"You have given me what I need," said Stragos, "if not in the manner in which you intended. Sergeant, did you encounter any difficulty in securing these prisoners from the Sinspire?" "Requin refused to allow us entry to the structure, Protector."
"Requin refused to allow you entry to the structure," said Stragos, clearly savouring each word. "Thereby treating an informal tradition as though it had any precedence over my legal authority. Thereby giving me cause to send my troops in platoons, and do what the bought-and-paid-for constables won't — throw that bastard in a box until we find out just how long he's willing to stay quiet about the activities of his good friends the Priori. Now I have my fighting chance. There's no need for you two to cause further violence in my waters." "Stragos, you motherfucker—" "In fact," said the Archon, "there's no need for you two at all." "We had a deal!"
"And I would have kept it had you not scorned me in the one matter that could brook no disobedience!" Stragos rose from his chair, shaking with anger. "My instructions were to leave the men and women at the Windward Rock alive! Alive!"
"But we—" began Locke, absolutely mystified. "We used the Witfrost, and we did leave them—"
"With their throats cut," said Stragos. "Only the two on the roof lived; I presume you were too lazy to climb up and finish them off." "We didn't—"
"Who else was raiding my island that night, Kosta? It's not exactly a shrine for pilgrims, is it? If you didn't do it, you allowed the prisoners to do it. Either way, the fault is yours." "Stragos, I honestly don't know what you're talking about."
"That won't bring my four good men and women back, will it?" Stragos put his hands behind his back. "And with that, we're done. The sound of your voice, the tone of your arrogance, the sheer effrontery contained within that tongue of yours… you are sharkskin on my eardrums, Master Kosta, and you murdered honest soldiers of Tal Verrar. You will have no priest, no ceremony and no grave. Sergeant, give me your sword."
The sergeant of the arresting Eyes stepped forward and drew his blade. He turned it hilt-first toward the Archon. "Stragos," said Jean. "One last thing."
Locke turned toward him and saw that he was smiling thinly. "I'm going to remember this moment for the rest of my gods-damned life." "I—"
Stragos never finished his sentence, since the Eye sergeant suddenly drew back his sword-arm and slammed the hilt of the weapon into the Archon's face.
9
They did it like this.
The Eyes dragged Locke and Jean from the Sinspire courtyard and shoved them into a heavy carriage with iron-barred windows. Three entered the compartment with them, two rode up top to tend the horses and three stood at the sides and rear, as outriders.
At the end of the street atop the highest tier of the Golden Steps, where the carriage had to turn left to take the switchback ramp down to the next level, another carriage suddenly blocked its way. The Eyes yelled threats; the driver of the other carriage apologized profusely and shouted that his horses were uncommonly stubborn.
Then the crossbow strings began to snap, and the drivers and outriders toppled from their places, caught defenceless in a storm of quarrels. Squads of constables in full uniform appeared on the street to either side of the carriage, waving their staves and shields.
"Move along," they shouted at the wide-eyed bystanders, the wisest of whom had already ducked for cover. "Nothing to see here. Business of Archon and Council."
As the bodies hit the cobblestones outside the carriage, the door flew open and the three inside made a futile attempt to aid their fallen comrades. Two more squads of constables, with help from a number of private individuals in plain dress who just happened to get involved at the same signal, charged and overpowered them. One fought back so hard that he was slain by accident; the other two were soon forced down beside the carriage, and their bronze masks removed.
Lyonis Cordo appeared wearing the uniform of an Eye, complete in every detail save for the mask. He was followed by seven more men and women in nearly complete costumes. With them was a young woman Locke didn't recognize. She knelt in front of the two captured Eyes.
"You I don't know," she said to the one on the right. Before the man had time to realize what was happening, a constable had passed a dagger across his throat and shoved him to the ground. Other constables were quickly dragging the rest of the bodies out of sight.
"You, said the woman, regarding the sole surviving Eye, "Lucius Caulus. You I know." "Kill me now," said the man. "I'll give you nothing."
"Of course," said the woman. "But you have a mother. And a sister, who works in the Blackhands Crescent. And you have a brother-by-bonding on the fishing boats, and two nephews—" "Fuck you," Caulus said, "you wouldn't—"
"While you watched. I would. I will. Every single one of them, and you'll be in the room the whole time, and they'll know that you could save them with a few words."
Caulus looked at the ground and began to sob. "Please," he said. "Let this stay between us—"
"Tal Verrar remains, Caulus. The Archon isn't Tal Verrar. But I don't have time to play games with you. Answer my questions or we will find your family." "Gods forgive me," said Caulus, nodding.
"Were you given any special code phrases or procedures to use when re-entering the Mon Magisteria?" "N-no—"
"What, exactly, were the orders that you heard given to your sergeant?"
When the brief interrogation was over and Caulus carted off— alive, to keep him in fear of consequences should he be leaving anything out — along with the bodies, the false Eyes armed themselves with the weapons and harness of the real thing and drew on the brass masks. Then the carriage was off again, speeding on its way to the boat waiting at the inner docks, lest any of Stragos's agents should get across the bay in time to warn of what thed'r seen.
"That went about as well as we could have hoped," said Lyonis, sitting inside the carriage with them. "How good are those fake uniforms?" asked Locke.
"Fake? You misunderstand. The uniforms weren't the hard part; our sympathizers in Stragos's forces supplied us with these some time ago. It's the masks that are damned difficult. One per Eye, no spares; they keep them like family heirlooms. And they spend so much time looking at them that even a close copy would be noticed." Cordo held up his mask and grinned. "After tonight, hopefully we'll never see the damned things again. Now what the hell is in those oilcloth tubes?" "A gift from Requin," said Locke. "Unrelated personal business." "You know Requin well?"
"We share a taste for the art of the late Therin Throne period," said Locke, smiling. "In fact, we've even exchanged some pieces of work recently."
10
As Lyonis knocked the Archon to the ground, the other false Eyes tore their masks off and took action. Locke and Jean slid out of the purely decorative knots at their wrists in less than a second.
One of Lyonis's men underestimated the skills of the real Eye he faced; he fell to his knees with most of his left side sliced open. Two more Priori pretenders closed in and harried the Eye until his guard slipped; they knocked him down and stabbed him several times. The other tried to run and fetch aid, but was slain before he could take five steps.
Merrain and the alchemist looked around, the alchemist far more nervously than Merrain, but two of Lyonis's people put them at swordpoint.
"Well, Stragos," said Lyonis, hauling the Archon back to his knees, "warmest regards from the House of Cordo." He raised his arm, sword reversed to strike, and grinned.