He smiled and shifted the pistol back to his right hand.
Edging around the blade, he squeezed sideways through the door, not opening it any farther. His eyes scanned the floor for trip wires or caltrops, but nothing presented itself. The interior of the cabin was only dimly lit by the fading light from the doorway, but he could see the huddled shape of a human figure in the center of the dirt floor, beside a heavy stone cooking block. Next to it was a small pit, which looked as if it had been concealed under a dirt-covered board. Andreas, squinting, could make out a pair of pistols inside, but the figure made no move to take them.
Was that her? It was too dark to tell. But the rectangle of sun from the doorway showed a couple of brilliant scarlet drops on the floor.
“Did you get all this way, only to collapse on the threshold?” he said aloud. There was no response from the figure. He leveled his pistol at it and edged forward.
It certainly looked like a woman’s body. It would be safest to shoot first and investigate later, but if the Gray Rose was lying in wait, that would leave him temporarily disarmed. Instead Andreas walked crabwise across the floor, scanning every corner of the cabin. No one was hiding in the shadows, and the body on the floor didn’t move. When he was close enough, he reached out and nudged it with his foot. It shook, slightly, but did not respond.
He aimed his pistol, rolled the figure over, and stepped hurriedly back.
The body was. . not a body. It was a giant doll, a mannequin stuffed with straw and dressed in a woman’s coat. It had no face; where eyes and mouth should have been, there was an embroidered rose, in black and gray.
“Clever,” Andreas said, turning slowly around. “But not clever enough, I think. You can barely stand. Can we not give up this contest?” He didn’t seriously expect her to give in, of course. But the offer might provoke some kind of response.
At that moment, the other device that had been triggered by the latch went off. Ten barrels of black powder buried in the dirt floor of the cabin exploded simultaneously, converting the hut and everything in it into an expanding blossom of flame that rose into the canopy and shook burning leaves from the trees. The boom echoed through the hunting preserve, all the way to the distant walls of the palace.
ORLANKO
By the time he climbed up a stepladder and into the comfort of his private carriage, Duke Orlanko was sweaty and very out of sorts.
In hindsight, he’d stayed at the Ministry too long. Once it had become clear that Vhalnich’s Mierantai had overcome the Grays-and how the hell had that happened? — the clerks of the Cobweb had begun their emergency preparations. Vital archives were evacuated, and the incinerators in the lower stories blazed as they devoured less important papers. It was in Orlanko’s nature to prepare for all contingencies, and so there was a plan for everything, even the fall of the Cobweb itself. Nothing there was irreplaceable.
But Vhalnich’s men had held back, and Orlanko had accordingly hesitated to order the final evacuation. Only when he’d gotten word from the deputies had he accepted that this round, at least, was definitively lost. The mob there had overwhelmed both the men he’d sent to secure them and Vhalnich’s Mierantai, and by the time the news reached him they were only an hour from the gates of Ohnlei.
With some of Vhalnich’s men still prowling the grounds, he couldn’t leave by carriage. Instead he had gone out via another tunnel, which came up at a hidden post in the royal hunting preserve. Horses had been waiting for him and his guards, and from there it was only a short ride to the Midvale Road. The duke was an indifferent rider at best, though, and his small stature made mounting an undignified process. He cursed every minute they spent in the saddle, first trotting through the woods and then setting a faster pace up the road to where the carriage was waiting.
Halfway there, an enormous boom had broken the stillness of the forest. Orlanko, watching the column of smoke rising, was at a loss to explain it-it seemed to be coming from the middle of the hunting park, and there was no reason so much powder should have been stored anywhere near there. It was another inexplicable thing in a day that had been full of inexplicable things. Since the duke had prided himself for years on knowing everything there was to know about his city, this frustrated him beyond words.
Three vehicles waited for them, two big post wagons full of records and a black carriage with shaded windows for Orlanko himself. There were also two dozen mounted black-coats with carbines, and together with the squad that had escorted him from the Cobweb, they were enough to make Orlanko feel reasonably secure. He pulled himself into the carriage, muscles already complaining from the short ride, and sank into the cushioned seat.
Sitting opposite him were two figures in hooded brown cloaks. Brother Nikolai and his charge had been among the first to be evacuated from the Cobweb, bundled up to keep their identities concealed even from the Concordat. Orlanko dared not risk losing his link to the Priests of the Black, not now. But he felt his irritation rising at the sight of Nikolai’s glittering black mask; the story he’d received from the floor of the deputies had been very clear on a few particulars.
“Your people have made a mess of things, Brother Nikolai,” Orlanko snarled, as the carriage lurched into motion.
The priest shrugged. “It was not my doing, Your Grace, as you must know. But I believe His Eminence was eager to speak with you on that very subject.” He patted the girl sitting beside him on the thigh. “Is he still there?”
She drew back her hood. A bandage of black silk was wound around her head, covering her mutilated eye sockets. “Yes. One moment.” Then, in the harsh voice of the Pontifex of the Black, “Orlanko.”
“Your Eminence,” Orlanko said. “You have received the news, I take it?”
“I have,” said the distant Pontifex. “I must say I am beginning to have doubts about your commitment.”
“My commitment? I was promised a free hand.”
“And you’ve been given one.”
“Until today! It was one of your people that killed Danton and threw the mob into a fury.”
“There was no other option,” the pontifex said, the girl’s mouth stretching oddly to speak his words. “He was possessed, as you should have been aware, and his demon was a particularly dangerous one. He needed to be eliminated.”
“I had the situation in hand.”
“I doubt that. I’m told your men were ready to go over to the rebels as soon as Danton started speaking.”
Orlanko pursed his lips. He’d long suspected that the Priests of the Black had pawns in the city other than himself, but it was galling to get confirmation nonetheless. He was also uncomfortably aware that the pontifex was probably right. The Special Branch were, after all, nothing more than mercenaries, not like his own carefully trained Concordat men. And if Danton had a demon. .
He regretted, for the first time, sending Jen Alhundt to Khandar. At the time, he’d been pleased to rid himself of the arrogant Church agent, but if there were demons on the loose, having one on his side would have been a comfort.
“Well,” Orlanko said, after a moment of silence. “What’s done is done. The mob appears to have turned on Vhalnich, so perhaps things are not as bleak as they appear-”