“Molly? Becks?” she said.
“I’m okay,” Becks said, through clenched teeth. She sat on the floor, her wounded arm held out straight, while Molly busied herself tearing strips from a soldier’s shirt to make a bandage. “It’s. . uh. . not deep.”
“Cyte?”
Cyte waved from the wreckage of the table and started pulling herself to her feet. A bruise was blooming on her cheek, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. “Sorry. He got away from me.”
Winter nodded at them, a small knot in her chest untying itself. She turned back to the inner room, where the girl had emerged to kick the dropped weapons well out of range of the wounded soldier, who wisely remained curled in a silent ball on the floor. In the doorway behind her, Winter saw Danton, staring at the bloodied men with slack-jawed disinterest.
“Who are you?” the girl said. She was trying to keep her tone calm, but her breathing was fast and she seemed close to panic. Winter, realizing she still held a bloody sword, set it down for the moment and tried to sound reassuring.
“I’m Winter,” she said. “I’m with Mad Jane. Are you one of Danton’s people?”
“Something like that,” the girl said. “My name is Cora. I came up here. . when. .”
Her eyes fell on the dead man, watching in horrified fascination as a pool of blood spread from where he lay facedown, and she trailed off.
“Cora,” Winter said. The girl’s head jerked up, her eyes full of tears. Winter held out her hand, and Cora took it tentatively. Winter drew her carefully past the bodies and into the outer room.
“Thank you.” Cora knuckled her eyes. “I was watching from the gallery when the Concordat came in. I ran back up here to see if I could get Danton to move, but the black-coats blocked us in.”
“We were on the Widow’s Gallery. Special Branch men are all over the place.” Winter glanced back down the corridor, to make sure the rest of the girls were still keeping an eye out. “We were hoping we could get out through the back.”
Cora shook her head. “I poked my head down the stairs that way. They’ve got it blocked. But we don’t need to get Danton out. We need to get him down to the floor.”
“What? Why?”
“He has to speak,” Cora said.
Cyte, on her feet now, came over. “What makes you think they’ll let him?”
“I don’t think they’ll have a choice,” Cora said. “He can be very persuasive.”
Winter shook her head. “This is ridiculous. Orlanko has to have a hundred armed men out there. Danton wants to make a speech to them?”
“Have you seen him speak?” Cora said.
Winter paused. She had, back at the Vendre, and it was undeniable that the effect on his listeners had been nothing short of sensational. The mob of prisoners had taken the Concordat troops apart. But we took them from behind, by surprise. Even if he got a similar response out of the deputies, the Special Branch thugs were ready and waiting. The crowd might overwhelm them, but it would be a bloodbath.
Stall. That was what Janus had asked her. It might work. If I can get him to play for time. .
“Let me talk to him,” Winter said.
Cora shook her head. “He. . doesn’t like to talk to most people, up close.”
“Just for a minute.” Winter bit her lip. “If we’re going to do this, I need to know he understands what he’s getting into.”
“I don’t. .,” Cora began. She paused. “You can try.”
Winter nodded and went back down the short, bloody corridor. The door at the end was still open, and Danton was sitting in a flimsy chair, staring amiably at nothing. Several empty bottles stood by his feet. Is he drunk? That would explain the vacant look. He was well dressed, at least, in an elegant, understated coat with gold buttons, hair neatly combed and hat pinned in place. When he noticed Winter, he waved.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” Winter said cautiously. “I’m Winter.”
“Hello,” Danton repeated, and laughed.
“Cora told me that you want to give your speech,” Winter said, trying to get a read on his expression. “You know what’s going on down there, don’t you?”
“They’re waiting for me to tell my story,” Danton said, with a guileless grin. “I’m ready. Cora told it to me, and I’m ready.”
“Your. . story? I don’t understand.”
“I like telling stories.”
Something is very wrong here. Was it some kind of act? Winter stepped up beside him, and he stared vacuously up at her, blue eyes empty of anything but simple curiosity.
“You could get killed,” Winter said. “Do you understand that?”
He blinked, and smiled wider. “People like my stories.”
“Stories. .”
A cold suspicion spread through Winter. She reached out, deliberately, and put her hand on Danton’s shoulder.
Deep inside her, the Infernivore stirred. It rose from the dark pit of her soul, winding out through her body and into her hand, sniffing the air for prey like a hunting dog. And in Danton, something responded-another presence, a bright, airy, colorful thing, recoiling in frantic terror. Infernivore halted, coiled to pounce, needing only an effort of Winter’s will to spring across the narrow gap between them and devour the alien magic.
Danton sensed none of this. He looked up at Winter, still smiling. Slowly, she lifted her hand from his shoulder.
“I don’t think we can get him to the floor,” Winter said, reemerging into the outer room. “They’ll be watching the stairs.”
Cora nodded. “I think we can get to the gallery. I didn’t run into anyone on my way here. It looks out over the main floor from behind the altar. Everyone should be able to see him.”
“Wait,” Cyte said. “You’re going along with this?”
Winter nodded.
“What if someone takes a shot at him?” Cyte said. “Danton’s important. He’s the heart of. . of all of this! He shouldn’t risk himself.”
Winter caught Cora’s eyes, and a quiet understanding passed between them. He’s not the heart of it. He’s just a. . a tool. Cora and her friends had been using him, or using the magic that coiled inside him. Like the Khandarai used Feor, and Orlanko used Jen. But, at this point, Winter didn’t see any other choice.
“He wants to do it,” she lied. “And I think. . people will listen.”
Becks, pale as a ghost but still excited, jumped to her feet. “Everyone will listen! Even the Concordat. I always said, if people would only listen to Danton, everything would work out!”
She stumbled, light-headed, and Molly caught her by the elbow and held her up.
Winter sighed. “All right. Cora, you lead the way to the gallery. Cyte and I will be right behind you. You girls stick close to Danton and give a shout if anyone comes up behind us.”
The gallery was a small stone balcony that opened unobtrusively onto the great hall some thirty feet above the altar. The Widow’s Gallery was open for the public to watch the proceedings, but the gallery provided a more private space for visiting priests and other dignitaries to observe the service. Since they were in the old priests’ quarters, it wasn’t far, and no Special Branch soldiers barred their progress.
A low stone railing lined the gallery, and Winter stopped Danton and the others at the doorway. She crouched and crept to the edge of the balcony, trying to get a sense of what was going on below.
The Concordat captain, Brack, seemed to have things well organized. The deputies sat on the floor in circular groups, surrounded by rings of Special Branch men with drawn pistols. A few black-coats prowled the gaps between them. Brack himself stood near the altar, and more soldiers waited by the exits and against the walls. She could see dark figures moving on the Widow’s Gallery, across the way.
Just below Brack, a couple of black-coats with a big ledger were processing the arrestees. Small bunches were driven up to them by grinning Special Branch thugs, and the prisoners gave their names and were directed back to one group or another in accordance with instructions that Concordat men read from their book. Another man took down everything that was said. Brack wasn’t paying much attention to the proceedings, though, and had eyes mostly for the big double doors at the back of the hall.