“Nice night for it,” Tremaine repeated briskly. She saw Ilias, or at least a dark Ilias-shaped shadow, creeping along the portico. He must have gotten behind the building by going through the hedges and was now edging along the curve of the wall, easing up behind the guard. He still had ten or so feet to go.
The guard tried to recapture the initiative, saying, “I’m afraid you’re not permitted here, ma’am,” as he stepped forward. His tone was polite but she could see he had one hand on his holstered pistol. “Are you alone?”
“Now that’s a very personal question.” Tremaine cocked her head to one side. It was also the question someone who was planning to knock her out and dump her in the pond would ask.
He moved toward her and in another instant Ilias had him, a forearm across his throat choking off any outcry. Dodging a frantic kick, Tremaine grabbed up a rock and smashed it on the man’s gun hand. He let go of the pistol and she snatched it from the holster.
The guard’s struggles slowed and Tremaine watched in consternation; she had forgotten to tell Ilias not to kill anyone, just in case she was wrong, but she didn’t want to distract him right now. Finally Ilias lowered a limp body to the ground. She leaned over the man and poked him in the ribs. He wheezed in response and she straightened up, relieved.
As Ilias dragged him back up the gravel path into the brush, Tremaine hastily retrieved the rope and the torch. She checked the pistol to make sure it was loaded and shoved it into her pocket.
They got the man gagged with a couple of handkerchiefs and bound, then approached the pavilion again. Ilias tugged on her sleeve, gesturing for her to follow him through the overgrown garden around the pond, back up onto the little building’s porch. “There are windows on the bottom floor,” she told him softly. “Shouldn’t we go in that way?”
He shook his head, replying in a bare whisper, “I heard voices in the front part of the house.”
She noticed again he didn’t object to the “we” part. Maybe because Ander had first met her as Tremaine Valiarde, playwright and nutty girl about town, and Ilias had encountered her as Tremaine, intrepid cave explorer. First impressions were important. “Were they speaking Gardier?”
“No, your language.”
“That’s funny,” Tremaine murmured thoughtfully. She had had her heart set on a nest of Gardier spies. But Rienish spies in the pay of the Gardier would do just as well.
There was no portico along the back of the pavilion, but there were trellises hung with winter-dry vines that climbed the plank-paneled wall to the second floor. There were three windows up there, one dimly lit. “That’s the best way in,” he told her in a whisper. “But they’re going to hear it if I break the glass.”
“Don’t break it, just open it,” she told him with some asperity.
“Those are the same as in the hotel?”
Tremaine gazed up at the window. “Probably, why?”
“I could barely figure out how to open one from the inside.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She realized she hadn’t seen a Syprian house with glass or sash windows. “Here, use this.” She pulled out the metal file she had in her pocket and briefly explained how to jimmy a window latch from the outside.
Ilias shed his coat and swarmed up the trellis. She saw him hang outside the lit window for a moment, then work his way along the ledge to a dark one that must open in the next room. After some slight fumbling, he got the latch jimmied and she saw the sash lift. He slipped inside, sliding it carefully shut behind him.
Tremaine waited, arms folded tightly, feeling the cold damp creep into her bones. It was quiet except for the occasional sound of a car from the road past the garden and the distant roar of the ocean. In the distance the army defense battery’s searchlights played over the clouds. Then she heard a quiet hiss above her.
Squinting, she saw Ilias leaning out the lit window and motioning for her to come up.
Up there
? Tremaine thought, brows lifted.
Well, he’s an optimist
. The problem with people who had confidence in you was that they also expected you to perform. She kicked off her shoes, grabbed the trellis and started up. It wasn’t fair; he had to weigh more than she did but the thing creaked loudly as she climbed. Trembling with the fear of falling, she reached the window and he grasped her arm to haul her in.
Tremaine scrambled over the sill, whispering, “I will never wear a tweed skirt again.” She stumbled on a rough wooden floor. It was a dimly lit room piled with boxes and furniture draped with white dustcovers. Straightening up again, she winced. After the long car ride, her sore muscles from horseback riding had become petrified and weren’t taking well to the exercise.
“Should I untie him?” Ilias asked, patiently watching her.
