Ivarl laughed, and pointed his own pistol down. Edeard scuttled to the side of the bar and crouched down. The barrage of shots which followed sent splinters and clumps of cushioning feathers flying through the air. Some of the lieutenants had a grand time shooting abandoned glasses on the tables.
Ivarl held his hand up and the firing stopped. 'Ready to say hello, yet, my young friend?
Edeard looked across the floor. It was covered in debris now, and cushioning feathers were still fluttering through the air. He would never be able to walk across it without disturbing something. They'd see him instantly.
Ivarl began to reload his pistol, slotting unusually long bullets into the cylinder. 'They say you come from the country somewhere back west, he said casually. 'That probably means you're unfamiliar with parts of our city and how it works. Everyday stuff the rest of us take completely for granted. For instance, did you know that if there's a fire the walls simply repair themselves? In a month, you'd never even know anything happened.
Edeard eyed the back of the bar. He might be able to make it to the rear storeroom without making too much commotion.
One of the wooden pedestals began to tilt as a third hand pushed it. Then it fell over, sending the colourful globe crashing down. The glass smashed. Liquid splashed out. Edeard gave it an alarmed look, he hadn't known the globes contained anything. That was when he realized the liquid was actually Jamolar oil, used in lanterns everywhere on Querencia except Makkathran, where there was no need. The remainder of the globes were shoved over, smashing to flood oil out across the floor. He watched it spreading towards him with growing alarm. This was getting serious, he wasn't sure his shield could cope with fire and these bullets. The oil was getting very close to the nearest stove.
Ivarl finished loading his pistol, and snapped the chamber back. 'Come out come out wherever you are.
Edeard looked above the gang lord. The ceiling which vaulted across the whole bar was inset with broad lighting rosettes whose lips extended down to the walls in a scribble of slender volutes. Their pale-orange radiance was at its strongest. He ordered them off, and to remain off. The bar was plunged into darkness, with the flickering coal flames behind the stove grilles shedding tenuous fans of light. He leapt up and started sprinting for the door.
A pale silver light flared above and behind him, revealing his splashing footprints.
'Huh? Edeard twisted round to see both Ivarl and Tannarl encased in a glowing nimbus.
'You're not so special, Waterwalker, Ivarl jeered. 'You can't even walk on fire. He thrust his hand out. The glow brightened all along his arm, then tiny sparks were cascading from his fingertips, falling down from the gallery like a phosphorescent spray.
Edeard dropped his concealment. The oil ignited.
Flames soared up from the slick floor. A vicious blast of air knocked Edeard into the piano. The shield he'd flung round his body just managed to survive the impact, mitigating the blow. He didn't dare breathe as the flames surged round him, reaching far above his head.
Up on the gallery the girls were screaming as the fire licked up round the wooden railings. Thick smoke churned through the air.
'I see you! Ivarl shouted victoriously. He started shooting.
Edeard dived for the floor, ploughing up a thin wave of flaming oil which sizzled across his shield, barely an inch from his clothes and face. He was managing to ward off the worst of the heat, but his skin felt as if he was immersed in acid. His leather coat was smouldering. Still he didn't dare draw a breath. Bullets punched into the floor beside him, scattering razor-sharp splinters. Up on the gallery, the squealing girls were fleeing down corridors. Terrified clients shoved them aside in their own haste to reach safety. Ivarl and his lieutenants remained steadfast, their shields protecting them from the worst of the flames. They fired away manically with their pistols.
Bullets started to strike Edeard as his attackers drilled through the fire with their farsight. They were like hammer blows on his back, sending pulses of agony along his spine to explode in his brain. He couldn't sustain his shield much longer. He desperately needed air.
His thoughts pushed down hard into the floor, willing escape, pleading Help me! and the floor miraculously changed. He started to fall. There was nothing below him. A bullet hit the shield at the back of his head. He screamed, and blacked out.
Edeard woke to a uniform pain that throbbed horribly. Even before he was fully conscious, he threw up. After that, he simply lay where he was in the hope the pain would fade. His hands and cheeks were sore where the heat from the flames had penetrated his shield. He could feel bruises all over his back. Bright light made him blink sticky tears from his eyes.
Slowly he began to shuffle round and sit up, wincing at every move. It was very quiet. He managed to focus. What he saw made little sense.
He was lying on the floor of a great tunnel. Not as wide as those which mirrored Makkathran's canals, but perfectly circular. Nor was there any water trickling along the bottom. The walls were as smooth as glass, which is what they could well have been made from. He couldn't be sure, for they glowed with a painful intensity. A proper white light, too, not Makkathran's usual orange. In fact this whiteness had a shade of purple blended in, which was why his eyes wouldn't stop watering. Up the curve of I he wall, was a line of scarlet points which shone with equal intensity. They stretched out on either side of him as far as he could see. And that was the problem, he couldn't see any kind of end to the tunnel, not in either direction.
Edeard clambered to his feet, wincing as he gingerly probed his back with his fingertips. His coat was ruined, the leather was hard and cracked, with some strips flaking off as if a knife had been slashing at him. His boots were also in a bad way, the drosilk resin soles had blackened and turned soft. Where he'd lain on the tunnel it was smeared with patches of oil. He eased himself out of his coat, and patted the drosilk waistcoat underneath. The weave had several loose dints. It had probably saved his life he admitted. When he touched the back of his head he gasped at the pain from the lump.
'Thank you, he said out loud to the city, and slowly sank back down again. He knew he was going to have to rest up for a while. His farsight couldn't reach further than a few inches through the tunnel wall. By now he'd decided he was in one of the very deep tunnels which lay a long way underneath the usual canal tunnels he used. If so, then he was really alone in a way he'd never been before. Nobody had been down here since the city was built, and he still didn't know what kind of creatures those might have been. Whoever they were, they'd certainly built very well, though why they would want to build a lighted tunnel like this was beyond his comprehension. But then, that was true of the whole city.
He tried to relax, though it was difficult. Without the city's usual background babble of longtalk which he always ignored, the isolation was quite crushing. He was also angry at himself for what happened in the House of Blue Petals. Of course Ivarl would figure things out eventually. Concealment was not a secret in this city, not among the Masters, and quite a few others. And that ability Ivarl had, the glow that surrounded both him and Tannarl, the sparks, that was something Edeard had never heard of before. Now though, he wasn't entirely surprised, not since that final night he'd spent with Ranalee.
Like all the Grand Family daughters, Ranalee was a lovely-looking girl. She had raven hair which she (well, her maids, anyway) brushed straight every morning so that it would fall halfway down her back. Her face was also long, with narrow eyes, and a cute little nose. Again, all nice features, except in combination they gave the impression of coldness. That seemed to be another eternal feature of Makkathran's aristocracy, the richer or more powerful the family, the less laughter was to be found in their lives. However, she was fiendishly enjoyable in bed. And, truth be told, he was rather excited at the way she spent a couple of weeks manoeuvring Kristiana out of the picture. That single-minded possessiveness when focused on him alone made her even hotter.