The Price of Valor (40 page)

“I heard him talking, and I thought you might be in trouble.”

“He told me Maurisk is coming for us. For me, rather. I don't think he knows you're here.”

“When?”

“Now. Tonight.” Marcus got to his feet, head spinning a bit. “We have to get out of here.”

“He just told you this? Why?”

“He wants”—Marcus looked at Uhlan again, who was studiously pretending to ignore them, and grimaced—“the things Janus brought back from Khandar. He thought I could tell him where they were. I think the backup plan is to lock me in a cell until I let something slip.”

“Oh hell,” Raesinia said. “That means it's all happening tonight. The coup. I have to get word to Sothe.”

Marcus nodded. “First we need to get out of here. Uhlan!”

“Sir!” The lieutenant saluted.

“We have to leave—now.”

“I made sure the carriage was ready, sir. I'll send word to harness the horses.”

Marcus frowned. Fleeing in a carriage would have been a lot less conspicuous before the war had mostly banished horses from the streets of the city. Then another thought occurred to him.

“What about the staff?” There were three Mierantai women who cooked and cleaned at the Twin Turrets, along with two stable boys and the carriage driver. “We can't leave them.”

“You think they'd be hurt?” Uhlan sounded genuinely shocked.

“Maurisk will want to know whatever they know,” Marcus said. “That means grabbing everyone in the area for questioning.”

“I'll go and wake them,” Raesinia said as she hurried off.

A hasty muster in the living room produced three middle-aged Mierantai women, looking stolid and unflappable even in their heavy cotton nightdresses. Uhlan ran to the stables to get the cart ready.

“We're leaving,” Marcus said. “And I think you ought to come with us. I won't force you, but if you're coming it has to be
now
. Get dressed and leave everything else behind.”

The oldest of the three women looked at the other two, then nodded wordlessly. They bustled back to their rooms as Uhlan came back in.

“The carriage will be ready in five minutes, sir,” he said. “But Aldio is missing.”

“Hell. If he's snuck out, I hope he has the sense not to come back.”

Raesinia's voice came from the top of the stairs. “Marcus! I can't find Andy! Her room's empty!”

Marcus blinked, then got it. “Squeeze them into the carriage. Whoever doesn't fit will ride outside. If you've got time, load some pistols.”

“Marcus!” Raesinia's voice again, more urgent now, from the landing window. “I see torches coming up the street!”

Marcus ran toward the rear of the house, checking the hall closet, the spare room, and the kitchen. They turned out to be in the pantry; he hauled the thick door open to find a tangled blanket on the floor and the Mierantai boy frantically tugging his trousers back on. Andy, mostly naked, sat against the back wall.

“Sir—” the boy began, accent even thicker than Uhlan's.

Marcus snatched his shirt off the floor, thrust it into his arms, and shoved him out the door. “The stables. Go!”

Andy got up as the boy rushed off. Marcus kept his eyes resolutely on her face, but nevertheless she flushed under his gaze. “Are you sober enough to shoot?”

“Probably.” Andy blinked. “What's happening?”

“Patriot Guards coming to get us. We're leaving. Get something on and get to the stables.”

“Oh.” She paused a moment. “Oh,
fuck
.”

“Go!”

She ran. Marcus followed her as far as the landing, where Raesinia had her face pressed to the window. Marcus could see a row of lights halfway down the street and getting closer fast.

“There's at least twenty of them, all with muskets,” Raesinia said. She had her hands cupped against her eyes to shut out the lights. “Maurisk isn't fooling around.”

“Get to the stable.”

“Are we going to have room for everyone?”

“We will if some of us sit on top.”

Raesinia grinned. “I always wanted to try that.”

Andy appeared at the top of the stairs, trousers and boots on, still pulling a shirt down. Raesinia raised an eyebrow.

“I seem to be walking straight,” Andy said to Marcus.

“Good.” Marcus led the two women downstairs and through the short covered passage to the stables.

The carriage, four-wheeled and fully enclosed, sat facing the closed front door, in front of the empty stalls. One door was open, and Marcus could see the three Mierantai women and the two stable boys inside, while the driver sat in front on the box, nervously holding the reins. Uhlan was ramming a charge into a pistol, with another three lined up in front of him on an overturned feeding trough.

