Into the Storm (31 page)

Thorny squinted at the distant building. It was a large structure near where the Black River entered the Gulf of Cygnar. “That’s where what?”

Cleasby scowled. “That’s the center of the modernization of Caspia’s infrastructure, the Great Public Works. It had been started under Vinter II but was never completed. Vinter IV picked it up after the Scharde Invasions, and it was one of the few positive legacies of his reign. Its goal was to improve the capital’s sanitation and prevent the spread of diseases. The ancient sewer system below the city was dug up and new pipe laid through the city’s major residential areas, starting with Castle Raelthorne and the better parts of town immediately adjacent. King Leto vastly expanded the project and incorporated alchemical treatment to the sewage as a safeguard against disease. Then that facility was broadened to include alchemical processing of river water for the city’s water supply. Now those pipes reach every neighborhood in the city, so that even the poorest among us could have the same advantages. Better sewers, better drinking water. It was one of the most ambitious construction projects ever undertaken. A real credit to the Raelthornes, past and present.”

“That’s fascinating and all, but what—”

“The chief architect of the Great Public Works under Vinter IV was Groller Culpin.”

“Gorax balls. The same Culpin Madigan figured blew up First Platoon?”

“I never got to see the blast site and they’ve been far too busy to respond to any of my requests, but I can only assume there was some sort of tunnel or sewer beneath Griggs’ position that day. The ’jack we found had already delivered its payload. Madigan’s hypothesis was correct, only we got the location wrong. We looked up, when we should have been looking down . . . The bomb that took out First Platoon was just an experiment.”

“I’m not following. That public works building fell to the Protectorate days ago. We already know the water’s been shut off—Morrow knows we’ve heard the refugees complaining about that nonstop. That dome is blocks behind their front lines. If Culpin blew it up now, he’d be doing us a favor.”

Cleasby’s eyes flicked back and forth, scanning the city, seeing it not as streets and buildings, but lines radiating outward on a grid. The whole city was connected. The idea made too much sense to not be true, and that filled his guts with fear.

“It’s not the dome, Thorny. It’s what’s beneath it.”

The headquarters of the Storm Division seemed to be in complete disarray. The battle for Caspia had grown so desperate that many of the officers who would normally be here, calling the shots from a position of safety and clarity, were out fighting in the streets. Cleasby was having a hard time even finding anyone in his chain of command to talk to.

“I’m looking for Captain Schafer or Major Laddermore,” he told the clerk. “Have you seen them?”

“Laddermore’s with the king . . .” the clerk answered, his eyes focused on something very far away. “She rode away with his body over her saddle. Did you hear? The king has been struck down. Even Morrow can’t help us now. Menoth is coming! Menoth is coming to burn us all!”

“You have been absolutely no help at all,” Cleasby snapped at the babbling clerk. He spotted a runner. “You! I’m looking for the commanding officer of the 47th!”

The runner didn’t slow. “I’ve no time!”

Cleasby grabbed him by the arm. “I need to talk to him!”

“The 47th is lost. They were cut off when Pier Street fell.” He smacked Cleasby’s hand away. “As was the 30th and 14th. It’s a complete rout. I’ve got to tell Commander Bradher.”

Cleasby’s mouth fell open. “Lost?” He had an important message to convey, and nobody to convey it to. “Wait. Give this to Bradher. It’s urgent.” He handed over the note he’d written. “Please.”

“Very well.” The runner saw the insignia on Cleasby’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Then he hurried on.

Stunned, Cleasby stood there for a moment as the headquarters continued to fall apart. The realization slowly came that this was what defeat looked like. Administrative officers were throwing their most important papers in boxes and putting the least important in barrels that would be burned as they evacuated the headquarters. Cleasby marveled that with so many lives being lost, there was still time for paperwork. The rear echelon flinched at every explosion, even the ones so small that Cleasby no longer registered them as interesting.

How things change!

Commander Bradher would read the message, and he would either act or not, but by then it would probably be too late. The Storm Division was doing everything it could just to stay in the fight. He couldn’t reach his chain of command, but the 8th Division of the Second Army was also based in Caspia, so he wrote another note and sent it along with one of the clerks fleeing in that direction. They would be lucky if the army proved able to mount any sort of counteroffensive to seize the Great Dome at all, let alone in time to make a difference, since they were concentrating on defending important parts of Caspia, like the palace, the Sancteum, the Strategic Academy, or the Cygnaran Army.

Madigan had talked about Culpin’s nature. The Protectorate wouldn’t be keen on destroying a city they considered inherently holy, but Culpin wouldn’t give a damn about their priesthood and their goals. He saw himself as the architect, and his greatest creation, below the city of Caspia itself, had been stolen from him. Now that it had been sullied, Culpin would rather see it destroyed.

Cleasby hurried down the steps. Thornbury, Rains, and Pangborn were waiting for him outside. He gave them a quick report as panicked soldiers loaded nearby wagons and stray papers fluttered away on the wind.

“The king’s gonna die, Stryker’s gonna die, and the city’s gonna fall,” Pangborn spat. “I can’t believe the Protectorate is gonna win.”

