Michel knew how hard that was from experience.
Hendres closed the door behind her and touched the empty wine bottle with her toe. “I have no idea how you keep finding something to drink. The Dynize have put the squeeze on everything going in and out of the city, and the booze seems to have disappeared first.”
“I, uh, know a lot of bartenders,” Michel responded. “Most of them owe me a favor or two. He squinted at the pistol in his hand. The pan wasn’t even primed. He sighed and set it on the bedside table.
“You’re a bit shaky with a pistol,” Hendres observed.
“Guns aren’t really my thing,” he said, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes and the headache from his brain. He looked at his empty flask sitting on the washstand across the room. “Pit, you’re a terrible spy,” he muttered. “You should not be drinking.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
Hendres moved to sit on the edge of the bed, then suddenly recoiled. “By Adom, what’s that smell?”
“Had to go across the fens last night to get that family out.”
“I thought we agreed you were going to wash before coming to bed. You know I have to sleep here too, right?”
“Sorry,” Michel said, though he didn’t feel it. “Got caught out near dawn because your courier showed up forty minutes late. And the bloody Dynize changed their patrol routes.”
Hendres pulled a face and finally sat down beside him. They’d known each other for all of three weeks—Hendres was one of the regiment of Blackhats that had stayed behind to help hold the city after the Grand Master was killed by Styke. She’d returned with Michel to try and make a difference during the Dynize occupation.
They’d spent the first week hiding—and screwing—in a Blackhat safe house before the occupying forces finally instilled order on the city. Since then their relationship had cooled to purely professional, and Michel was glad for it. He already liked Hendres for her competence and her lack of questions. He didn’t need to get any more attached.
“Someone threw a bunch of grenades into a crowd of Dynize soldiers,” Hendres said.
“So?”
“That’s probably why they changed the routes. It killed three of them, injured twenty more.”
“Pit.” Michel scratched his head vigorously with both hands, trying to wake up. “Someone” could be other Blackhats, or partisan Fatrastans, or just Palo trying to stir up chaos. It meant bad things for his and Hendres’s efforts. “What time is it?”
“Half past one.”
“Where have you been all morning?”
Hendres sighed, picking at something on her sleeve. “Setting up the next family to get out. And trying to find out how many of us are left.”
By “us,” she meant Blackhats. “Yeah? Any progress?” Michel didn’t want to make contact with any more Blackhats. Someone higher up the food chain might know about his betrayal. But he couldn’t very well tell Hendres that.
“Some. There’s rumors, but everyone is laying low. As far as I can tell, most of the higher-ranking Roses left the city with Lindet.”
“And abandoned their families in the process,” Michel said, unable to help the note of bitterness in his voice. He shouldn’t blame everyone who abandoned the defense of the city. They were only following orders. But he wasn’t inclined to feel kindly toward men and women who’d left their families to the mercy of an enemy army.
Hendres remained silent. They’d had this discussion several times, and she was obviously conflicted regarding her loyalty to the Lady Chancellor. Loyalty was meant to come unquestioning to a Blackhat. This war made things … complicated.
Michel waved the thought away. “But we’re here to take care of those families,” he said, throwing back the thin covers and sitting up. He caught a whiff of himself—and the fens he’d dragged himself through to get home this morning—and almost passed out again. Hendres dashed to the doorway, covering her nose.
“Go wash. Now!”
“I will, I will!” Michel searched for his pants. “You sound like my mother,” he muttered.
“I what?”
“Nothing!” Michel dressed quickly and headed into the hall, ready to go find a public bath. He leaned against the wall, trying not to get dizzy, and wondered where he’d find some breakfast. Food was already becoming a problem, what with the Dynize closing the port, and it would only get worse as the occupation went on.
Hendres joined him, keeping her distance. He opened one eye and caught her staring at him. “What?”
She shifted her feet. “You’re being careful, right?”
“At night? Of course.”
“You’re changing your route out of the city every time?”
He hadn’t been. “I am. I mean, I will tonight. Best not to take any risks with the patrol routes changing.”
There was a long moment of silence, and Hendres continued to stare. “You’re being followed.”
“Excuse me?”
Hendres reached into her breast pocket and produced an envelope. It was sealed with wax. “A Palo kid was waiting outside the building this morning. He handed me this, and said to give it to you.”
“By name?” Michel asked, his heart jumping into his throat. He had been careful—very careful—every time he returned to the safe house. There was no way he was followed.
“By name,” Hendres confirmed, watching his face intently.
Michel took the envelope and broke the seal. He was fully awake now, like he’d downed six cups of iced coffee, and he bit his lip as he read the note. It was just an address, followed by a time. Two o’clock. At the bottom was a single letter “T.” Michel took a deep breath to calm himself.
“Are we found?” Hendres asked.
“We’re fine,” Michel responded. “What time did you say it was?”
“A little past one.”
His chest feeling tight, Michel headed down the hall. “I’ve got to go,” he called over his shoulder. “If I’m not back in a couple hours, you should leave the city.”
“Do you need backup?” Hendres asked, a note of concern in her voice.
