Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [202]
"Blessed Elua!" Gilot said fervently. "This quarter would go up like a tinderbox."
"I know," I murmured.
In time, we found our friends. As I had guessed, it was in a wineshop; the same one we usually frequented, with the faded sign of Bacchus. I'd already checked it twice that evening. I would have been better served by waiting.
It was the shouting that drew us; two voices, raised in a shouting-match.
One of them, I knew.
"That's Lucius," I said, driving shoulder-first into the packed wineshop.
There I found Lucius in fine fettle, arguing against a slab-sided hulk in scholar's robes, his face alight with keen intellect. Eamonn was there, too, his back to the wall, watching the proceedings and looking cheerfully combative. And there at his side was Brigitta, merely looking combative, her hand hovering over the hilt of her dagger. The wineshop's patrons had withdrawn to give them space, clustering in a circle. The barkeep was nowhere to be seen.
"There is a reason" Lucius shouted, "for the rule of law!"
"Oh, aye!" his opponent growled. "To keep the likes of me in my place!"
"Will you listen, you idiot?" Lucius retorted. "You can't advance the pursuit of knowledge by violent means. It's antithetical!"
I began edging my way around the crowd, Gilot at my heels, intent on getting my friends out. I didn't think they fully reckoned how volatile the situation was.
"What does he care?" A new voice entered the fray, cool and disdainful. I glanced around to see another robe-clad scholar pointing at Lucius. He had sharp features and a contained, hooded gaze. "He's related by marriage to Deccus Fulvius. He's rich, and he'll only get richer. He doesn't care about the University."
The slab-sided scholar blinked, his color rising. "Is that true?"
"Oh, please!" Lucius said in disgust. "Deccus had nothing to do with this!"
"He's lying," the new scholar said smugly. "Everyone knows the Restorationists are behind this, and everyone knows Deccus Fulvius is behind them."
The comment drew murmurs. The tide of the group-mind was beginning to turn against Lucius. Claudia, I thought, your Guild takes an almighty risk when it decides to unleash the bottled lightning of a riot. Easy to start, hard to control. You should have protected your brother before me. Your nets are not so tightly woven as you'd have me believe.
"Imri!" Eamonn hailed me as I reached his side, rubbing his hands together with glee. "I'm glad you arrived. I think there's going to be a fight."
"Yes," I said. "And we're not taking part in it. Come on, let's get out of here."
"Why?" He looked at me with bewilderment.
Too late; already, too late. I'd missed the last exchange of barbed comments, but I heard the roar as the slab-sided scholar charged Lucius, barreling into him and hurling him against the wall. There was an audible thud and a grunt as the air left Lucius' chest.
I whirled without thinking, drawing my right-hand dagger and bringing the pommel down hard on the base of the big ox's skull. His eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled as he sagged slowly to the floor.
"My thanks!" Lucius said, half-breathless.
"Traitors!" It was the other one's voice, shrill and alarmed. I could tell without looking that he was pointing at us. "Traitors!"
"This isn't over," I muttered to Lucius. "We've got to get out of here, fast."
He nodded, eyes wide and startled. "Whatever you say."
"Gilot, Eamonn!" I raised my voice. "Montrève, to me!"
I heard Gilot's voice answer, rising clear and ringing over the din.
"Montrève!" And Eamonn's laughing bellow echoed his call, booming through the wineshop. "Montrève, and the Dalriada! Aye, and Skaldia, too!"
We forged a path toward the door with fists and elbows. There was no room to draw a sword, and I would have been reluctant to do so. I didn't want to draw