“None of that talk,” Cleasby ordered. “This isn’t over yet. We might not be able to do anything about Voyle, but we’re the only ones who have a clue about Culpin. We’re it.”

The three of them shared a nervous glance. “What do you want us to do, Lieutenant?” Rains asked.

“Our orders haven’t changed, but I can’t sit at the gate and do nothing while Caspia falls around us. I’m going to the Great Dome to try to stop Culpin. I don’t expect any of you to come with me. It’s far behind Protectorate lines by now. Whoever goes probably won’t be coming back.”

“I’m in,” Pangborn said. “I’ve never turned down a fight, no matter how stupid.”

“For a second I thought you’d gone all mushy on us, big fella,” Thorny said. “I’m sick of herding refugees. I’m with you.”

Rains smiled. “What do you want us to do, Lieutenant?” he asked again.

Cleasby felt a huge sense of relief. “Thank you . . . Get back to the Barn. Rains, give the remaining men the choice to come or not, but be sure to let them know there’s no shame in saying no to this mission. Thornbury, beg, borrow, or steal any piece of equipment we’re short of. I don’t care if you have to rob the quartermaster’s office at gunpoint.”

Thornbury saluted. “I like you more all the time, Cleasby.”

“What about me?” Pangborn asked.

“The mechaniks said he was only good for scrap, but I’ve noticed you’ve never given up on Headhunter.”

“I figured that’s what this unit was all about, sir.”

“Damned right it is. Is he ready?”

“I’m not half the mechanik—or man—that Neel MacKay was, but I swear Headhunter will make him proud. You’ve got my word.”

“Fire him up then. I’ll meet you at the Barn as soon as I can.” Cleasby began running the other direction.

“What are you going to do?” Rains called after him.

“I’m getting this platoon’s leader back.”

A door banged open. “You can’t go in there!” one of the guards shouted.

Madigan sat up on his cot. His head was clear for the first time in days. The fever had broken. He was starving, dehydrated, and dizzy, but he was coherent. He rubbed his face in his hands and found a week’s worth of beard.

“Sir! Please, you can’t—”

“I’ve got orders from Major Laddermore. Madigan is to be remanded into my custody immediately.”

Cleasby?

“Sorry, Lieutenant Cleasby. All of the prisoners are to be transferred to a stockade outside of the city as soon as our wagons get here. We’ve not been informed about moving one in particular. Do you have the proper forms?”

“Forms?
Forms?
Are you daft, man? Look outside. The city is about to fall and Voyle is marching through the city shattering everything in his way, and you think our commanders have time to fill out paperwork?”

“I’m sorry. If you’ll just wait a minute we’ll send a runner and—”

“We don’t have
minutes
. This is war. You hear how close those Skyhammers are? If one falls on this building and kills Major Laddermore’s prisoner, it will be on your head . . .” There was a pause as a nameplate on a desk was read. “Corporal Ludwig. You will be personally responsible for hurting the defenses of the city in our direst hour. Wrap your head around that, Corporal. You won’t be guarding a cell, you’ll be in one, and that’s if you’re lucky and she doesn’t just leave you to the Protectorate. Do you understand?” Another pause. “Excellent. Now where is my prisoner?”

He heard the rattle of a ring of keys being taken from its peg on the wall. Light flooded the corridor as another door was thrown wide. A very nervous guard walked quickly to Madigan’s cell and unlocked it. “Sir?” the guard asked. “Are you awake?”

He managed to stand and was spared the indignity of falling over. “I heard the exchange.”

“Your fever has passed. Thank Solovin. I was afraid I’d come down here and find you dead,” the guard whispered. “And then that lieutenant would have me flogged!”

“Best keep your head down. I hear Cleasby’s a hard one,” Madigan agreed as the guard led him out.

The guard was ashamed. “We called for physicians and priests, but they were all too busy—”

“No need to apologize. You did your best with what you had.” The sunlight in the main room was blinding. Madigan lifted one shaking hand to shield his eyes.

“You are to come with me, prisoner. Major Laddermore needs to speak with you, immediately.” Cleasby went to take him roughly by the arm but then saw the filthy state of his clothing and gestured at the door instead. They went down the steps as fast as Madigan could manage. “I must say, you’re in a rather disheveled state, sir.”

“They actually made you lieutenant? Spend a few months in prison and everything falls apart.”

“My promotion should tell you how poorly the war effort is going. This way. We’ve got to get to the Barn.”

“So all that about Laddermore wanting to speak to me . . .”

“I made it up. I’m breaking you out of prison. Now walk quickly before the guards decide to confirm my story.”

Madigan chuckled. “And to think, I asked for you to be assigned to me because I thought it might be helpful to have a conscience.”

The military district was in a state of pandemonium. The two of them passed through the main gate without incident, but then Cleasby chose a smaller side street. For once, Madigan was the one who had to struggle to keep up.

“As you’re well aware, normally I’d be rather flustered at the idea of breaking so many regulations, but I’m fully not expecting to live through the day. I believe I’ve figured out Groller Culpin’s objective.”

“He means to do something terrible to Caspia. I knew that’s why I’d be freed.”