CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Paper Shadows
New orders!” A voice echoed into the Ring.
It was the first thing that had changed in an hour. Melín moved her feet and re-settled in her crouch. Her ankle ached. She was used to waiting endlessly for any change in status, often in full sunblast—but she still couldn’t get over the insult of being held by her own eight.
First Karyas started to wave Second Fetti toward the entrance, but the messenger ran in and went straight to her, speaking low.
Something had changed. Melín shifted her grip on her weapons.
“With me,” Karyas said. She pointed beneath the roof at people Melín couldn’t see. Then she jogged off out of the Ring. The First, Second, Fourth, and Sixth went with her.
“You all heard that,” said Fifth Sahris. “The target escaped. We’ve got higher priorities now. Melín knows she’s fired; let her go.”
The Seventh and Eighth glanced at each other.
“You want to stand here for another hour? I don’t. Come on.” Fifth Sahris cast a quick look up at Melín, then turned her back and jogged toward the exit. After a few seconds, the other two followed.
Melín exhaled. She sheathed her knife and returned her weapon to its holster. Then she dangled her legs off the roof, lowered herself, and dropped to the sand. Her ankle twinged, but then subsided back to an ache.
The target escaped. No one had ever said it was Pyaras, but it couldn’t have been anyone else. He escaped.
And now that she was fired, she could go back to the Division where she belonged.
Relief welled up fast; it turned into a laugh that was close to a sob. She left the Ring and ran toward the Division offices. The Division needed her report right now, and she needed theirs. Captain Keyt was too far away, still out in the adjunct local station, so she’d have to go directly to the Commander.
She ran up, pulled open the heavy main door, crossed the foyer and entered the offices—and stopped.
The whole place was abuzz. Officers who should have known their assignments clustered here and there talking. A great many of the desks and ordinators sat abandoned. Whatever had happened had affected everyone.
Except maybe the man sitting on the bench outside the Commander’s office. He held a tunnel-hound on his knees, and they were rubbing faces. Sirin and Eyn, he looked shockingly like . . .
“Seni, can I help you?” a man’s voice demanded coldly.
Melín snapped around to look at a pale Cohort Third who had approached her. Mai help her, she was wearing orange! Without thinking she tore off her helmet, and dropped it onto the floor.
“Captain’s Hand Melín, Division cohort on adjuncts under Captain Keyt, reporting,” she said. “I’ve been under cover in the Eminence’s Cohort. I need to see Commander Tret, right away.”
The pale Third’s cold defensiveness dropped all at once, suddenly betraying the same fluster as everyone else in the office. “Sorry for the confusion, Hand. I thought the Eminence had sent you, and after what happened, we’re under orders to turn away any of his messengers.”
“After what happened?”
“The Eminence tried to coerce the Executor into an illegal order, sir. To move the adjunct cohorts against the Grobal in the zone north of the Residence.”
So that was why she’d spent an hour on a roof. She could easily imagine Nekantor would kill for that. But Fifth Sahris had said the target escaped . . .
“Please tell me he failed.”
“Yes, sir. The Exe—” He glanced nervously over his shoulder. “The, that is, we have no more Executor. He Fell rather than give the order.”
He Fell.
The man on the bench. The only one here who wasn’t flustered, who seemed to have nothing to do. And who looked shockingly like—
“Excuse me, Third,” she said.
“Hand.”
Melín walked between the desks toward the man sitting outside the Commander’s office. Gods above, just look at him! Close up, you could see that his rust-red jacket had come out of storage so recently it still had creases. He sat there, in uniform, lavishing love on a tunnel-hound as though it were the most natural thing in the world. But maybe it was, for someone who’d just given up everything.
“Pyaras?”
Pyaras looked up. “Oh, Sirin and Eyn, you’re all right! I thought—” His eyes shone with tears. “I thought he was going to—”
“He didn’t, though,” she said. “I got fired.”
“Oh, thank Heile. Now my family can’t—” He choked off, and hugged the tunnel-hound against his chest.
Melín sat down on the bench beside him. She squeezed his arm, just above his elbow. “Well, they can’t hurt you, either.”
He shook his head. “Now I don’t know what to do.”
“Celebrate being alive. Come here.” She pulled his head down, and kissed him on the mouth. “To life, Pyaras.”
“To life, Melín,” he whispered.
The taste of him on her lips reminded her of everything she wanted. But he had a lot of things to figure out, first. Where to live, and how. She could help him with that, introduce him to people so he wouldn’t be alone. For one thing, he’d definitely need a therapist.
“Whose hound is that?” she asked.
“Veriga’s.” His voice shook. “If you’re safe, maybe he is, too. I don’t know. Nekantor threatened both of you.”
Gnash it—of course he had. And that had implications she really didn’t like. “Hang on,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She stood up and knocked on the Commander’s door.
“Come in.”
Commander Tret looked suspicious of an officer in an orange uniform, until she gave him her name and rank. Then he nodded. “Captain Keyt has told me about you and your mission, Hand.”
“Thank you, sir. I believe we have a problem, sir.”
“Several,” he agreed. “Explain.”
