“Good luck,” Frieda said sarcastically. “They’ll probably have archers on the walls by now.”
Emily replaced her glamour, then followed Frieda back through the tunnel and out onto the streets. The racket from the mob was growing louder, shouting and screaming for Justice to come and teach the bankers a lesson. Emily shuddered, despite herself, at the waves of emotion roiling through the sound. The people wanted someone to blame for everything, and they’d chosen the bankers. It never seemed to occur to them that everyone who’d fallen for Vesperian’s prattle had played a role in their own downfall.
And some of them are just out to cause trouble, she thought, as they hurried away from Bankers Row. They want to tear the place to the ground.
She stopped, dead, as she saw the Fists of Justice gathered around a midsized house. A small crowd watched, hooting and hollering, as a man, a woman and four children were marched out of the building, their hands trapped in solid wooden boards placed around their necks. They were helpless, utterly defenseless…
Emily felt sick as the jeers grew louder. She didn’t know what the family had done, or what they were supposed to have done, but she wanted to help them. She needed to help them. But the Fists of Justice were carrying staffs and wearing charmed breastplates. She couldn’t stop them without revealing her presence, drawing the entity to her. She’d give up every hope of stopping them for good.
Damn you, she thought. She turned and led Frieda away, cursing herself. And damn me too.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
CALEB MET THEM AS SOON AS they were inside the house. “Are you all right?”
Emily groaned as she dispelled the remainder of the glamour. “I’ve been better,” she said, softly. She’d walked away, leaving a family to their fate. “How about you?”
“We just got back,” Caleb said. He helped her remove her cloak and hung it on a peg. “They’re in the living room, waiting for you.”
“Good.” Emily glanced at Frieda. “Shall we go?”
General Pollack had placed a large map on the table, Emily saw when she walked into the living room. Beneficence was probably not drawn to scale, she noted as she surveyed the odd design, but it was fairly usable. Someone had scribbled a series of notes on the paper, using red ink to designate enemy positions. She hoped the map wasn’t particularly valuable.
“Lady Emily,” a voice said. “I am pleased to see that you have returned home.”
Emily looked up and blinked. Harman sat on the far side of the table, next to three men Emily didn’t recognize. One looked like a fisherman; the other two were either soldiers or craftsmen. There was an air of dignity about them that reminded her of some of the other craftsmen she’d met.
“I’m glad you survived,” Emily managed. She’d assumed Harman had been killed during the massacre. “How did you get out of the square?”
Harman looked pained. “I survived for the very simple reason I wasn’t there,” he said. “The Grand Guildmaster believed that my presence would not be welcomed, so I spent the day supervising the accountants who were dismantling Vesperian’s web of lies. And then I hid when…when they came for me.”
“I found him in the Mirthful Mermaid,” General Pollack said, briskly. “Our emergency plans called for using the bar as a rendezvous point, if the city was attacked.”
“Because of all the booze,” Sienna said, dryly.
“And because it is far enough from the Guildhall to be off anyone’s target list,” Harman said, quickly. He glanced at Emily. “Should I be talking about that to you?”
“She’s not going to tell King Randor,” Caleb said, hotly.
Emily nodded in agreement. King Randor was the only significant outside threat, as far as Beneficence was concerned. The other kingdoms would be unable to get an army into the city without marching over Zangaria, not when Beneficence controlled the waters around its territory. King Randor would be interested to know where the guildmasters would assemble if all hell broke loose, but right now it didn’t matter. The real problem was defeating the Fists of Justice before it was too late.
Besides, they’ll change the plan after I leave, she thought. They won’t want to take the risk that I might tell King Randor.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Emily,” Harman said. “It is my duty as a guildmaster to protect the city.”
“A guildmaster who only kept his position on sufferance.” The fisherman sneered. “You wouldn’t have been allowed to stay away if you were actually important.”
“Dagmar, my guild could have prevented this crisis,” Harman snapped. “If you’d listened to me…”
“Your guild thought it was a fun idea to cheat us out of our money,” Dagmar said. “You were lucky to be allowed to live.”
“And you do not speak for all of us,” one of the others insisted. “We do not have a quorum!”
“We won’t,” Harman snapped. “The other guildmasters are dead! I’m the last survivor and…”
“And you are worthless,” Dagmar snapped back. “Do you think you can lead us to victory?”
“The guildmasters themselves are corrupt,” the third man said. “They need to be replaced completely.”
“Blasphemy,” Harman insisted. “Ambrose, you are nothing more than a traitor!”
General Pollack slapped the table, hard. “This is not the time to fight.” His voice was frigid. “Need I remind you that most of the City Guard has been captured or subverted or killed? Need I remind you that our city, our home, is being steadily reshaped while we sit here and bicker like children? Need I remind you that we – yes, we – represent the remnants of the government? Need I remind you…?”
He looked from face to face. “This is not the time to fight,” he repeated. “After we win, we will elect new guildmasters and rebuild the government.”
“Or replace it,” Ambrose said.