“Raesinia, you take the top.” She was the lightest, and Marcus wasn't at all confident about the carriage's ability to bear weight on its roof. “Andy and I will take the doors. Uhlan, stay on the box.”

“Yes, sir.” Uhlan handed a pistol to Marcus. Raesinia hopped up on the box and scrambled up to the roof.

“Not much to hang on to,” she said. “If we take a turn too hard I'm going to fall off.”

“Here.” Marcus grabbed a knife from Uhlan's belt and tossed it up. Raesinia unsheathed it and stabbed into the thin wood as hard as she could, embedding the blade in the carriage's roof. She gave it a tug, and nodded.

Marcus examined the door. There was a metal rung to help shorter passengers step inside, and that combined with the leather strap that served as a door handle would make for a precarious perch. He climbed on, holding the strap in his left hand and the pistol in his right.

Uhlan handed a pistol to Andy and passed another up to Raesinia. He went to the stable door and tugged it open. The gravel drive was illuminated only by a trickle of light from the house windows.

“Where are we going, sir?” he said as he climbed up on the box and readied his own weapon.

“Oldtown,” Marcus said. Mrs. Felda's was the obvious place for a bolt-hole. “But not straight to the church, not unless we want to bring the Guard on behind us.”

“Just get us to Oldtown,” Andy said. “I'll tell you where to go from there. It's an easy place to get lost in if you're trying.”

“All right.” Marcus looked back at the driveway. The end of it was starting to brighten, and long shadows flickered across it. “Get moving!”

The driver need no urging. He snapped the reins, and the already-nervous horses jerked forward.

“Are we shooting at the Patriot Guard?” Andy said. “Last time you wanted us to try not to.”

“I think we are officially done with such niceties,” Marcus said. “But try not to waste—”

“D'Ivoire!” someone yelled from the end of the drive, now rapidly approaching. “Is that—stop at once!”

“Keep going,” Marcus said.

“D'Ivoire!” A figure, outlined by the torches, stepped in front of them. “I have a summons to—stop, stop!”

“Faster!” Marcus shouted.

The horses hadn't had time to get up much speed, but the carriage was heavy enough that the prospect of being run over was not attractive. The Patriot Guard dove aside, dropping his musket. Behind him were several men with torches in one hand and muskets in the other, a combination that proved less than immediately effective.

“Left!” Marcus shouted. The driver hauled on the reins, and the axle screeched as the carriage rose for a moment on two wheels and slewed around behind the team. Ahead of them, he could see more Patriot Guards. The group had apparently spread out to encircle the Twin Turrets. “Go through them!”

The men up ahead had a few moments to react to the carriage bearing down on them. Several dove aside at once, but three braver men tossed their torches away and shouldered their muskets. Marcus took aim as best he could and pulled the trigger, hoping to scare them aside at the very least. The flash left him blinking, and the pistol's report came simultaneously with the deeper sound of the muskets. His ears rang, and he swung wildly from the leather strap for a moment.

He got a brief view of the musketeers, their weapons expended, rolling out of the way as the carriage clattered past. Then they were through, accelerating down the street into the darkness. More musketry thundered from behind them as the startled men at the end of the driveway recovered their wits, but though Marcus could hear the
zip
of the balls, none of the shots came close.

“Everyone okay?” Marcus said. “Turn right at Saint Uriah—
right
—”

The intersection passed in a blur. The team, at a full gallop now, strained at the traces, pulling the carriage at an impressive speed. Every rut and bump in
the road was magnified, and Marcus' next attempt to speak nearly cost him his tongue as his teeth came together hard.

“I'm hit,” Uhlan said in a strained tone. “And I believe Delcot is dead.”

Marcus tossed his useless pistol aside and swung himself to grab the edge of the box, until he could look over Uhlan's shoulder. The Mierantai lieutenant had one hand pressed to his thigh, where a dark stain was rapidly spreading. Beside him, the driver had slumped back and let the reins fall. A musket ball had made a ruin of this throat, coating the front of his shirt in gore.

