Funny how all the time she talked to me, had her soft hand on my arm, the black buggered off. No quiet voice in my head, no sing-song temptation. It meant I could fool myself into thinking she was right, and that made me grin. “Maybe. Not sure it’s worth saving.”
She laughed – my reward – and squeezed my arm. “No, perhaps not, but you’re going to try.” She laughed again, all teasing like she used to, fear pushed back for now. I never knew how she managed to chase the fear away, for both of us. She rolled her eyes and winked at Guinto again, a slow seductive flick of her eyelid that had him blushing fit to burst. “My heroes.”
And that thought kept me warm, kept the black at a safe distance, right up until we hit the snow-streaked streets of the Buzz.
Chapter Twenty-three
We gathered in the Buzz outside one of the fake-shabby bars that was now boarded up and looking lonely in the dark – almost all the Glow lamps had faded, with power being diverted to other things. Moonlight made it down here intermittently, slicing over the top of Trade and through a few gaps in Heights. We were close enough to Over, to real true sky, for that, though clouds massed over the pass and after a short time the moon dipped behind them, the wind picked up and it began to snow again. It looked like it meant business this time – not small, bitty flakes all ready to melt at the hint of settling but big, fat dollops that feathered over every surface and stuck there as though they meant to hold out for eternity.
We’d lost two men on the way – they faded out of sight and off into the dark of Under, and I could only hope like crazy I hadn’t just unleashed a wave of terror and mugging, aided and abetted by free guns. But we’d gained a load more: factory workers, pimps, gang members, call-girls and street walkers, shop owners, housewives, bouncers who came prepared with brass knuckles and faces so scarred from impromptu glass fights that only their mother could love them. All sorts, more than four hundred all told, and more came in dribs and drabs behind them as word got out. All men and women from Under. All looking a mixture of grimly determined and nervous.
They all rise.
I shivered in the bone-aching cold, and not for the last time I wished Pasha was there too. To rummage in the heads of all these men from Under I’d given guns to, find out what they were thinking. More importantly just to be there, and tell me whether I was being a stupid dick. Yet I had the feeling he’d approve of this – I was going a bit lion, and I think it would have tickled him.
The square was utterly silent, the few scuffles and murmurs stifled by the thickening snow that made it hard to see the whorehouse opposite or even much of the man or woman next to you – Quillan was a dark shape beside me, outlined in melting snow but with his face obscured.
Here it was silent, but vague, disturbing sounds of fighting drifted over from the inner gates. Muffled shots, screams. The rank smell of burning people. An ominous thud that sounded like the gates of hell had just opened.
We grouped together, more or less. In the murk it looked like whole gangs had turned up, and they kept themselves apart. For the best, probably, or they’d have turned on each other way before the Storad could get us.
No one said anything – there wasn’t anything to say except the few murmured prayers that hung in the air like a bad smell. All we could do was wait and, in my case, try not to think too hard about not being able to use my magic, about how I would anyway if I had the guts. How I’d probably end up going batshit and blowing myself and part of the city up if I did. About Pasha and Jake and a hundred other regrets, like how I had the stupidest feeling I should have said more to Erlat, though I didn’t know what. I only knew I probably wasn’t going to get another chance.
Another thud, even more ominous than the first, and the sound of Storad flamers hissed through the air.
“I hope Cabe’s all right up there. Sent my other kids down to the Mishan gate,” Quillan said. “You think… think they might get through? I mean, that’s why most of us are here. To give them enough time to get through, if they can.”
What the hell do you say to that? “I think they’re as screwed as we are”? That they probably didn’t have a hope in hell unless he was a lot richer than he looked? Even I’m not that hard-hearted, so I lied through my teeth.
“Cabe will be fine – the lab is the safest place in Mahala right now. And the rest —” Another lie: “They’ll get through. I don’t think even the Mishans would turn away the thousands of refugees they’re going to get, not if it was that or let them die – especially if they can make money off them. The Mishans might fleece everyone, but at least they’ll still be alive.”