Michael Flynn - On the Razor’s Edge

Was it true, as she had heard, that Donovan had given Five a name? And did he realize the significance of the act? Likely so. Donovan knew more than he let show and played a deep game, deeper perhaps than even Gidula suspected.

But delivering the harper to the Forks had put Donovan off that game. Dancing nimbly around threats against himself, he had been caught by threats to his daughter. Certainly Donovan had understood Gidula’s tacit warning.

Everyone had been underestimating Gidula. Dawshoo had treated him as a wise counselor, but past his prime; Oschous and Manlius had openly mocked him. But there was play in the old limbs yet. It was clear to Ravn now that he had violated the traditions of kaowèn precisely because he had known it would drive her to attempt his assassination and so provide him with a traditional excuse for her summary execution. And free him of an affection that might bind him in the future. That he had allowed her to dangle here rather than daze her and watch her fall was a mark of his cruelty.

And his confidence that she could not climb up.

How justified was that confidence? She was rock bound at three points. The small ledge that supported her left foot; her right fist jammed into a crack in the rock; and the cable whose pistol-end she clenched in her left fist. She thumbed the reel and the cable taughtened as it tried to haul her up. But the piton slipped and a shower of stones pelted her. The rock in which the spike was embedded was no more secure than any other spot on the rotten cliff face. It would hold, but not hold her entire weight.

If she could not climb up, then might she climb down? But the sun was low, casting the face of the cliff in shadow. It was hard to see where hand or foot might nestle.

There was a way down. It was fast and certain, but it was also final.

A face peered over the lip of the Nose silhouetted against the westering sky.

“That was hardly a textbook assassination,” it said.

“Gwillgi Hound!” said Ravn. “What game are you playing?”

The Hound rubbed his mustache with the side of his finger. “If I lifted you up, it might be only that I was inclined to throw you back down.”

“You once gave succor to Domino Tight.”

“Domino Tight did not place Méarana ban Bridget into the hands of our sworn enemies.”

Domino Tight’s face appeared next to Gwillgi’s. “Pay him no mind. He is only entertaining you while I finish anchoring the rescue line.”

“His wit o’erwhelms me,” said Ravn. “Domino Tight, my sweet … What are you doing here! You were to guard Méarana after I had left with Gidula and the others!”

“You didn’t leave with Gidula and the others,” the other Shadow pointed out. “Gwillgi Hound was right. I have seen better assassinations. Beside, Khembold Darling has charge of your harper; and Gwillgi tells me that Khembold is a devotee of Geshler Padaborn.” A cable with a loop in the end snaked over the cliff and dangled by her free foot. She slid her boot into the stirrup and, pulling her arm from the crack, she wrapped it around the cable with no little relief.

“Who told Gwillgi that?” The two men at the top of the Nose began hauling her up. Ravn started to twist but used her other hand to steady herself against the cliff.

“Donovan himself,” said the Hound, “when he and I met in Prizga.”

“Ooh, Doonoovan was a busy buoy, I see. But he is deceived. Khembold’s father was one of those who betrayed the Rising. And the son has no more scruples. Believe me. When the Old One told him to ‘take care of’ the harper, Khembold knew what was required of him. Once he had secured Donovan’s submission, Gidula had no more use for her. She will live only so long as need be to maintain that submission, which means for so long as Donovan might reasonably expect to contact her from the ship and receive a living answer.”

“Then,” said Domino Tight with a grunt as he pulled Ravn over the top of the Nose, “we have several days while they crawl up to the coopers.”

Ravn staggered to her feet, stumbled a bit from the pain in her left leg. “Maybe. Donovan has too many genuine partisans aboard ship. An open break would mean a large war in a small space. If Donovan suspects the harper harmed, he may sacrifice all for wild vengeance. Oh, Domino, you should have let me dangle—or even fall—and not abandoned the plans we laid.”

“Can I let a gozhiinyaw fall to her death if I can stop it? I thought that—”

“Yes, yes, and if I had thought the same, I would have done the same. Come, we can only play the game from where we stand now—and hope that Khembold toys with her first.”

The three of them set off at a jog, pacing one another. Gwillgi laughed. “He may find the toys a little sharper than he expects.”

But Ravn shook her head. “He knows about the hideout knife she keeps up her sleeve.”

Méarana was her mother’s daughter. There are no dangerous weapons, little one, Bridget ban had once told her. But there are dangerous men. And in the hands of a dangerous man, anything may be a weapon.

Little Méarana had drunk it all in wide-eyed. Perhaps even so long ago, her mother had esteemed a time when enemies might strike at her through the child.

A glass bottle, smashed across the edge of a countertop, could provide knives enough to cut a throat.

She had but stepped within with Khembold close behind when the insectile Number Two rose from the enveloping chair in the sitting room and said with impatience, “Well, has he made his call?”

Khembold did not answer immediately but gave Méarana a shove in the small of the back, sending her fully into the sitting room. He followed, carefully closing the door. “He did, and his get assured him that all was well.”

“That should keep him until Gidula has what he wants. The Old One will find some technical difficulty to prevent a second call, and after that they’ll be in the tubes.”

Number Two stood between her and the glass bottle. She might not have realized Méarana’s intended use of it, but the harper knew she could not go through Two to seize the bottle. Every plan is complicated by the presence of the enemy.

These rooms might be her coffin. She faced Khembold. “You forget that I am in the gift of Ravn Olafsdottr. I do not take orders from you, any more than you take orders from a mere magpie.” This with a jerk of her head toward Number Two.

“Oh,” said that worthy from behind her scrolling goggles. “I think I will enjoy this.”

Khembold took Méarana by the arm and pulled her aside. “Gidula gave me the task,” he told Two. “I need no help.” Then, to Méarana, “Ravn Olafsdottr has played her role, and has exited stage down. ” He laughed. “I will be glad when the pretense is over. The harvest promises much bounty.”

Number Two made a gesture of impatience. “Get on with it. We’ve no more use for it.”

“Ah,” said Méarana in a catlike voice she had heard her mother use. “But Khembold might have one more use.” She reached out and touched his arm.

The Shadow grinned and winked at Number Two. “It may be right.”

“It may simply want you close enough to use those toad-stickers it wears up its sleeve.”

Khembold’s smile broadened. “I don’t think it’s foolish enough to try that.”

Méarana did not think herself that foolish, either. She had seen Ravn at exercise catch knives thrown at her and did not suppose Khembold any less talented.

Taking the initiative, she unfastened her blouse and let it slide down, revealing that her bare arms bore no arms. “What need have I for blades when Gidula has given me his word?”