Desperation slipped into Arista’s voice. “Breckton’s Northern Imperial Army is marching here. If the Nationalists don’t attack now, the combined imperial forces will decimate them. That’s what Lord Dermont is waiting for—that’s his plan. If he sits and waits, then he will win. But if the Nationalists attack first, if he has no support, and nowhere to run … This may be our only chance. It’s now or all will be lost.
“If the Nationalists are destroyed, nothing will stop the empire. They’ll retake and punish all of Rhenydd for its disobedience, and that will include Hintindar.” She paused, letting him consider this. “Then they will take Melengar. After that, nothing will stop them from conquering Delgos, Trent, and Calis. The empire will rule the world once more, but not like it once did. Instead of an enlightened rule uniting the people, it will be one of cruelty dividing them, headed not by a noble, benevolent emperor, but by a handful of greedy, power-hungry men who pull strings while hiding behind the shield of an innocent girl.
“And what about you, Royce?” She turned toward him. “Have you forgotten the wagons? What do you think the fate of those and others like them will be when the New Empire rules all?
“Don’t you see?” She addressed the entire room. “We either fight here and win, or die trying, because there won’t be anything left if we fail. This is the moment. This is the crucial point where the future of yet unborn generations will be decided either by our action or inaction. For centuries to come, people will look back at this time and rejoice at our courage or curse our weakness.” She looked directly at Royce now. “For we have the power. Here. Now. In this place. We have the power to alter the course of history and we will be forever damned should we not so much as try!”
She stopped talking, exhausted and out of breath.
The room was silent.
To Hadrian’s surprise, it was Royce who spoke first. “Making Emery disappear isn’t the hard part. Keeping him hidden is the problem.”
“They’ll tear the city apart looking, that’s certain,” Polish said.
“Can we bring him here?” Arista asked.
Polish shook his head. “The Imps know about us. They leave us alone because we don’t cause much trouble and they enjoy the black market we provide. No, they’ll most certainly come down here looking. Besides, without orders from the Jewel or the First Officer, I couldn’t expose our operation to that much risk.”
“We need a safe house where the Imps won’t dare look,” Royce said. “Someplace they won’t even want to look. Is the city physician an Imperialist or a Royalist?”
“He’s a friend of Emery, if that’s any indication,” Quartz explained.
“Perfect. By the way, Princess, conquering Ratibor wasn’t in our contract. This will most certainly cost you extra,” Royce said.
“Just keep a tally,” she replied, unable to suppress her smile.
“If this keeps up, we’re going to own Melengar,” Hadrian mentioned.
“What’s this we stuff?” Royce asked. “You’re retired, remember?”
“Oh? So you’ll be leading the Nationalist advance, will you?”
“Sixty-forty?” Royce proposed.
Despite the recent rain, the public stable on Lords Row caught fire just after dark. More than two dozen horses ran through the streets. The city’s inhabitants responded with a bucket brigade. Those unable to find a place in line stood in awe as the vast wooden building burned with flames reaching high into the night’s sky.
With no chance of saving the stable, the town fought to save the butcher’s shop next door. Men climbed on the roof and, braving the rain of sparks, soaked the shake shingles. Bucket after bucket doused the little shop as the butcher’s wife watched from the street, terrified. Her face glowed in the horrific light. The townsfolk, and even some imperial guards, fought the fire for hours, until, at last, deprived of the shop next door, it burned itself out. The stable was gone. All that remained of it was charred and smoking rubble, but the butcher’s shop survived with one blackened wall to mark its brush with disaster. The townsfolk, covered in soot and ash, congratulated themselves on a job well done. The Gnome filled with patrons toasting their success. They clapped their neighbors on the back and told jokes and stories of near death.
No one noticed Emery Dorn was missing.
The next morning, the city bell rang with the news. A stuffed dummy hung in his place. Guards swore they had not left their stations, but had no explanation. Sheriff Vigan, the judge, and various other city officials were furious. They stood in Central Square, shouting and pointing fingers at the guards, then at each other. Even Viceroy Androus interrupted his busy schedule to emerge from City Hall and personally witness the scene.
By midmorning, the Gnome filled with gossipers and happy customers, as if the town had declared a holiday, and Ayers was happily working up a sweat filling drinks.
“He was still breathing at sunset!” the cooper declared.
“He’s definitely alive. Why free him if he was dead?” the grocer put forth.
“Who did it?”
“What makes you think anyone did it? That boy likely got away himself. Emery is a sly one, he is. We shoulda known the Imps couldn’t kill the likes of him.”