Rook(112)

“Down,” René said, forcing Cartier to crouch on the other side of the cabinet.

“Who is coming?” the boy asked.

“I think, Cartier, that we are resisting arrest.”

The doors gave way, Benoit shouted, and gendarmes poured into the room. And straight into the clanging of metal and shouts came discordant bells, harsh, from all over the Upper City. René knocked the sword from a gendarme’s hand, slammed him to the ground, and got the man’s arm twisted behind his back. René glanced out the window while he held the gendarme down, Cartier conveniently whacking the man on the head with a crate lid. Nethermoon. And those had been execution bells. That meant someone would die at dawn. And there were only two people from the prison who were unaccounted for.



Spear jerked the reins to a halt, half turning in the seat of the landover to look at the moon. The clash of bells echoed all around him, striking the buildings that clustered around the Saint-Denis Gate, hurting his ears. LeBlanc was going to kill at dawn. But who? The Red Rook was out. Sophia and Tom were on their way to the coast.

“No,” said Spear, “that can’t be right. That can’t be bloody right!”

He turned the landover around.





LeBlanc listened to the execution bells, more himself now, with wounds bound, new robes, and the white streak in his hair arranged just as straight as it should be. He smiled slowly. “When Claude brings in the prisoners from the Hasard flat, make certain he puts them in the first few holes, in case Allemande should look down the tunnels.”

Renaud glanced through the door of the office at Allemande, who was on the hard, plain couch of LeBlanc’s private rooms, feet dangling, investigating a box of sweets.

LeBlanc pulled the cork on a bottle of wine. “I will only be a moment, Premier,” he called, walking to the far end of his office. Allemande’s soldiers were waiting just outside, in the corridor. No need for them to hear anything untoward. Renaud followed, limping.

“And while I have him here,” LeBlanc continued softly, bringing two glasses from a cabinet, “go to his office and his private rooms and be sure there is not a letter informing him of the loss of the prisoners. She may have been lying, of course, but we must be certain.”

If Renaud was alarmed by an order to search the most guarded premises in the Sunken City without getting run through with a sword, he did not show it.

“After the execution,” LeBlanc whispered, “I will tell the premier that the time for the other sacrifices to Fate has changed. It was improper to use his wheel in any case, and it is evident that the Goddess wanted them on another day, since they are not here. We will begin with a quiet sweep of the Upper City, to find our missing prisoners, then the Lower. They cannot get out of the gates, so there is no hurry. No reason to bother the premier. No need for him to know at all.”

And if Renaud harbored any secret doubts concerning LeBlanc’s ability to somehow keep an empty prison, a citywide search, and hundreds of lost executions away from the ears of the premier, he did not show that opinion, either. LeBlanc returned to Allemande with the bottle and the wineglasses.

“Well, Albert,” said Allemande, “have you seen the reports? From the Seine Gate, and the Rue de Triomphe? We are bleeding rebels. And, interestingly, the mob seems to have targeted certain residences in the Upper City, addresses that we have recently spoken of. This smacks of … deliberation on the part of our government, and with no proper forms filled out at all. And what about the sky? It is raining fire out there, and the people say it is the sign of the saints, of the Red Rook. I have a feeling your dawn demonstration of two out of three is going to be crucial to the future of the city, Albert.”

LeBlanc swallowed hard as he poured the premier’s wine. Allemande meant that it was going to be crucial to the future of his Ministre of Security.

“The people are in need of a dose of terror. They must feel that they have no choice, can effect no change, or we will have more change than we currently know how to handle. And René Hasard, your cousin …” Allemande tsked. “To so publicly engage himself to the Red Rook—who is nothing but a little girl, I find—a little girl fomenting insurrection and threatening the stability of our city … Oh, no. I do not think we can have that. We must take all their heads. Put them on sticks, I think.”

LeBlanc smiled, nervous. “You will be pleased to know I have already given the order, Premier.”

“Have you? And whose name did you use on the denouncements?”

“I thought it appropriate in this case to use my own name, Premier.”

“Hmmm.” The little man frowned, and the expression made LeBlanc cold. Allemande had no Goddess but power, and playing his games was like facing down a poisonous snake. A snake with a penchant for paperwork. He would gut his best friend if it struck his fancy—LeBlanc had seen him do so to the former premier. It was one of the nicer things he’d seen him do.

Allemande pushed up his glasses. “I am also concerned about this document that Miss Bellamy seems to have been carrying. It is the denouncement of Ministre Bonnard.” He held it out. “Please, Albert, look at it.”

LeBlanc took the paper, setting it on the table nearer the light, where the premier would not see his hand shaking. He only just kept his expression calm.

“Does this seem quite accurate to you?” Allemande asked. “I thought perhaps it was not.” Then he said, “I am not confident your affairs are in order, Albert. Let me see the forms.”