The car stopped and the man got out and came around to our door. The woman looked at me for the first and last time, then released my hands. The man opened my door. A wave of rain washed into the car, spattering across the deep-red leather. I shied away from the sudden cold and wet. Afraid to ruin my dress and my little hat. The woman put a hand on my hip and slid me out. I stumbled on the runner and nearly fell, catching the man's pants leg in a twist of my fingers. He closed the door and went around to the front again. I looked back at the car, water beading across its beetle-smooth black shell, its engine huffing quietly in the rain. I was getting soaked.
A square, like a courtyard, but shabbier. I don't know what I compared this place to, to consider it shabby. There was a statue, a high wall that surrounded the circular drive, an iron gate that was open. I was standing in the lee of a grand high building, made of old stone and curving smoothly away from the ground like a big old egg. It looked like the coldest, hardest place I'd ever seen. There was a door that looked tiny, but only because it led out from this enormous place. A dozen half-circle stairs led up to the door, and there were two men in simple gray robes standing close to the building, out of the rain.
The car roared to life behind me, and I turned just in time to see it roll through the iron gate and out of view. How did I feel about that? Surprised? Relieved? Cold. Mostly I felt cold.
The closest man tossed a cigarette into a puddle and shrugged his hood over his head, then ran out into the rain to me. He was a large man, his shoulders wide as blocks, his face wrinkled and smiling. Like he enjoyed running in the rain. He leaned over me, cutting the rain off with his bulk, then held out a wide, flat hand to me.
"Miss Eva Forge? Welcome home. My name is Barnabas."
"Barnabas what?"
He shook his great head slowly, happily. "Silent. But never mind that. We don't have use for more name than that, here. Would you like to come inside?"
I looked back to the gate, where the car had driven off, then up at the friendly man and his enormous face.
"My name is Eva Forge," I said.
"Of course, dear. Now come inside."
His hand smelled like nicotine and oil. I held it and walked back to the door. He took tiny steps at my side, hunching down and keeping the rain off my nice, new hat.
* * *
I burst through the door and swept into the foyer. The Alexians had given me a white linen cloth to clean up with on the way over, and I tossed it at the stony feet of the idol of Saint Marcus and made for the holy nave. The whiteshirts who had given me a ride clustered anxiously at the door, afraid to enter but anxious to see the scene.
"Tomas!" I yelled. "Isabel! Any of you bloody old… lordships, if you please. Tomas!"
"You rode in on every siren in the city, Eva. You don't have to yell," Tomas said from the engraved stone archway that led to the Chamber of the Fist. "We're gathered, all the Elders. Let Barnabas come inside and we can talk about whatever it is-"
"Talk later. He's been taken."
"Taken? Who?" He dropped his cigarette and ground it out with an old, oil-stained boot. "The Fratriarch?"
I brushed past him, not sparing a glance toward the open door of the Chamber. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the upturned faces of the rest of the Elders. There was a relic of armament next to the Chamber. I threw back the cowl and began rummaging through the offerings.
"They came at us after we left…" How much did he know about our business? What had the Fratriarch told him? Barnabas had said nothing to me of our business, and I was his guard. But these were the Elders. "After we left the Library Desolate. There were two guys, following us, and then-"
My hand strayed to the dark wood tray of bullets. I hadn't seen those two again, I realized. The two bulky men with their metal cowls and tattooed cheeks. They had been following us, for sure, but they hadn't been in on the attack.
"Then?" Isabel asked. I looked up. The whole Fist of Elders was standing around me, eyes wide. Only Simeon, his dark face impassive, seemed to have gotten past the shock. He shouldered Tomas aside and began gathering bullets from the tray. I snapped out of it and joined him, pinching them into the empty cylinder of my bully.
"Then we were attacked. Strange guys… metal faces, goggle eyes. Never seen them before. They fought me off and took the Fratriarch."
"The Rethari have struck us here, in the city?" Tomas said, his voice trembling with rage.
"Not Rethari. Forget the field reports, Elder. I know those war drums have been beating for months, but these guys weren't the scaled bastards. They were men." I sighted the weapon, and made sure there hadn't been any damage in the fight. "They were machines."
"And the scholar?" Isabel asked.
I stopped what I was doing and looked at her. "The girl?" I asked.
"Yes, the Amonite. What became of the Amonite?"
I stood there, silently, watching Simeon load shot into his antique revolver. The rest of the Elders were clustered tight, nearly trembling.
"The hell with the Amonite," I hissed. "Barnabas is gone, Isabel. Your Fratriarch has been taken."
That broke the spell. They stepped back, Isabel nearly fluttering with anger.
"I am an Elder of this Cult, Eva, and your sworn master. You will not-"
"Next time, Izzy." I slapped the cylinder of my revolver shut and holstered it, then walked briskly to an anointing tub and dipped my sword into the water. It came out shimmering, the remaining dead, cold blood of the Fratriarch's kidnappers rolling off in clumps. "We can have this spat next time, when I have a day or so to listen to your holy nonsense. Today, right now, while we're talking, Barnabas is in enemy hands."
"Of course," Tomas said. "There is no time. We will convene the Fist and contact Alexander's representatives. The city must be mobilized."
"Sure thing," I said, then all but ran out into the street. The giant wooden door, carved with the histories of the scions of Morgan, greasy and worn with time and neglect, slammed closed behind me.
Felt good to be on the move again. To be mobilized.
* * *
The representatives of Alexander. The Healers, the whiteshirts, the nurses. Alexians. They had to be contacted, right, because they wouldn't otherwise notice the gunfight that just broke out in the middle of their city? Sure. It was a whiteshirt patrol that had given me a ride from the crash site back to the Strength of Morgan, and another patrol that was tearing hell to the godking's palace. Probably to amp up their own security.
I love my Elders, honest to Brothers, but they've gotten old. Even Elias, hard as stone, isn't going to do much more than carry that revolver tucked into his belt while he putters around his highgarden. Doing things was up to the Paladins, and these days, that was me. Just me.
I swung into the whiteshirts' wagon, crouching on the bench so my sword wouldn't bang against the wall. The Justicar sat across from me. His head was wreathed in a communications rig. I tapped the shiny iron band across his eyes and leaned in.
"Any word?" I yelled.
He opened the rig and gave me an angry glare. "It wasn't on, lady. You don't have to yell."
I slapped the rig, knocking it fully off his head, then grabbed his collar and put my lungs into it.
"Any! Word!"
"Gods, okay, okay. It's not like… Okay, it's exactly like that. Hold on." He picked up the rig and spun it up. "There's been some kind of interference today. Something wrong with the channels. But no. Your Fratriarch hasn't been seen. Not him, not the convoy of flying corpses that you say took him. Just one wrecked train and a lot of scared citizens."