Sins of Empire

Chapter 45

Vlora loitered through the city for most of the day, finding a cheap but comfortable hotel that evening and taking breakfast the next morning in the sun at a cliffside café before finally wandering through the streets at random for several hours. It felt good to not be under contract, to not be in uniform. Back at the fort Olem would be getting the men ready to move out. She felt bad leaving all the logistical work to him, but she needed this.

She needed to be a civilian again, if only for a couple of hours.

The Landfall city square was several blocks of public park a stone’s throw from the capitol building. There were mature ironwood trees, manicured shrubbery, cobble walking paths, and even a small pond. By the time Vlora arrived a little before noon, the area was almost entirely covered with people – several thousand at the very least. There was a volatile mix of angry Palo, wary Blackhats, and curious Kressians, all surrounding a high gallows in the middle of the otherwise pleasant park.

Vlora searched in vain for a vantage point from which to watch the execution before sniffing a bit of powder and scaling one of the ironwood trees, joining several rather surprised children on one thick, high limb. One of them, a boy of perhaps eleven, made a bit of space for her to perch on, eyeballing her sword and pistol.

The spot gave her a clear view of the gallows, as well as the crowd milling around it. Both the gallows and the crowd were absolutely crawling with Blackhats – easily one in every three people present – and it took Vlora only a few moments to realize why. Behind the gallows, flanked by a pair of white-gloved Privileged sorcerers and completely encircled in heavily armed Blackhats, was Lady Chancellor Lindet.

Vlora had never actually seen Lindet, but she’d read her description in the papers a number of times. The Lady Chancellor was a thin woman of medium height with blond hair and a pair of spectacles that she removed every so often to rub on her sleeve. The newspapers often described Lindet’s eyes, and Vlora waited for some time for a good view before Lindet turned to face her. Vlora’s light powder trance allowed her to see Lindet as if they were standing nose to nose.

Lindet’s eyes did not disappoint. Deep-set, darkened by makeup, Lindet’s gaze moved across the crowd again and again over the shoulders of her Blackhats. They were studious, critical, like a master craftsman checking her tools. Vlora remembered Taniel’s letters mentioning how Lindet might easily be mistaken for a librarian if not for those eyes, and how they had made his throat go dry every time they lit upon him.

Like so many of Taniel’s descriptions, Vlora had dismissed them as an exaggerated fancy, but when Lindet’s gaze swept past her she felt a tangible presence and her heart skipped a beat, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. It wasn’t fear, or awe, or anything she could put her finger on. Vlora felt like a schoolgirl again, ducking to avoid the critical eye of the stern headmistress.

“Hey, lady,” the boy next to Vlora said.

She shook her head, leaving her study of Lindet and letting her eyes refocus. “Yeah?”

“When is this thing supposed to start?”

“Noon,” Vlora said.

The boy squinted at the sun, and Vlora checked her pocket watch. It was just a few minutes till. The boy bounced up and down on the branch, making the whole tree shake.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t do that,” Vlora said.

“You scared of heights?”

Vlora craned her head to look at the other children lined up on the branch, then down at the twenty-foot drop. “Not really, but you’re gonna ruin the pit out of my day if you knock someone else off.”

“Oh, all right,” the boy said glumly. His attention turned to her pistol and sword. “Hey, you think there’s gonna be fighting? Da said that the Palo bitch was gonna hang high for stirrin’ up trouble.”

“Don’t say bitch,” the girl next to him said, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Well, that’s what Da said! Anyway, I hope there’s a fight.” He leaned eagerly out from the branch. Vlora got herself ready to catch him if he fell. “Hangin’s happen all the time, but Da always makes us go inside during the riots.”

“Probably smart of him,” Vlora commented absently. Her own attention moved to the Blackhats as a group of them shoved forward through the crowd, surrounding a prison wagon with white roses painted on the side. It came to a slow stop in front of the gallows and the Blackhats fanned out, pushing back the crowd, before opening the door. Mama Palo, looking rumpled and angry but no worse for the wear, was led out of the wagon.

There was a sudden cacophony, a shoving and shouting match between Palo and the Blackhats nearest the wagon, then Mama Palo was led up to the gallows. Lindet, still flanked by her Privileged, climbed onto the gallows and waited patiently while the noose was draped around Mama Palo’s neck.

