A Conflict of Orders (An Age of Discord Novel Book 2) (50 page)

Once out of the city centre, the road swept down to ground-level, and continued north. There was a console in the staff car, fitted to the bulkhead behind the driver. Finesz switched it on and called up a map of Toshi on the glass. Some areas of the city she knew well enough; others she did not. And Norioko was leading her towards an area unfamiliar to her.

The Involute’s destination appeared to be a suburb called Mura. It nestled between two arms of precipitous foothills crowned with a saw-tooth line of trees. Narrow houses marched backwards up the walls of the valley, looking down onto the tidy terraces of yeoman housing, the spacious avenues of noble townhouses. And beyond, a horizon that climbed in slopes of shadow and jagged slabs of brown and grey to the Kami Mountains, where another brighter sun seemed to shine on the peaks.

Norioko’s limousine took the main highway into the centre of Mura, before peeling off to enter the noble district.

“Hang back a little,” Finesz instructed Assaun, although it was clear he knew well enough what he was doing.

“Not so far you lose sight of him,” she snapped.

Norioko was slowing, leaving the main road for a side street which rose to a height of twelve feet above the ground. Pedestrians strolled about beneath the road, clearly visible through its mesh-bed. All the streets now were elevated, and the houses had small platforms at the roadside for entry and exit.

“Where is he?” Finesz asked. She leaned forward, her elbows on the bulkhead, and peered through the staff car’s windscreen “Have you lost him, damn it?”

Assaun shook his head and continued to drive forward at a slow speed. They passed the entrance to a side street and the troop-sergeant jerked his head in its direction.

Finesz turned quickly and caught sight of a black limousine pulled up at a platform before a house’s entrance. She did not see anyone exit the car, or enter the building, but the vehicle certainly resembled Norioko’s.

“Pull over,” she ordered.

Assaun did as ordered.

Finesz realised her mistake. “Problem,” she said, more to herself than the troop-sergeant. “Damn.”

The road-bed was not substantial enough to take a person’s weight. Most roads were thin meshes, against which a car’s chargers operated with efficiency. Finesz could not get out of her car while it sat here, twelve feet above the ground and around the corner from whatever secret hideaway Norioko was visiting.

“There!” She pointed forwards at a platform beside the road giving access to a townhouse. “Drop me off there.”

There was no exit from the platform, other than through the house’s entrance. She would have to bluff her way inside and find her way down two stories to the pedestrian level.

Assaun pulled the staff car over, Finesz climbed out, bent back in to retrieve her sword and cap. Cap on head and sword in hand, she beat on the house’s door with a fist. Some people of her acquaintance judged a household’s worth by the speed with which the front door was answered. An alert staff was an indication of effective management. They recognised no other criteria. A house in which the proletarian staff were treated as virtual slaves would still receive their approval if the front door swung open as a visitor approached.

Personally, Finesz thought those people were idiots.

The front door swung open. Finesz found herself confronted by a footman in smart livery. She did not recognise the escutcheon on the man’s collar, an erect snake describing a “S” on a checkered field.

“How may I help you, inspector?” he asked.

Resolving not to feel foolish, Finesz said, “I need to get down to street level.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The footman led her across a plushly-decorated front hall and pushed open a concealed door. This opened onto a passage leading down to the servants’ areas. For one moment, Finesz halted on the lip of the stairs and gazed down the narrow flight. She felt a small sense of trepidation, as if she were breaking a taboo. She mixed with proles every day, even called one—Casimir Ormuz—a friend. Admittedly, his exact status was open to question. But, for all that, she had never been belowstairs. She knew of, had occasionally seen, these near-secret passages and rooms in the lower levels of the mansions and townhouses she had visited or resided within, but no more. Yeomen, and the nobles with whom she had associated, stayed in their place.

“Ma’am?” prompted the footman.

She shook her head. “Sorry.” She was being foolish and she knew it.

She hurried down the stairs, followed the footman along narrow corridors and past rooms in which proletarian servants were engaged in strange, unknowable tasks, before stepping through a door and finding herself abruptly on the street. She turned to the servant.