“You’re already aware, sir, that the Eminence has controlled his own Cohort and trained them into illegal actions. We also know that today, he attempted to control the Division. Pyaras has just told me that the Eminence took his police friend, Veriga, hostage. I believe he is attempting to control the Arissen entirely.”
“The police.” Commander Tret stood up, and walked out into the main room. “Attention!” he shouted. Every person in the room snapped around at once. “This is Hand Melín, and she’s Division. She’s just informed me the police are also in danger. I need two eights to assure the safety of the Chief of Police, and of an officer named Veriga. Go now. There may be Eminence’s Cohort threatening the station, so be careful. Radio the adjunct teams if you need reinforcements.”
Melín faced him as he came back through the door.
“Commander, the Paper Shadows may also be under threat.”
Tret scowled at that.
“Sir,” she said. “I acknowledge that their actions are extrajudicial, but that only means they would be terrible tools in the hands of the Eminence.”
“Where?”
She reached into her pocket for Tremi’s card, but it wasn’t there; the only card in her pocket was her credential as Selection bodyguard. “Seven forty-two Drepli Circumference, in the northern neighborhoods.”
Tret gave a curt nod. “Go.”
“Melín.” Pyaras called after her as she left Tret’s office. “What should I do?”
She turned back to him. “For now, stay here, where you’ll be safe. Once we’ve assured Veriga’s safety, you can probably stay with him temporarily. I’ll help you in any way I can. But right now, I think Nekantor is moving on someone else, and I have to get there before it’s too late.”
Pyaras held the tunnel-hound tightly. “Eyn go with you.”
Reaching the end of the Imbati Household neighborhoods, Melín scanned up and down Drepli Circumference. No sign of an orange uniform anywhere. Maybe Nekantor didn’t know where this office was.
She couldn’t count on that, though. His people still might be here, hidden, out of uniform and out of sight.
She turned left into the crowd of Lowers on the sidewalk. People moved quickly out of her way, but this mercantile area was very popular. It was impossible to run the way she wanted. Two more shopfronts until the stairway, which would be right about where that Imbati was standing.
That Imbati was someone she knew.
“Imbati Yoral?” Coming level with him, she discovered Lady Della sitting just behind, a cascade of gorgeous copper hair and fine silk on Treminindi’s concrete stairs. What in Varin’s name? “Lady Della? You haven’t seen anyone go up these stairs, have you?”
“No one,” the Lady said. “But we just got here.”
“How did you know to find this place?”
Lady Della’s cheeks flushed red. “You dropped a card in my room. I came here to—well. When I left the house, I knew what I wanted to do. I mean, what else can be done, to stop this? But now that I’m here, I don’t think I can do it.”
Name of Plis. Assassinating Nekantor was the only logical solution left at this point. It was just that Lady Della was the last person she’d have expected to think of it. She wasn’t bloodthirsty.
“I’ve been trying to find this place,” the Lady said. “But I never wanted to use the Paper Shadows. I wanted to see them brought to justice for their crimes. If I use them now, how can there ever be justice?”
“Not only that, Lady,” Melín said. “A thirteen-year-old would be Eminence, and we would need an Heir. Again.”
“Oh, sweet Heile.” Her green eyes lit. “Maybe Pyaras—”
“Pyaras Fell.”
Lady Della’s face changed utterly. “He what?”
“It’s true, Lady. He’s Arissen, now.”
A sudden sound electrified Melín’s backbone: hsssssscrack!
Superheated glass—weapons fire. She looked up at the second floor window.
They were already here!
She grabbed the stair rail and vaulted over Lady Della’s shoulder; the Lady dodged aside with a shriek. Melín took the remaining stairs three at a time despite the strain on her ankle, drawing her weapon and her knife. At the top, she backed to the rail, then charged in through the door.
The door slammed into someone just as Tremi popped up from behind her desk and loosed a shot.
Zzap! The man she’d hit with the door screamed and fell.
Just past him was Crenn, turning toward her—Melín shot him in the weapon hand, and he howled. Then Tremi popped up again—
Zzap! Crenn’s head exploded.
Zzap! A shot came from close behind the door. Tremi gave a grunt and fell back behind the desk.
Melín looked around the door and found Karyas still holding her weapon aimed toward the spot where Tremi had fallen. Melín slashed her across the wrist with her knife, stepped up onto the body of the man she’d hit with the door—Fetti—and slammed an elbow across her chin.
Karyas toppled.
Melín found herself the only one left standing. Panting, she climbed over Fetti’s body and wrestled Karyas’ limp form until she could tie her arms behind her, and bind her legs. The knife slash had cut through burn scars, and was bleeding pretty badly, so she wrapped her handkerchief around it and tied it tightly.
The whole room smelled of blood and smoke. The bodies on this side of the desk belonged to the four people Karyas had pulled away from the Ring. None were in uniform. Melín picked her way among the dead, over to the desk. What had happened to Tremi?
Heile’s mercy—there were three more people here. One body belonged to Third Solnis, another to a mate she didn’t recognize. The third was Tremi, who was panting and shuddering. She’d been shot through the arm near the shoulder, and the bone was visible. Blood slicked all down her side.
