Karl Schroeder - Ashes of Candesce - Book Five of Virga

"The house cables all have release mechanisms," Jacoby said, pointing. "They're mounted above each roof, where the firemen can unlock and spring them in an emergency. They can either hoist a burning building up from above, or lower it below the rest of the city to let it burn out."

"Why not just cut it loose and let it fall?"

He arched an eyebrow at her. "What, through that?" She gave a startled nod as she realized that a burning house crashing down through its neighbors would be the ultimate nightmare here. "You can't just let something go," he added. "You saw the cabling at the docks. Few of these buildings are actually anchored up top. That would put too much strain on the docking ring. Each cable has a house on either end, and they counterbalance one another. It's a cunning feature of the city, it allows them to add as many buildings as they can thread cables through the dock."

She sniffed. "Well, I can certainly see why there are no other towns like this."

Oh, there was no doubt she'd met the real Venera. Five minutes with her would give any actress a lifetime's worth of repertoire.

They'd reached one of the staircase's many landings and now Jacoby left it for a long gangplank. They rounded the corner of a warehouse with the sigil of the cooper's guild on its wall, and ahead of them was one of Fracas's temporary streets. This was a long plank deck that could be winched up or down through the town's layers. Its owners could rent the street out as a market, processional route, or public thoroughfare. As per Jacoby's instructions, this one hadn't been joined to any gangways or other streets, but hung by itself in a canyon of facades. Bright pennants flew over the long tent that had been erected on it, and young men and women in livery were waiting to invite arriving visitors inside.

Aside from the Judgment , one other yacht had docked this morning. Its passenger was standing at the door to the tent now--and there was clearly trouble. Jacoby was just seconds too late to prevent the faux Thavia from seeing it as well, but it hardly mattered; this was a chance to gauge her reactions. She stopped suddenly, clapped her hand on the shoulder of her manservant, and pointed, just as the young nobleman outside the tent twitched his cape behind him to free up his sword arm. Then his sword was out. The pageboys retreated as he squared off against one of Jacoby's men.

They were still some distance away, but the youth's voice carried very well as he shouted, "Lies!"

Jacoby's man on the spot was Palatin, and while he was a good con man, he was no swordsman. He wasn't even trying to defend himself, just talking in a low, reasonable, but inaudible voice to the youth.

"What is this?" demanded faux Thavia. "What's going on here?"

Jacoby opened his mouth to say something plausible, but just then the young man yelled, "No, it's a trick! We're not guests, we're hostages!"

"Ah," said Jacoby--but some sound came from the entrance to the tent that made the youth turn. He lowered his sword and stepped back, just as a middle-aged woman in a regal gown stepped outside. She looked angry.

"How dare you question your father's wishes, Dorion!" she snapped at the youth. He gaped at her uncertainly. Jacoby nodded in approval; this was the boy's aunt, if he remembered right. Instinct and habit won out over suspicion, and young Dorion suffered her to walk right up to him, where she proceeded to deliver a lecture at him in an inaudible, but clearly intense, voice.

"I believe there's been a misunderstanding," Jacoby said to faux Thavia. She raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

The youth began to lower his sword. The woman pretending to be Thavia's servant stepped up to faux her and murmured in a low voice, "Come on. We can still get away."

"I don't think so," said the other with a frown. She nodded at the shadows beyond the catwalk, but her eyes were on Jacoby. "I think it's been a while now since we could have done that."

Her companions looked where she was indicating, and Jacoby saw them finally notice the men with rifles, standing in ones and twos on nearby rooftops and in the shadow of inset windows. The looks on his "guest's" faces were really quite funny, Jacoby thought.

"You led us right into this!" the younger actress hissed at faux Thavia. "I thought you knew what you were doing!"

"Silence," she said with imperious calm. She looked down her nose at the woman, just like Venera would have. "Follow my lead. --If you have the patience for that."

"Oh!"

This was fascinating. Was the younger actress getting cold feet? Was she about to drop the facade and confess in the hope that Jacoby would let her go? Or was her fear part of the performance?

Up ahead, young Dorion had put away his sword, although he still looked unhappy as he entered the tent with the matron.

"So it seems the rumors were right," faux Thavia said to Jacoby. "You've been accumulating hostages."

"And yet, you still came here," he said, shaking his head.

The fake Thavia looked grim. Her friends, stricken and furious by turns, were herded up to the tent where smiling pageboys in dark livery put them into single file. Jacoby watched in bemusement as they were surrounded by the rest of his team, who had not drawn but prominently displayed their holstered guns. They were frisked efficiently but quickly.

Jacoby had to figure out what they were doing. So far, he'd anticipated Venera perfectly. The problem was, if he was right, things were about to spiral dangerously close to out of control. He'd anticipated that, too--and ultimately decided that there was no easier way to get what he wanted.

Since none of the three imposters had any weapons on them, Jacoby waved them through the flap into the larger area. There they found the young nobleman angrily talking to the older woman, who was in tears.

"I had to, I had to," she burst out. "They were going to shoot you if you continued."

"Then at least someone else might have seen, and gotten the word out that this was a trap," he said contemptuously.

"Dorion, I--"

"Enough!"

Jacoby didn't really care what went on between them; he had a decision to make. He stood for a long moment, gazing at the partitions at the far end of the tent. His mouth was a thin, compressed line. Finally he turned to faux Thavia and said, "Make yourselves small." Then he shoved his way through the crowd of distraught nobility that filled the place.

The tent was about thirty feet wide, and twice that long. Jacoby's men had tightly tied down its green canvas sides, and the exits at each end were heavily guarded. Conspicuously, sticks of high explosives hung at regular intervals about ten feet above the heads of the people gathered here.

Jacoby had processed about a hundred hostages over the past several weeks, and none had left this tent once they arrived. A veritable who's who of social standing and ancient nobility sat on low benches, or on the floor, or stood talking in disconsolate groups. There were privies and showers behind a set of curtains, but otherwise, there was nothing for them to do but wait. To them, this deprivation must seem like Hell; but it was a lot better than Sacrus's holding pens had been in Jacoby's day. He had no time for their whining.

He quickly paced to the other end of the space, where a series of low tables and better-quality screens demarcated the administration area. "That's the last of them," he announced as he rounded one of the screens.

The local Fracas boys glanced at one another indifferently, then looked to the other man who waited with them.

"Let's move on to the next phase," said Derance of Arena.

Jacoby had told the men that "Arena" was a distant nation in Virga--but he himself knew the man was from the arena, that mysterious place surrounding Virga that Leal Maspeth had talked of. It was clear he was different. He had amazing presence, even more than Jacoby himself. In a tight space like this, all eyes instinctively went to him. His face was chiseled and his eyes intense blue, and just a touch of gray had started to leaven the black hair at his temples. His voice was low and resonant, as instantly commanding as his appearance.