I’d gotten it partially wrong, and I almost figured it out too te. The part about the Snakes using the strikers as bait, to bring Cassel to High Tomenedra—that turned out to be right, as you’ll see in due time. But I’d assumed the strikers wouldn’t be happy about it. That’s not a bad assumption to have, you know! Now that I’d finally met them, though, I couldn’t say they looked particurly resentful, or trapped or frustrated or even afraid. And with five of them, you’d think at least one would let their displeasure show.

  Then again, five were several dozen less strikers than I expected.

  “Where’s everybody else?” I asked.

  The oldest striker examined me with a critical eye. “Waiting.”

  “For what, exactly? Even if you’ve presented Cassel with conditions, I don’t think he’s going to accept any.”

  “Waiting for the world to change.” Another striker said this as if it was the most obvious thing possible.

  I wasn’t all that familiar with the dialect of Khachimik these strikers used, and their accent made it harder to understand, but I wasn’t mistaken. Any other time, I would’ve suggested they’d be waiting a long time indeed. But now—well, the world was already changing, wasn’t it?

  The most surprising thing was that these strikers wanted to see the change. Most common people, like Torres and the sawmill woman, would want to be very far away from something that couldn’t bode any good for the likes of us.

  “Well, that’s all well and good,” I said, “but we’re here because Cassel tried to kill us. We’ll help you and we’ll be on our way. Is that enough?”

  The strikers looked behind me. Vanth was giving Valentino a hand up.

  “If the qimayu vouches for you,” the oldest one said, “then it’s fine.”

  “Did she?” another one asked.

  “If Amankay sent him, the qimayu agrees,” a third one said.

  I’d heard that word before, but only a couple of times. All I remembered at the time was that a qimayu was something from the Empire. Needless to say, the Megarchon had made sure there were none left. That was the only thing that mattered to me at the time—you wouldn’t call yourself a qimayu, whatever that was, if you didn’t intend to piss the Megarchon off.

  Nothing unexpected about that, though.

  “Amankay told me to draw Cassel out,” I said. “This crazy white guy is the King of the Dying Sun, you know. He’s like one of those poles that attract lightning bolts, but for Cassel.”

  The strikers nodded. Again, not afraid. Not even surprised. No way they knew Vanth was going to show up—but they probably trusted they wouldn’t be left to hang.

  That felt way too trusting to me. Of course, in my experience being trusting led nowhere good. But that was me.

  “So where should we bring Cassel to?” I spoke in Rellian this time. Vanth deserved to hear that. “Here, maybe? Or somepce else?”

  “I’d rather leave,” Vanth said. “It’ll be safer that way.”

  I turned to him. “Alone?”

  “You’re not coming with me.”

  “Don’t you think I’ll be safer with you, though?”

  “You’ll be safer with me attracting Cassel’s attention and Sergeant Vargas keeping an eye on you.” And no further questions, his tone said.

  I wanted to argue with him, if only for the sake of arguing, but that would’ve been too immature.

  “I’m going too,” said one of the strikers.

  “Alone,” Vanth insisted.

  “Cassel’s brought a detachment of greensuits,” I said. “So five detachments of guards to go with them, I guess.”

  The strikers didn’t say anything. To me, they still looked far too untroubled. But I didn’t have time to worry about other people not worrying enough.

  “Do you need open space,” the oldest striker asked, “or protection?”

  “Open,” Vanth said.

  The striker nodded, as if he knew what Vanth was going to do. “Go northwest a couple blocks. You’ll see an empty lot.”

  Vanth nodded in recognition. Guess that’s what aristocrats do instead of thanking you. Not a lot of manners going on high up there.

  “Are those guards still keeping watch?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” One of the strikers pointed at what I supposed was the direction of the front gates. “Try to leave and they’ll see you right away.”

  Vanth moved in that direction, ready to leave, but at the st moment he took a couple of steps closer to me, so that he could tilt my head up and gently pull my lower eyelid down. “Back at that room with those tubes, how did you open the door?”

  “Peeling spell.”

  Vanth raised his eyebrows. “What the fuck. You forced it.”

