City of Stairs (The Divine Cities, #1)(40)

“At least I killed him,” he says to his dead friend, sobbing. “Please let that be enough. Please. At least I killed the man who did this to yo—”

There is an irritated grunt. Cheyschek, startled, stops and looks around.

With a curious determination, the big man slowly sits up and looks down at his hands in his lap.

He opens his left hand. Inside it, glimmering in the light of the gas lamps, is Cheyschek’s bolt—which was apparently snatched out of midair before it could ever find its mark.

The big man looks at the bolt with bemusement, as one would the strange toy of a child. Then he looks up at Cheyschek, and his one eye is filled with a cold, gray-blue calm, like the heart of an iceberg.

Cheyschek fumbles to reload the bolt-shot. There is a flurry of movement. Cheyschek feels fingers around his throat, blood battering the backs of his eyes, the floor lifting away, and the last thing he sees is a glass window flying at him, breaking around him, before he is embraced by the cold night and, almost directly after, the street below.

*

Shara is ready when the two men burst into the room: she is sitting perfectly still on the bed, hands raised. Vohannes, however, does not follow the advice she just gave him, but leaps to his feet, cane thrust forward like a rapier, damning them for this and that.

“Hands in the air!” shouts one of the men.

“Clearly I have done that,” says Shara.

“Get down on the ground!” bellows the other. They are dressed, she notes, in gray robes that have been tied tight around the joints and neck: it has the look of ceremonial wear, and they have strange, flat gray masks upon their faces.

“We will all sit down,” says Shara.

Vohannes is nothing so placid: “I will f*ck the mouths of all your ancestors before I listen to one word you vandals have to say!”

“Vo,” says Shara calmly.

“Get down! Down!” the second attacker shouts. “Do it! Now!”

“Grab him!” says the first.

“Listen,” says Shara.

“Get f*cked!” shouts Vohannes. He stabs at one of the men with his cane.

The man grunts. “Stop that!”

“Get down, damn you!” shouts the other attacker.

But Vohannes is already moving for another strike. One of the masked men grabs his cane: there is a brief struggle, Vohannes lets go of his cane, and both of them stumble back.

The attacker’s bolt-shot clicks, and Shara ducks slightly to the left as the bolt soars out, parting the air just where her neck was, before burying itself deep in the headboard of the bed.

The three men, startled, stare at her and the quivering bolt behind her.

Shara clears her throat. “Listen,” she says to the two attackers. “Listen to me now. You have made a terrible mistake.”

“Shut up and get down on the ground!” shouts one of them.

“You need to lay down your weapons,” says Shara, voice as smooth as fresh milk. “And surrender quietly.”

“Filthy shally,” growls one of them. “Shut up, and get down.”

“Why you—” Vohannes struggles to stand.

“Stop, Vo,” she says.

“Why?”

“We aren’t in danger.”

“Shut up!” shouts one of the attackers.

“They almost shot you in the face!” says Vohannes.

“Well, we are in some danger,” she admits. “But we just … We just need to wait.”

The two attackers, she notes, are growing increasingly uncertain, so when Vohannes says, “For what?” they look a little relieved he asked.

“For Sigrud.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“We just have to wait,” says Shara, “for him to do what he does best.” She says to the attackers, “I will help my friend up now. I am unarmed. Please do not hurt me.” She reaches down and helps Vohannes up to sit on the bed.

“Who is … Sigrud?” asks Vohannes.

There is a horrific scream from nearby, and a burst of breaking glass. Then silence.

“That is Sigrud,” says Shara.

The two masked men look at each other. Though she cannot see their faces, she can tell they are disturbed.

“You need to put down your weapons,” says Shara. “And wait here with us. If you do, you might survive. Be reasonable about this.”

One of the masked men, apparently the leader, says, “It’s a mind game. A filthy shally mind game. Don’t listen to her. It’s the butler making noises. Go check it out. And if you see anyone, kill them, and do so with a clean conscience.” The second masked man, still shaken, nods and begins to walk out the door. The leader grabs his shoulder, says, “Only a mind game. We will be rewarded,” and pats him on the back before sending him on the way.

“You just sent him to his death,” says Shara.

“Shut up,” snaps the leader. He’s breathing hard now.

“The rest of your men are dead, or dying. You need to surrender.”

“That’s what you all always say, isn’t it? Surrender, surrender, always surrender. We’re done surrendering. We can’t give you any more.”

“I ask nothing of you,” says Shara.

“If you ask me to lay down my weapon, to lay down my freedom, then you ask everything of me.”