Will Wight - Of Dawn and Darkness

Calder looked at Andel with relief and more than a little astonishment. “You saved me, Andel.”

The quartermaster was still on his knees, unbalanced after the tackle, but his eyes were on the Consultant. “Not quite yet, sir.”

Both of the Gardener’s hands came up, and a pair of tiny silver knives flashed out. One flew toward Andel, one toward Calder.

This time, Calder was ready.

His Awakened cutlass was in his hand, blade glowing with irregular orange spots like the pattern on a live coal. He slapped the throwing knife from the air, though the sudden motion pulled on his wounded shoulder. At least he hadn’t put too much weight on his injured leg; if it collapsed on him again, that would be the opening the Consultant needed.

Calder recognized Meia’s friend Lucan. They’d met once, in the depths of the Gray Island, though Calder hadn’t recalled the man’s name until Meia repeated it.

He started to speak, but the Gardener had pressed his palms against the stone tiles of the courtyard as though Reading. He’s welcome to it, Calder thought. He looked up at the Guard captain, motioning to surround the attacker.

Then the ground of the Imperial courtyard surged to life like a sea in storm, thrashing and throwing men around. Calder slammed to his back, which didn’t do his wounded shoulder any favors, and saw that Foster’s body was being tossed around like a rag doll.

He only had a brief second to wonder about Foster. When had the gunner gone down? Was he immobilized by one of those Gardener paralyzing needles, or was he dead? Then the rock beneath Calder shook any sense from his head.

Calder woke seconds later, to Andel’s soft laughter and the feel of his wrists tightly bound behind his back. He squirmed around for a better look, and saw Lucan only a few feet away, sitting cross-legged on the now motionless stone.

It was with relief that he noted ropes on Foster’s hands—no one would bother to tie a dead man.

“That’s kind of you,” Calder said. If he could make conversation, maybe he could point out some common ground. Just knowing Meia might take him out of this. “Tying us up, I mean. I thought you’d be more likely to slit our throats.”

He almost winced. Why give the man any ideas?

“I like to make sure my victims deserve it,” Lucan said, calm as a soft breeze.

Yet you still call them ‘victims,’ Calder noticed, but he didn’t say it. He raised one eyebrow at Lucan instead. “And you thought we didn’t deserve it? You’re a generous man. Besides, mercy is a quality I never thought I’d see in an assassin.”

“You know many hired killers, do you?”

More and more every day, it seems, he thought. Out loud, he said, “‘The quality of mercy is among the rarest of virtues, and rarest of all in killers and kings.’ Sadesthenes. You should read him sometime. Timeless wisdom in the classics.”

“You’re assuming I haven’t read him already,” Lucan said, unperturbed.

Calder brightened a little. If he’d read Sadesthenes, that might make for more common ground. More reason for him to let them go. “Have you?”

“No.”

A dead end. Calder cast around for a change of subject.

“I can’t help but notice you’re not making a hasty getaway.” Around the edges of the courtyard, Imperial Guards were pulling themselves to their feet and calling for backup. Lucan had to notice, but he didn’t move or point them out.

“And you’re chatty for someone with his hands tied. I can still make a gag.”

As long as Lucan kept responding, Calder could keep the exchange going. And the longer their chat stretched, the more chance for an escape. “I enjoy getting to know interesting people. A Consultant saboteur who attacks the Imperial Palace, fights three men singlehandedly, and then lingers on the scene of the crime is an interesting man indeed.” Not to mention the way that he apparently used Reading to temporarily Awaken stone; Calder would have to get the Magisters to explain that one.

“Your flattery is indeed the most powerful weapon in your arsenal, sir,” Andel piped in. He was weighing in to help the conversation along, the same as Calder, and humor would lighten any situation. “Thank the God we have you to defend us.”

“Shut up, Andel!” Calder said, as he’d said a thousand times on the ship.

“Mmmphmphmmm!” Foster said. Joining in the banter, just as he would on The Testament … and, not coincidentally, letting them know he was conscious and alive.

“Shut up, Foster,” Calder said, and he’d never put more affection into the phrase. “Now, stranger, I’m sure you know my name. I’ve learned to assume the Consultants know everything.”

And of course he knew the Consultant’s name as well…or he thought he did. He wouldn’t want to use the man’s name and then get it wrong. He’d look like an idiot.

Lucan stared up into the crack at the sky, seemingly undisturbed. “Calder Marten, twenty-six years old. Tried before the Emperor for counts of sabotage, theft, destruction of Imperial property, instituting a jailbreak, and conspiracy to commit fraud. Sentenced to forced labor in the service of the Navigator’s Guild.”

Calder didn’t think he’d actually been tried for half of those crimes, but that didn’t make them any less accurate. “That’s…not exactly the list I remember, but it’s impressively comprehensive nonetheless.”

“You tried to attack the Emperor, and I helped to hold you back. It was a test of our reaction speed.”

Calder whistled through his teeth, as though he’d just placed a memory. “That was you. I’d thought…you know what? It’s not important. Serving the Emperor at such a young age. You must be even better than I thought you were, Lucan.”

The effect was as good as he’d hoped. Lucan went stiff, staring at Calder with eyes slightly wide, surprised at the sudden use of his name. A second later he regained control of himself—no doubt remembering that he’d introduced himself only days before—but even that much was enough of a crack in the façade. It reminded Calder that the man was more than an assassin and a Gardener. He was human…and all humans could be beaten.

Even, in the end, the Emperor.

Out of what Calder could only imagine was petty spite, Lucan didn’t respond. He only watched as the orange-eyed captain gathered a group of Guards and surrounded the Consultant, leveling crossbows at him.

She knelt behind Calder, sawing at his bonds with a knife. Calder made a mental note to see what he could do about promoting her. “Are you hurt, sir?

“I think Foster’s poisoned,” he responded. “Get him to an alchemist as quickly as you can. Any casualties?” Lucan’s attack had been focused on Calder and his crew, but it had bruised half a dozen nearby Guards.

“No dead,” the captain responded, to which Calder let out a breath of relief.

“Admirable restraint.” When the ropes left his arms, the blood started to flow, leaving an irritation like an itch just beneath the skin. Calder rubbed at his wrists. “So, Lucan, would you mind telling me why you decided to linger?”

Lucan looked from one Imperial Guard to another, half his face covered, seemingly deciding which to kill first. “Curiosity. I thought I’d have a word with the Guild Head in charge.”

Anger and frustration flickered through Calder before he would suppress them. He’d thought he was past people overlooking his authority, at least here in the palace. “And what makes you think I’m not in charge?”

Lucan answered immediately and with brutal honesty. “Ex-criminals and Navigators don’t get set up as the next Emperor. No offense intended, but I expect the Guild Heads proposed you as a disposable alternative. Bait for the Elders, and something to keep the common people happy.”