Tiffany Trent: The Unnaturalists

Piskel giggled between his fingers.

“We’ll probably need a neverkey or some other kind of nulling device,” Syrus said. “Hopefully, Vespa can help us with anything more than that once we free her.”

Bayne nodded and patted a pack next to the trunk. “I have those already.” He decided on the rope and threw it in.

“And a few pebbles in case there are illusion mines.”

“Illusion mines?” Bayne swallowed.

“Yes. The Lowtown Refinery has them. I don’t see why the Imperial Refinery wouldn’t,” Syrus said.

“We’ll get pebbles in the garden.”

“Then, let’s go,” Syrus said.

Bayne blew out the candle and led the way out of the room and onto the landing. Piskel ducked up Syrus’s sleeve so as not to give them away with his light. One creaking step at a time they went down the stairs. Syrus saw shadows of palms at the corner of the staircase. The handrail was satiny-smooth under his fingers.

They sneaked past an ancient grandfather clock and the cigar smoke–laced doorway of what must have been Bayne’s father’s study. At last, they were through the kitchens and Bayne was letting them out into the garden.

Syrus scooped up some gravel as they went. Piskel crawled out from under his sleeve and led them down through the boxwood border toward the thorn-tangled slope of the Hill.

The sylph disappeared among the wicked spines for a few minutes. When he emerged, he motioned them forward.

Bayne used his sword to hack through the thorns, but it was rather ineffective and Bayne muttered about dulling the blade.

When the vague outline of a door was visible, Piskel pointed them toward the keyhole.

“Let us pray this isn’t warded such that the Empress knows when her fortress has been breached,” Bayne said, as he slid the neverkey inside.

The door swung open with the faint scent of the Refinery and ordure. They stepped into the tunnel, and the door scraped shut of its own accord. They listened to the sound echo down the corridor for a long while. Bayne waited to kindle the magic flame in his palm until they were well inside and nothing seemed to have been alerted to their presence.

Syrus tried tossing a pebble down the long expanse, but it triggered no mines. He sighed in relief.

The tunnel wound around until it came to an odd, corkscrewlike chamber. They had to step over delicate stone sills and around edges of stone that reminded Syrus of a giant snail shell. They were about to step through to the other side when they heard something that was not the drip of water or the crunch of their own feet on stone. It sounded like coins dropping. Or armored feet trying unsuccessfully to creep toward them.

Syrus eyed Bayne’s sword. It was the obvious choice. If the pistol was fired now, it could bring the entire fortress down on them. They needed more time. “You do know how to use that thing, right?” he whispered, even as he remembered the day at Rackham’s when Bayne had fought off the rookery leaders.

Bayne snorted at him. “Of course.” He unsheathed it slowly and blew the flame up into the air so that it danced above them. Bayne pinned Syrus with his gaze. “Stay here,” he said.

Bayne slid around the odd folds of rock.

“Halt! You will come with me to the Empress,” the Guard croaked.

Syrus poked his head around in time to see Bayne engage the Guard’s pike. He feinted toward the wall, forcing the Guard to swing at him. Syrus watched in admiration as Bayne ducked the Guard’s next cut; the force of the blow stuck the pike straight in the wall. Bayne spun close enough that the Guard had to release the pike or else be rendered nearly defenseless.

Bayne rained blows around the Guard’s head and shoulders, but they bounced off with green sparks. Obviously, the Guard was protected by some kind of field. Syrus didn’t know how long it would take to break through, or if the Guard would soon call his fellows to help deal with this troublesome human.

And then the Guard clapped his hands on the sword blade.

Bayne twisted this way and that, unable to swing the sword free of the Guard’s grasp. They struggled like that for several seconds until Syrus heard a fatal ringing snap. Bayne tried punching at the Guard’s shielded face, but got sizzling knuckles for his pains.

Bayne came away with the hilt. He cast it aside and, before the Guard could grab him, dropped and swept his armored legs out from under him. Overbalanced, the Guard fell heavily to the floor.

Syrus watched in amazement. He’d only ever seen some of his Tinker uncles fight like this hand-to-hand. Where had a spoiled lordling learned such tactics?

Then, all other resources exhausted, Bayne took the already loaded pistol out of his belt, cocked the hammer, and fired.

The explosion thundered down the tunnel with a burst of feathers.

“Should have done that to begin with,” Bayne said. He removed the cap from his powder bag with his teeth and reloaded the pistol with powder, patch, and another silver ball. “Best hurry now. They know we’re coming.”

Syrus followed him.

Bayne tore the Guard’s pike from the wall with a grunt. He kicked the useless sword blade aside. “That was my favorite sword, too,” he muttered.

“Why didn’t you make a sword of magic like you did at Rackham’s?” Syrus asked.

“I’m trying to save as much magic as I can until we reach the main chamber,” Bayne said. “Pity that we no longer have the element of surprise as our ally. Come on.”

They raced down the tunnel, trying to get out of it before more Guards came. All they could do now was move forward.

Bayne reached out to stop Syrus before they ran out into empty space. They were on a narrow landing. A metal catwalk to the left went down toward the Refinery floor. Syrus looked out over the cages and swallowed. To see so many Elementals held captive, to imagine so many spaces in the world devoid of life because of their absence—it was almost too much to contemplate.

Beyond the cages sat a strange throne on a raised dais, but there was no sign of the Empress or any other human. Where was Vespa? Syrus wondered. Only one way to find out.

The sound of feet coming up the metal stairs severed his thoughts. Syrus drew out his pipe.

The first few guards—regular humans, rather than Raven Guards—fell to his fairy darts.

Bayne looked back at him. “Why didn’t you just do that in the tunnel?” he asked.

Syrus shrugged. “You told me to stay back!”

Bayne glared at him. “If you have that much skill with a weapon like that, don’t listen!”

Syrus blushed.

Bayne turned to the next wave of guards and pushed them down the stairs with his pike. Fortunately, none of these had guns, nor much skill at fighting, either, when it came to all that. Syrus supposed that the place was so charged with magic that a gun might not even fire properly in here. He just hoped Bayne’s wouldn’t suddenly go off and take off a foot or bit of his leg.

Syrus leaped into the fray with his dagger, trying not to remember his cousin Raine taken down by his own hand. Piskel also bit and confounded and rained curses down on the guards.

When at last they made the ground floor, the Elementals in the cages were going wild. Singing, screaming, hooting, chanting—all begging for one thing in a myriad of voices . . . Free us . . . Free us!

Bayne looked around wildly as a lull came in the fight. He had a gash on his forehead where a thrown dagger had nicked him. Hordes of wraiths and guards—human and Raven—poured down the stairs after them.

Syrus hardened his heart against the wraiths. They might have once been his people, but the most important thing now was to find Vespa.

“Piskel, where’s Vespa?” Syrus yelled.