Michael Flynn - On the Razor’s Edge

“We only know that Beata disappeared,” she admitted, “not that Gidula was behind it.”

Together, Donovan and Bridget ban bent over the holomap of the building.

“This room above the Cache…,” the Hound said, pointing.

“A fane,” Donovan told her, “dedicated to the Daemon Muse.”

“Where the College conducts its private rites,” said Tina Zhi. “None else may enter.”

Then that is where the hidden entrance is concealed, said the Sleuth.

“And Gidula kept it in his pocket until he could use it,” said Bridget ban. “Do you mean he instigated this entire battle as a cover?”

The Fudir nodded. “You have tantalized the other Names,” he said to Tina Zhi, “with dribs and drabs: the leaping tokens, the sparkle armor, the accelerated healing. You can understand how a certain cupidity might overcome them. They tire of golden eggs and would have the goose entire.”

“Who!” Tina Zhi demanded. “Who else is in it?”

“Beside Gidula and the Secret Name? No one meant to survive this night. People, when you surrender your positions, fall back to here, covering the fane. Five, to the Security Room on the top floor. Keep us apprised of movements within the building. No argument. Your role is vital, and once Gidula realizes we are are tracking him, he will send magpies to search you out. Ravn—”

“I have my oon target, sweet. There is a man who left me to dangle on a cliff when he could have killed me. Such kindness demands reciprocity.”

“And you,” said Bridget ban to Donovan buigh. “I suppose you will hunt down the Secret Name and take your long revenge.”

But Donovan shook his head. “Revenge is for fools. If the past is to have a hold over me, I would prefer it to be the good times and not the bad. Should he and I meet, only one of us will leave, but I’ll not seek him out. Let Fate decide whether we encounter each other. Defense of the Cache is foremost. Méarana, the point of least immediate danger is with Five and the system monitors. Stay with him. Bridget—”

“Ochone! ’Tis an ill fork ye hoist me on,” the Red Hound said. “I know where my heart tells me to be. I know where my head tells me I must be. Graceful Bintsaif, go with my daughter and Five Padaborn. Her life is your life.”

“Aye, Cu.”

Donovan completed the dispositions. “Remember: active measures, fluid defense. Find long shots and go for the snipe when you can. Booby a few traps. Plant diversions. Hit and run…” He stopped and scanned his small army. “And all the other elementary instructions which none of you need hear.” He held a hand out. “To the blood and to the bone,” he said. The Shadows and the magpies slapped his hand and departed silently to their posts.

Gwillgi allowed his sharpened teeth to show. “We’re your ace, Donovan. They won’t know that Hounds are on the scene.”

“Act insofar as you hold that secret as long as possible,” Donovan told the Hounds. “Just remember: whatever ruthlessness you may think you own, the Shadows own ten times more. Their skills are no greater, but their hesitations are less. And of them all, Gidula is the most treacherous. He smiles.”

Greystroke wore coveralls of anycloth. In the lobby, he altered them to resemble a shenmat. Little Hugh watched in dismay. “Ye cannot be serious.”

But Greystroke showed his teeth. “Easier to blend into a crowd.” He detailed a brassard on his left arm with a symbol hard to discern.

Matilda of the Night joined them. “Stairwells prepared. Put these filters in your noses to block the effects.”

Greystroke complied. “You reveal your secrets.”

“Don’t be a fool. You have no idea what my secrets are. There are four stairwells they can take and only three of us. Let us not all trundle up the same one.”

“East wing,” said Greystroke.

“East main,” said Hugh.

“And I’ll follow whichever west-side team needs pruning most.”

The three of them were silent for a moment. Then Hugh thrust his hand out. “We’ll meet at the fane.” The other two, after a moment’s hesitation, took it. “Or on the farther shore,” said Matilda of the Night before she faded into the darkness.

“She’s good,” said Greystroke. Then, to Hugh, “We’ll make it.”

“As long as she makes it.” He meant Bridget ban.

“It’s an awful box he’s put her in this time.”

“It isn’t the Fudir who put her in it, Grey One. Sure, ’tis bad cases all around, but hush now.” And Little Hugh too faded into the darkness of the deserted building to wait. He knew as well as Greystroke and Matilda the risks of operating in the enemy’s rear.

The power is out, Lord Gidula. No lights. The drop-wells are dead.

The hazards of war, eh, Old One?

It is that, sire. But a darkened building will attract no attention from elsewhere in the city. Stairs and ladders, then. Comets, with me up the left-hand stairs. Tridents, up the right hand. Lions, odd numbers, the stairs at the east end; even numbers up the ladders in the first drop-well. Crows, odd numbers, west end; even numbers, second drop-well. Clear? Go.

Little Hugh emerged from concealment after the intruders had swarmed up. Every plan of battle was complicated by the presence of the other side. He whispered into his throat mike, “Three magpies climbing maintenance ladders in each drop-well.” He hoped that Five Padaborn would relay that to whoever needed to know. Otherwise, assets would be inserted behind Domino Tight and Eglay Portion. Then he set off after the ascending tridents. He felt again as he had felt during the guerilla on New Eireann: terribly alive.

Magpie Seven Bhatvik had thought himself third from the rear, but when he glanced over his shoulder on the stairwell he saw no one behind him. This was not a good thing to see, and he shivered a bit with unreasoning fear. He climbed a few more steps, then quickly looked back. He still saw nothing.

Which was too bad.

“Maintain queue discipline,” murmured Magpie Three Farer to the shenmat-clad figure who had come up beside him on the stairwell. It was the last thing he said.

Four to Double Crow. Gravity grids reactivated in the drop-wells. Featherlight. We can leap the rest of the way up easy.

Negative, my pretty. Power is intermittent. Do not rely. Repeat: do not rely.

Good call. Gravity is cycling. Getting heavier … Lighter now … Heavier … Six, Ten, vacate, now! Oh, by the Fates!

Report, Four. Report.

Double Crow, this is Ten. Gravity peaked at three ji. Four and Six lost hold of the laddering. They’re jam at the bottom. I’m out of the shaft on the third floor. Dislocated shoulder.

Something was wrong. Big Jacques sensed it before he knew it. A quick gesture, propagated down the line of tridents, brought them all to a halt on the stairwell. Malfunctioning gravity grids in a city in chaos he could understand. But the crows and lions were both reporting missing magpies, and he could not imagine that the unoccasioned dread that had gripped them all on entry to this building had impelled them to run. Some of the Names had the means of inducing such trepidation, although the Secret Name had not thought the Technical Name to be one of them.

“Count off,” he said, and listened as the numbers ran down the stairs. He did not need One to tell him that the count came up short. Interesting. Every flock but Gidula’s was coming up short. Was the Old One trimming his allies already? He had needed an escort-in-strength to cross the burning city. Did he suppose he needed them no longer?