“Wouldn’t help!” Michel reached the street, looking for a hackney cab, then remembered they were few and far between since the occupation. He shaded his eyes against the hot afternoon sun, pulled his collar up, and went to see Taniel.
Michel crossed the city on foot. With no functional government to pay the pig keepers or the sweepers, the gutters overflowed with shit and trash. Every third person seemed to be a Dynize soldier, while the citizens who would not—or could not—flee with Lady Flint’s army went about their days with eyes cast toward the ground, fear writ plain on their faces. The entire city felt subdued.
Rubble spilled into the street, and whole blocks had burned down in the fires caused by rioters and shelling. Only a concerted effort by volunteer fire brigades had kept the entire city from going up in smoke, though there were places where the smell of soot was so thick no one dared go out without a handkerchief over their face.
Michel lowered his eyes and tipped his hat to every passing Dynize patrol. The strangely armored soldiers rarely took an interest in one man, and moved through the city as a show of force, rather than any real policing action. He was able to reach Greenfire Depths without incident and he rounded the rim of the great old quarry, eyeing the smoke that still rose from the charred remains of the slum.
Over half the tenements in the Depths had been destroyed by fire. Surviving Palo huddled in the few open spaces at the bottom of the quarry, some even spilling out on the rim. Rumors swirled about desperate Palo looting the homes and businesses of the people who had fled, and Michel could not find the energy to be surprised—or to blame them.
These were not times, he decided, that he would judge any man for acting in fear.
Around the northern rim of the Depths, he reached the address indicated in the note. Instead of finding the Hotel Henria—which had stood for over a hundred years a
nd was ancient by the standards of the young country—he found only its charred stone foundation.
Michel passed the blackened stone, confused, and wondered if perhaps he’d read the address wrong. There was barely anything left of the place, and the little passing traffic paid it no mind. No one had any time for a burned relic.
He checked the note in his pocket, then glanced at his watch. Five minutes after two. And yes, this was the right address. Perhaps, he decided, the note had been delivered a couple of weeks late? This kind of communication was not always reliable.
He hid in the shadows of the ruin while a squad of Dynize soldiers marched past, their breastplates gleaming in the sun, colorful feathers hanging from their shouldered muskets. Once they’d gone, he decided to have one quick look around before heading back to the safe house.
He’d only climbed onto the lowest of the foundation stones when a figure caught his eye. He let a half smile cross his face and carefully picked his way through the unstable ruin to where the former southern wall of the hotel perched on the very edge of Greenfire Depths.
A man sat on the burned-out foundation, the back of an expensive suit pressed carelessly against bricks blackened by smoke and soot. He was tall, worn but handsome, with hawkish features and striking blue-gray eyes. His black hair was hidden beneath a top hat, and one leg dangled carelessly off the two-hundred-foot drop into the quarry. He held a weathered old sketchbook in one hand and a bit of charcoal in the other, and as Michel approached, he could see a rather good rendition of the Depths.
The man was fair-skinned, but the hand clutching the charcoal was a bright red, the skin hairless and smooth like a child’s.
“I didn’t know you still kept a sketchbook,” Michel said.
Taniel Two-shot, the Red Hand terror of the Fatrastan frontier, squinted down into the fire-ravaged slums of the Depths and made a few quick marks in his sketchbook before flipping it closed and stowing it in a leather valise. He pulled a glove over his right hand, then picked up a silver-headed cane and pointed it at Michel. “You’re late.” He crinkled his nose. “And you smell.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” Michel muttered. Louder, he said, “I wasn’t expecting to meet in a ruin.”
“Ah, right.” Taniel grimaced. “I wasn’t expecting that either, to be honest. You know, Pole and I stayed here for several months when we first came back to Fatrasta. Third floor, corner suite.”
Michel glanced around, half expecting to find Taniel’s silent companion lurking in the ruins of the hotel. “Where is she?”
“Hiding outside the city. Landfall is crawling with bone-eyes. Pole may be able to turn a god inside out with raw power, but she’s all self-taught. We don’t want to risk the Dynize finding her until we’re ready for a serious fight.”
The thought both scared and exhilarated Michel. “Makes sense. So what brings you back? I thought you two left with Lady Flint.”
Taniel stood up, balancing on the foundation stones, hopping from one foot to the other before glancing down at the long drop and stepping into the safety of the ruin of the hotel. He brushed a bit of soot off his sleeve—a wasted effort, because he was covered in it. “Never left.”
Michel made a noise in the back of his throat and pursed his lips. “You’ve been here for three weeks? You’re joking.”
“Afraid not. Lindet abandoned the city. The Dynize, despite all their spies, really have no idea what they’re getting into. It was too good an opportunity for me to do some poking around.”
Michel paced back and forth, kicking a loose brick into the ruins of what had once been the hotel’s wine cellar. The brick clanked twice, then shattered a bottle. Three weeks of flailing around, helping the Blackhats because those were the only allies he knew, worried one of them would find out who he really was and put a knife in his back. All while his real master was wandering around the very same city. Michel talked himself down from shouting and simply said, “You could have told me.”
