Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

The man gave a strangled gasp as the grip closed, both hands automatically reaching up to pry the grip away from his throat. Ionkovo yanked hard, and the Armsman stumbled backward a step, then another. Then one more step, through where the wall ought to have been, and he fell into his own rippling shadow. The dark silhouette remained for a moment longer, then faded silently away.

Ionkovo released the guard and let him fall, screaming, into the endless void that was the no-place between the shadows. He pulled himself back out into the real world, out in the corridor, and let out a long breath.

There were no doubt a number of locked doors between him and the outside world. But it was the middle of the night, and most of the lamps were dark. The Guardhouse crawled with shadows.

WINTER

The halls under the Vendre were dark and nearly silent. Up above, the courtyard was ablaze with lanterns and torches, as the celebrations which had been put briefly on hold by the daylong rain got back under way. Down here, no one had been relighting the candles as they flickered out, and the roar of humanity outside was reduced to a faint buzz.

All the cells but one were empty. There had been some argument over this-in addition to seditious printers and disloyal merchants, the prison had held plenty of ordinary thieves, housebreakers, smugglers, and other scoundrels. In the end, though, there had been no way to tell them apart, so the newly enlarged council had voted to throw all the doors open.

Winter led the way toward that last cell, marked by the single lantern that hung in front of it. Abby, padding behind her, carried their own lantern, and raised it in greeting to the guard on duty. “Guard,” in this case, was a generous term; it was one of Jane’s Leatherbacks, a pimply girl of fifteen, who went goggle-eyed when she recognized her two visitors.

“Uh. .,” she said, looking from Winter to Abby and back again. “Is something going on?”

“Jane wants them,” Winter said, hooking a finger at the cell and trying to look casual.

“Of course!” She blinked. “I mean. . nobody told me. .”

Abby leaned closer. “Principa. I’m telling you, all right?”

“Right.” The girl swallowed. “Let me get the door open.”

They waited while Principa fumbled with the key and dragged the cell open with a screech of rusty iron. The cells up here were clean, Winter noticed, and lacked the sludgy pools of standing water of the makeshift pens on the lower level. I suppose Orlanko believes in keeping a tidy dungeon.

The two men who emerged both wore Armsmen green, though their uniforms were somewhat the worse for wear after the long siege. They stood blinking in the lantern light. Abby raised an eyebrow, glanced at Principa, and beckoned, and the men shuffled silently past her and back toward the stairs.

“Um. .,” the guard said, standing in front of the now-empty cell. “What about me?”

“Stay here,” Winter said. “I’ll come and fetch you directly.”

–

“Make sure Jane doesn’t punish her,” Winter said, once they were out of earshot.

“I’d punish her,” said Giforte, “if she were in one of my prisons. Everyone knows you don’t release a prisoner without written authorization, and never without a signature. That way everyone knows who’ll catch hell if someone goes missing.”

Abby laughed and touched her father’s arm. “We’ll have to bring you in to train all our jailers.”

“Is this a prison break, then?” said Captain d’Ivoire. “Or has the council decided something?”

“The council can’t decide what to have for breakfast,” Winter said. “Jane feels you two would be safer elsewhere.”

“She can’t exactly let you walk out into the mob,” Abby said. “They’re ready to throw stones at anything in green.”

Giforte winced. “What about the rest of my men?”

“Most of them have already gone home,” Abby said. “The rest changed out of their uniforms and joined up with the riot.”

“Danton has that effect on people, apparently,” Winter muttered.

“In any event,” Abby said, “it would be better for all concerned if you. . slipped away. We’ve got a boat waiting down below.”

Giforte frowned but said nothing. They walked in silence for a while, down the spiraling central staircase and past the landing where Winter and Cyte had fought the night before. The light of the lantern showed wide brown splotches on the stones, and Winter’s gorge rose.

When they reached the bottom level, the gentle lap of water at the little dock became audible. Captain d’Ivoire stopped suddenly and caught Winter’s eye.

“I think,” he said, “we should give the two of them a moment alone.”

Winter looked at Abby, who shrugged. She and Giforte continued on a short distance, while Winter and Marcus retreated to the stairwell. There was only one lantern, which faded to an almost invisible glow as soon as the other pair had gone around a corner. Winter put her back to the cold stone wall and waited. The captain was only the vaguest of shadows.

Shit. She’d known this was a bad idea. He hadn’t recognized her the night of the raid, but since then he’d had plenty of time to think it over. I should have sent someone else. Stupid, stupid-

“Ihernglass,” Marcus whispered. “It is you, isn’t it?”

And there it was, stark as a skull. She took a deep breath. What the hell do I do now?

“I knew the colonel sent you on some secret mission,” he continued, “but I hadn’t imagined it would be anything like this . I don’t want to blow your cover, so we don’t have long.”

Winter let her breath out and blinked. This was not how she’d imagined this conversation going. If he tells me that he’s always known I was a girl, I swear to God I’m going to scream.

“I just thought,” Marcus went on, oblivious of Winter’s expression in the darkness, “that this might be a good opportunity. If there’s anything you want to pass along to the colonel, I mean. It can’t be easy to get messages to him.”

There was a long pause. Eventually Winter shook her head, realized he couldn’t see it, and said, “No message in particular. Just tell him what happened here, and make sure he knows I’m all right. I’ll be here with Jane if he wants me.”

“Right. I can’t speak for the colonel, but you can take it from me you’re doing a hell of a job.” Marcus sighed. “Better than me, certainly. He sent me to guard a prison and I end up locked inside it. Twice.”

“I think we made the best of a bad situation,” Winter said. “And thank you. Sir.”

Marcus’ shadow nodded. “I know it can’t be easy, even if being with Jane’s lot means you get to wear trousers.”

Winter paused, then ventured, “Sir?”

“Passing for female. Damned convincing. You’d have fooled me for certain, if I hadn’t known better.”

There was another long silence, this time while Winter tried desperately to fight down a spasm of mad laughter that seemed determined to burrow its way out from her lungs. She’d almost lost the battle when a frustrated shout from down the corridor brought their heads around.

“I think we’ve left them alone for long enough,” Marcus said. “Come on, before they kill one another.”

“Did you know about Abby and the vice captain?” Winter said. She covered her mouth; the laughter had transformed into hiccups. “Her being his daughter, I mean.”

“I hadn’t the faintest,” Marcus said. “But he filled me in while we were in the cell. Apparently they don’t get along.”

“I will not .” Abby’s voice came to them at a volume usually reserved for opera sopranos playing to a full house. “Will you get in the damned boat?”