Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

Beyond the ford lay Oldtown, a tangle of timber-and-plaster buildings and mazy cow paths. It was a hard place to find your way around during the day, much less in darkness. This cabby apparently knew his business, however, and once the carriage had splashed out of the ford it picked up a little speed and proceeded confidently into the curving streets.

Raesinia glanced at Sothe. “All right. You’re worried. What do you want to do about it?”

“I’d like to take a little more overt action against a few of Orlanko’s watchers.”

Raesinia winced. With Sothe, “overt action” usually meant “body parts floating in the river.” “Won’t that just draw his attention?”

“We’ve already got his attention. That goes double after tonight. I want to slap his hand, make him think a little harder before he sticks it out again.”

“Well. Security is your bailiwick.” Raesinia had been amazed at how naive the rest of the cabal could be. Perhaps she was paranoid, or perhaps she just knew Orlanko. Ben and Maurisk appeared to think that they could get away with giving false names and speaking in low voices. Without Sothe running interference, she was sure they’d all have ended up in the Vendre long ago. “Do what you need to do, but be careful.”

Sothe snorted. “I don’t need you telling me to be careful.”

The carriage came to a halt, and a rap from the driver indicated that they’d arrived at their destination. Raesinia opened the door and hopped down, looking back at Sothe. “Where will you be?”

“About.” Sothe waved vaguely. “I’ll be close if you need me.”

“Just don’t do anything precipitous. We can’t afford for this to get out of hand.” Raesinia hesitated. “And if anything does go wrong, make sure to get Cora out of there first.”

Sothe grimaced, but she could see the logic in this. After all, she can always fish me out of some drainage ditch if it comes to that. Cora could get hurt. Sothe nodded, and Raesinia turned to face the building she’d been driven to.

It was a big one, by Oldtown standards, two stories high and as long as several ordinary houses. It had once had real glass windows, too, though these had long ago been covered over with boards and canvas tarpaulins. Its stone walls and the brass double-circle bolted over the doorway identified it as a church. A few crumbling statues that might have been saints before the local boys had made a game of throwing stones at them perched over the gutters.

The big double doors at the front were tightly closed, but a side door was invitingly open, shedding a warm orange glow into the shadowed street. Raesinia picked her way toward it, carefully; the streets of Oldtown were packed earth, liberally sprinkled with horse dung. She could make out sounds from inside as she got closer. A group of people were singing, not particularly well but with considerable spirit.

The church-the Third Church of the Savior Karis’ Mercy, as the blackened metal letters on the door proclaimed-was the domain of a Mrs. Louise Felda. Her husband, Father Felda, had been the Free Priest to the Third’s congregation for well over forty years. Technically, he still was, though his declining energies in his old age had restricted his duties. As he became bedridden, his wife had taken over his duties, until she was more fully in charge than he had ever been.

Mrs. Louise Felda was a large and vigorous woman who looked like a giantess beside the shriveled form of her husband. Nowadays, she split her time between making sure his needs were cared for and bringing her idea of Karis’ mercy to the people of Oldtown, as best her resources would allow. This meant beds for the sick and the desperate, helping hands for those who weren’t right in the head, and warm meals for as many as she could manage. Raesinia had often thought that the city could do with more priests along the lines of Mrs. Felda.

Cora had grown up here, taken in as a soot-stained little girl and put to work helping the mistress wash bedding and change dressings. When she got older, she’d gone to work as an unofficial courier in the Exchange, delivering messages for pennies as the business of the nation clattered around her. That was where Raesinia had found her, back at the very beginning, when all she had was a vague notion and a burning need to do something . .

Raesinia shook her head and walked through the door. The interior of the old church was one enormous room, its wooden internal walls long ago torn away to expose the massive supporting beams that held up the roof. Here and there, small sections were partitioned off by hanging curtains to provide a bit of privacy. Bedrolls lined both walls and covered about half the available floor space at one end of the building, while the other end had a huge hearth and kettle and a table big enough to seat twenty, stacked high with dirty, mismatched crockery. A group standing in front of the fire was the source of the impromptu concert, which had segued from a hymn about Karis’ mercy to a bawdy song about a young man who couldn’t locate his belt buckle. The lyrics of the latter were mercifully obscure.

There were more people about than Raesinia had seen on her previous visits. A big crowd had gathered in the open space between the table and the beds, standing in small groups and talking to each other in low tones. They looked considerably more hale than Mrs. Felda’s typical strays, who were usually crippled, elderly, insane, or all three at once. These people, though obviously poor, were mostly young men and women, with the occasional child huddling against its mother’s skirts.

Cora was hovering near the edge of the crowd, talking to a group of women in colorful skirts and shawls. She caught sight of Raesinia and hurried over, looking agitated.

“Raes,” Cora said. “You made it.”

“No problems,” Raesinia said.

“And you’ve got. .” Cora’s eyes flicked to the satchel.

“I’ve got everything we need.” Raes eyed the crowd. “Are you sure we should go through with this?”

“None of these people know who we really are,” Cora said. “Even if one of them talks to Orlanko, we won’t be in danger.”

“I’m not worried about us ,” Raesinia said. “I’m worried about them . If it goes wrong tomorrow, we could have a riot on our hands.”

“This was your idea, Raes.” Cora looked at the floor. “It’s the best chance we have of really hitting them where they’ll feel it without getting anybody killed in the process.”

“I know, I know .” She’d been the one who talked them all into the plan to begin with. Somehow, though, she hadn’t imagined coming face-to-face with the people who were going to be on the sharp end. Risking her own life-not that she was really risking it, a traitorous part of her mind supplied-was one thing. But we’re crossing the line here. No going back after this.

“It’ll be all right,” Cora said. “We’re going to have Danton ask everyone to stay calm. You know how convincing he is.”

Raesinia nodded. There was an odd gleam in Cora’s eyes, she thought. The girl’s genius had made this plan possible, and she was clearly eager to see it to fruition.

“I suppose we’ve got to do something with these letters,” Raesinia said. “You’re certain we don’t have any trouble here?”

“Oh yes. I know half of these people, and that half knows the other half. They’re mostly friends and relations of our regulars.”

“Where’s Mrs. Felda?”

“Upstairs.” Cora looked a little embarrassed. “I haven’t told her all the details. I don’t think she wants to know. Better for her if someone comes asking.”