The Paladin Caper (31 page)

“I’m assuming that the competitor’s wing is shielded from the ambient magic that flooded the mine?” Hessler asked. “Layering a glamour over someone would burn their skin off, otherwise.”

“Yes and no,” Tern said. “The ambient magic is decreasing, as far as we can tell. Maybe from what they’re doing to gather the energy, maybe from something else they’re doing to suppress it, I don’t know. But yes, they’re still locking the whole place off. They also added new locks to the big door on the processing center. It’s dwarven. I can do it, but it’s dwarven, so it won’t be fast.” She sighed. “They’ve also got dwarves and elves in the mine now. All the human miners are gone. From what we got from the
Lapitemperum
, it’s dwarves doing the mining, elves working the processing center. Just like old times.”

“So. Heaven’s Spire. Transport rune to the event,” Loch said, “lift badges and pass through the competitor’s wing, distraction or stealth to give Tern time to crack the vault door and stop whatever the ancients are doing. Up on Heaven’s Spire, Desidora and Hessler prep the illusion of the Glimmering Folk returning. It goes off, the ancients panic and run, good-bye gate.”

“Only question now is how we sneak onto Heaven’s Spire,” Kail said. “Because you
know
nothing good happens when we try to sneak onto Heaven’s Spire.”

Loch shrugged. “This treeship can outrun any airship in the Republic. If there’s anything that can get us up there alive—”

“You mean past the flamecannons that they haven’t taken down from when they picked another damn fight with the Empire?” Kail asked.

“You ran it with
Iofegemet
,” Loch pointed out.

“And
Iofegemet
had clearance from inside help
and still also got shot down
, may she rest in peace,” Kail said, bowing his head briefly. “Captain, we can’t just run it. If Pyvic can clear a ship, maybe—”

“We can’t trust that Pyvic has the leeway to help us without being detected,” Loch said grimly.

“I have a suggestion,” Icy said.

Loch looked over with some surprise, as did everyone else.

“All right, Icy, hit me,” Loch said after a moment.

Icy sipped his tea, closed his eyes, swallowed, and said, “After our first adventure on Heaven’s Spire, I asked Tern to use her contacts to gather information on my behalf.”

“Oh, Icy, no,” Tern said.

“Among her findings was a ship made from black crystal,” Icy went on, “capable of becoming invisible and bypassing standard wards for covert entry. Such a ship would allow us to reach Heaven’s Spire undetected.”

“No, seriously, Icy,” Tern said.

“Sounds good,” Loch said, nodding and ignoring the increasingly tipsy Tern. “Where’s the ship?”

Icy put his teacup down, folded his hands, and looked at Loch, which was when she got it. “Presumably still with your sister, former First Blade of Archvoyant Silestin.”

The Paladin Club had opened recently on Heaven’s Spire. An old kahva-house had been purchased and demolished with impressive speed, and a large multistory building had been built to replace it, bypassing the normal permit application process thanks to a great deal of money and a great number of friends. The brownstone building reflected tasteful wealth and was furnished to look classically respectable in the way that only new money can.

As expected from the name, membership in the club was contingent upon purchase of a paladin band. The first floor held athletic facilities suitable for the wealthiest members of the Republic, where paladins could exercise, train, and spar to the fullest of their newly enhanced abilities. The second floor held an impressive bar, a number of reading areas where mute elven servants brought kahva or tea as needed, and discreet private bedrooms for paladins interested in finding new uses for their enhanced stamina.

The third floor was where actual work got done.

Lesaguris sat at a table whose stained-wood top was inlaid with gold edging and whose bowed legs ended in dragon-head feet. He faced the window, and from his custom-made elf-leather office chair, he had a perfect view of the thriving city of Heaven’s Spire. His city.

This evening, that view was blocked by Misters Skinner, Lively, and Slant, as well as Archvoyant Cevirt and former Archvoyant Bertram. Skinner, Lively, and Slant sat around the table, while Cevirt and Bertram stood attentively. Bertram held Ghylspwr, of course, and wore a fake band that had allowed him entrance.

“Progress on the Festival of Excellence?” Lesaguris asked, taking a sip of expensive bourbon.

“The optics are good,” Slant said, and fiddled with his band to call up some numbers. “Demand for tickets has outstripped top seating capacity, and with the upgrades to the puppeteers and their shows, we’ll have it on glamour-screens across the Republic. We’re still going back and forth on the Republic anthem as the opening number, and, I know, I know, patriotic, but it doesn’t
zing
.”

“Lack of zinging noted,” Lesaguris said. “Other concerns?”

“The main dance performance uses most of the paladin athletes and performers,” Slant said, pressing more buttons on his band, “and that
does
zing, but it’s also eighty percent men. If we had more female paladins, it’d play better.”

“We’ve been over this.” Skinner shook his head. “I’m damn sick of adding women for gimmicks!”