Vlora could feel the protective sorcery surrounding Lindet. If she had opened her third eye she would have seen splashes of sorcerous color. The Lady Chancellor wasn’t taking any chances with this crowd. Mama Palo would hang, and the Palo wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it no matter how feisty they got.

“That’s her, huh?” the boy said. “The ol’ Palo bit – I mean, lady?”

“That’s her,” Vlora confirmed.

“She doesn’t look like much.”

Vlora couldn’t help but agree. Mama Palo looked smaller, older, and more feeble in the light of day. Despite the pageantry and the obvious hopelessness of her situation, she managed to keep her chin up, her back straight. Once the noose had been tightened around her neck she gave a small smile.

For some reason, that smile made Vlora nervous.

Vlora scanned the crowd again, wondering if there would be a rescue operation of some kind. She had no intention of interfering – her work here was done – but anything the Palo mounted would be doomed to fail. She looked again and again, scanning for weapons among the crowd, or large groups of men, or anything that looked mildly organized. Nothing caught her eye.

She returned her gaze to Mama Palo. The old woman continued to smile, and Vlora wasn’t the only person who’d caught on to it. Lindet eyed her warily while her Privileged searched the crowd with the same deftness as Vlora. They seemed satisfied with the absence of a threat, but remained vigilant.

Vlora’s next check of the crowd caught sight of something peculiar, but it wasn’t at all what she expected.

Standing near the edge of the park, leaning against a tree with his arms folded, lips pursed, was Meln-Dun. The Palo businessman smoked a cigarette, his eyes glued to Mama Palo, and Vlora couldn’t help but wonder why he was here. He needed to be in Greenfire Depths, securing his power base – making sure his family and business were still intact. Had he already managed it? Was he here out of spite? To be sure that Mama Palo did, in fact, hang?

“Careful, lady, you’re gonna fall,” the boy next to Vlora warned.

She reached out to steady herself against the trunk of the tree and forced herself to settle down and watch the execution, though she couldn’t keep from looking toward Meln-Dun. It would be wise, she decided, to check in with him, make sure everything had gone smoothly.

She was about to climb down from the tree when she spotted something that made her skin crawl: A pair of dragonmen stood less than fifteen paces behind Meln-Dun. They were powerful-looking Palo in gray, tailored suits and tinted spectacles, and they might have easily been mistaken for Palo businessmen but for the unmistakable black tattoos visible at their wrists and collars.

And behind them, almost close enough to touch the pair, was Gregious Tampo. Tampo was dressed to the nines and twirling a cane like he didn’t have a care in the world. Vlora wasn’t sure which she was unhappier to see – Tampo or the dragonmen – and then, like the final piece of a puzzle fitting perfectly, everything fell into place.

Tampo had been at the party. He was in Mama Palo’s inner circle. Those dragonmen were there with him. And as she watched, they pushed through the crowd toward Meln-Dun.

Vlora almost knocked a pair of kids off the branch as she leapt from the tree. She landed in a crouch, the pain of the impact barely registering through her powder trance, and tried to shout a warning.

“Meln-Dun! Meln-Dun!”

Lindet had just begun to address the crowd, her voice amplified by Privileged sorcery, and Vlora’s words were swallowed in the responding angry mutter of the mob. Vlora shoved her way through the crowd, tossing a powder charge into her mouth and chewing it into a mush of paper and grit, feeling the sorcery course through her veins.

She kicked and shoved, catching brief glimpses of Meln-Dun through the crowd. The dragonmen were almost upon him, and then she lost all sight of them as the crowd began to churn in response to Lindet’s speech.

She arrived at Meln-Dun’s tree, pistol drawn, only to spot him entering an alley with the two dragonmen. Gregious Tampo was nowhere to be seen.

She gave chase, her mind working desperately. Were the dragonmen not here to rescue Mama Palo? Were there more of them behind the gallows, preparing to spring a trap? Vlora hesitated, wondering if she should warn Lindet, but dismissed the notion. Lindet, after all, had two Privileged up there with her. Meln-Dun was unprotected.