Taniel eyed him. Two-shot could be warm as a brother, or very very cold. This time he offered a neutral shrug. “I had no idea where you were. I could have used your help sorting through Blackhat files. It wasn’t until yesterday that one of my contacts was able to track you down.”
“Right.” Michel wondered whether to believe him. Master or not, Taniel had his own agenda. It was kept secret for good reason, but it didn’t make it any easier when Michel was left in the dark. “So what happens now?”
“I understand you’re still with the Blackhats?”
“I’ve bunked up with a Silver Rose. We’ve spent the last week or so trying to get Blackhat families out of the city before the Dynize agents find and kill them.”
“Commendable.” Taniel stared at him for several moments, until the silence grew awkward. “Do the Blackhats know you betrayed them?” he finally asked.
“I don’t think so,” Michel responded hesitantly. “Hendres—the Silver Rose I’m working with—knows that Fidelis Jes wanted me dead before Styke cut off his head. But I don’t think she knows why. The fact that I’m here, helping the Blackhats, seems to be enough for her. It seems I’m still a Gold Rose.”
The silence returned, punctuated only by the sound of Taniel tapping his cane against a brick. After half a minute, he seemed to come to some sort of decision. “Are you still my man?” he asked.
Michel opened his mouth, but found himself unable to respond. He worked his lips for several moments, fighting back the urge to punch Taniel in the mouth. “I spent six years dirtying my hands for the Blackhats on your orders.” His voice rose in pitch. “I betrayed the most dangerous man in the country for the Red Hand. I …”
“Ah,” Taniel said gently. “I’m not trying to offend you, honestly. I needed to ask. The world is … volatile right now.”
“I’m still your man,” Michel answered sharply. “And I’ll ask you kindly not to question that again.” The fact that Taniel even felt the need to ask smarted, but he tried to remember that this was a game much bigger than either of them. Infiltrating the Blackhats had been the greatest accomplishment—and danger—of Michel’s life. Now with the Dynize in play, well … Taniel was right. Everything had changed.
“I won’t. I need you to remain in the city.”
Michel had planned on staying in the city to help the Blackhats, but the request still surprised him. “For what?”
Taniel pursed his lips thoughtfully, staring off into the distance for a few moments. “I need you to do something dangerous.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“There’s a … woman. Ka-poel and I have been in contact with her off and on throughout the last few years, and she’s fed us information regarding the Dynize.”
Michel turned his head. “What do you mean by that? No one knows anything about the Dynize, not before they arrived on our shores. Any information you can dig up in Fatrasta is from before they closed their borders—at least a hundred years old. How could you …?” The dots connected in his head and he found his mouth hanging open. “You had a spy in Dynize?”
Taniel idly tapped his cane against a blackened foundation stone. “We did. Only Ka-poel and I know, and I’d like it to stay that way.”
“Kresimir on a stick, Taniel. If you had a spy in Dynize, how the pit didn’t you know that there was an invasion coming?”
“We suspected the invasion.”
“And didn’t tell me.”
“Couldn’t risk distracting you.”
First Taniel questioned his loyalty, and now this. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“She’s not …” Taniel sighed. “She’s fed us information, but she’s not a spy—not in the same way you are. She’s still a loyal Dynize. She didn’t tell us when, exactly, the invasion would happen because she hasn’t been in contact for over a year. But over the last few weeks she’s gotten back in touch with us.”
“And?”
Taniel held up two fingers. “A couple things. One, she knows an i
mmense amount about the Dynize hierarchy. She knows some of their plans, and most of their strengths and weaknesses, which makes her wildly valuable. Two, we think she’s in danger. I need you to find her, convince her to leave, and extract her from the city.”
Michel ran his hands through his hair. “Excuse me?”
“Find her and extract her.”
“Yes, I heard the first and third things you said. I’d like you to repeat the second.”
“I told you, she’s still a loyal Dynize.”
“So …” Michel said, drawing the word out, “you want me to extract a spy who isn’t a spy who probably doesn’t want to come with me?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Why don’t you do it? You’re still here.”
Taniel snorted in frustration. “Despite our best efforts, we haven’t been able to find her. And we have to leave.”
Michel resisted the urge to ask where Taniel and Ka-poel were heading next. Taniel wouldn’t tell him anyway. Compartmentalization, after all. “And the Blackhats?”
“If they’re useful, use them,” Taniel said with a shrug. “But I have the feeling you’ll be in over your head. Anyone from Fidelis Jes’s inner circle might know more about your betrayal and try to kill you.”
“I thought all the Gold Roses left Landfall with Lindet.”
“At least one remained behind, but I don’t know which.”
A shiver went down Michel’s spine. Every rumor had pointed to the fact that the high-ranking Roses had left with Lindet. He was still using Blackhat resources—safe houses, caches, message drops. After the first week he’d decided that no one left in the city knew his true role in betraying Fidelis Jes, and he had not been cautious enough with those resources. “Pit,” he breathed. He took a moment to walk around the ruin, trying to shake loose his own sense of dread. Extracting an informant could be tricky at the best of times, but finding a foreigner in an occupied city could be next to impossible—especially if she didn’t want to be found. He summoned an inner calm, trying to come at the problem logically.