Jay Lake - Endurance

The Dancing Mistress shook her head, then snorted, that almost-sneeze that passed for laughter among the pardines. Amusement, self-mockery, a lightening of the heart, I could not say. “You gave the most sacred stones of our people to a priest killer?”

“Who better? He of you all knows best the weaknesses of that sort of faith.” And they were welcome to try to take the gems from him. I could not have found a safer hiding place in a bank’s strong room.

“You spin the divine the way some people spin wool.”

“Never!” I took a breath, calmed myself. “The divine clings to me the way wool clings to some people, perhaps. It is my business now and again to brush it off.”

Her amusement melted into sadness. “And so we depart, taking our power and our anger with us.”

“Well, yes. You have achieved what you came for. There is no need for further threat.”

“All well, Green, all well.” Her eyes narrowed, her ears flicking. “But for one thing. Where is the Rectifier? ”

Every plan had a flaw. She had found the flaw in mine.

“He dogs a pair of god killers for me,” I said, speaking honestly. “I go now to resolve that fate.”

Her voice was cool now. “You sent the Eyes of the Hills into the hands of god killers?”

“I placed the Eyes of the Hills into the hands of the Rectifier.” My ground felt less certain now. My foolishness was laid clear.

“We will depart when he comes to us and shows what he carries.” She sat down, her stare narrow and emphatic. The tension melted from the room to be replaced with a wary waiting.

“Then I shall see to him.”

I had definitely outstayed my welcome here. Glad I’d eaten on my arrival, I slipped back into the driving sleet of the evening.

The time had come for me to confront Iso and Osi. I had broached all the allies I could. The Rectifier was dogging them or he was not. Archimandrix would succeed in overwhelming the Selistani embassy or he would not. Mother Iron, in her new guise, would support me or she would not. Endurance had given me as much blessing as I might have hoped for from my ox god.

Later on, if need be I would turn my face away from Blackblood, and even the Lily Goddess. Tonight I would defend them, so that when I did walk free of their influence, my escape would be on my own terms. With my child free as well.

Such foolish hopes I had then.

The storm was breaking up as I hurried toward the twins’ warehouse lair. The clouds spread ragged across the sky, and a tired moon glimmered down. My feet slipped on icy cobbles, and I felt so huge, so unbalanced, like a tree on the edge of falling. I had no idea what I hoped to accomplish now-all my plans seemed to have flowed out of me, leaving only a curious admixture of determination and fatigue.

But I knew that I must face down the twins, and trust Mother Iron and Endurance to stand at my back when I needed them most.

Nothing moved on the streets. The wind still knifed. All sane persons were long indoors. By the time I reached the warehouse, stars stabbed the night sky, and the moon had found a sliver of her usual courage. If anything, the air was even colder.

I didn’t bother with the roof. I recalled all too vividly what had happened the last time I tried that route. Not so many days ago, but the baby kept changing me. Robbing my lithe balance to feed her growth. What could I do but honor that? I could hardly postpone protecting her.

That left the side, where I’d exited from my previous raid here. And where was the Rectifier? I’d expected him somewhere around the area, since he hadn’t been at the Tavernkeep’s place.

Or there was always the front entrance. Big, rolling doors meant to admit heavy freight wagons. I wished one or another of my little divine interventions had left me with some pyrotechnic magic, but the gods seemed far more interested in annoying me than gifting me.

Such an entrance would certainly make an impression.

I looked up and down the street. Several unloaded wagon rigs were parked for the night, but their teams were safely stabled out of the horrid weather. While I could in theory roll a wagon through the doors, the practical mechanics of accomplishing that were a bit beyond my current resources. Still, the idea of a dramatic attack certainly appealed to me far more than breaking in through the entrance they’d be watching most closely.

No one left cargo in a wagon overnight, not unless they were sleeping atop it weapon in hand, but what was in the warehouses around me?

A quick fifteen minutes invested in peering through windows-no roof climbing here either, not on this icy night-confirmed that the second warehouse up Theobalde Avenue from Iso and Osi’s lair supplied at least some portion of Copper Downs with candles, wax, paraffin, and lamp oil. If I couldn’t make trouble out of a couple of barrels of high-grade lamp oil, then I might as well give up and open a restaurant.

Forcing entry was trivial. Their locks were simple, meant to discourage vandals and children. On a night such as this, the watchmen were off drinking with the thieves, or huddled over a stove somewhere in the back. And there were no stoves in this warehouse, I was certain of it. The air inside smelled like an accident waiting to happen. No one smoked tabac here either, I’d guess, or hempweed. Or anything else involving sparks and flame.

Surely these people have heard of vents?

But not when the air was freezing. I’d guess it might grow cold enough to gel some of their oils.

The interior was a bit lower-ceilinged than the twins’ building, surrounded by catwalks near the top. I thought I saw a crane up there, but sorting out its mechanisms was more trouble than I cared to take right now. Rows of shelves and racks and wooden footings held the seeds of destruction that I sought. This place was a pyromaniac’s delight, better even than a fireworks factory.

I smiled.

Working only by the moonlight from the high, narrow windows-and who would hoist a loaded barrel of oil up and out a window?-I found a rack of exactly what I was looking for. Lamp oil, with taps already placed in three of the barrels. I wasn’t about to shift that kind of dead weight around, but the collection of ramps and levers meant to load barrels on and off the rack were stored close by. How thoughtful.

I worked the first two barrels off. One of them was decidedly light in weight, so I pushed it aside and fetched the third out. It made a nice, heavy slosh. I had to be careful not to knock the taps off. They weren’t meant to roll about in this condition, but I didn’t need to move them far. From the inside, I opened the streetward freight door, and trundled both barrels outside. Slipping back in, I secured the freight door, then chocked the office door shut on my way out. No sense in inviting criminal behavior to follow me wherever I went.

The barrels rumbled on the cobbles outside as I shifted them one at a time to the front of Iso and Osi’s warehouse. Fine, if they heard me, they heard me. I was too involved in my plan to stop now. At any rate, that noise was nothing like what someone alert for me dropping through the skylight would be listening for.

I positioned the second barrel so the bung was almost at the top of its rotation. This rendered the side-mounted tap useless, but meant I could break it off at need to set a fire. My last step before doing so was to scavenge some relatively dry wood from the bottom of a junk pile in the alley beside the warehouse. Using one of the short boards, I knocked the tap off.

Oil spilled. Terrific.

I let the stuff soak my lengths of dry wood, then stacked them against the still-sealed barrel. A few moments later, lucifer matches had a flame started that the oil took nicely even in the whistling, cold wind.