Брайан Макклеллан - Wrath of Empire

He stood up, hands clasped behind his back, and frowned. She walked hurriedly, her eyes on the doorways of the townhouses as she passed them, constantly searching. She seemed … off. “Ignore it,” he whispered to himself. “She’s had a rough couple of days, too.”

“She’s carrying a pistol beneath her jacket,” he retorted. “You better damn well keep your eyes peeled.” He still glanced over his shoulder, checking his escape route around the back of the theater.

She spotted him and crossed the street, picking her way slowly through the tents, her face worried. He tried to give her a reassuring smile and raised his hand in greeting. “Glad to see you in one piece,” he said.

Hendres flashed a quick smile, and Michel felt that same gut response he’d gotten outside of the safe house a few days ago. Something was wrong. He could see it in her gait and in her face. He did a quick glance around, looking for any sign of Dynize soldiers, but came up with nothing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Still a little shaken up. I … went out after you did the other day. It was pure luck that I wasn’t there when the Dynize showed up.”

Michel ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me why they were there.”

“Why would I be able to tell you?” The words were a little too quick, accompanied by a look full of suspicion.

Two and two clicked together in Michel’s head, and he held up his hands. “You don’t think I tipped them off, do you?”

Hendres hesitated. She did. She definitely did, and that had Michel worried. “I don’t know,” she said.

“I didn’t tip anyone off,” Michel assured her. “I came back that evening and spotted them staking out the safe house. I’m glad you did the same. Shit, shit.” He began to pace, his mind racing. Not only did he have to figure out why the Dynize were at his safe house, but he also had to convince Hendres he hadn’t betrayed her. “Look, one of us might have been followed. We might have been sold out, or we might have just gotten unlucky – the Dynize are cracking down more than ever since those grenades the other day. We need to find another safe house and regroup. We have to make sure our routes out of the city haven’t been compromised, too.”

“I …” Hendres seemed to consider his words, the corners of her eyes tightening. Her mouth formed into a firm line, and she said, “I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?” The last word had barely left Michel’s mouth when he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see a tall woman with black hair cut short on the sides in the style of the Starlish military. Her name was Aethel, and he recognized her as an Iron Rose who had worked beneath him on occasion the last few years. She ambled up behind him, her jaw set. Michel forced down a rising panic and shoved his hands into his pockets. “What’s going on, Hendres?”

“You betrayed us,” Hendres said, her tone flat. “You betrayed me .”

“I didn’t tip off those Dynize,” Michel hissed.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not! This is a damned big misunderstanding. We need to go somewhere and talk this out.”

Hendres gave a resigned sigh, her lip curling. “I saw you with him, Michel.”

“Who?”

“The other day. The day the Dynize found our safe house? I saw you meeting with the Red Hand.”

Michel felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. He swallowed hard, searching for words.

Hendres continued. “I came back to find the safe house being watched. I’m not a spy, Michel, but I’m not an idiot, either. I did a little asking around. You were with the Red Hand when Fidelis Jes died. You met with him again the other day. You’re a damned traitor. You’re going to come with us now and tell us everything you know, or this is going to get very painful for you. Don’t make it worse.”

Michel’s mouth was dry. He knew Blackhats better than most, and he knew the line she’d just fed him was bullshit – if he went with them, it wouldn’t matter what he said. Things would get painful either way. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, feeling every bit of control slip away from him. This … this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

The fingers of his right hand slipped into his knuckle-dusters. “Look,” he said, pulling his hands slowly out of his pockets. He heard another footstep behind him, judged the distance, and turned around, cocking Aethel in the side of the jaw.

It took the Iron Rose completely by surprise. Aethel crumpled, and Michel stumbled past her and broke into a run, heading for the alley around the back of the theater.

“You piece of shit,” he heard Hendres shout. The words were followed by the blast of a pistol, and he ducked as a bullet ricocheted off the stone facade of the theater just above his head. Hendres swore again, louder, and he heard her footsteps pound after him.

He rounded the side of the theater and headed down the alley, leaping trash and dodging the tents of squatters. Faces watched with concern as he raced by, no doubt drawn out by the sound of the pistol shot. Michel was a couple dozen yards from the next street when a figure loomed in the mouth of the alley.

It was Geddi, a short, stocky Iron Rose with black hair and a beard. Michel skidded to a stop, glancing over his shoulder to see Hendres bearing down on him, fury in her eyes. She held the pistol by the barrel, raised above her head to strike.

Michel’s only option was the chimney sweep’s ladder going up the side of the theater. He slipped the knuckle-dusters back into his pants pocket and leapt for the lowest rung, pulling himself up. He scrambled up the ladder, only stopping when he reached a window ledge about forty feet up. He hooked his toe between the ladder rung and the wall and took off his jacket, wrapping it around his fist in one swift motion and punching it through the window. He swept off the jagged edges and leapt inside.

He entered through an office that had obviously been ransacked. Papers lay scattered on every surface and a large safe stood open in one corner. Michel dashed across the room and out into the hall, racing through the darkness and down a flight of stairs. He twisted his ankle as he reached the landing, swearing to himself quietly and pausing just long enough to listen for sound of pursuit.

Nothing.

He continued on down to the next floor and then along another hallway, this one pitch-black. He navigated by feel and the memory of a previous visit, when he’d come here to do a favor for one of the theater investors. Within moments he burst out a door, around a narrow turn, and out into the lobby.

The lobby had seen better days. A few squatters had taken up residence below the enormous stained-glass skylight, and they looked up at him as he entered. The front door was blocked by a chair from one of the offices. Michel dismissed it as an exit, worried about running into Aethel or Hendres. He looked down to the other side of the lobby, where he knew that a hidden door allowed performers to pass beneath the theater seats and pop up to entertain guests before a show.

He was just a few steps down the main staircase when there was a sudden crash. The front door burst open, the chair flying, and a very angry-looking Aethel strode through the opening. Michel grabbed the banister and spun himself around, heading back up. He reached the main theater and threw the curtain aside, running recklessly down the aisle with little regard for his twisted ankle or the possibility of breaking something during his descent. Aside from the little light coming in through the way he’d just entered, the theater was pitch-black.

He reached the bottom and threw himself to the floor. Back up at the lobby entrance, he saw a tall silhouette, and Aethel called out, “We’re going to find you, traitor. And I’m going to kill you myself.”