“What?” Tremaine looked up, for the first time realizing they weren’t alone. There was a figure in naval uniform sprawled unconscious on the floor just past a stack of old packing crates. She moved around the crates to see a man seated on a wooden bench, bound and gagged and glaring at her. “That’s Colonel Averi,” she whispered. “Dammit.” She had been sure he was a traitor.
Ilias moved to untie him and Tremaine followed, seeing the chair the guard must have occupied, the battery lamp on the little table next to it and the folded newspaper that had kept him company. As Ilias cut Averi’s hands free the colonel yanked the gag out of his mouth, spit, and said quietly, “Who else is with you?”
“It’s just us. Where’s Florian and Ander?” Tremaine demanded, picking up the newspaper. It was a Chaire edition, dated yesterday, carrying evacuation news and not much else. “Downstairs?”
Averi, tearing the ropes off his ankles, looked up, a flash of astonishment crossing his sallow face. “There’s no one else?”
Tremaine looked at Ilias, who was standing with his hands planted on his hips, waiting for a translation. “He was hoping for better rescuers,” she interpreted. Ilias rolled his eyes.
“You’ll just have to make do with us,” she told Averi. “Where are the others?”
“Downstairs, in the front room. They have Ander, Niles, and Florian. There’s a man on the front door—”
“Not anymore.”
“—and four with the others.”
“It’s Dommen who did this, isn’t it?” Tremaine said. “He’s the ringleader of a band of Gardier spies.”
If they have Niles they have the sphere. Dammit
.
“No. His corporal, Mirsone, is the ringleader. Dommen seems to be subordinate to him from what I could see. There are also two civilians I didn’t recognize.” Averi leaned over the unconscious guard, taking his gun from the holster, then stood. “You go for help.”
“I brought help already. The only people here I trust are down there.” In case there was any doubt, Tremaine amended, “I’m talking about Niles and Florian and Ander.”
“Tremaine, dammit, you can’t—” Averi began.
“This is just like home,” Ilias interrupted in exasperation. “Everybody argues. Did he say how many were down there?”
“Four,” Tremaine supplied.
Averi demanded, “What did he say—” Wood creaked in the hall on the other side of the closed door.
Ilias moved instantly, silently springing over the prone guard and flattening himself against the wall by the door. Averi stepped sideways behind a set of shelves, the gun at ready. Caught flat-footed, Tremaine swore under her breath and just managed to crouch awkwardly behind a crate before the door opened.
Tremaine’s view was bad but she saw a man in civilian dress start to step into the room. But before he moved into Ilias’s reach, his eyes found the man sprawled on the floor. He backpedaled rapidly, pulling a pistol out of his coat and shouting, “Someone’s here!”
Running footsteps answered the shout and Ilias slammed the door shut, bracing his shoulder against it. As the men on the other side pounded and shoved at it, Averi moved swiftly to help.
Realizing belatedly that Averi was right about calling for help, Tremaine pushed to her feet and ran back to the open window. Pulling out the pistol she had taken from the door guard, she leaned out and fired into the air.
Three shots blasting out into the night temporarily halted everybody and the pounding on the door ceased. Then she heard running feet hurrying away as the men bolted.
Ilias yanked the door open and he and Averi ran after them. Tremaine shoved the pistol in her pocket and followed.
Outside the room there was a dusty, badly lit hall, ending in a narrow staircase. She hurried down after Ilias and Averi.
The stairs ended in an open foyer and just as Tremaine reached it, the outer door slammed open and half a dozen uniformed soldiers burst in. The two fleeing civilians stopped in shock and Ilias skidded to a halt, not knowing if these were allies or enemies. Not sure of that herself, Tremaine ducked reflexively behind the banister. If the sentries who guarded the hotel grounds were traitors too, they were all dead.
But the man in front spotted Averi and halted in confusion, saying, “Colonel, what—”
“Arrest those men, they’re traitors!” Averi said, shoving the nearest civilian toward the sentries.
Only a few feet from Tremaine, the door at the bottom of the stairs swung open. Captain Dommen stood there, his face white and his eyes desperate. She managed to yelp and point.
Dommen stepped back and moved to slam the door but Ilias flung himself against it, wedging himself in to keep it open. Averi shouted an order and the soldiers surged forward to help.
