Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

Just inside lay a Palo man in a pale green uniform, slumped on his side. Davd tapped the side of the man’s head. “He’ll live, but he’ll have a pit of a headache when he wakes up.”

“Let’s be in and gone before he does,” Vlora said.

They were joined by the others, and Meln-Dun frowned at the unconscious Palo. “Those are the uniforms Mama Palo’s personal guard wear. You shouldn’t leave them alive.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Vlora responded, feeling a bit peeved. Meln-Dun was a businessman, but in her experience the strangest people could get overtaken by bloodlust when they had power over others. “There’s no reason to kill him. Let’s keep moving.”

They descended two more levels down a narrow staircase, then a ladder, before Meln-Dun stopped them again. “We’re here.”

“Already?” Vlora asked.

“That was quick,” Norrine commented.

Meln-Dun tossed aside a carpet to reveal a trapdoor. “We won’t be able to come back this way,” he said.

Vlora found out why a moment later. Below the door was a ten-foot drop to what appeared to be old clay shingles. She had a moment of confusion before she finally chuckled. “We’re above the Yellow Hall. That’s the original roof, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Meln-Dun answered. “The Cobweb was built above and around everything that existed in Greenfire Depths before, with the exception of some of the houses near the working quarries.”

“Is that roof going to hold us?” Norrine asked.

Vlora glanced down into the darkness. “I hope so.”

Davd went first, dropping down onto the clay shingles, scrabbling for purchase before getting a good footing. Vlora tossed down his weapons, then her own, and lowered herself down from the trapdoor by her arms before letting go. Davd caught her, helping her get her footing, before aiding the rest of the group down. Norrine came last, lowering the trapdoor gently onto her fingers before taking the drop.

They spread out across the roof, checking their weapons in the darkness before creeping along to the very edge of the shingles. Vlora could sense a steep drop below her – probably three stories or more – and wondered how they were going to get down. She and the other mages could make that jump without suffering damage, but Olem and Meln-Dun would break a leg.

Meln-Dun provided the answer a moment later, showing them to a small belfry that rose above the roof. Vlora joined them just as a few sharp words broke out.

“You’ve been planning this,” Davd hissed.

Meln-Dun recoiled. Vlora shushed Davd and turned to Meln-Dun, only to find the Palo was not denying the accusation. “What does he mean?” she asked him.

“I mean,” Davd answered, “all of this. The roof, the trapdoor, this belfry. He had to have planned this out well ahead of time.”

“Don’t mind me,” Olem whispered. “Can’t see a damn thing because I’m not a bloody powder mage. I’ll just stand here in the dark until you’ve got this sorted out.”

“He’s been planning this,” Davd insisted.

Vlora glanced quizzically at Meln-Dun before remembering that he couldn’t see in the dark, either. He was doing all this by feel. “Well?” she asked.

“I…” There was an uncomfortably long pause, then Meln-Dun said in a defeated tone, “I’ve considered the need to remove Mama Palo for several months. She’s been getting worse, more erratic, harder to negotiate with. I knew something would have to be done. I planned out this route several weeks ago, thinking I would be bringing Blackhats or Palo mercenaries in here to assassinate Mama Palo.”

“Assassinate” was a dangerous word for a businessman. The idea bothered Vlora, but she thrust it aside. It turned out Meln-Dun was using them just as much as she was using him, and somehow that made her feel a little less guilty. “It’s too late to quibble now. Get us through here.”

“The belfry is boarded up from the inside. We’ll have to break through it.”

Davd thumped on the boards. “That feels pretty tight.”

“It’s going to make a pit of a lot of noise,” Olem warned.

Vlora vacillated for a moment. She might be able to drop down and find another way in, then make her way back up to pry the boards off from the inside. But the Yellow Hall was an enormous house, and she could just as easily get herself lost and cornered. More important than staying silent was staying together.

“The belfry leads into the old master suite,” Meln-Dun said. “It’s where Mama Palo lives and holds court.”

“We’re above her court right now?” Vlora demanded.

“Yes.”

“Making a damned racket. They probably already know there’s someone up here.” Vlora reached out with her senses, trying to find everyone within a hundred yards with the slightest bit of powder on them. She felt her other mages doing the same. Immediately below them there were concentrations of powder that amounted to three armed men. A fourth and fifth were coming up the stairs to the second floor of the Yellow Hall and beyond that… well, she lost count at thirty.

Mama Palo had a lot of bodyguards.

“Right,” Vlora said, readying her pistol. “Davd, knock it in.”

Davd backed up and took a running start, throwing himself against the boarded window of the belfry. There was a mighty crash and he disappeared in a swirl of dust. Vlora followed him through, helping him to his feet, while Norrine, Olem, and Buden rushed down the stairs with weapons at the ready. There was another crash as they forced a door below, and then a torrent of shouting in Adran, Palo, and Kez.

Vlora leapt down the stairs, blinking as she entered a brightly lit room. The walls were made of the same yellow limestone as the rest of the hall and decorated with candelabras and tapestries. The light came from lamps fed by haphazardly strung gas lines, and Vlora pulled up to find herself looking down the barrels of three pistols as well as the blades of another two swords.

There were five men, not three, and she suspected they would be joined by many more within a few moments.

The five Palo guards wore pale green uniforms and looked angry and startled, their faces red, fingers pulling triggers that wouldn’t respond. Vlora could sense Norrine suppressing the powder in the pans, keeping the pistols from firing.

“Stop!” Vlora said, drawing her sword. “There’s no need for bloodshed.” She hoped to pit that they understood Adran, because her Palo was terrible. “We’re here for Mama Palo. No one has to get hurt.”

Behind the five men Vlora spotted an old woman lounging on a divan in the center of the room. She had a regal bearing, her chin held high, and she wore faded old buckskins and no jewelry like the Palo one might find deep in the Tristan Basin. She looked to be well into her seventies, hands shaking with rheumatism, and Vlora had a sudden pang of guilt.

This was who was causing so much trouble? This was who Vlora had come for? Could she bring herself to drag an old woman to the Blackhats and watch her hang?

The old woman seemed unafraid, even dismissive. “Kill them,” she said in Palo.

That Vlora understood. “Keep the noise down!” Vlora hissed, sidestepping a sword thrust and drawing the tip of her own smallsword across a Palo’s throat.

Mama Palo’s bodyguards were good. Very good. Within moments Vlora could tell that they were trained fighting men, and the fact they lasted longer than half a breath against four powder mages was a miracle in and of itself. But they didn’t last long, and only Buden wound up with a slice along his arm for their efforts and five dead or dying Palo soon lay on the floor.

“Davd, get the door,” Vlora said, motioning toward the entrance. She could hear feet pounding in the hallways outside, and Davd and Olem reached it in time to throw their weight against several people trying to shove their way in. “Buden, clean yourself up. Norrine, secure the old woman. Wait, where…” Vlora’s question was choked off in midsentence as she turned toward Mama Palo’s divan.