Charm. The crow kept its
perch.
It was the best season for crossing the Sea of Torments. Even
One-Eye admitted it was a swift and easy passage. We raised the
Beryl light on the third morning and entered the harbor with the
afternoon tide.
The advent of
The Dark Wings
had all the impact I expected and
feared.
The last time that monster put in at Beryl the city’s last
free, homegrown tyrant had died. His successor, chosen by
Soulcatcher, became an imperial puppet. And his successors were
imperial governors.
Local imperial functionaries swarmed onto the pier as the
quinquireme warped in. “Termites,” Goblin called
them. “Tax farmers and pen-pushers. Little things that live
under rocks and shy from the light of honest employment.”
Somewhere in his background was a cause for a big hatred of tax
collectors. I understand in an intellectual sort of way. I mean
there is no lower human life-form—with the possible exception of
pimps—than that which revels in its state-derived power to
humiliate, extort, and generate misery. I am left with a disgust
for my species. But with Goblin it can become a flaming passion,
with him trying to work everybody up to go out and treat a few tax
people to grotesque excruciations and deaths.
The termites were shaken and distressed. They did not know what
to make of this sudden, obviously portentous arrival. The advent of
an imperial legate could mean a hundred things, but nothing good
for the entrenched bureaucracy.
Elsewhere, all work came to a halt. Even cursing gang leaders
paused to stare at the harbinger ship.
One-Eye eyeballed the situation. “Better get us out of
town fast, Croaker. Else it will turn into the Tower all over
again, this time with too many people asking too damned many
questions.”
The coach was ready. Lady was inside. The mounts, both great and
normal, were saddled. A small, light, closed wagon was brought up
and assembled by the Horse Guards and filled with Lady’s
plunder. We were ready to roll when the ship’s captain was
ready to let us.
“Mount up,” I ordered. “One-Eye, when that
gangway goes down you make like the horns of hell. Otto, take this
coach off here like the Limper himself is after you.” I
turned to the commander of the Horse Guards. “You break
trail. Don’t give those people down there a chance to slow us
down.” I boarded the coach.
“Wise thinking,” Lady said. “Get away fast or
risk falling into the trap I barely escaped at the
Tower.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I can fake this
legate business only if nobody looks at me too close.” Far
better to roar through town and leave them thinking me a
foul-tempered, contemptuous, arrogant Taken legate southward bound
on a mission that was no business of the procurators of Beryl.
The gangway slammed down. One-Eye let loose the hell-horn howl I
wanted. My mob surged forward. Gawkers and the privileged alike
scattered before our fire-and-darkness apparition. We thundered
through Beryl as we had thundered through Opal, our passage
spreading terror. Behind us,
The Dark Wings
put out with the
evening tide, under orders to proceed to the Garnet Roads and begin
an extended patrol against pirates and smugglers. We exited the
Rubbish Gate. Though the normal animals were exhausted, we carried
on till darkness lent us its mask.
Despite our haste to get away from the city, we did not camp far
enough out to escape its attention entirely. When I wakened in the
morning I found Murgen waiting on me with three brothers who wanted
to join up. Their names were Cletus, Longinus, and Loftus. They had
been kids when we were in Beryl before. How they recognized us
during our wild ride I do not know. They claimed to have deserted
the Urban Cohorts in order to join us. I did not feel much like
dealing with an extensive interrogation, so took Murgen’s
word that they seemed all right. “They’re fools enough
to want to jump in with us without knowing what’s going on,
let them. Give them to
perch.
It was the best season for crossing the Sea of Torments. Even
One-Eye admitted it was a swift and easy passage. We raised the
Beryl light on the third morning and entered the harbor with the
afternoon tide.
The advent of
The Dark Wings
had all the impact I expected and
feared.
The last time that monster put in at Beryl the city’s last
free, homegrown tyrant had died. His successor, chosen by
Soulcatcher, became an imperial puppet. And his successors were
imperial governors.
Local imperial functionaries swarmed onto the pier as the
quinquireme warped in. “Termites,” Goblin called
them. “Tax farmers and pen-pushers. Little things that live
under rocks and shy from the light of honest employment.”
Somewhere in his background was a cause for a big hatred of tax
collectors. I understand in an intellectual sort of way. I mean
there is no lower human life-form—with the possible exception of
pimps—than that which revels in its state-derived power to
humiliate, extort, and generate misery. I am left with a disgust
for my species. But with Goblin it can become a flaming passion,
with him trying to work everybody up to go out and treat a few tax
people to grotesque excruciations and deaths.
The termites were shaken and distressed. They did not know what
to make of this sudden, obviously portentous arrival. The advent of
an imperial legate could mean a hundred things, but nothing good
for the entrenched bureaucracy.
Elsewhere, all work came to a halt. Even cursing gang leaders
paused to stare at the harbinger ship.
One-Eye eyeballed the situation. “Better get us out of
town fast, Croaker. Else it will turn into the Tower all over
again, this time with too many people asking too damned many
questions.”
The coach was ready. Lady was inside. The mounts, both great and
normal, were saddled. A small, light, closed wagon was brought up
and assembled by the Horse Guards and filled with Lady’s
plunder. We were ready to roll when the ship’s captain was
ready to let us.
“Mount up,” I ordered. “One-Eye, when that
gangway goes down you make like the horns of hell. Otto, take this
coach off here like the Limper himself is after you.” I
turned to the commander of the Horse Guards. “You break
trail. Don’t give those people down there a chance to slow us
down.” I boarded the coach.
“Wise thinking,” Lady said. “Get away fast or
risk falling into the trap I barely escaped at the
Tower.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I can fake this
legate business only if nobody looks at me too close.” Far
better to roar through town and leave them thinking me a
foul-tempered, contemptuous, arrogant Taken legate southward bound
on a mission that was no business of the procurators of Beryl.
The gangway slammed down. One-Eye let loose the hell-horn howl I
wanted. My mob surged forward. Gawkers and the privileged alike
scattered before our fire-and-darkness apparition. We thundered
through Beryl as we had thundered through Opal, our passage
spreading terror. Behind us,
The Dark Wings
put out with the
evening tide, under orders to proceed to the Garnet Roads and begin
an extended patrol against pirates and smugglers. We exited the
Rubbish Gate. Though the normal animals were exhausted, we carried
on till darkness lent us its mask.
Despite our haste to get away from the city, we did not camp far
enough out to escape its attention entirely. When I wakened in the
morning I found Murgen waiting on me with three brothers who wanted
to join up. Their names were Cletus, Longinus, and Loftus. They had
been kids when we were in Beryl before. How they recognized us
during our wild ride I do not know. They claimed to have deserted
the Urban Cohorts in order to join us. I did not feel much like
dealing with an extensive interrogation, so took Murgen’s
word that they seemed all right. “They’re fools enough
to want to jump in with us without knowing what’s going on,
let them. Give them to
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