He said nothing, watching her hold the pose for several seconds before she relaxed. She sank into a sitting position and began working her neck muscles with a series of slow revolutions. “He said there was trouble in the capital,” she said.
“There were riots when the Emperor announced the treaty with Ironship,” he replied. “Relatives of those lost in the Arradsian campaign joined with traditionalists who despise the notion of allying their once-great empire with the hated corporatist enemy. The authorities were obliged to turn out the entire city garrison to restore order. It seems the Emperor has been even more industrious than usual in signing the resultant execution orders.”
“So he’s still mad,” Lizanne mused. “For the time being, at least. We can but hope it lingers long enough for his forces to be of some use when the White comes north.”
“So our fate is dependent on the continuing madness of an inbred fool.”
“If we accomplish our objective perhaps it won’t be necessary. How much longer?”
“A day and a half.” She watched his face take on an even more grim expression. “Once I hand you over, there will be nothing I can do to assist you.”
“On the contrary,” she said, offering a smile which he failed to return. “You will continue to gather intelligence and prepare for my return, and contingencies in the event I do not. Your Brotherhood must be made to understand the danger we face. Seek them out, as many as you can, tell them what you saw in Arradsia. Tell them yet another hopeless rebellion will only hurt our cause, and theirs.”
He sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “I suppose it’s better than simply waiting at the rendezvous for you to trance with Hyran.”
“Be sure to leave clear instructions with your people at the rendezvous. If I fail to trance within four weeks, assume me lost and try to convey word of the mission’s failure to Director Bloskin. Also . . .” She hesitated, closing her eyes. “In such an event I would request that you return to Feros.”
“You brought me here because of my useful allegiances. Now I’m back, you can’t expect me to abandon them.”
“Tekela is the daughter of your closest friend and comrade. Isn’t she more deserving of your protection than these hopeless dreamers?”
He met her gaze through the bars, the eyes harder and more unyielding than she had seen before. “If you’re expecting a solemn promise in that regard, you will be disappointed. I’ll not deprive you of yet another incentive to survive that benighted pit. If you wish to safeguard Tekela, stay alive and do it yourself.”
With that, he was gone, leaving her to ponder the folly of intimate relations for one such as she.
? ? ?
She smelled the smoke a good while before the wagon trundled up to the walls of Scorazin. It was faint at first, the mingled scent of burnt coal and wood mixed with a sulphurous tinge. Soon the scent thickened into a cloying, acrid miasma. It wasn’t quite as bad a stench as the green-leather tannery in Carvenport, but certainly came close. She heard the muffled exchange of military greetings as the wagon came to a halt, then the thump of boots on the step before keys rattled in the lock.
“Out!” Arberus commanded in an impatient bark.
Lizanne checked to ensure the manacles on her wrists were properly secured then got slowly to her feet. “Hurry up, you traitorous bitch,” Arberus said with weary brutality as she emerged, blinking into the light. She gazed around with a blank expression that conveyed the impression of a woman unable to comprehend her changed circumstances. The walls of the prison city towered above her, at least three times the height of the barrier that had ultimately failed to protect Carvenport. She couldn’t see the top of it through the pall of yellowish smoke escaping the confines of the city beyond. Before her stood the gatehouse, which was in fact a substantial fortress protruding from the wall like an ugly brick-and-wood tumour.
“Do you think I want to loiter in this stink a moment longer than necessary?” Arberus said, yanking Lizanne from the wagon with a hard tug. Her bare feet met mud-covered cobbles and she slipped, collapsing with a scared sob.
“Can’t see any scars on her,” a man said, the voice muffled. Lizanne shot a fearful glance up at a blocky Senior Constable, eyes dark and curious above the mask he wore, presumably to assuage the foul humours that brought a sting to her own eyes. “When the Cadre sends us a traitor they’re usually marked up something frightful.”
“Apparently, she was very co-operative,” Arberus told him. “Sold her friends out in return for her life. They barely had to touch her.”
“Life?” The constable laughed. “Weren’t you sold a lame horse, love. Alright, get up.”
He was surprisingly gentle as he brought her to her feet and she experienced a moment’s disorientation upon reading the expression in his eyes: deep, unalloyed pity. “No name, I take it?” the constable enquired of Arberus.
“Number only: Six-one-four.”
“Duly noted.” The constable scribbled something on the document he held and handed it to Arberus. “Transfer complete and witnessed, Captain. I wish you a pleasant journey. Right, love.” The constable turned away, taking hold of Lizanne’s arm and leading her towards a small door in the base of the fortress-like gatehouse. “Let’s get you sorted.”
Lizanne didn’t look back at Arberus as she was led away, and hoped he had the good sense to just close up the wagon and ride off. Somehow, though, she knew he had lingered to watch her disappear into the doorway.
The Senior Constable led her through a series of guarded doors, unlocked and then locked behind them as they passed through. Her escort hummed a faint but jaunty tune behind his mask as they made their way deeper into the maze of corridors and holding cells. He paused every now and then to exchange a word or two with the other guards, usually drawing a laugh with some witticism or shared gossip. He appeared to be a popular fellow. Lizanne kept the shocked, blank expression in place whilst her practised mind recorded the route they took and any names or other intelligence revealed by the guards. It seemed that the Warden Commandant, a new appointee of questionable judgement, had an unwise habit of actually venturing beyond the confines of the barracks.
“Came back covered in shit yesterday,” one of the guards told the Senior Constable with a smirk.
“He’s lucky it was just shit.”
“True enough. Seems he didn’t make it more than two streets before they ambushed him, Wise Fools mostly. Had his squad shoot three of the buggers by way of recompense.”
“Wonderful,” the Senior Constable groaned. “Makes it more likely there’ll be another bloody riot on Ore Day.”