“But it
plays
better,” Slant insisted. “You want something mined, you make a dwarf, right? You want some crystals adjusted, you make an elf? Well, I want every red-blooded young man in the Republic paying attention and thinking about everything
and everyone
he could do if he were a paladin, and that means I need some pretty fresh-faced girls bouncing around—”

“It’s hardly the same,” Lively cut in. “The elves and dwarves are tools. Every female paladin is one of
our
people stuck riding a woman. Would
you
want to ride a woman, Slant?”

“Besyn larveth’is,”
Ghylspwr said angrily.

“You know what I mean,” Lively shot back, rolling his eyes. “Disgusting biological bits aside, they’re seen as lesser, as
targets
, by too many of the males. Our people deserve to ride
predators
, not
prey
.”

“I’m talking about the
optics
,” Slant said with a hurt look.

“Bad enough we’ve got Urujar wearing them. Might as well be putting a band on a farm animal,” Skinner muttered, and glanced over at Cevirt. “Right?”

“I’m happy to serve in whatever capacity you need, sir,” Cevirt said with a polite smile. “Once the festival is done, though, I wouldn’t say no to a transfer to another thrall.”

“Right.” Lesaguris tapped the table, and everyone went silent. “Slant, you get your girls. Cevirt, new scholarship deal for gifted young women, women are the backbone of the Republic, and so on?”

“Of course, sir.” Cevirt nodded.

“Once the festival is over, Slant, I want a story about possible concerns for older women using the bands. Something concerning but not terrible.”

“Dangers during pregnancy,” Skinner said. “Or maybe it’s harder to get pregnant?”

Slant pointed at Skinner. “Oh yes, that will play. They do anything for their babies.”

“Kun-kabynalti osu fuir’is!”
Ghylspwr snapped.

“Calm your spark.” Skinner snorted. “The bands won’t
actually
mess up their breeding.”

“Good.” Lesaguris nodded. “You get your dancing girls, and our people don’t have to worry about riding them when they’re old and fat. Skinner, the mine and processing center?”

“Elves and dwarves are fully controlled,” Skinner said proudly. “Surprised the Republic didn’t think to use them before. Still have the Hunter golems investigating the kobolds, though,” he added with a frown. “Don’t want that trash affecting the work.”

“Are they altering the energy balance?” Lively asked. “If you need me to—”

“No, no.” Skinner waved. “We’re fine.” Lively raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Stay on it,” Lesaguris said. “Lively, anything new on the bands?”

“I’ve got a new update to the core energy matrix rolling out tomorrow morning,” Lively said, tapping his own band. “It fixes a few small issues in the messaging program and adds route planning into the map system. It also digs a bit deeper into the host’s head, which should make it easier for our people to access memories and offer subconscious suggestions that are true to the host’s behavior.”

“And there are no problems using the crystals on the underside of Heaven’s Spire for broadcasting?” Slant asked. “I’m amazed they’re still functional, with what the humans did to them while we were gone.”

“And what they’re still doing,” Lively added. “It’d be easier if we killed off that little prison they have on the underside and switched over to golems.”

“In time,” Lesaguris said, smiling. “We need people to have faith in Heaven’s Spire right now, and we can’t do that if we have
another
accident that causes it to kill a bunch of people.”

“I know, I know.” Lively grinned. “I’m just saying. And despite the prisoners and their idiotic brooms, we’re good for the festival. No concerns.”

“Son of a bitch,” Lesaguris said, looking to his people with a surprised smile. “We might actually get this thing done. Now if my pet Westteich can bring down the Urujar woman who’s been kicking us in the shins, we’ll be perfect.”

Everyone smiled back, except for Bertram. Lesaguris wished Ghylspwr would take a little more active control of the man, but it was a small annoyance in an otherwise good day.

Captain Thelenea stayed out of the way until the yelling was done. As a soldier, she understood that arguments were sometimes necessary, but elves did not have the mental fortitude to handle such emotional outbursts for long.

When it was over, Captain Loch came to her and asked her to fly them to the Lochenville family estate. She even phrased it properly, noting it as something she would like rather than giving an order. While Thelenea had been outside the Elflands often enough to tolerate being given an order without flying into a rage, it was refreshing to see a human who respected elven values.

Thelenea had her people set course for the barony of Lochenville. Among other elves, “orders” were given by the captain stating that it was necessary for the ship to travel to a location. The navigator would then volunteer to set the appropriate course, while the senior druid would volunteer to tend the treeship’s magical leaves and ensure good speed. Human airship sailors would sometimes suggest that this was functionally identical to giving orders, a remark that had led to more than one good-quality tavern fight in Thelenea’s career.

But they were
not
orders. It was different. The implication was that even a human sailor would not know what to do, or worse, would choose not to do what was necessary, unless given a direct order. Elves, meanwhile, respected each other too much to claim ownership or mastery. When something was deemed necessary by one in a position of respect, elves did not
need
to be ordered around. They naturally volunteered to do what was necessary for the group as a whole to accomplish its objective.

Alone in her cabin, Captain Thelenea opened a small wooden box in which glittering magical spores hummed and waited.

“I am taking her to Lochenville estate,” she said, and the spores hummed, pulsed with warm green light as they captured her words, and then went dark as the message was sent.

Whatever was necessary for the group.