Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

Stall. That was what Janus had asked her. It might work. If I can get him to play for time. .

“Let me talk to him,” Winter said.

Cora shook her head. “He. . doesn’t like to talk to most people, up close.”

“Just for a minute.” Winter bit her lip. “If we’re going to do this, I need to know he understands what he’s getting into.”

“I don’t. .,” Cora began. She paused. “You can try.”

Winter nodded and went back down the short, bloody corridor. The door at the end was still open, and Danton was sitting in a flimsy chair, staring amiably at nothing. Several empty bottles stood by his feet. Is he drunk? That would explain the vacant look. He was well dressed, at least, in an elegant, understated coat with gold buttons, hair neatly combed and hat pinned in place. When he noticed Winter, he waved.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” Winter said cautiously. “I’m Winter.”

“Hello,” Danton repeated, and laughed.

“Cora told me that you want to give your speech,” Winter said, trying to get a read on his expression. “You know what’s going on down there, don’t you?”

“They’re waiting for me to tell my story,” Danton said, with a guileless grin. “I’m ready. Cora told it to me, and I’m ready.”

“Your. . story? I don’t understand.”

“I like telling stories.”

Something is very wrong here. Was it some kind of act? Winter stepped up beside him, and he stared vacuously up at her, blue eyes empty of anything but simple curiosity.

“You could get killed,” Winter said. “Do you understand that?”

He blinked, and smiled wider. “People like my stories.”

“Stories. .”

A cold suspicion spread through Winter. She reached out, deliberately, and put her hand on Danton’s shoulder.

Deep inside her, the Infernivore stirred. It rose from the dark pit of her soul, winding out through her body and into her hand, sniffing the air for prey like a hunting dog. And in Danton, something responded-another presence, a bright, airy, colorful thing, recoiling in frantic terror. Infernivore halted, coiled to pounce, needing only an effort of Winter’s will to spring across the narrow gap between them and devour the alien magic.

Danton sensed none of this. He looked up at Winter, still smiling. Slowly, she lifted her hand from his shoulder.

“I don’t think we can get him to the floor,” Winter said, reemerging into the outer room. “They’ll be watching the stairs.”

Cora nodded. “I think we can get to the gallery. I didn’t run into anyone on my way here. It looks out over the main floor from behind the altar. Everyone should be able to see him.”

“Wait,” Cyte said. “You’re going along with this?”

Winter nodded.

“What if someone takes a shot at him?” Cyte said. “Danton’s important . He’s the heart of. . of all of this! He shouldn’t risk himself.”

Winter caught Cora’s eyes, and a quiet understanding passed between them. He’s not the heart of it. He’s just a. . a tool. Cora and her friends had been using him, or using the magic that coiled inside him. Like the Khandarai used Feor, and Orlanko used Jen. But, at this point, Winter didn’t see any other choice.

“He wants to do it,” she lied. “And I think. . people will listen.”

Becks, pale as a ghost but still excited, jumped to her feet. “ Everyone will listen! Even the Concordat. I always said, if people would only listen to Danton, everything would work out!”

She stumbled, light-headed, and Molly caught her by the elbow and held her up.

Winter sighed. “All right. Cora, you lead the way to the gallery. Cyte and I will be right behind you. You girls stick close to Danton and give a shout if anyone comes up behind us.”

The gallery was a small stone balcony that opened unobtrusively onto the great hall some thirty feet above the altar. The Widow’s Gallery was open for the public to watch the proceedings, but the gallery provided a more private space for visiting priests and other dignitaries to observe the service. Since they were in the old priests’ quarters, it wasn’t far, and no Special Branch soldiers barred their progress.

A low stone railing lined the gallery, and Winter stopped Danton and the others at the doorway. She crouched and crept to the edge of the balcony, trying to get a sense of what was going on below.

The Concordat captain, Brack, seemed to have things well organized. The deputies sat on the floor in circular groups, surrounded by rings of Special Branch men with drawn pistols. A few black-coats prowled the gaps between them. Brack himself stood near the altar, and more soldiers waited by the exits and against the walls. She could see dark figures moving on the Widow’s Gallery, across the way.

Just below Brack, a couple of black-coats with a big ledger were processing the arrestees. Small bunches were driven up to them by grinning Special Branch thugs, and the prisoners gave their names and were directed back to one group or another in accordance with instructions that Concordat men read from their book. Another man took down everything that was said. Brack wasn’t paying much attention to the proceedings, though, and had eyes mostly for the big double doors at the back of the hall.

He’s waiting for reinforcements, Winter realized. This operation was obviously an emergency measure, hence the hastily recruited Special Branch mercenaries. Sooner or later more of the Last Duke’s men would be along to take the prisoners in hand. Or maybe not. Janus said help was coming. And if Jane has heard about what’s happened. .

Winter glanced back at Danton and shook her head. We have to do the best we can with the cards we’ve got. She crept back to the doorway. Cora was whispering urgently in Danton’s ear, and he nodded occasionally to show that he was listening. Cyte, standing behind them, still looked disapproving. The girls were waiting in the corridor, clustered around Becks, who had apparently earned some kind of legendary status by nearly losing her head to a Concordat swordsman.

“Something wrong?” Winter said to Cora.

“Some last-minute advice,” the girl said. “To suit the text to the circumstances.”

“Is he ready, then?”

Danton bobbed his head happily. “I’ve got it.”

“Go ahead, then. They’re waiting.” He shuffled past, and Winter caught Cyte’s eye. “If they start shooting, help me drag him back into the corridor.”

Cyte nodded, grimly. Winter, the Infernivore’s hunger tingling in her fingertips, watched Danton walk onto the gallery. A change came over him as the crowd came into view-he stood up straighter, his gait became more confident, and he strode over to the rail and took hold of it with casual confidence. Before anyone below noticed he was there, he started to speak.

Winter had been afraid he’d begin his address with a bellow that would draw pistol fire from the soldiers, but Danton surprised her. His voice started nearer to a whisper, but a whisper that somehow echoed from the vaulted ceiling and cut through the low murmur of the Concordat scribes going about their work. Winter saw people look around, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from, and by the time they saw Danton he had already hit his stride.

“-the gathered representatives of the nation, assembled in the light of hope, are here to discover if the great issues of our time can be resolved, not through royal fiat or the horror of war, but rather by men of good sense coming together in friendship to discuss the things which divide them-”

There were some good turns of phrase there, and Winter-watching with new appreciation-wondered who had written them for the orator. He was pleasant, reasonable, somehow both unremarkable and spectacular. What he said was convincing, not because it was him saying it, but because it just made such good sense .