  “A bit. But it don’t look bad. If it did, you wouldn’t look so calm.”

  He scoffed. “There’s no bleeding or any other obvious signs of damage, but that’s not the same as no damage. Go sit down until I’m back.”

  Before he could leave, I caught his arm and pulled him down. I was going to kiss him, but we ended up touching our foreheads together and that got the message across just as well. His warm weight comforted me. “Giving me orders like that is unfair. It makes me hard.”

  “It doesn’t make you any more reasonable, though.”

  “Of course not. But I know you’re right this time, so I can’t argue. That’s what’s unfair.” I squeezed his arm. “I kinda owe it to you, too. You’ve been trying so hard to help me.”

  He loosened my hand from his arm and lifted it to his lips. “That’s not to say you should trust me.”

  What was even the point of that? Exasperating guy!

  “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Take care of yourself, will you?”

  “You first.” And with that, Vanth walked away.

  Really, he should swallow his own foot before calling anybody else unreasonable. This time, though, he was right. In that forcing a spell is dangerous, not in the rest of his nonsense. Also, I was so cursedly tired.

  “Let’s go watch,” one of the strikers said, and never mind how cursedly tired I felt, I went after Vanth with the rest of them.

  I reached the front yard just in time to see him climb over some barrels they’d barricaded the gates with and jump clear over the barbed wire on top. Those gates were easily five meters tall! I ran after him, just to make sure he hadn’t broken his fool head. But I’d barely reached the barrels when I heard his accent coming from the other side, as unhurried and full of it as always.

  “It’s because his head is empty,” I grumbled to myself. They’d chained the gates closed and blown the lock clean off, so I crouched to spy through the resulting hole.

  Valentino kneeled next to me. I had a better look of the guards than of Vanth—three or four white-and-gold uniforms, though I was willing to bet there were more. This wasn’t the same street where Valentino and me had been stopped st day—it sure didn’t feel like st day. What matters is that the city guards had to have been spread pretty thin. No wonder they’d been so keen in finding me guilty of something or other! That would’ve made things easier, wouldn’t it?

  The guards backed down. Guess none of them wanted to be the first to take on Vanth—even if he couldn’t kill them directly, when he looks scary he looks scary.

  “—come here before I level the entire district,” Vanth said. He simply walked away; the guards scattered like gulls when a caiman comes up.

  Well, that was easy. Now it was up to Cassel to take the bait, but I didn’t doubt he would.

  I didn’t doubt Cassel would bring his detachment of greensuits and five detachment of capital guards along, either. And I didn’t care what Vanth said, those weren’t good odds for anybody.

  The strikers were up the barricade, so I joined them. Not much room left up there, just enough for Valentino and me. As for the strikers, they didn’t look all that bad, considering the circumstances—though now I think about it, maybe they had shifts, and if we’d arrived another day we would’ve found five different people, who knows. They could’ve used a shower, but I couldn’t see any signs of hunger or injury.

  “Anything I can do for you?” I asked.

  “Weren’t you supposed to sit down and wait?” someone asked.

  “Yeah, but that’s not your business. He’s only gonna be mad at me.” None of them looked very convinced.

  “If Your Excellency need a spell,” Valentino said, “ask me first, no matter how small it is.”

  They say you shouldn’t cast a spell too soon after forcing one, but I wasn’t sure if that could really hurt you or if it was just the kind of thing grandmas said to scare you, like dancing vipers coming out in the afternoon. After all, if you just had to force a spell, you probably weren’t doing too well to begin with. Not that I was in any hurry to find out the truth by myself. Just curious.

  “Thank you, Sergeant Vargas.” I sighed. “All of my good spells are in our hotel room anyway.”

  He looked at me sympathetically. We’d been in such a hurry to leave the room, he hadn’t had time to shave this time.

  “You still look pretty good,” I said.

  “Well.” He smiled a bit. “One tries.”

  Though the sun still shone bravely, those dark clouds from before were almost upon us. At least the wind had stopped—the calm before the storm, but I’d take it as long as it sted.

