Joseph Lewis - Wren the Fox Witch

“Yes, they certainly do.”

“What do you care? We don’t die, you and me. And you, you are looking for God, yes? Have you met him yet?”

A faint smile tugged at Omar’s cheek. “No, not yet.”

“Well, these things take time. God, heaven. Heh. Is tricky business. You’ll do it, someday.”

Omar chewed his lip. Over Koschei’s shoulder, he could see the third Fury finally rolling over and drifting lower and lower into the Bosporus. The Hellan steamers were arrayed around the wreckage, pulling Turkish sailors out of the water and shelling the sinking ironclads. The cannon fire boomed and popped and whistled across the waves.

Then Omar looked back at the walls of the palace again. The three airships loomed in the sky like dark monsters suspended in amber, but these monsters were still growing larger and the faint droning of their engines growled over the city. He sighed and rested his hand on his seireiken. “I hope you’re feeling rested. We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Fighting? Killing? Is no problem. This is what I do.” The Rus man grinned. “Remember who you’re talking to. I am Koschei the Deathless!”

Omar grinned back, momentarily infect with the other man’s dark enthusiasm. “Yes, I suppose you are.” He settled back in his seat to rest until they reached the far shore, and he muttered, “But who the devil am I?”

Tycho stood in the south watch tower between Wren and the young soldier who had been ringing the alarm bell a few hours ago. He could see the airships clearly now, including the long gondolas clinging to their bellies and even the shadowy figures of the crews moving about inside. Now that they were closer, the airships looked to be moving faster and he could see them shifting slightly in formation, sometimes closer, sometimes farther apart. They nosed gently to the left and right as the wind moved around them.

“I can’t tell if they’re heading straight for us, or if they’re pointing toward the ships in the Strait,” he said to no one in particular. “They’re angled into the wind.”

“Does it really matter?” Wren asked. “You said your guns can’t shoot that high.”

“They can’t.”

“Then why are we out here? Just to wait and see what those skyships do?”

Tycho felt a sudden storm of anger and frustration in his chest and he almost snapped at her, Because I have to do something!

Instead he said, “What else can I do? I have to defend my people.”

Wren shrugged, jangling the silver bracelets on her wrists. “If you can’t fight your enemies, you hide from them. So hide.”

“Hide?” Tycho clenched his spyglass. “I can’t run away and hide in the middle of a war. There are thousands of people out there and they’re all counting on us to defend them. We have to be here. We have to do something about this.”

“Or, you could get your people to safety.” Wren poked her head out the window and looked up through her blue glasses. “Those skyships are huge and slow. You know exactly where they are, and they just drop the bombs straight down, right? So all you have to do is not be under them. Easy.”

“So what? Am I supposed to just evacuate all the houses in the path… of the…” Tycho blinked. “Of course, that’s exactly what we should be doing. You’re beautiful! Captain!” The major spun around and shouted down the stairs to the bottom of the tower. “Captain! I want your entire company assembled in the First Courtyard in five minutes. New orders! I want every building within a quarter league of the water to be evacuated. Empty every house. Tell the people to leave all their belongings, it’s just for a day or two. Get them back as far as possible.”

“Sir?”

“Go door to door, now! Move it! Move out! Go!” Tycho paused at the top of the stair, then looked back at Wren. “We need to get the Duchess to safety, too.”

“Sure. But where should we take her?”

Tycho hesitated.

We shouldn’t take her too far from the palace. If we end up spread out all over the city, we won’t be able to coordinate our forces.

He smiled.

“I think I know a place.”

Tycho and Wren rode their little pony back across the park from the wall to the palace, dashing through the columns of soldiers jogging up the shallow hill side to muster in the First Courtyard.

Back in the Chamber of Petitions, the atmosphere was strangely calm and quiet as the servants went about their chores and the clerks shuffled their papers, and the politicians argued quietly in the corners.

Tycho found Lady Nerissa in her office with the gravely pale and sleepy-eyed Salvator and several other senior officers. “Your Grace, we have to evacuate the palace.”

The Duchess’s face betrayed her worry and fear. “Vlad’s plan failed? The airships are still coming this way?”

“It’s impossible to be sure, but we can’t wait until the last minute to find out. I’ve already sent our men into the city to evacuate the homes near the waterfront, but we need to get you to safety as well. The palace will be their first target.”

“Not the most gallant recourse, but probably the most prudent,” Salvator said begrudgingly.

The Duchess nodded. “Very well. We’ll move to the Cathedral of Saint Sophia. Not even the Turks would dare to destroy that house of God.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but we can’t take that chance.”

The woman’s face hardened with resolve. “Major, I won’t simply run away to some country estate and wait for it to be safe enough for me to resume my duties. I have a war to fight.”

“I know, and I agree,” Tycho said. “Which is why I want to move you to another palace nearby.”

“What other palace nearby?” The Duchess’s look of confusion blossomed into realization. “Major, that’s an excellent idea.”

The next half hour was a maelstrom of clerks and papers and maids and orders as the palace staff were all sent away and the entire bureaucratic machinery of Constantia was bundled up into satchels and cases and bags and trunks and simply carried out through the front gates of the Palace of Constantine.

The train of porters and soldiers and clerks shuffled down the road behind the Cathedral of Saint Sophia led by Lady Nerissa, Salvator, Tycho, and Wren. When they reached the gated entrance on their right, they turned into the estate and crossed the flat lawn of brown grass.

“What is this place? Have I been here before?” Wren asked. “I thought we were going to another palace.”

“We are, and you have, although you were probably blindfolded at the time,” Tycho said. “I’m sorry about that.”

“You mean… we’re going back to the prison?”

“We call it the Sunken Palace now. It’s centuries old, and no one’s certain what it was really for or why it sank, but it’s down there. It’s partly flooded as well, and it’s used as a cistern. And a prison.” Tycho opened the door of the small mausoleum in the center of the field and let the ladies enter ahead of him, and then he followed them down the stairs into the darkness with the stampede of men and papers following behind him.

Down below, the air was stale and cold and Tycho saw Wren’s breath swirling around her pale lips. He led the way through the makeshift office at the bottom of the stair and headed down the narrow corridor to the first vast chamber. The walkway skirted the edge of the room some ten or twelve feet above the floor, and the level of the water reached nearly to the walkway, so that the rippling surface of the reservoir lapped and splashed gently at their feet. The light of the torches danced on the water, and dripping sounds echoed over and over into the distant shadows.