Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [290]
"We've got nearly a thousand men," Gallus Tadius said cheerfully. "So the odds against us are a mere two to one." He rubbed his chin.
"I'd like to say we'll hold the breach, but the truth is, we've got an inexperienced army with a piss-poor assortment of arms and precious little armor to speak of. We'd be overrun in an hour's time. So we'll fall back in stages. Trick 'em, trap 'em, lead 'em into ambush. And I want your wives and sisters and daughters to hit them from the rooftops and upper stories—stone them, scald them, whatever they can muster. No safe havens." Gallus chuckled. "It's our city, lads. We can do this."
There were nods and murmurs of agreement all around.
I caught Eamonn's eye, wondering if I'd gone mad. It seemed to me there was an enormous flaw in Gallus' plan. Eamonn looked equally perplexed, so I asked. "My lord… how are we to do this if the city's flooded? What about the water?"
"The water?" Gallus jabbed his stick into the center of the tray. He grinned at me, baring healthy white teeth in his death-mask face. "Why, we're going to send it straight to hell, D'Angeline."
No one seemed to find this strange.
I opened my mouth to protest. A dozen blank stares fixed me. The pointed stick stood upright in the tray, quivering. I hadn't gone mad. Whatever haunted Lucca, they weren't my dead, weren't Eamonn's dead. But everyone here had gone a little bit mad, except for Gallus Tadius, who was either a lot mad, or right. I thought about the blackened husk of the bell-tower and the mundus manes beneath it. The pointed stick quivered. I thought about the cold, barren firepit in the Mahrkagir's festal hall. Joscelin had flung his torch into it like a warrior planting a spear, and the Sacred Fires had ignited across the whole of Drujan.
What did I know?
"Right," I said. "Straight to hell it is."
Once the conclave ended, Gallus Tadius dismissed the masons to their labors and dispatched the noblemen to see to it that his orders were spread. He called his conscripts together and informed us that we would be performing drills in the public park from this day forward.
"Tell the others," he said. "You'll get orders when to report. I'll make my decisions after I've gauged your skills. You lot seemed among the best, but we'll see."
"Does that mean no more night patrol?" Eamonn asked hopefully.
Gallus stared at him. "Hell no, Prince Barbarus! After all, I might be wrong."
No orders came that day. Eamonn and I spent most of it conferring with the Lady Beatrice and her household staff on preparing for the eventuality of a flood. Most of the villa's stores were in cellars. We studied the inventory together and made up lists of what should be hauled to the second floor of the villa, and what could safely be abandoned. She flung herself into the task, seeming grateful to have a purpose. Neither of us mentioned the part about the floodwaters being sent to hell, not until that night's patrol.
It was a clear night. The clouds had retreated and the lingering pall of smoke had finally cleared. The moon was three-quarters full, drenching the city with silvery light. It seemed almost peaceful. I wondered if Quentin LeClerc and his contingent was riding beneath the same stars. I hoped so. Their mission seemed a good deal more urgent than it had yesterday.
"What do you think?" Eamonn asked in a low voice.
"I don't know." I shivered, drawing my cloak tighter around me. "It's possible, I suppose. A lot of things are possible."
He gazed at the stars. "You would know, wouldn't you?"
"I ought to." I rubbed my eyes. "Ah, Eamonn! I wish you'd gone with them."
"I wish I'd sent a letter," he said quietly.
That was all we spoke of it. In the small hours of the night, the sentries passed word that our shift was ended and we headed back for the villa. The Bastard was lazy that night, his head nodding. He'd preferred the wild rides