Tremaine clung to the banister, trying to stay out of the way. Ilias had managed to keep the door open and as the first two soldiers joined their weight and strength to his it flew back.
More people ran in from the front entrance and Tremaine recognized Giaren and some other members of Niles’s staff who had been working in the ballroom earlier. Tremaine shoved herself to her feet, making it to the door ahead of them.
She pushed through in time to see a big room with large conservatory windows all covered by heavy blackout cloth. A couple of army cots stood near the far wall with two motionless figures stretched out on them—Ander and Niles. Florian was seated in a straight chair near them, her hands bound in front of her. She was still wearing a drab hospital gown and robe. Dommen backed away from the door and another man in a corporal’s uniform raised a pistol.
Averi fired first and the man staggered back, falling to the floor. Then Dommen dragged Florian out of the chair, holding the gun to her head. Tremaine heard her say wearily, “Not again.”
Everyone halted, the sentries pointing their rifles and the Institute personnel frozen in shock behind them. “Let her go,” Averi snapped. “Or do you want me to call a sorcerer?”
Wild-eyed with desperation, Dommen shouted, “Get back!”
Tremaine looked around, just as desperate. She saw the sphere on a nearby table next to a small wireless set and some notepads.
Maybe we don’t need to call a sorcerer
, she thought, eyeing the sphere. It was trembling on the table, spinning itself into a frenzy. Her palms were sweating as she weighed her options, but there was no way she could reach the sphere. Out of his head with panic, Dommen might kill Florian if any of them so much as twitched.
Ilias looked from Averi to Dommen, frustrated, but he knew better than to move. The colonel stared at Dommen, his jaw working as he brought himself under control. He put the pistol aside on a chair and lifted empty hands, saying cautiously, “You have to realize it’s over. Let the girl go.”
Dommen said thickly, “Tell them to back away from the door.”
Tremaine stared at the sphere, willing it to hear her.
Why do I have to touch you
, she thought,
you helped Gerard kill the leviathan from a distance. I know you can hear me. Make the pistol hot, make him drop it
—
“Tell them—” The words dissolved into an agonized yell as Dommen flung the pistol down. Florian yanked away from him, falling back into the chair. Dommen stumbled away, clutching a badly burned hand.
There was a surge forward but Ilias reached him first. He grabbed Dommen by the jacket and threw him down on the floor. The sentries surrounded him.
Tremaine shoved through the confusion to Florian, kneeling to untie her hands. “What kept you?” the girl said blearily.
“It was the traffic in Vienne,” Tremaine told her, working the knots free. “It was terrible.”
Averi looked around, frowning. “Who did that?” His eyes fell on Niles’s secretary. “Giaren, I didn’t realize you were a sorcerer.”
Across the room Giaren, bending anxiously over Niles, glanced up to say, “I’m not. That wasn’t me.”
“It was the sphere,” Tremaine said, more occupied with Florian. The girl’s face was stark white and she had dark circles under her eyes. “Are you all right?” Tremaine asked her, worried. “You don’t look too good.”
“They’re Gardier?” someone asked.
“He’s not a Gardier.” Averi looked down at Dommen coldly. “I know his family.”
“I’m fine,” Florian told Tremaine with vague assurance.
She dropped her head into her hands. “They gave us some kind of drug. And I think I’m going to be sick.”
Tremaine helped her up and one of the Institute workers hurriedly led them to a bare little washroom off the foyer. Florian leaned over the sink, splashing water on her face, and Tremaine left her to the other woman’s care.
She returned to the other room where someone had draped a coat over the sprawled form of Corporal Mirsone. More military personnel had arrived and the two civilian members of the conspiracy were handcuffed and standing back against the wall. Averi and a few others surrounded Dommen, who sat on the floor staring at his hand. It was uninjured, all evidence of what had been a terrible burn vanished.
Reminded, Tremaine went to the table and picked up the sphere. It clicked happily at her. It hadn’t used the spell she had read about to turn metal objects red-hot; it had done something else, making Dommen see and feel that his hand had been burned without actually injuring him. If only Niles had been conscious to witness it.
Speaking of
... She looked around, found Ilias nearby and dumped the sphere into his hands before he could back away. “Here, take care of this.”