“Come with us,” the father said. “If an escape route can take seven, it can surely take eight.”
The offer was tempting. But Michel had made his decision. He was going to stay in Landfall through this thing, for good or ill. There were more people to keep out of Dynize hands. He slapped the father on the shoulder. “Get moving. If daylight hits you, find a ditch to hide in. Watch the horizon for patrols. Remember that the farmhouse you’re looking for has a yellow wall.”
The father nodded, and Michel opened the shed door and watched the silent, frightened children file out and follow their father into the cotton fields. Michel watched them merge into the night, then turned back toward Landfall.
From here, the massive Landfall Plateau and the city that covered its face and skirted its knees seemed almost peaceful. There was no sign of the bombardment that had scarred the eastern face of the plateau, or the rancid smoke of the fires to the south where bodies were still being dumped. The only sign of the battle was a trickle of smoke rising from Greenfire Depths, where the fires were still not out from the Palo riots.
Michel almost turned and ran to catch up with the father and his children. Better to escape now, while escape was still an option, a small voice told him. “Stop being a coward,” he told it. Taking his last swallow of whiskey, he crossed the highway and headed back into the fens to make his way toward the city.
CHAPTER 6
Michel jerked awake, reaching for the pistol on the bedside table, knocking an empty wine bottle and his pocket watch to the floor with a clatter that made his head hurt. He fumbled for a grip and sat up in bed, pointing the pistol toward the doorway, his head hammering in his chest and his eyes crossed badly.
“It’s me,” a voice said gently.
Michel took several deep breaths and lowered the pistol. “Sorry,” he said. “Nerves a little frayed.”
Hendres stepped inside the tiny room that she and Michel shared in a tenement on the south side of the gorge in Upper Landfall. Hendres was young—or at least what Michel thought of as young, though in her midtwenties she was probably just as old as he. She had brown hair, cut short beneath a bowler cap, and wore a reddish-brown day laborer’s suit much the same as Michel’s. Her face had old pockmarks down the left side. She had intelligent eyes and a military bearing about her, and had somehow managed to make the rank of Silver Rose in the secret police despite her young age.
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.