Michael Flynn - On the Razor’s Edge

Domino Tight nodded slowly. “The best cozening is that which sails close by the truth. They know Khembold’s reputation and Two’s fierce loyalty to her master. And those privy to Gidula’s intentions will take your reappearance to indicate his change of heart.”

Ravn nodded. “Gidula is slave to sentiment.”

Bridget ban folded her arms. “And what would make more sense than that you should then depart with Méarana to catch up with Gidula?”

“Precisely.”

But the Red Hound leaned forward. “Except that will nae happen. Do you think me daft, to entrust my daughter to your care? She will depart with me, and we will heigh directly for the Periphery. One of my costume coffers has been fitted out for just that purpose.” She turned. “Have you heard, Graceful Bintsaif?”

“Aye, Cu.”

“Tell the others, then.”

“Two on Tungshen,” the junior Hound suggested.

“Yes, heard and noted. Go, now.”

When the door had closed once more, Ravn Olafsdottr said quietly, “There was no truce on Tungshen.”

Bridget ban grimaced. “A hazard of the game. Disposition?”

“The one called Matilda of the Night escaped with the body of Cŵn Annwn. No confirmed kill.”

“If Matilda got her into a meshinospidal in time…,” suggested Little Hugh.

“Ah,” said Gwillgi, “but our new friend Domino has access to something even better, do ye not, Domino Tight?” Then, to Bridget ban and Little Hugh, he explained, “I was tagging yon wean as an up-and-comer in the Shadow War. One day I saw him blown to something very much like gelatin. Ah, you never saw a leg bent in more directions than his. And two days later, there he is, hale and feisty enough to turn the tables in a Shadow fight on his very own.” He turned to Domino Tight. “Ever since, I have been bursting to ask you how that was done.”

The Shadow shifted in discomfit. “This was not in our agreement.”

“Sweet Domino!” said Ravn. “Your very appearance so soon after your death spoke more clearly of those Vestiges than any admission you might make.”

“You should not tell them of the Vestiges,” he said, pointing to the Hounds.

“Dominoo! You should noot have toold me! ”

“They are secrets guarded by the Technical Name.”

“But we are to overthrow the Names, no?”

“Perhaps … I have begun to wonder…”

“Wonder what, my darling Domino?”

“There is talk of targeting the Committee but not the others. And I began to wonder why.”

“Sure,” said Bridget ban, “and is that not obvious? The whole affair is but a power struggle among the Names.”

Both Shadows looked at her. Ravn ran a hand through her stubbly hair. “To me, that became clear at the Pasdarm on Ashbanal.”

“Yet you continue to fight?”

“It is something to do.”

“What of these Vestiges? There are supposed to be seven,” Bridget ban suggested.

Domino Tight bit his lip, shook his head. “Tina Zhi never said what the others were. Only that her college was tasked with maintaining the secrets. I have to wonder now if she revealed what she did as a calculated act.”

Ravn sucked in her breath. “You spoke her name aloud.”

“Yes,” said Domino Tight. “I did. When Gidula and his allies reach Dao Chetty, they will expect to find me there. If I am missing, they will suspect discovery or treason and fold the play. So I knew when you pulled me from my post I might need to return there quickly, and I made arrangements with Tina Zhi.”

Ravn sprang to her feet. “Quickly, my sweets. We must leave this place.” Méarana had time to say no more than, “Why?” when a pinpoint of light appeared in midair and expanded rapidly into a whole person, dusky complexioned, with a long nose and high cheeks, and garbed in white and silver. Her hair was clipped short and dyed silver to match her jewelry.

She spread her arms and cried, “I have come, my—,” but then she saw others in the room. She glanced at shenmat-clad Ravn Olafsdottr and the body of Number Two. She glanced at Bridget ban, Little Hugh, and Gwillgi and said, “Hounds!” Last, she glanced at Méarana and said, “Ah!”

“Worry not, my beloved,” she said to Domino Tight. “I will rescue you.” And with that she reached out, and with her disappeared Domino Tight.

“Quickly!” cried Ravn. “Out! Out! Out!”

Hounds knew how to retreat as gracefully as attack. Only Bridget ban held back for a moment, scanned the sitting room, and set her mouth in a grim flat line before Ravn Olafsdottr shoved her forcibly from the room. The Shadow slapped the door closed behind them.

A moment later, light streamed from the slit windows and the spaces around the door. The door buckled and the windows bulged and splintered. Then the roof sagged and smoke began to rise.

“A good thing,” said Ravn Olafsdottr from her position prone to the ground, “that these buildings are blast fast. Automatics extinguish fires in short order.” She rose and brushed herself off. “Gayshot Bo thought to protect her reluctant lover from Hounds, but provide now rationale for your daughter’s disappearance. Smuggle-out easy now.”

Others were coming, attracted by the noise of the explosion. Little Hugh had faded into the shadows of the night—to return as if part of the curious crowd. Gwillgi had vanished entirely. Only Bridget ban—the actress, Gloriana—had remained.

Ravn looked about. “Where is Méarana?” And then she saw that Bridget ban stared with murderous intensity at the ruined apartment. “No! Say that we did not leave her behind!”

But the Red Hound shook her head. “If it was the Gayshot Bo’s intention to get rid of the Hounds, she succeeded only in drawing them onward. She took Lucia with her.”

Ravn was not accustomed to the harper’s base name and it took a moment for her to recognize it for what it was. “Did she? Or did Méarana grab hold of her?”

Bridget ban turned on her. “And why would she do that?”

“You forget why she came with me to begin with. Now you must follow her to Dao Chetty, and so rescue Donovan buigh before Gidula disposes of him as well.”

Bridget ban closed her eyes and sighed. “Och, Donovan. What am I to do with that man?”

The River Zyu—the River of Pearls—is named for its supposedly milky color, though this far down from the Chalky Mountains the waters are more tea than milk. The Secret City sits upon bluffs high on the right bank, pinkish in the afternoon sun, surrounded by massive walls more intimidating than defensive and by the houses and businesses of those who bask in the proximity of power. On the left bank, massive apartment blocks squat in uniform ranks on lowlands more directly open to the river’s whims. One block, named “Sugar Cane City,” rises on a tract formerly given over to industrial cane processing.