“If only you could talk to girls in equations.”
There was a long silence, and then, eyes trained on the notch they’d created in the link, Wylan said,
“Just girls?”
Jesper restrained a grin. “No. Not just girls.” It really was a shame they were all probably going to die tonight. Then the Elderclock began to toll eleven bells. His eyes met Wylan’s. They were out of time.
Jesper leaped to his feet, trying to dust some of the metal bits from his face and shirt. Would the chain hold long enough? Too long? They’d just have to find out. “Get in position.”
Wylan took his spot at the right handle of the winch, and Jesper grabbed the handle on the left.
“Prepared to hear the sound of certain doom?” he asked.
“You’ve never heard my father mad.”
“That sense of humour is getting progressively more Barrel-appropriate. If we survive, I’ll teach you to swear. On my count,” said Jesper. “Let’s let the Ice Court know the Dregs have come to call.”
He counted down from three and they began to turn the winch, carefully matching each other ’s pace, eyes on the weakened link. Jesper had expected some thunderous noise, but except for a few creaks and clanks, the machinery was silent.
Slowly, the ringwall gate began to rise. Five inches. Ten inches.
Maybe nothing will happen, thought Jesper. Maybe Matthias was lying, or all this stuff about Black Protocol is a fake to keep people from even trying to open the gates.
Then the bells of the Elderclock rang out, loud and panicked, high and demanding, an escalating tide of echoes, climbing one on top of another, booming over the White Island, the ice moat, the wall.
The bells of Black Protocol had begun to sound. There was no turning back now. They released the handles of the winch in unison, letting the gate thunder down, but still the link didn’t give.
“Come on,” Jesper said, coaxing the stubborn metal. A better Fabrikator probably could have made quick work of it. A Fabrikator on parem probably could have turned the chain into a set of steak knives and had time for a cup of coffee. But Jesper was neither of those things, and he’d run out of finesse. He grabbed hold of the chain, hanging from it, using all his weight to try to put pressure on the link. Wylan did the same, and for a moment they hung, pulling on the chain like a couple of crazed squirrels who hadn’t mastered climbing. Any minute now guards would be storming into the courtyard, and they’d have to leave off this insanity to defend themselves. The gate would still be operational. They’d have failed.
“Maybe you should try singing at it,” Jesper said hopelessly.
And then, with a final shiver of protest, the link snapped.
Jesper and Wylan fell to the floor as the chain zipped through their hands, one end vanishing through the slot, the other sending the winch handles spinning.
“We did it!” Jesper shouted over the din of the bells, caught somewhere between excitement and terror. “I’ll cover you. Deal with the winch!”
Jesper picked up his rifle, braced himself at a slit in the stone wall overlooking the courtyard, and prepared for all hell to break loose.
TEN BELLS AND HALF CHIME
“Just how long are we going to be kept waiting?” a man in wine-coloured velvet asked. The guards ignored him, but the other guests clustered by the entry with Inej grumbled their frustration. “I came here at great expense,” he continued, “and it was not so I could spend all my time hovering by the front door.”
The guard closest to them recited in a bored monotone, “The men at the checkpoint are dealing with other guests. As soon as they’re free, you’ll be taken back through the ringwall and detained at the checkpoint until your identification can be cleared.”
“Detained,” said the man in velvet. “Like criminals!”
Inej had heard variations on the same exchange for the better part of an hour. She glanced out at the courtyard that led to the embassy’s ringwall gate. If she was going to make this plan work, she had to be smart, stay calm. Except this wasn’t quite the plan, and she definitely didn’t feel calm. The certainty and optimism she’d felt only a short while ago had all but evaporated. She waited as the minutes ticked by, eyes scanning the crowd. But when the three-quarters chime sounded, she knew she could wait no longer. She had to act now.
“I’ve had enough,” Inej said loudly. “Take us to the checkpoint or let us go.”
“The guards manning the checkpoint—”
Inej thrust herself to the front of the group and said, “We’re all sick of that speech. Take us to the gate and get on with it.”
“Be silent,” commanded the guard. “You are guests here.”
Inej jabbed a finger into his chest. “So treat us like guests,” she said, mustering her best Nina imitation. “I demand to be taken to the gate immediately, you big blond lump.”
The guard grabbed her arm. “You’re so desperate to go to the gate? Let’s go. You won’t be coming back through.”