Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

“And do you think Cecil himself will be coming with them?”

“Definitely. If he can’t come up with some quick coin, he’s fucked. He’ll be here.”

Winter wondered whether this was what Janus had had in mind when he’d sent her here. Somehow she suspected not. Though, with Janus, who knows?

“Then,” Winter said, “I have a suggestion. .”

The street was alive with flickering shadows, swinging to and fro with the motions of the torch-wielding men and the rocking of the lanterns on the wagons. It looked as though an army of dark spirits were walking to either side of the tax farmers’ thugs, projected against the fronts of the buildings, slipping in and out of view but always keeping in step.

Aside from Bloody Cecil’s men, the street was deserted. Jane had made sure that news of the incursion got around. Winter only hoped that their own preparations had not also become common knowledge. The convoy was three empty wagons drawn by four-horse teams, to carry the booty, followed by a single two-horse coach with dark-uniformed footmen on the running boards. Around the vehicles, the mercenaries maintained a loose guard, walking in small groups clustered around the torchbearers. Snatches of conversation drifted past her, and occasional coarse laughter.

She was forcibly reminded of a little fishing village beside the Tsel, and a column of brown-uniformed Khandarai marching in good order into a hellish cross fire. These hirelings had nothing like the discipline of the Auxiliaries, though, and were armed with truncheons and staves instead of Royal Army-issue muskets. On the other hand, Winter’s own allies were similarly poorly equipped. At the Tsel we didn’t have any girls in the company, though. Aside from me, of course. And Bobby, come to think of it.

Not all of the Dockside fighters were escapees from Mrs. Wilmore’s Prison, though. A crowd of rough-looking men in long, front-and-back leather aprons had turned up in response to Jane’s call. Walnut was among them, and to Winter’s surprise so was Crooked Sal, equipped with a pair of thick oak truncheons and apparently looking forward to having his nose broken one more time. Jane’s contingent included twenty or so of the girls from her building, among them Chris, Becca, and Winn. They looked tougher and more professional than Winter had expected.

“I don’t like it,” Jane muttered.

“Don’t like the plan?” Winter said. “It’s a little late to say so now.”

“Not the plan. Abby. She should have been back by now.”

Abby had gone off with Molly, Nel, Becks, Andy, and a small cohort of younger girls to see Danton’s speech in Farus’ Triumph. Jane had agreed to the expedition, with misgivings and a firm injunction that they be back before nightfall. The sun was now well down, and there had been no word from them.

“We’ll be fine,” Winter said. “All the barricade crew has to do is make a lot of noise, then keep their heads down.”

“That’s all right for us , but what about her?” Jane cursed and shook her head. “I shouldn’t have let them go.”

Winter put a hand on her shoulder. “She’ll be fine, too. Let’s stick to what’s in front of us, shall we?”

Jane forced a smile. “Right.” Her face softened with some genuine humor. “You and me, waiting to put one over on some officious prat. Just like the old days, eh?”

“Given how most of those adventures ended, I hope not.”

“We didn’t always get caught.”

“It just hurt like blazes when we did,” Winter said. “I think I still have marks on my arse.”

“I’ll have to check some time,” Jane said. Before Winter could do more than sputter, she peered around the corner. “Nearly there. Should be seeing us any minute now. .”

“Brass Balls of the Beast! What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” The swearing came from the front of the convoy. The light of lanterns had revealed that the street was blocked by a shoulder-high barricade of wooden junk-torn-up carts, tipped-over tables, planks from fishermen’s stalls, even an upside-down boat that for Winter brought back further memories of Khandar. Behind this barrier, a few dozen men waved their makeshift weapons at the tax farmers.

Winter and Jane were in an alley down the street from the roadblock, which put them behind the carriage that brought up the rear of the convoy. From that vantage, they could get only glimpses of what was happening through the press of shouting, angry mercenaries, but the sounds made it clear enough. A torch rose briefly, then fell in a descending arc, accompanied by a hoarse shout of pain. Winter guessed someone had tried to mount the barricade and gotten a bash on the head for his troubles. The general racket increased as both sides began shouting at each other.

One of the thugs ran to the carriage and rapped at the door. The footman opened it, just a crack, letting the orange light of another lamp fall on the man’s face.

“Boss, there’s some locals in the street. They don’t want to let us through.”

The voice from inside cracked like a whip with the weight of hereditary privilege, beneath a heavy, rasping Borelgai accent. “Of course they don’t want to let us through! Why do you think I brought so many of you lads along, for the company?”

“Yeah,” the mercenary said, dubiously. “But they don’t look like they’re going to move.”

“Then fucking move them! I want these wagons rolling again in ten minutes.”

“Right.”

The door closed. The mercenary drew his truncheon from his belt and slapped it against his palm a couple of times, testing the weight. Winter didn’t blame him for hesitating. Hundred men or no hundred men, climbing over a barricade against an enemy who knew you were coming was not going to be a pleasant experience, especially for whoever was first in line.

“Right!” he said, louder. “Boss wants this shit out of the way double quick! Form up. We’ll go over all at once!”

Very good, Winter thought. Stick to nice, obvious tactics. Just charge on ahead. Nothing up my sleeves. .

She felt, oddly, at home. Almost at peace. This was a battlefield, of sorts, and there was going to be a battle. Admittedly, a battle between a couple of hundred sweaty, shoving men armed with clubs, but still a battle, even if it went as she hoped and produced no serious casualties. She’d never thought she could miss such a thing, but being here now felt right , in a way that nothing had since she’d taken ship in Khandar.

I wish I had the Seventh here with me, though. She imagined Bobby, Graff, and Folsom shouting orders, and a hundred musket barrels swinging into line to bear on this rabble of leg-breakers for hire, bayonets gleaming in the lantern light. They’d piss their britches.

“Time?” said Jane.

When did I get to be in charge? She’d proposed the plan, but it was still Jane’s army. Winter peered at the milling thugs. “Almost. Wait until they make their first rush.”

A few seconds later, a wave of shouts indicated that the attack had begun. Splintery crashes, curses, and screams of pain quickly followed.

“Now,” Winter said.

Jane put two fingers in her mouth and produced a sharp, piercing whistle, which was answered by shouts from the deeply shadowed alleys all around them. Packs of men and girls burst out, weapons raised, all heading for the carriage at the rear of the column. No sooner had the sound died away than Jane joined the rush, and Winter scrambled after her. She glanced dubiously at the club they’d given her, which looked suspiciously like a table leg, and wished she’d brought her sword.

Most of the mercenaries were up at the front of the column, struggling to clear and dismantle the barricade. Only a half dozen men remained around the carriage, while a good twoscore of Jane’s people were closing in on them. Their calls for help were drowned under the shouting from the fight up the street.