Rachel’s on an outcrop above, with her sniper’s rifle. Neen’s hidden on the lower slopes with orders to kill anyone who tries to leave in a hurry. Franc’s with him, and she is sulking at not being allowed into the city.
Iona and Ajac are probably wondering what they’ve got themselves into. As for Haze, he’s crouching over his slab in the afternoon heat. At least, I hope he is. Keeping us invisible from any lenz the Silver Fist might have hovering above us is vital.
And the SIG? It’s locked down, and sulking worse than Franc. I’ve promised it a big battle. Really, really soon. I’m not sure it believes me.
Pulling rank, Colonel Vijay insists on climbing the well first. Handholds help. Milo and I just jab our boots either side of the shaft and walk ourselves up.
We are going to come up just inside the gate.
‘OK,’ I tell Milo. ‘Kill both guards.’
‘No.’ Colonel Vijay shakes his head. ‘I’ll do it.’
What am I going to say? He’s my CO for fuck’s sake.
Rolling over the lip of the well, the colonel finds his feet and sprints towards the arch. A jab takes the first guard in the back. Opening his mouth, the second guard bubbles his life away through a slit throat. A third, who shouldn’t even be there, dies trying to stop blood squirting from his groin.
‘Horse Hito?’ I ask, when the colonel returns.
He nods. It’s his job to hold the gates.
My job is to fetch Pavel. As for Milo, his job is to confuse anyone we meet on the way to Pavel’s house. It’s siesta time, and the whole city is asleep, screwing or dozing in their yards.
The exception is half drunk and carrying a stick. He laughs at whatever Milo says, walks on a single pace and crumples as Milo clubs him from behind. When he wakes, he’ll probably blame his headache on the booze.
The door to Pavel’s house opens outwards. That’s good in one way. A door hung like that is hard to batter inwards. Of course, a door hung like that is easy to jam, if you want to burn a house with everyone in it. We don’t.
Stepping up to Pavel’s door, Milo knocks hard. A voice calls from inside.
So Milo knocks again.
When the door opens, it’s Pavel and he is holding a pistol. ‘Milo . . . ? ‘
Grabbing his brother’s wrist, Milo jumps back and slams the door hard. Bone cracks and Pavel opens his mouth to scream. Only Milo is now holding Pavel’s gun, and using its barrel as a gag. This man is good.
‘Hello Pavel,’ I say, stepping out from behind Milo.
Pavel’s eyes widen. Trying to speak makes him choke.
‘Remove the gun,’ I tell Milo.
‘You’re-’ Pavel says. ‘You’re-’
‘No such luck,’ I say. ‘But you will be if you don’t fetch Shil.’
He looks blank.
‘Go and get my trooper.’
Shaking his head is stupid, because my knee does more than smash one of his balls into the other, it lifts him so high off the floor he smashes his head on the ceiling. OK, it’s a low ceiling. Made from poor-quality lath and plaster. It must be – it splits as readily as the skin over his skull.
‘Shil,’ I say. ‘My trooper.’
Crawling to his knees, Pavel begins pleading when Milo grabs hair. Milo scowls as blood sticks to his fingers, then shrugs and drags Pavel upright. He looks like he’s enjoying himself. That’s families for you.
‘If she’s harmed . . .’ I say.
‘She’s not here,’ says Pavel, dragging in breath. ‘The snake-heads took her.’
‘You’re going to have to stop doing that,’ says the SIG.
‘Don’t see why,’ I say, looking down. Milo’s dropped Pavel, who has his hands rammed between his thighs. He seems to be going purple.
‘Because,’ the gun says snappily, ‘we need to know, which snakeheads? When did they take her? Who do they think she is? Where did they go? ‘
‘Sven,’ says Milo. ‘Before we leave . . .’
‘What?’
‘Something I have to fetch.’
When Milo returns, his brother is still clutching his balls on the floor. And Milo has Pavel’s daughter over one shoulder. She’s wearing a cotton dress. It is a very short cotton dress. When she beats her fist against Milo’s back, he slaps her rump, hard.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘Now we can go.’
I look at Milo, he looks at me. Pavel has the sense to stay where he is. That might be because I have my foot on his chest. ‘Milo,’ I say, ‘put her down.’ This has the potential to get nasty.
‘It’s OK,’ Milo says. ‘We’re engaged.’
Pavel bucks under my foot like a dying fish and goes still when I increase the pressure.
‘Adelpha, tell him,’ says Milo, tipping the girl to the floor. She takes a swipe at his face, then winces as he catches her wrist. He grins, and after a second, she nods. ‘See,’ says Milo. ‘Told you.’
‘How quaint,’ says my gun. ‘How-’ It stops, lost for words. A second later, it lights up again. ‘Apt,’ it says, and I get the feeling it’s been taking in the narrow passage, the living quarters built behind a goat pen, the endless stink of animal dung in the streets.
‘Sven,’ it says. ‘Have you ever thought of relocating?’
‘Shut it.’
‘I’m serious . . .’
‘If you don’t shut it,’ I warn the SIG, ‘Milo gets you as a wedding present.’ The fisherman flicks me a glance, then scowls when he realizes my promise is empty.