Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

Meln-Dun’s eyes widened and he swept his gaze across the small group once more. “I see. I had no idea the Riflejacks even had other powder mages.”

“Hence the dirty little secret,” Vlora said. She took a deep breath, trying to get in the right frame of mind for a night raid. She hadn’t done anything like this for years, and the prospect both thrilled and scared her. Five men against a whole warren of Palo thugs was dangerous, even if four of them were powder mages. Mistakes could – would – be made. There would be surprises. Everything they planned could go awry the moment they stepped out the door of this pub.

Tamas had always said that a greater risk had better come with a greater reward. She was risking the very heart of the Riflejacks, but the reward was that she could accomplish the entire assignment in a single night – and she and her men walk away tomorrow with a full year’s pay. Mama Palo’s fall might even bring long-term stability to Greenfire Depths. The money was great, but her conscience allowing her to sleep at night was even better.

“Even with powder mages, I still don’t see…” Meln-Dun began, but Norrine held up a hand.

“It’ll be enough,” she assured him.

The Palo finally entered the room and shut the door behind him, taking a seat. He seemed remarkably calm despite the attempt on his life earlier that day, and Vlora wondered if he’d been drinking to settle his nerves.

“Are you sure you’re able to do this?” Vlora asked.

Meln-Dun gave a confident nod. “I am. I have to. They’ve killed my friends, taken my family and business hostage. If this does not happen tonight, I am finished.” He scowled, then looked up at Vlora. “Something has been bothering me, Lady Flint.”

“What’s that?” Vlora mentally checked her kit, counting her powder charges, then making sure both her pistols were already loaded.

“Mama Palo told me something when we spoke last: that a known Blackhat was seen leaving your headquarters on more than one occasion.”

Vlora exchanged a glance with Olem. “That is true,” she said. “I’ve made no secret that we’re employed by the state. In fact, I believe that’s the reason you came to me in the first place.”

“Yes, but this business with the rebuilding. Was it your main reason for being here?”

“Keeping the peace has always been our reason for being here.” Vlora swore inwardly. Was Meln-Dun getting cold feet? Did he suddenly realize how deep he was with the Palo’s long-standing enemy? Surely this mustn’t be news to him. She reminded herself how easy it was to be self-delusional when you had a passion.

“But,” Meln-Dun pressed, “your purpose here. Were you assigned to bring down Mama Palo by the Blackhats?”

Vlora exchanged another glance with Olem, wondering if this would be a good time to lie. But, as she so often told her men, she hated a liar. “Yes.”

Meln-Dun was silent for several long seconds, his tongue between his lips and his eyes on the floor. “All right. We can do this. I just wanted to know where you stood.”

“Same place I’ve always stood,” Vlora responded. “And I’ve never lied to you. I do have an interest in helping rebuild Greenfire Depths.”

Meln-Dun looked away, unresponsive. Olem shrugged. Buden spat a wad of tobacco on the floor.

“It’s well past time to get moving,” Norrine warned.

“Agreed,” Vlora said, getting to her feet. She checked her men, using her mage senses to be sure they had enough powder and their weapons primed. She took a spare pistol off the table behind Davd and held it out to Meln-Dun. “Have you fought before?”

“It’s been many years,” he said hesitantly.

“Take this just in case.” She turned to face the others and said, “Remember, we’re not here to conquer or fight or dilly-dally. We’re grabbing Mama Palo and we’re getting the pit out as quickly as possible. Keep your knives and swords handy. Firearms are to be kept in check unless it’s absolutely necessary – if at all possible we want to be gone before they even know we’ve arrived. And only kill if we need to.”

“There will be violence,” Meln-Dun said with a frown. “Killing can’t be avoided.”

“I’m making as few enemies as possible tonight.”

“Every one of Mama Palo’s men you leave alive is another enemy on the morrow.”

Olem inclined his head toward Meln-Dun in a way that said he has a point . Vlora shook her head at Meln-Dun. “We’ll keep it as bloodless as possible, but make no mistake. We’re all killers. This’ll go painfully if it needs to. Let’s get moving before it gets any later.”

Davd led them out through the back of the pub and down a side alley, checking to be sure they weren’t spotted, before motioning for Meln-Dun to go ahead. It was a quiet evening, a weeknight curfew in effect by order of Lindet, and they were nearly alone on the dark streets of the plateau.

Meln-Dun took a deep breath and stashed his pistol beneath his shirt before he led them along a series of winding streets. They crossed boulevards and back alleys running parallel to the Rim overlooking the Depths before finally taking a small, little-used path behind someone’s house down into a narrow hallway cut into the very rock of the plateau.

They descended rapidly into the cool stone passage, the steps becoming impossibly steep, and only a quick pinch of powder snorted in each nostril gave Vlora enough night vision to see what she was doing. She heard the others preparing themselves likewise. At the front, Meln-Dun seemed to navigate confidently despite the pitch-black, and behind her Olem kept a hand on her belt, cursing from time to time as he stubbed a toe or bashed his elbow on the side of the quarry.

Their descent was arrested suddenly as Meln-Dun stopped to fiddle with a door, and a moment later they were on flat ground once again.

“Ground,” Vlora corrected herself, wasn’t the word for it. They had certainly not gone all the way to the bottom of Greenfire Depths, and as they walked down what appeared to be plastered hallways, their footsteps echoed like they were tramping along the scaffolding of a tenement construction site and felt only slightly more stable.

This appeared to be some sort of highway, and despite the twists and turns the corridor remained wide with small shop windows along either side and the occasional Palo family sitting along the walls with a gas lamp, taking a late meal or enjoying gossip with the neighbors. For the most part Vlora’s small group was ignored, and when they reached the next junction she asked Meln-Dun about it.

“We’re in what we call the Cobweb right now,” he explained. “Suspended fifty feet above the floor of the Depths, some of these halls span the entire length of the quarry. It’s much safer up here, but Kressians are never allowed.” He put an emphasis on “never” and Vlora lowered the brim of her hat slightly, glancing over her shoulder.

They continued on for what felt like miles until Meln-Dun suddenly held up a hand. They came to a stop behind him. The Cobweb was much more active here, even more active than the streets up on the plateau, and the group had begun to receive more than one curious glance. Things were even better lit here, too.

“What’s going on?” Vlora asked, gesturing for Olem to drop back with Norrine to watch their rear.

Meln-Dun pointed through an arched passage to a door a little farther on. “We’re getting close to the Yellow Hall. Mama Palo’s men patrol this area heavily. We’re going to have to go down now, but we may encounter guards, starting just behind that door.”

Vlora gestured to Davd, tapped her eyes, and pointed at the door. The young powder mage crossed the hall quickly, slinging his blunderbuss over his shoulder, and pressed gently on the door. Vlora counted to five, then followed.