“You’re insane,” Helina said after Lizanne had laid out her plan.
She sat opposite them on the other side of a broad mahogany dining-table that she assumed had been a prized possession of this house’s original owner. The surface, which would once have gleamed with layers of polish, was now scarred from end to end by radical invective, quotes from Bidrosin and other ideologues etched deep into the wood as if in mockery of the servants who had once laboured to make it shine.
“Your little group seems to have a passion for defacement,” Lizanne observed, running a hand over the table’s coarsened surface.
“Thousands died in this place even before the Emperor made it a prison,” Demisol said. “Toiling in the pits for a pittance and sucking poison into their lungs whilst their employer gorged himself at this table for years on end.” He leaned forward to plant a finger on the table, running it over a list of scratched names. “Here, the names of the dozen workers he bribed the constabulary to hang when they tried to organise a union. Here”—his finger moved to another list—“the leaders of the uprising that killed the pig. They quartered his body and threw it in the sulphur pit.”
“A fitting end,” Lizanne said. “But, if my history is correct, the uprising ended in utter defeat, as well as provoking the Emperor into throwing a wall around the city and using it as a cesspit for the empire’s worst scum.”
“The Scorazin Uprising inspired the First Revolution,” Demisol replied, flattening his hand to the table. “We do what we can to honour that memory, small gesture though it is.”
More than just a glimmer, Lizanne thought, hearing the quiver of conviction in the man’s voice. All to the good.
“I do not mock, citizen,” she told him, stripping all traces of humour from her voice to lean forward, hands clasped together and meeting his gaze with grave intent. “My plan offers only a small prospect of escape, but will almost certainly result in the death of any who take part, and many who don’t. But, if done correctly, perhaps we can once again light a fire that will spread throughout the empire. I was in Corvus not long before they brought me here. Riots were raging. The Emperor’s failed war against the Corporatists has stoked the people’s anger. The lives of so many sons spent on a madman’s reckless gamble. Grief and rage will be the fuel for our fire.”
Demisol closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deep, and Lizanne knew his lifelong passion for rebellion was at war with his reason. Finally, he turned to Helina, speaking softly, “Long have we sought such an opportunity.”
“For escape,” the woman replied, gaze dark as she stared at Lizanne. “Not suicide.”
“By remaining here you are already committing suicide,” Lizanne replied. “Just very slowly. I, for one, am not prepared to spend what years I have left stewing in this mire. We all have our ledgers to balance, do we not?”
Helina blinked and bit down on a retort as the words struck home. Her earlier reluctance in voicing the question of betrayal had revealed much about the depth of her own guilt.
“Your scheme has many variables,” she said. “Much that could go wrong.”
“Complexity will work to our advantage,” Lizanne returned. “If one facet should be revealed it would take a mind of genius to work out the rest.”
“The Coal King and the Electress are far from stupid,” Demisol pointed out. “And Chuckling Sim is cleverer than both.”
“Fortunate then that they are preoccupied with other matters. The attempt on the Electress’s life, in particular.” Lizanne leaned back, regarding them both in steady expectation.
“We will talk with our fellow citizens,” Demisol said after another prolonged exchange of glances with Helina. “A vote must be taken. I expect the discussion will be . . . lengthy. Although most of us were Co-respondents, our group includes four Republicists, two Neo-Egalitarians and a Holy Leveller, amongst others, all of whom would happily have killed each other in the days following the collapse of the revolution. Old rivalries are normally set aside amongst the Learned Damned, but not forgotten. This scheme will be sure to reawaken previous grievances.”
“And the risk of betrayal,” Helina added. “Any fervent dissenters will have to be dealt with.”
“And assurances provided,” Demisol said, turning back to Lizanne. “Proof confirming the truthfulness of your intent. Remember, we do not know you. For all we know the Cadre sent you here.”
“For what?” Lizanne enquired, a question which heralded another silence. “I’d best leave you to your discussions,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’ll return tomorrow with the proof you require. In the meantime, I shall inform the Electress that I have gained your trust and, whilst I could discern nothing that would confirm your involvement in the attempt on her life, I suspect there may be more to find. It would help if I had some small morsel of intelligence to share. It doesn’t have to be true. As I say, I don’t care if you tried to kill her or not.”
“We didn’t,” Demisol replied. He paused then inclined his head at Helina. “Tell her.”
“We were approached,” the woman said, tone sullen with guarded reluctance. “Four months ago. A discreet and carefully oblique enquiry regarding any bomb-making expertise we might possess. The inquirer was sent on his way with a very clear warning not to return. This group has a strict policy of non-involvement with the various power struggles within these walls.”
“The Coal King or one of his creatures, presumably,” Lizanne said.
The woman responded with the first smile Lizanne had seen on her face, a smug little twist of the lips stirred by the pleasure of possessing superior knowledge. “Actually, no. It was the pianola-playing fop from that whore-house you call home.”
CHAPTER 23
Sirus