I sat back in my chair, keeping my features expressionless. “You have a Blood-blessed agent on the peninsular,” I said. “Presumably located at the very place where this weapon is being produced.”
The nondescript man returned my gaze, saying nothing until it became clear that I had no intention of speaking until he did. “There are . . . sympathetic elements amongst those gathered to defend Varestia,” he said. “Some of them keen to exploit old contacts for personal reasons.”
“Personal reasons?”
“We are not the only former Ironship employees keen to find a place in your new world.”
I looked again at the diagram. It had long been my hope that, should the day ever arrive when the Voters Rights Alliance gained sufficient power to effect change in the world, we would aspire to something better than the greed and endless conflict of the Corporate Age. But then, none of us had ever envisaged the old world’s fall to happen so completely nor so swiftly. My days as unelected leader of this nascent government had left me with few illusions about the realities of wielding power, especially when my hold on it was so fragile.
“Can this device be replicated?” I asked.
“It can,” he assured me. “If the appropriate labour and resources are provided. However, I must point out that this device is the product of a very singular and unusual mind. Who can say what such a mind might produce in the future?”
I could have refused him, of course. I could have rung my little bell and had him thrown out, or even killed since there are many in the Free Protectorate perfectly willing to undertake such tasks. But I didn’t. Instead I clasped my hands together, conjured a brisk, businesslike smile to my lips and asked, “I assume you have a course of action to propose?”
CHAPTER 35
Hilemore
Colonel Kulvetch arrived late, marching along the outer-wall battlement in company with a full squad of South Seas Maritime Marines. Hilemore assumed her tardiness was the result of a careful surveillance of the wall to ensure the Voter rebels hadn’t prepared a treacherous ambush. Coll and Jillett had come to represent the Voters Committee along with a half-dozen fighters from the Wash Lane Defence Volunteers. Hilemore had arranged for the parley to take place atop the bridge that spanned the river flowing through the wall and over the falls. He thought it a rather marvellous piece of construction, an elegant stone arch some thirty yards long with a defensive tower at each end. The towers were unique amongst Stockcombe’s outer defences in that they hadn’t fallen into disuse. Although they now featured a pocked and cracked appearance thanks to the rival groups occupying them continuing to exchange fire throughout the crisis. Coll said the otherwise well-maintained appearance of the towers resulted from the corporate regime’s desire to police the main access point between the two halves of the city.
“You had to pay a three-scrip toll to walk from east to west,” he said. “They always did their best to keep the scum out.”
Kulvetch motioned for her escort to remain at the far end of the bridge and proceeded alone, ascending the curving incline and coming to a halt a few feet away. She gave Coll and Jillett a glance of cursory hatred before focusing her gaze on Hilemore, face rigid and voice clipped as she uttered a curt “What is it?”
“You saw the drake, I assume?” he asked.
“We did.”
“Then I also assume you know what it portends.”
“I know it means there are still Reds living on this continent. Beyond that, I know nothing.”
Jillett let out a disgusted snort but fell silent at Hilemore’s sharp glance. Persuading the Voters to agree to a parley hadn’t been easy, but at least they fully recognised the danger this city now faced. Kulvetch, he knew, would be even more reluctant to set aside her hatred and lust for revenge.
“I have sound intelligence,” Hilemore said, turning back to Kulvetch, “that a large host of Green and Red drakes is advancing towards this city. We estimate they will arrive in less than two days.”
Kulvetch managed to keep her reaction to a few rapid blinks of her eyes, but Hilemore saw how her throat bunched a little above the starched collar of her tunic. “What sound intelligence?” she asked. “Or am I to simply trust the word of a corporate officer who so willingly surrenders his honour to throw in with these murderous fanatics?”
“Your father was the murderer,” Coll shot back. “Where were you on Lomansday when he flogged and slaughtered innocent people? Busy at home playing with your dolls?”
“Enough!” Hilemore barked, seeing Kulvetch’s face redden with fury, her hand inching towards the side-arm on her belt. “I have thrown in with no one,” he told her. “I come here in search of common cause, for without it we may all be doomed.”
He paused, pondering his next words and coming to the conclusion that there was no longer much value in secrecy. “As for the source of my intelligence, the Blood-blessed on my ship is in trance communication with a Contractor company in the Interior. You wondered why we came here, well, they are why. Their mission is vital, and I must recover them.”
“So,” Coll said, “you want us to fight the drakes off long enough for them to get here.”
“I don’t need to stay here to recover them,” Hilemore replied, once again deciding honesty was the best tactic. “But I do need the ships in this port. Most are now willing to sail to Varestia where there is a struggle of far greater import than your feud.”
“What assurance do I have that any of this is true?” Kulvetch asked.
“Wait two days and find out, you silly bitch,” Jillett advised with a bland smile.
Kulvetch flushed a little with suppressed rage and addressed her next question to Hilemore. “You propose we evacuate?”
He shook his head. “There aren’t enough ships to accommodate more than a quarter of your population. You questioned my honour, but it’s my honour that keeps me here rather than leaving you to your fate. I have formulated a plan which may succeed in ensuring this city’s survival, but to survive you’ll have to fight, and fight together. If you can’t do that, tell me now and we will be on our way.”
Kulvetch and the two Voters continued to stare at each other during the lengthy silence that followed. Hilemore felt as if the air separating them had somehow become heated with their mutual enmity. He had begun to wonder if this hadn’t been a fool’s errand when Coll spoke up, speaking directly to Kulvetch, “It’s a truce. That’s all. We ain’t forgiving or forgetting nothing. When it’s over there’ll be an accounting.”
“A day I hunger for,” Kulvetch replied before turning to Hilemore. “Your plan, Captain?”
They didn’t like it, nor had he expected them to, but at least grudgingly agreed to put it to their respective populations. Hilemore spent the rest of the day overseeing the redistribution of crew and fuel amongst his new fleet, all the while expecting both sides to respond with a firm no. However, such worries were overthrown by the reappearance of the Red that afternoon.
It flew lower this time, descending to a height that proved irresistible to marksmen throughout the divided city and the fleet, who let loose with a furious barrage of rifle fire. The Red twisted and turned in the sky above the harbour, the hail of bullets thrumming the air around it without scoring a hit. Hilemore detected, or perhaps imagined, a taunting note in the screech the Red let out before flying off to the north, chased by yet more ineffectual rifle fire. Despite the waste of ammunition the drake’s visit had the beneficial effect of focusing minds on both sides of the falls and Hilemore received the agreement of both factions by nightfall.