“Shit,” Marcus said. He tightened his grip and tried to gauge his chances if he let go of the door handle and swung up onto the box.
If I time it just right, I am
definitely
going to fall off and get crushed.
“Raes! Can you get to the reins?”

“I can try!” Raesinia's head appeared at the edge of the roof and she appraised the situation. “Oh damn.”

“Hurry, please.”

Second Avenue was a relatively straight run between Saint Uriah Street and the Dregs. They'd covered nearly half that distance already, though, and when they reached the Dregs, which ran along the front of the University, they would be presented with a sharp turn in either direction and nothing straight ahead but buildings. The horses might see the danger, but without the brakes the carriage would simply run them over.

“Damn, damn,
damn
,” Raesinia repeated, like a mantra, as she pulled herself forward to the edge of the roof. Most of the street was dark, but even the war could not completely quash the nightlife of the Dregs, and the line of lamps that marked the end of the street was getting closer fast. “Sorry about this.”

She put a hand on the dead driver's shoulder and gave him a shove. His limp body slid sideways, then tumbled from the box, and the carriage gave an almighty lurch as the wheels went over him. Marcus nearly lost his footing and clung to the strap for dear life. He heard a heavy
thump
as Raesinia slammed against the roof.

“Raes?”

“Still here!” She spit blood onto the box. “Somehow. One moment . . .”

Marcus could hear Andy laughing, high and a little mad. Raesinia pulled herself forward and down onto the box, flopping gracelessly into a heap beside the wounded Uhlan. She scrambled to right herself and got hold of the reins.

“Now what?” she said.

“Stop us!” Marcus shouted back.

“How?”

“I—” Marcus was astonished to find that he had no idea. Horses and vehicles had never been his strong suit.

“Brake,” Uhlan gasped. “Between us. Then pull the reins.”

Raesinia yanked up on a metal lever, and the carriage's axle started screaming like a banshee. She hauled back on the reins, shouting unintelligibly at the horses. The sudden loss of speed left them weaving drunkenly across the street, and for a horrible moment Marcus thought they were going to tip. Then, with a final lurch, the carriage came to a halt just short of the Dregs, where curious pedestrians gathered to stare. A burned-metal smell was everywhere, and when Marcus looked back he could see trails of smoke rising from the back wheels.

Marcus let go of the strap, dropped into the street, and fell over when his legs refused to support him. He heard footsteps, and a moment later Andy appeared, holding out her hand to help him up.

“
That
was quite a ride,” she said. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, brushing himself off, and went to Uhlan. The lieutenant gave him a tight smile, teeth gritted.

“Not too bad, sir. Gone straight through, I think.”

“Mrs. Felda will know someone who can help,” Marcus said. “We'll get a bandage on it for now.”

“Better hurry,” Andy said. “They'll be after us.”

A scream, from farther up the street, told Marcus that someone had discovered the body of the driver.

“Here.” Marcus took Uhlan's arm, and he and Andy helped the wounded Mierantai down. “Do you think your women can tie a bandage?”

“Of course.”

With a certain amount of squeezing, they managed to get the lieutenant in among the servants, who showed no sign of fainting at the sight of blood. Marcus climbed up on the box beside Raesinia, and Andy resumed her place at the door. Gingerly, Marcus released the brake and took the reins himself. Fortunately, the horses were well trained, and didn't seem to require much handling.

“We'll take the Old Ford,” Marcus said as they trotted down the Dregs at a more sane speed, leaving gaping men and women in their wake. “Then we're going to have to ditch the carriage. Andy, you said you had something in mind?”

“Yes,” Andy said. “I know a few people.”

“What then?” Raesinia said.

Marcus looked down at her. She'd been holding her hands over her face, and now she let them fall to show that there was quite a bit of blood on her cheek
and temple. Only small cuts remained, though, and as Marcus watched, they closed up and vanished as though they'd never been. Raesinia wiped the blood on her sleeve and waggled her eyebrows conspiratorially.

“Then . . .” Marcus shook his head. “I'll think of something.”