"That will do," the Amonite said, then shot me a dull look and returned to his seat. He went back to staring at the girl. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, at his chains.
"How the hell will we get out of here?" one of the badly injured men asked. I shushed him. One problem at a time.
And our first problem came up pretty quick. Through the window I saw pale blue light, and then the wide goggle eyes of the coldmen. I couldn't hear their static voices, but I could feel them, itching through my bones. It felt like I could taste that breath again, centuries dead. I put away the revolver. At least here, on the deck, I had room to swing some blade.
"Everyone stay behind me. If it gets bad, jump in the drink and go under. If they come for you… swim."
"Swim," Owen said, "and pray to Alexander for deliverance."
"As you like," I said. "But mostly I would swim."
Hammering at the door, now. A slow, patient, heavy stroke that rang the metal like a bell. The whole room echoed from the impact. The water behind us lapped against the dock. I drew my sword and began to invoke, drawing a semicircle on the ground in front of me and feeding it what power I could. What power Morgan could give me.
The door burst like a shell, spitting hot metal across the dock, hissing as it struck the water. The debris arced off the flimsy wall of my shield. I kept my sword crossed over my chest, chanting the ritual of protection as hard as I could. When the explosion settled into nothing more than smoke and cinder I dropped the shield and rushed forward. Owen fired a shot into the roiling smoke from behind me, then cursed as I got in his way. I trusted my steel more than his lead.
They came out of the gaping hole in the wall, the jagged wound of the hatch. The coldmen. Their eyes were luminescent in the smoke and steam. White fog vented out of their faces, frost riming the blades of their greaves. They lurked, like animals stalking into the light of a campfire. Their eyes flashed, and then I was on them, screaming.
They fell stubbornly. I put the blade into chests, shoulders, thighs, drawing harshly back to pull the sharp edge of the sword through their flesh as I retreated. I heard and felt the remaining Alexians firing their weapons into the flanks of the horde of coldmen who spilled out of the door. Hot white lances punched into dead skin, rupturing bone and metal. They kept coming. They always kept coming.
I dove in and out, slashing and giving ground. There wasn't a lot of ground to give. Their wrist blades were sharp, and I had no shield to protect me. The wide blade of my sword got mired in a rib cage; another of them punched metal through my coat, slicing skin. The holy-forged form of my noetic armor crumpled under the assault like a child's toy. I let go of my sword with my right hand and punched the one in front of me twice, fast, reeling him back, then drew my bully. I started firing as soon as it cleared the holster, putting the first shot into the long bone of his shin, splintering it as the bullet went from knee to heel. My second shot cracked open his hip. I whipped the revolver up, slamming the thick barrel into his chin, cracking it like a wishbone. He fell back, taking his blades with him, out of my skin and my coat.
The sword came free when I put the tip of the revolver I had stolen against the offending rib cage and blasted it away with three quick shots, then holstered the bully and cleared the space around me, swinging metal into bone. There were so many of them, and we'd been pushed back nearly to the edge of the dock. I was losing sight of the ruined hatch. I lost sight of the girl, too.
"Justicar!" I yelled, looking around for the scion of Alexander. He was off to my side, trying to reload the fat cylinder of his shotgun. "We're going to have to make a move here awfully quick."
"We'll keep fighting, Paladin. Until we're out."
"That's not going to-"
The air cracked around me and I stumbled. The planks of the dock went crazy. The world was moving, sliding farther into the water. Away from the hatch.
The dock must have been damaged in the explosion, or the girl had cut us loose. I spun around, looking for her. Nothing. The dock twisted on its supports and pulled free of the wall, slapping against the water. We started to sink in cold water and earnest.
The wounded screamed, those awake enough to register the danger. Several rolled off and disappeared into the water, soundlessly. The coldmen didn't seem to notice, just kept fighting, pressing, coming. I fought on, because it was what I knew how to do. The water made it to my ankles, my knees, the shocking spike of cold into my crotch taking the breath from my lungs. The platform was tilting and I slipped, ashy water splashing into my mouth and eyes. I hauled myself to my feet.
I lost sight of Owen, of the other Alexians, of the walls all around. A couple of the frictionlamps bobbed on the surface of the water, a couple more glowed dimly as they sank beneath the waters. I saw the girl, once, refastening the mask that she had surrendered, her eyes panicking as the water rushed up around her throat and into her still-open mouth as she slid beneath the surface. Hands clutched at me, and I cut them, unsure if they belonged to the coldmen or my dying companions. My attackers gabbled at me in staticky panic, falling beneath my blade or stumbling off the platform to disappear. The planks under my feet began to shift as the whole structure lost integrity, forgot that it was supposed to be stable and flat. I was standing on a loose bundle of boards, and the bundle was coming apart. I tried to pick out the ruin of the hatch, but could see nothing but blackness and the swallowing darkness of the water. I picked a direction, lurched toward it, thrashing against the water to try to stay up, then stepped off into an abyss, into oblivion.
The water swallowed me, and the darkness, and the cold.
7
he corridor was a tube of slimy brick with gutters on both sides of a narrow iron walkway. There was no light, other than the soft glow coming off the Healers' runed cuffs as they invoked over the bodies of the nearly dead. I was on my back, shoulders arched uncomfortably over the mass of the articulated sheath. The corridor ended in a waterfall that fell silently, held back by some hidden force. I sat up. Owen saw me and came over.
"Careful now," he said. He passed a palm over my head, whispering some invokation of anatomy. He had put on his Healer's rings, a dull silver cuff for each finger, and they glowed a dim blue as he watched me with nervous eyes. "That was an unusual method of drowning."
"What happened?" I asked. My head felt like it had been stuffed with kindling and then used to start a particularly stubborn fire. The Justicar put his palm against my forehead, shook his head, then began to invoke. His skin was cool and wet, surprisingly soft. I closed my eyes and lay back against the damp tunnel wall. "Where are we?"
"Under the water," he said, then broke contact. The pain in my head dampened to a soft roar. "There's some mechanism in the water that dragged us in here. You should be fine until we get to the surface."
"A force?" I sat up again and looked at the waterfall. The water flickered light. I could detect a pulse in my bones now, not unlike the feeling I got standing on the monotracks, staring at the distant tower of the impellor. "This is how the Amonites got away?"
"Probably. Clever kids, those Scholars." He stood up, hunching under the curved brick ceiling. "We can talk about it later. I've got people to attend."