Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

“It may come to that,” Cyte said. “There’s talk among the Monarchists that Peddoc means to march with anyone who’s willing, resolution or no resolution. They say the Greens have a big cache of weapons they captured at Ohnlei.”

“Oh.” Winter wished she hadn’t been quite so flippant. If Peddoc did march, anyone who followed him was liable to get killed. Going up against regular Royal Army troops with this rabble would be madness.

“Hell.” Cyte ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. “They’re going to be at this all day.”

“Probably.”

“I’m going to find something more useful to do with my time,” Cyte said. “Like trying to empty the river with a spoon. You coming?”

Winter shook her head. “I should stay. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on this for Jane.”

Cyte gave her an odd look, then shrugged. “As you like.”

Winter sat through four or five more hours of debate before hunger forced her to venture out of the great hall. The square in front of the cathedral was thick with hawkers selling food and drink, but once she’d found something to eat, she couldn’t bring herself to go back inside. They’d be at it for the rest of the day, and possibly into the night as well; sometimes it wasn’t until one or two in the morning that the last arguing pair finally collapsed with exhaustion.

Instead she turned her steps toward home. Or at least what passed for home, in this strange world. She felt as though she’d stepped through a magic door into some kind of shadow-Vordan, where everything was upside down. Though if it really was magic, Infernivore would have warned me by now. Deputies had been assigned apartments on the Island; a large number of nobles and foreigners, especially Borelgai, had fled, leaving a surplus of vacancies. Winter’s quarters were on the third floor of a narrow stone-faced building, whose monthly rent was probably higher than a year’s salary for an army lieutenant. It had been lightly looted before she got to it, but they’d left a bed, table, and chairs behind, and that was enough for her purposes.

She trudged up the front staircase and paused in front of her front door. There was an envelope on the floor, labeled WINTER in a clear, careful hand. The post hadn’t worked in days-the Post Office was technically an arm of the Ministry of Information-so someone must have hand-delivered it. Winter picked it up, curiously, and broke the plain wax seal on the back.

The note inside read:

Winter,

Please come. I need your help.

Jane

Under the signature was another line, which had been heavily scratched out. Below that, just the words “I love you.”

“Fuck,” Winter said, with considerable feeling.

An hour later, having shed the black deputy’s sash, she was on her way to Dockside. A few adventurous cabbies were in the streets, but Winter had decided to walk, in the hopes that it would help her clear her head. It hadn’t worked. All she could think about was Jane: Jane’s smile, her soft red hair, her body pressed against Abby, her lips softly parting as Abby’s hands curved over her breasts. Winter touched the note, a crumpled ball in her pocket, and bit her lip.

She passed through Farus’ Triumph, still littered with filth and debris from the riots, and over the Grand Span to the South Bank. Lost as she was in her own thoughts, it wasn’t until she got within a few blocks of Jane’s building that she became aware of the change that had come over the streets. When Jane had made her rounds, every street had been alive with people and noisy with chatter, alleys crisscrossed by washing lines and swarming with children at play. Now they were empty. Only the occasional pedestrian crossed her path, head down and moving quickly, and there were no children about at all. In the distance, she saw a squad of a half dozen Patriot Guards swagger around a corner, muskets slung over their shoulders.

Winter’s steps quickened. She wasn’t as familiar with the streets around here as she might have liked. After the second wrong turn, staring at another street she didn’t recognize, she stopped and ground her teeth. She hadn’t been worried about getting lost, because anyone in the street could point her to Mad Jane’s headquarters, but now. .

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder. Winter spun away, instinctively, but another hand shot out and grabbed her wrist in an iron grip. Her off hand went to her belt, searching for a knife that wasn’t there, but a moment later she recognized the tall figure and sighed with relief.

“Walnut,” she said. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry. Didn’t want you running off.” He let go of her arm. “Jane wants to see you.”

“I was just trying to find her.” Winter gave an embarrassed shrug. “But I think I’m lost.”

“Come on. It’s this way.”

He walked by her side the rest of the way, which made Winter feel uncomfortably like a prisoner being escorted. There was something in the big man’s attitude she didn’t like; his expression was grimmer than she remembered, and he responded to her attempts at conversation with grunts. Winter was glad to see the familiar shape of Jane’s old building when they turned a corner.

When Walnut knocked on the front door, it was opened by a very nervous teenage girl with a heavy wooden cudgel. She looked relieved to see Walnut, and her eyes went very wide when she caught sight of Winter. As they passed inside, Winter saw three more girls, similarly armed, all of them now whispering excitedly.

“I, um,” the first girl said, “I’ll go and get. . somebody. Stay here.”

She dashed off. Winter, Walnut, and the guards waited in silence for a few minutes. Somewhere nearby, a baby wailed.

A baby?

“Winter!”

It was Abby, naturally. Winter steeled herself and put on a neutral face. “Um. Hello. Jane asked me to come.”

“I know. Thanks, Walnut. I’ll take her upstairs.”

Walnut nodded and let himself out. Abby beckoned Winter to follow and led her back through the building to the creaky old stairwell. When Winter had last been here, these lower halls had been dusty and seldom used, with the girls housed on the upper stories. Now the walls were lined with bedrolls, blankets, and makeshift mattresses, and all the people who were absent from the streets outside seemed to have made their way here. They were mostly young women, not the cheerful, well-fed girls Winter remembered but dirty, scared-looking things. A few boys were with them, too, and small clusters of old men and women, wrapped in blankets. All conversation stopped as Abby and Winter passed by, and all eyes followed them down the hall until they passed out of sight.

“Abby,” Winter whispered, “what the hell is going on?”

Abby shook her head. “Jane can explain.”

Reaching the stairwell, they climbed four stories to the top of the building and went into the old study Jane used as her war room. Jane was gathered around her table with Chris, Becca, and Winn, but when Abby and Winter entered she straightened up and made a shooing gesture. They all piled out, wide-eyed, leaving Winter alone with Abby and Jane.

“Jane-” Winter began.

“Walnut picked her up in the street,” Abby said. “She was alone.”

Jane paled and set her jaw. “Winter,” she said carefully, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I thought I was coming to see you,” Winter said. Her eyes flicked to Abby. “I got your note.”

“And you walked here by yourself?”

Winter’s cheeks heated. “I’m not a child , for God’s sake.”

Jane crossed to a chair and sat down, carefully, like an old woman sparing her creaking joints. Abby cleared her throat.