“Tremi,” Melín cried. “Blast it—” She searched the pockets of the nearest uniformed body for more binding twine. Then she returned and wound it high around Tremi’s arm, tying it as tight as she could. She couldn’t get as high above the wound as she wanted. The veteran had lost a lot of blood.
She turned toward the door and shouted, “Yoral! Lady Della, help!”
Tremi’s voice came from behind her. “Wait.”
“I’m getting you help.”
“Don’t,” Tremi spat weakly, “fix me up and stick me in some prison . . .”
Melín shook her head. “You’d rather die?”
“They came for the Shadows,” Tremi said. “Karyas came. To take them from me.”
“Well, she won’t have them now.”
“Right drawer keypad. Four two eight nine. Panel.”
What did that mean? Footsteps sounded on the steps outside. Imbati Yoral took one look into the room, spun away, and vanished back down the stairs. Lady Della stopped in the door, staring in horror. She fumbled a silk handkerchief from her sleeve and held it over her nose and mouth.
“You take them,” said Tremi. “For me. You . . . master assassin.”
That thought was as revolting as the dead bodies that surrounded them. “Tremi—”
“Don’t do it,” said Lady Della.
“Protect them,” said Tremi. “Don’t let the Eminence . . .” She panted a few breaths. “Or p-police . . .”
“Of course I will,” Melín said. “Don’t you worry.”
“No,” said Lady Della. “No.”
Treminindi gave a moan, and didn’t speak again. If medics didn’t get here fast, she wouldn’t live to see the inside of a prison cell. Melín took off her jacket and laid it over the veteran, hoping it might help even a little. Then she stood up.
“Melín,” said Lady Della softly. “Don’t take over the Paper Shadows. Please, tell me you won’t do it.”
“Gods, no!” Melín snorted. “If I did, Nekantor wouldn’t rest until he made me his personal tool. He’s tried to take over all of the Arissen, today, Lady. He’ll be trying to control your brother, too. You should go help him.”
The Lady nodded and vanished, probably all too relieved to leave the scene of death behind. She’d have to find Imbati Yoral, who was probably summoning firefighters and police.
Four two eight nine. Melín opened the desk’s right-hand drawer, and discovered a basic keypad and a glass panel unit. Only the Grobal still used that kind of classical technology, on their doors. She entered the numbers, and the panel flashed, so she pressed her hand to it.
What was supposed to happen now?
She pressed the glass again. This time, a lock clicked—she could feel its vibration in the surface under her hand.
She opened the drawer below. It contained a single file.
She pulled it out, opened it. Inside were five sheets of paper, made from the blasted plant she’d so often been asked to defend. They listed names, addresses, skills.
Right.
The top of the metal desk was a plausible spot to have been hit by a stray bolt from the earlier fight. She opened the file in its center, and shot it. It ignited, flames licking up, sending smoke toward the ceiling. Within a minute, nothing was left but ash.
Let Nekantor and his cohorts search as they liked. There would be no new master assassin—the Paper Shadows had just gone up in smoke.
Voices came from outside.
Melín walked out onto the landing and found Yoral had done his job well. Two firefighter medics ran up the stairs past her into the room, and the police came behind them. The first officer up the stairs was Veriga.
“Crown of Mai, Veriga,” Melín said. “How are you first on the scene for everything?”
The police officer didn’t exactly smile. “I put myself there,” he said. “Your Commander’s team helped me and my station-mates out of a dangerous situation. A messenger told us you were involved, and where you were going, so I made sure to come. I’m glad you’re out of danger.”
“You, too. There’s serious carrion up here, be warned, but Eminence’s Cohort First Karyas is alive, and I’m giving her to you.”
“Good.” Veriga nodded. “I’ll need your full report. But first—what happened to Executor Pyaras?”
Melín chewed her lip. “Yeah, I’m going to need your help with that.”
Veriga tensed. “Tell me he’s alive.”
“He’s alive, yes, he’s alive—sorry, it’s just that—he Fell. So it looks like he’s on us, now. He’s in the Division offices, and he has your hound.”
The police officer visibly relaxed. “That’s probably a blessing.” He looked her in the eye. “He can do it, you know. He learns, but he needs time.”
“Sirin and Eyn, I hope you’re right. For now—”
“He should stay with me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll help any way I can.”
“I do need your help, actually.”
“In there?” she asked. “I’m ready when you are.”
Veriga shook his head. “Just a second. You were a Wysp Specialist, weren’t you.”
Were. She winced. “I was. I’m Captain’s Hand now. And you?”
“I’m a Hand, also,” said Veriga. “The fact is, the targetball disaster convinced me that the Pelismar Police need to know a lot more about wysps and shinca. I spoke about it with the Chief of Police, and we’ll be reaching out to Commander Tret. I hope you’ll consider helping us create a training program to enhance our protocols for weapons instruction and crowd management.”
“That’s the right kind of idea, right now,” Melín agreed. It wouldn’t just make the city safer. It would bring the Division and Police together in a time when they needed each other more than ever. “I’ll be happy to work for the good of all Arissen.”