Vlora dashed down several alleys, jumping to see over the heads of the sprawling crowd, catching glimpses of gray suits from time to time. She had gone nearly a block before catching sight of Meln-Dun walking into a small café followed by the two dragonmen. She charged along, her pistol held discreetly at her side, eyes scanning the traffic for any sign of Tampo or more of the Dynize.

She reached the entrance of the café, checked the pan of her pistol, and immediately ducked inside. Any moment she wasted might mean Meln-Dun’s life.

The café was a long, narrow room. A handful of Kressians occupied chairs, sipping their noon tea. At the far end Meln-Dun and the two dragonmen slipped into a corner table while a Palo waiter brought them iced tea.

Vlora froze in the doorway. Meln-Dun didn’t look like he was in danger.

Meln-Dun leaned over to one of the dragonmen and said something, to which the other chuckled. He slapped the dragonman on the back and lifted his gaze toward the doorway. Behind her, back in the park, Vlora heard the unmistakable sound of a trapdoor opening, and the angry response of the crowd as Mama Palo was hanged for her crimes.

Vlora’s breath felt as if it had been snatched away from her as she understood – or thought she did. Meln-Dun’s family and business had never been in danger. The attacks on her men had been feints to lure her to Meln-Dun’s side, and she had walked right into his trap, helping him take down Mama Palo to secure power in Greenfire Depths, taking advantage of her eagerness to carry out Lindet’s task. The dragonmen weren’t working for Mama Palo.

They were working for Meln-Dun.

All that passed through Vlora’s head in an instant as Meln-Dun’s eyes met hers. The Palo leapt to his feet, face turning red. Vlora hesitated, uncertain which of the three men across the café to put a bullet in. She’d come here thinking she would protect a friend, but she wasn’t entirely sure if she could kill a single dragonman, let alone two. This was not a good fight.

“Kill her,” Meln-Dun ordered.

The two dragonmen leapt from their seats. A café patron screamed, and Vlora spun toward the door, ready to run. She’d lose them quickly in the street, get back to the fort, and –

She collided with a man’s chest, bouncing off it like she’d just run straight into a brick wall. She looked up to find Tampo in front of her, and snatched for her sword. His mouth opened, but she had no intention of letting him say a word. This was no coincidence; this was…

The thought was arrested as he snatched her by the wrist before she could fully draw her sword. She snarled at him, tugging, unable to so much as move.

“Sit down, Vlora,” Tampo said calmly, shoving her to one side. She landed in a chair, almost tumbling to the floor, and was ready to come back up and at him in half a second only to find he had already stepped past her.

The cane in his hand clicked, and he drew the sword hidden within in a single, swift motion. The first dragonman moved impossibly quick, almost as fast as a powder mage, bone knife coming out and stabbing toward Tampo’s chest.

Tampo was faster. Like a mongoose snatching a snake by the throat, Tampo skewered the dragonman through the center of the chest, picking him up and throwing him at his companion like he was no more than a rag doll. The second dragonman dodged the flying body only to have Tampo grab him by the wrist, producing an audible snap with a single twist, and driving the dragonman’s head into the brick wall with the force of a draft horse’s kick.

The whole fight was over in a handful of seconds. Meln-Dun fled out the back even before the dragonmen had reached Tampo, and Vlora moved to give chase only to have her arm caught by Tampo. The lawyer manhandled her out of the café and into the street before straightening his jacket casually and linking arms with her forcefully. She tried to pull away, but to no avail, and soon found herself walking briskly away from the scene of the crime.

Tampo whistled softly to himself, as if murdering a pair of legendary warriors without breaking a sweat was just another item on his to-do list, right next to a reminder to pick up a loaf of bread. Vlora stopped fighting him by the time they reached the next street over. She was in a daze, her mind tied in knots by what had just happened.

She knew of only one man capable of manhandling a powder mage, one man who might conceivably move so bloody fast. She’d not seen nor heard from him in ten years, and the last time they’d met he hadn’t been entirely human anymore – and he’d had access to the kind of mysterious sorcery that might even be able to change his face and hide his sorcery.

Besides, after all this time she still knew that pleased whistle.

“Why are you here, Taniel?” she demanded.

Taniel Two-shot, wearing another man’s face, lifted his hand to hail a hackney cab. “Because we need to have a talk.”