He had gone and the door was shut. No matter. She would learn who owned this house and see that the footman was rewarded for his assistance. She glanced up, and saw Assaun looking down over the edge of the platform. She could not make out his features, only a black vaguely human shape looking down at her.

After throwing him a salute—rather dashingly, she thought—Finesz jogged back along the street to the corner. She did not think to hide her presence and ran blithely into the side-street. Only to stop suddenly when she realised there might be watchers at the house Norioko had entered.

The street was deserted. Relieved, she continued on at a more sedate pace. The houses all had narrow deep-set windows and, with the shadows cast by the trellis-like roadbed above her head, she supposed they must have been dim inside. But, of course, down here was the servants’ level. Looking in one window as she passed, she saw that the lights within were all lit. It appeared to be a kitchen, with a pair of white-clad women toiling over a large table, across which were scattered various packets of foodstuffs.

Looking up, Finesz tried to judge which was the house Norioko had entered. From below, any vehicle on the parking platforms was hidden. She swore under her breath. She had not considered that. She tried to remember, to cast the street in her mind’s eye and from that mental image pick out the correct residence.

The fourth, she thought.

Perhaps if she crossed the street? While it was narrow, she might be see something from the opposite side. But the angle was still too acute —

No. She had glanced just a little further down the street. A darkness hovering at the edge of the fifth house’s parking platform. She moved slowly further down the street. The shape did not resolve, but she soon guessed it was the curved flank of a limousine. She looked back and could see nothing similar at the fourth house’s platform. She would find out soon enough if she had the wrong residence.

Pretending to a confidence she did not feel, Finesz strode up to the house’s door and knocked boldly upon its wooden face.

Silence.

She hammered again.

The door abruptly swung open in front of her and a voice said loudly, “Give us a bloody moment!”

Finesz found herself staring at a young man in dishevelled livery. His hair was ruffled, his collar undone and his jacket pulled off one shoulder. Finesz blinked. The servant stared back at her. His eyes slowly widened as he took in her uniform, and widened further still when he decoded the rank insignia on her epaulets.

“Ma’am,” he blustered. “What are you doing down here? You should be…” He pointed upwards with an expression of baffled disbelief on his face.

“I’d like to speak with Baron Kanban.” Finesz stepped forward, forcing the servant back into the house.

“Who, ma’am?”

“The gentleman who owns the limousine on your parking platform.”

“Him? That? But it belongs to…”

Finesz smiled at him.

“Oh,” he said. “Yes.”

She did not have the wrong house. She said as much, and added, “Perhaps you were expecting me?”

“Not exactly,” said a voice from behind the servant.

Surprised, Finesz looked past the man before her. The corridor was not well lit and she saw only a dark shape in the shadows some ten feet away. The voice, however, had sounded vaguely familiar.

“But since you are here, my lady,” the voice continued.

The speaker stepped into the light. Finesz drew in her breath. She knew him now: Sudnik. The knight sinister who had tried to kidnap Mubariz from her on Linna. Whatever satisfaction she might have felt at correctly identifying the house was lost as she remembered that fight at the aerodrome on Linna.

“Abad is safe,” she said quickly.

Sudnik made a non-committal gesture. “He is of no concern to us now.”

Suspicion made Finesz narrow her gaze.

“He’s not one of you lot, is he? I couldn’t stand it if he was one of you lot.”

Sudnik stopped his approach in surprise. “Baron Mateen?” He shook his head. “No, he’s not of the Order.”

“Good.”

“However,” added Sudnik, “certain plans are in motion and your presence jeopardises them. You shall have to stay here until they come to fruition.”

“I don’t think so,” Finesz replied. She stepped backwards.

Sudnik increased his pace. Once within reach of her, he put out a hand and grabbed her by the arm. He tried to pull her to him. She resisted. Yanking her arm free of his grip, she put her other hand to his chest and pushed. It seemed to have no effect—he no longer moved forward, but it felt to her as if he were some immovable object.

“Please, my lady. You must come with me.”

She shook her head, scared now.

He grabbed for her arm again and tried to yank her toward him. She pulled back. It wasn’t working. He was much stronger than her. With her free hand, she slapped him across the face. Hard. He dropped the hand with which he held her. The other shot up to his burning cheek. His gaze narrowed and his mouth set to a thin disapproving line.

