Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [87]
“I understand,” the doctor said.
Once Sela heard that a human female had turned up in the streets, she would send her men out searching door to door. But they wouldn’t think to look for an underground shelter, the entrance to which was covered by a rug and then a bed.
Faskher turned back to her. “I wish I could be more generous,” he said.
“You have been generous enough,” Beverly assured him.
“It is kind of you to say so.”
“How long,” she asked, as she lowered herself into the hole with the help of a wooden ladder, “will it take to get word to my comrades?”
On the way to Faskher’s house, he had informed her that there was a Federation team in the warrens below the old castle, and that it was close to producing a vaccine. However, not being in the warrens himself, he knew nothing more than that.
“It is difficult to say,” he replied. “No one on the outside knows exactly where in the warrens your team is hidden.”
By then, Beverly was looking up at him from the bottom of the hole. Something about being down there filled her with a great weariness. But then, it had been some time since she felt warm and well fed.
And safe.
“Just one other thing,” she said, as her host began replacing the rug that had concealed the hole. “What happened to your companion? The one in the black coat?”
Farkner made a sound of disgust. “He died in the tavern.”
Beverly was afraid he would say that. “I’m sorry.”
“He would have felt better if he knew his death had enabled you to survive.”
The doctor was touched by the sentiment-and regretful that she could no longer prove worthy of it. In the end, she had become nothing more than a liability.
But the Kevrata would get their vaccine. That was all that mattered.
Were I in Tal’aura’s place, Braeg reflected, I would never have let it go this far. I would have crushed an upstart like me before I could finish my first speech.
But then, he was used to thinking like a soldier. I would have struck quickly and decisively, and demonstrated my impatience with those who questioned my authority.
Fortunately for Braeg-and of course, the Empire-Tal’aura was not a soldier. She had yet to learn the difference between taking ground and holding it.
He looked out the window of the modest house in which he was hiding. Built on high ground just outside the capital, it had afforded him a clear view of the city the night before. This morning, however, a fog was obscuring the praetor’s palace and most of the buildings around it, and would continue to do so until the sun burned it away.
As I will burn away the praetor, he observed. It is almost time.
Just then, he heard the trill that told him someone was at the door. One of my lieutenants, the admiral thought. His guards would not have allowed anyone else to get so close to him.
“Come in,” he said, triggering the door mechanism.
As the door slid aside, it revealed Herran, one of the centurions Braeg had brought with him when he left the fleet. It was comforting to him to know he had surrounded himself with men he could trust.
“Good morning,” said Herran.
Braeg tilted his head, as if to get a better look at his lieutenant. “You have that look,” he noted, “the one that tells me you have good news.”
“I do,” Herran confirmed. “Eborion is dead. Hanged in the North Square.”
Braeg leaned forward in his chair. “Truly?”
“Truly. Apparently, Tal’aura believed he had betrayed her and made short work of him.”
The admiral stroked his chin. “Eborion came from a powerful family-one that must have been critical to the praetor’s bid for power. Surely, she has weakened herself by cutting away so large a pillar of support.”
“It would seem that way,” said Herran.
Braeg eyed him, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Which would make this a good time to strike.”
“I had a feeling you would say that.”
The admiral considered the matter a moment longer. Then he made up his mind. “Contact Donatra as soon as you can. I want to tell her the battle is on.”
Herran inclined his head. “With pleasure,” he said, and went to see to it.