Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

They began rowing again, slipping nearly silently through the gap into a long, watery tunnel. The air stank of mold, and streaks of dried slime on the walls charted the rise and flow of the river. Winter stared ahead, trying to discern the outlines of the dock in the gloom. She reached for the lantern to let out a little more light, now that they were out of view of the sentries on the walls, but Rose’s hand slammed down over hers. The boat bumped against one dripping wall and rocked to a halt.

“There’s a guard,” she whispered, nearly inaudibly. “A light, anyway. Shut the lantern.”

Winter did so, blinking in near-total darkness. Near, she found, but not quite. There was another light somewhere, around the curve of the corridor, and it speckled the water and the damp walls with tiny reflections. How the hell did she see it, though? Winter looked back at Rose to find her tugging the laces off her boots.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said. “I’ll bring the light forward when it’s safe to move in.”

Giforte shuffled forward, making the boat rock and rasp ever so slightly against the wall. Winter thought Rose winced.

“One of mine,” the vice captain said in a hoarse whisper, “or one of theirs?”

“No way to know.” Rose shrugged out of her jacket and pulled her thin undershirt over her head in one fluid motion. Giforte gave an embarrassed cough, though it was so dark that all Winter could make out were silhouettes. “Does it matter? One scream and we’ve had it.”

“Just. .”

“I’ll do my best.” Rose stepped out of her trousers, folded them neatly, and handed the bundle of clothes to Winter. It was heavier than it should have been, and she could feel several hard, flat metal shapes through the cloth. “Hang on to these.”

Rose slipped lithely off the boat and into the water with barely a splash, setting the little craft to rocking once again. Her legs cut the surface once, and then she was underwater. Winter couldn’t see where she came up.

“She works for you?” Cyte whispered to Raesinia, incredulously.

“More or less,” Raesinia said.

“Quiet.” Winter was straining her ears for the sound of a gunshot, or even a scuffle. There was nothing.

“What if she doesn’t signal?” Cyte said. “How long do we-”

“She’ll be fine,” Raesinia said. “Trust me.”

A moment later, a bright light came on, glinting off the water. Winter started paddling forward, first one side and then the other, while Raesinia took up the other paddle and helped fend off the walls. After a few dozen yards the passage ended in a larger chamber with a protruding stone dock. Rose sat on the end of it, naked and dripping, holding a lantern in one hand and a rope in the other. She tossed the latter to Winter, who hauled the boat alongside and tied it off.

“Any problems?” Raesinia asked, as they stepped carefully onto solid ground.

Rose shook her head, accepted the bundle of clothes from Winter, and dressed. She moved with a total unselfconsciousness that reminded Winter of Jane. In the lantern light, Winter could see that she was a good deal more muscular than she looked when dressed, and that her skin was covered with thin white lines. A star-shaped lump of scar tissue marred the inside of one breast, and her arms were practically crosshatched with old wounds. Giforte pointedly looked away, and after a fascinated moment Winter did likewise.

The body lay at the base of the dock, under a black leather coat that covered it like a shroud. Winter walked over to it and found it was a young man, dirty and bearded, with a single puncture wound just below his ear.

“He had a pistol,” Rose said, coming up behind her and holding the weapon out by the barrel. “Make sure it’s loaded.”

Winter checked the pan and the barrel and confirmed the pistol was charged, then wedged it somewhat awkwardly in her belt. She already had another pistol there, and an old cavalry saber on her hip. It felt better than she wanted to admit to be carrying weapons again. Raesinia had refused any armaments, but Giforte carried a sword and pistol and Cyte had a rapier. Rose had fended for herself.

Once their little party had gathered in the light of the lantern, Rose gestured at the corridor leading back from the dock.

“From here it’s not far to the main stairs. Two levels up from here is where they’ve got the new prisoners. Then there’s another three levels of ordinary cells before the ground floor. Captain d’Ivoire and Danton are in the tower above that. I don’t expect to see anyone on the stairs, now that Jane has started making threatening noises with the ram, but there’ll be guards on the cells.

“Raes and I will go and find Danton. Vice Captain, most of the men guarding the prisoners were your people. Do you think you can convince them to stand down?”

“If they know what’s good for them,” Giforte growled.

“Winter, Cyte, go with him, in case there are some Concordat soldiers mixed in. We’ll break the others out and come down to meet you.”

“What if you run into trouble?” Winter said.

“Then you’re in charge. Do whatever you need to.” Rose lifted her lantern. “Let’s go. And remember to stay as quiet as you can.”

The first turn of the spiral stairs was completely dark. Rose crept ahead while Winter followed with the lantern almost completely shut, leaving just enough light for the others to see the steps. After they crossed the first landing, more light began to leak down from above. Rose held up a hand, shuffling up the steps at the center of the spiral, until she’d gone just barely out of sight. She edged back just as quietly, frowning.

“Two men on the landing,” she whispered. “Armsmen. I can’t take both quietly. Either one of you can take one”-she glanced at Winter, then at Giforte-“or we can try it your way.”

“Let me talk to them,” Giforte said.

“Just don’t make a lot of noise.” Rose glanced at the ceiling. “The Concordat people have got to be close.”

Giforte nodded, straightened his back, and went up the steps with a reasonable approximation of parade-ground swagger. The others followed, keeping a half turn back. On the landing, the two green-uniformed Armsmen lounged against the wall on either side of a doorway. They straightened up at the sound of footsteps, but the sight of Giforte’s uniform confused them for a crucial second while he stepped into the light and gave them a good look at his face. They started to salute, but Giforte waved a hand.

“Keep quiet,” he barked in a stage whisper. “Both of you.”

“Yes, sir!” said the man on the left, coming to attention so stiffly he vibrated. His companion, older and wider of girth, squinted suspiciously at the group now coming into view up the stairs.

“Sir?” he said. “Beg your pardon, sir, but we were told you had tried to surrender the fortress to the rebels, and were to be detained on sight.”

“Circumstances have changed, Sergeant,” Giforte snapped. “I had direct orders from Captain d’Ivoire to begin negotiations. When Ross found out, he tossed the captain in a cell and took over.”

“Fucking Ross,” the younger Armsman said. “I always said he was a snake.”

“But. .” The sergeant hesitated, looked at the four young women.

“Representatives from the leaders outside,” Giforte said. “I’ve agreed to release the prisoners on this level, who were in any case illegally detained by the Ministry of Information. In exchange, we’ve been guaranteed safe passage away from the fortress. Captain d’Ivoire and I will take all responsibility to the minister and the king.”

That was enough for the sergeant, who saluted. “Sir. Yes, sir!”

“Where are the rest of our men?”