It stood somewhere west of Ketchell, on the Northern Mark, but intelligence was scant and uncertain. They would need tactics flexible enough to conform to situational details as encountered.
Black Shuck took the lead in planning the extraction of the Seven Vestiges from the Secret City. But because he was often on the Circuit with the Kennel, the task more often fell to Matilda of the Night. Obligado’s master, na Fir Li, who had once walked the streets of the Secret City, also sent information, though of older vintage. Little by little, a simulacrum of the Secret City rose from the holotable.
“For such a secret city,” joked Little Hugh during a break, “we have more information on it than on Gidula’s station.”
Matilda smiled coldly. “Don’t suppose that streets and buildings constitute its secrets.” She regarded the ghostly structures on the holotable—simple blocks, since architectural details were lacking. “This one,” she said, pointing to a long oblong hard by the Red Gate. “That is the Gayshot Bo. The Vestiges will be in a vault somewhere in that building.”
“Do we enter by the Red Gate, then?” asked Obligado.
Matilda laughed. Cŵn Annwn studied the layout. “I don’t s’pose they open the Gates to any poke comes along. How’d yuh get in, Tilly? Or na Fir Li or Black Shuck?”
The Dark Hound had long changed her black robes for an equally black coverall. “Through patience,” she said, “establishing identities, securing migration chops, obtaining licenses and work permits. Na Fir Li was a licensed beggar and sweeper. I was a courtesan. Black Shuck…”
“I went in as a day laborer,” said Top Hound. “It took three years to become a Known Man in the San Jösing slums, a drinking companion to those who knew those who had passes. Three years to build the ID up. And it took the Protectors three weeks to tear it down. But I was in and out in two.”
Bridget ban had been listening to everything. “We dinnae hae years!” she cried. “Once we snatch my bairn from Ravn’s talons, we must enter the city quickly and be done.”
“You could,” Matilda pointed out, “return your daughter to the Periphery while the rest of us complete the quest for the Vestiges.”
But Red Hound tossed her head. “I’ll nae lead ye in if I dinna lead ye out.”
“Then,” said Black Shuck, “you will need to learn from your Donovan the secret passage by which he once escaped the compound.”
“He is nae my Donovan,” insisted Bridget ban, “but aye, we must needs free him from Gidula. His rescue is why Ravn snatched my daughter in the first place.” Méarana had gone willingly, even obstinately, but Bridget ban had not shared that deduction with her colleagues.
One of Tenbottles’ men entered the hall, looked from table to table, and strode up to Obligado with a message packet off the Circuit. The Pup broke it open and extracted the flimsy. “Ah!” he said after a moment’s reading. “My master has detached a cutter from the Sapphire Point Squadron for our use, the advantage of which is that it was Confederal built and pressed some years back into the Service as a prize. It is already en route.”
Grimpen grunted, and the sound was as of a quake deep within the earth. “Transport and logistics solved.”
“No,” said Black Shuck. “You’ll not put yourselves in one basket. Too much is at stake. We may lose some of you on this venture. It is no lackaday stroll. But a fell swoop ought not net all of you.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the Hounds at both tables. Cŵn Annwn made a sign to avert the evil. Death was always a possibility, but they preferred that it remain only a possibility. Only Matilda of the Night smiled, and her lips were the color of blood.
They decided to go in as four teams, led by Bridget ban, Greystroke, Grimpen, and Matilda. Obligado would go with Grimpen and Cŵn Annwn with Matilda of the Night. Hugh, of course, would go with his master and Graceful Bintsaif with Bridget ban. They would take different routes and rendezvous on Terra.
On the last night, after everyone had taken leave, Graceful Bintsaif found Bridget ban in the library under the glitter of night. All the lamps had been extinguished and the room was lit only by the starlight that sifted like flour through the bay window. It was bright enough to see by but not so bright as to pluck out details. Bridget ban sat on the stool that her daughter had occupied during that fateful interrogation. She was merely a shape within the shadowed room, starshine highlighting her hair, accenting her profile. Graceful Bintsaif stepped within and closed the door behind her.
“Grimpen and Obligado have gone,” she announced. “They’ll nestle the cutter on the hull of Kethwick Harpy and pretend to be a navigation submodule. The border is open to trade ships. They’ll detach at Epsidanny. There’s a ship’s fu they can use for authorization within the…” She fell silent as Bridget ban failed to respond. “We received a message from Greystroke,” she continued. “He was about to enter the Roads. They’ll board Chettinad Rover as crew when they reach Abyalon, then jump ship once across the Rift and make their way as spacehands.”
The Red Hound might as well have been one with the furniture.
The junior Hound sighed and sat herself in the seat she had occupied while Ravn had spun her tale. Reflexively her eyes flicked toward the sofa, as if she expected to find Olafsdottr still in it. “It will all work out,” she said. “You’ll see.”
Bridget ban stirred. “Will it? Of the five Hounds who have infiltrated the Secret City, only three returned. So by the odds, I am leading three colleagues to their deaths.”
Graceful Bintsaif swallowed, said nothing for a moment. “The odds are there to be defied. We may not need to enter…”