She punched him.

It was a weak blow. Years past, she had been given basic instruction in unarmed combat and had shown little aptitude for it. That was what troopers were for, after all. In truth, she had shown little enough aptitude for sword combat either. To Finesz, her sharpest weapon was her wits.

Sadly, they were of no use now.

Sudnik returned the blow.

It hit her in the mouth, split her lip. She yelled and fell back. Putting a gloved hand to her mouth, she could feel pain, the wetness of blood smeared across her cheek. Her lip seemed on fire, burned with a sharpness which blunted her intent. She stared hotly at the knight sinister, determined now more than ever to evade his clutches.

He stepped forward.

She kicked him. Between the legs. He saw it coming and twisted his hips. Her boot-toe caught his thigh and did not hit its target. Finesz swore. She dropped her foot before he could grab it. The knight sinister moved in closer and reached out, arms apart, for her. She was not going to give in so easy. She swung out, aiming for his throat. He blocked her with a forearm. She brought up her knee swiftly but that too he deflected with his leg. He caught her, a hand to each upper arm. She stepped forward, twisted into his embrace, ripped one of her arms free… and drove her elbow up under his chin.

It worked.

He grunted as it snapped his jaw shut and his arms dropped. He stepped back, a hand massaging his jaw.

“Not so easy, eh?” crowed Finesz. She turned about to face him.

Sudnik shook his head rapidly. He moved forward again, more swiftly. She stamped on his foot. It gave him pause, but then he was against her and she felt his torso pressed against her front. She felt immediate horror, as if being violated. His closeness, crushing her breasts, his chest hard against her, made her want to cry out. She fought down the urge. He was close enough now to have trouble blocking her. So she brought up her knee again.

It hit him right between the legs. He bit back a yelp of pain. But his arms were about her and he did not let go. She stamped on his other foot. His arms remained locked about her. She brought her forearms up before her but could not lever his chest from hers. He was too strong.

Pushing against him unbalanced her, and she jerked out of control to the side. Sudnik’s balance was no better; he was tied to her. They began to topple. She let out a yell and writhed in mid-fall to land heavily on his arm.

Sudnik bellowed in pain. She could push him away now with her forearms. Levering her chest from his, she slid an arm to the side and brought the elbow down on his upper arm trapped below her. His legs pedalled erratically, scrabbling noises like rodents abruptly swarming. She pressed down harder with the point of her elbow, using her body-weight.

She grabbed his ear and yanked his head back.

“Let me go,” she hissed.

“You have broken my arm,” he replied.

She marvelled at his coolness.

“I’ll break your damned head if you don’t let me go.”

He relaxed his grip. She pushed herself away from him and scrambled to her feet. She felt hot, was shaking like some young forest creature. Looking down at Sudnik, she felt an urge to kick him. She succumbed to the urge. In the stomach.

He let out an explosive grunt. “Damn woman! What did you do that for?”

“What do you think?”

She kicked him again.

“Leave me alone,” she told him. “If you see Gyome—and I don’t doubt you will—tell him I know his secret and I don’t care. I don’t care for your stupid Order and its stupid games. I’ve had enough of all this cloak and dagger, all this pulling of strings. It disgusts me that the Duke of Ahasz has the Imperial Palace under siege and none of you see fit to do anything about it. In fact, no one seems to even care, they carry on as if nothing were different. It’s… obscene. A travesty.”

She pulled back her foot for another kick at the prone knight. “And I,” she said, launching her boot at Sudnik’s midriff a third time—“Am going—” Her boot hit him and he grunted in pain—“to damn well do something about it!”

W
hat a mess this foolish war had made of the Imperial Household District, Finesz thought. She stood in uniform by the side of the Imperial Mile. Troop-Sergeant Assaun was at her left shoulder. She glanced at him but as usual could read nothing in his expression. Turning back to the District, she grimaced at the berm of earth now blocking the entrance. On the barricade’s top, behind a rough parapet, she could see figures in red and even a pair of field-pieces. She could understand why no one had tried to rush Ahasz’s defences.