Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

“Here?” Janus frowned. “Stop the carriage.”

The soldier relayed the command to the driver, and the carriage rolled to a stop. With the door open and the wheels still, Marcus could hear the sound of the mob, an indistinct murmur that put him in mind of the sea. They were stopped at the intersection of Saint Dromin Street and Bridge Street, and one row of buildings still blocked Marcus’ view of the river to either side. Straight ahead, however, the street mounted the footings of the high, double-arched bridge, and the bridge was dark with the press of humanity.

The mob had sighted them, too. There was a collective roar, and those in the lead broke into a run. They packed the bridge from edge to edge, crowding dangerously against the railings. A complete cross section of the city of Vordan seemed to be represented: nobles draped in colorful silks, prosperous merchants in somber, well-cut coats, laborers in leather vests and ragged trousers, all the way down to vagabond wretches wrapped in patched homespun. The crowd that had besieged the Vendre had been mostly Docksiders, but here the South Bank residents were outnumbered by well-dressed North Bankers.

“They must have come from the deputies,” Janus said, stepping out of the carriage and shading his eyes with one hand. “Most of them are in their Sunday best.”

“Sir.” Lieutenant Uhlan came forward, gesturing to his men. “Please move back.”

Red-and-blue-uniformed Mierantai were forming a line in front of the carriage. The first rank of men knelt while another rank formed up behind them, and rifle barrels fixed with gleaming bayonets swung into position. There were enough of them to block the street in front of the carriage, but they made for a very thin line. Marcus was forcibly reminded of the Battle of the Road, watching a horde of Khandarai peasants charge the Colonial lines under the goads of their mad priests. That time, the line had held. But in Khandar I had the Preacher and a battery of twelve-pounders.

The sergeant leading the palace Armsmen caught Marcus’ eye, looking for orders. Marcus grimaced and gestured him forward, and the green-coated men spread out uncertainly behind the soldiers. The mob was still coming, approaching the footing of the bridge, though their front ranks were slowing at the sight of all those rifles.

“Sir,” Marcus said. “What now?”

Janus looked over his shoulder at Raesinia, who was just emerging from the carriage. She paused for a moment on the running board, looking over the heads of the Mierantai at the advancing mob.

“I take it this was not part of the plan?” she said.

“No,” Janus said, calmly. “Something has gone wrong. Badly wrong, I should say.”

“What do they want?”

“I have no idea.”

Raesinia squared her shoulders. “Wait here, then. I’ll go find out.”

Janus flashed a smile. “You know I can’t do that, Your Majesty.”

For a moment Raesinia looked as though she might object, but in the end she only shrugged. “Do what you like.”

Janus caught Marcus’ eye, and they hurried forward to take up positions on either side of the queen. Lieutenant Uhlan barked an order and a narrow path opened through the disciplined Mierantai. Janus threaded his way through first, followed by the queen and Marcus.

The leading edge of the mob had come to a stop about a hundred yards away, where the bridge touched solid ground again. Those in front were hesitating to move closer to the threatening line of bayonets, while the mass behind who couldn’t see pressed forward. The bridge’s arch acted as a kind of amphitheater, and Marcus found himself looking up into rank after rank of staring faces. Every eye was on Raesinia as she came forward in the company of the two uniformed officers.

Some kind of a scuffle was taking place at the front of the crowd. Eventually three people forced their way through to emerge onto the bare cobblestones. It took them a moment to get their bearings, but before too long they squared off and walked out to meet Raesinia and the others halfway. In the lead was a young man with a bright green coat and a rapier on his hip, marking him as a noble. His two companions were more soberly dressed, and neither was armed. All three were disheveled from their trip through the mob, but the leader made an effort to brush some of the dirt from his coat before stepping forward to introduce himself.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing very low. “I am Deputy Alfred Peddoc sur Volmire, at your service. This is Deputy Dumorre and Deputy Maurisk. We are here to speak on behalf of the Deputies-General.”

Marcus saw Raesinia go stiff as a board, just for a moment. Whatever had afflicted her, she soon snapped out of it and inclined her head graciously.

“Deputy Peddoc. This is Count Janus bet Vhalnich Mieran, my Minister of Justice, and Captain of Armsmen Marcus d’Ivoire.” She paused. “But I must admit to some confusion. I was on my way to address the Deputies-General, which I was under the impression was in session at the cathedral.”

Peddoc hesitated. Maurisk was absorbed in studying Raesinia’s face, but Dumorre stepped forward into the silence.

“The deputies came under attack. Mercenaries in the employment of the Minister of Information attempted to illegally take the entire assembly into custody.”

“I take it the attack failed,” Janus said.

“It was thwarted,” Peddoc said, “by Deputy Danton Aurenne. He took the floor and made a speech so moving that everyone present threw down their weapons and embraced one another like brothers in the service of Vordan.”

“Until he was assassinated,” Maurisk said.

“Assassinated?” Raesinia stepped forward, and Marcus caught a slight hitch in her voice. “Danton is dead?”

Peddoc nodded solemnly. “He was a martyr to our cause, and his sacrifice will not be in vain. The Deputies-General will be established.”

“Of course,” Raesinia said. “But what are you doing here ?”

“The deputies are nothing but a polite fiction so long as the Last Duke and his supporters control the city,” Maurisk said. “His Concordat have terrorized us for long enough.”

“I quite agree,” Janus said. “In fact-”

“ As such ,” Maurisk went on, cutting him off with a glare, “the Deputies- General will assume its proper place over all the essential functions of government. Until a proper vote can be taken, we must ask that all armed men, in whoever’s service, submit to our authority.”

“Y. . yes,” Peddoc said, glancing uncertainly at Maurisk. “Well. It seemed best, under the circumstances. We don’t know how deep the Last Duke’s influence extends, but it must be cut out, root and branch. All who surrender their weapons will be treated with courtesy. Your Majesty, of course, will accompany us as an honored guest.”

“I can assure you,” Marcus said, “my lord Mieran had nothing to do with the Last Duke-”

“That is for us to decide,” Maurisk said. “And he would do well to remember that it was his order that led to the arrest of Danton and the fall of the Vendre.”

“I have not forgotten,” Janus murmured. “May I have a moment alone with Her Majesty?”

Maurisk looked sour, but Peddoc interrupted him. “I don’t see why not.”

Janus took Raesinia’s arm-a shocking breach of protocol, under other circumstances-and the three withdrew a few steps.

“If we run,” Marcus said, keeping his voice low, “we can make it back to the carriage. A few volleys will slow them down, and we ought to be able to get it turned around before-”

“Are you suggesting I should ask Count Mieran’s men to fire on the crowd?” Raesinia said.

“They would, if Your Majesty required it,” Janus said.