  “They’re just close enough, I think,” one of the strikers said in Khachimik. I turned to see what she was looking at. A couple of guards had been left to keep an eye on the factory—the others gone after Cassel or Vanth. “Closer would be better, but no way they’re gonna be so helpful.”

  “Wait,” the oldest one said.

  The back of my shirt felt sticky with cold sweat. Not because they were talking about killing guards—that was old history by now—but because they didn’t care that Valentino was right there.

  Then again, what was the alternative? Going down and inviting those guards to talk it over a cup of coffee? I felt the same way I did when I stood in our hotel room after the guards rampaged through it like a whirlwind, but this time it was the whole world that felt all messed up.

  I took a good look at the one who said the guards were just close enough. She was carrying a hollow guadua stick—at first I’d just assumed it was a cane of some sort, so I hadn’t paid it any attention. But now I could tell it was a blowgun.

  Despite myself, I was curious. Those things are useful for hunting, but humans can deflect darts with a spell.

  “Can you kill a guard with that?” I asked.

  The striker gred at me. “I can kill animals of any size.”

  Usually, I would’ve asked whether she could kill an elephant, if only because I find it really hard not to be a smartass. I still remembered the guard with a dog’s head, though. Valentino could keep me safe from this crowd, but not provoking them was safer.

  We heard a loud crack in the distance, and if it was behind us rather than afraid, I would’ve thought it was thunder. Most likely, a spell had caused it—a wall had come crashing down or something like that. The guards turned around nervously.

  “Now!” the older striker said.

  He didn’t need to bother—by the time he finished speaking, one of the guards had a dart stuck on his neck. The other guard turned around to see him fall, but didn’t have time to do anything more before he was shot, too. Both of them had stopped moving by the time they hit the ground.

  “Frog poison?” I don’t even know why I asked. Wanting to make sure they weren’t still asphyxiating to death, I guess.

  “Yeah,” the one with the blowgun said. “Made it myself, you know. A scratch can kill you, so keep your mouth shut.”

  “Have you ever killed someone after talking to them and learning their name, though?” I asked before I could remind myself to stay prudent. “I’m Azul Mamani.”

  She gred at me. “I don’t give a shit.”

  Another, louder crack followed the first one.

  “That must be Vanth,” I said in Rellian, “keeping the guards at bay until Cassel arrives.”

  The strikers hurried down the barricade. The one with the blowgun gave me one st gre over her shoulder, as if she didn’t like losing her chance to poison me.

  Yeah, right. I didn’t trust any of the strikers, but I did trust they’d hate to get on Nina’s bad side. And for the time being, Nina preferred me alive.

  Valentino and me came down too, but the second we reached the ground, he herded me into the factory. Gncing over my shoulder, I glimpsed the strikers opening the gates to go join the Snakes or Vanth or whoever.

  “Guess that’s not my business anymore,” I said.

  “Absolutely not, Your Excellency,” Valentino said. “Let’s see if there’s any food left.”

  I stuck my hands on my jacket pockets. “Let’s. No matter what happens now, the strikers aren’t gonna need it anymore.”

  We wandered around the main building in no particur hurry. I was still worried, but didn’t want to think about it.

  First we stumbled upon the dining room; they’d cleared most of the tables out and repced them with pallets. Maybe not the most comfortable arrangement, but it looked clean enough I wouldn’t have minded resting my head there. Or maybe that was just a sign of how tired I felt. Maybe that one.

  Now that Valentino had mentioned food, though, I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest before I had a couple of slices of toast. Or at least before I made sure there was no toast to be had. Well, the kitchen was next, and it didn’t have the best-supplied pantry I’d ever seen, but it could offer something a bit better than toast. We found a couple of fresh cassava loaves, a mostly-empty honey pot, and a lot of coffee. Also some cheese of dubious aspect that we ignored.

  We sat at one of the tables and ate a loaf each as the coffee brewed. Our bench was just as comfortable as it looked—not much—and the whole room could’ve used a new coat of paint, preferably in a different, less-drab color. But the scent of baked goods still hovered in the air, and the scent of coffee joined it, and despite everything that’d happened I felt more or less safe.

  broccolifloret