Fire and Dust Read online

  At the center of the rotunda, impassive in the heart of chaos, stood the three false guards – even the most fear-crazed members of the mob gave the guards a wide berth. The impostor facing our direction was a heavily-bearded man with bleached white hair, his eye carefully watching the deva; and when the deva turned away from the cornugon to confront the creators of this destruction, the false guard calmly lifted his wand to shoot again.

  The cornugon was on its hands and knees, providing no cover at all. Any fireball aimed at the deva would easily catch Hezekiah and me in the blast radius. I had time to scream, «No!»…

  …and then I was standing in a paper-stacked office, facing a young halfling woman in judicial robes. She looked as surprised to see me as I was to see her. «Who are you?» she snapped.

  Before I could answer, Hezekiah stepped forward from my side. «Hezekiah Virtue,» he said, holding out his knuckly hand for her to shake. «Sorry to pop in on you, ma'am, but we were in a nasty situation and I had to teleport us out of there.»

  I stared at him in disbelief. «You can teleport?»

  «Sure,» he answered. «Learned it from Uncle Toby.»

  «Of course you did,» I sighed.

  * * *

  As soon as we began to explain about the fire attack, the halfling hurried us down the hall to the office of Her Honor, Judge Emeritus Oonah DeVail. I had never met DeVail personally, but all of Sigil knew her by reputation – an old bone-rattler, a basher, a woman of action. Unlike the majority of Guvners who prefer the academic approach to knowledge, Oonah DeVail had spent much of her life exploring the planes in person, leading expedition after expedition into the far corners of the multiverse and bringing back a wealth of arcane curiosities. It didn't surprise me that the halfling went running to DeVail when looking for someone to cope with an emergency situation.

  «Firewands?» DeVail roared. «In the rotunda?»

  «Yes, Your Honor,» I said. «Three men just walked in…»

  That was as far as I got. DeVail was a woman in her sixties, but with darting speed, she snatched up a staff bound with gleaming silver wire and used its support to hike herself to her feet.

  Hezekiah scampered to open the door for her. «It'd be a mighty big honor to help you to safety, ma'am,» he said.

  «Help yourself to safety,» she snapped. With one hand, she swept her staff off the floor and swung it high over her head. An arc of sparkling ice crystals spattered out of its swinging tip. «No flamethrowing berks will give our courts the laugh while I'm around.» With that, she dashed out the door, suddenly as spry as a twelve-year-old. The halfling woman waved at us to stay where we were, then hurried along behind DeVail to a wide-open waiting area some dozen paces down the corridor.

  Pausing just a second for the halfling to catch up, DeVail slammed the butt of her staff onto the floor with an echoing whump. Beneath her feet, carpet and floorboards faded to an inky blackness, like a hole filled with deepest midnight. The halfling woman looked at the hole, looked at DeVail, then leaped, grabbing Her Honor around the waist. Together the two of them sank into that hole: the halfling wearing a grim expression, DeVail's lips moving in some kind of silent incantation. The moment their heads disappeared into the hole, the blackness sealed itself shut again with a muffled rumble.

  Hezekiah let the door close slowly, his face filled with wonderment. The feeling was mutual – I had no idea what else DeVail's staff could do, but the short ivory firewands used by the false guards now seemed a lot less formidable. The Sensate in me sighed with regret that I'd miss the coming battle in the rotunda. Then I remembered the charred skin of the dead, the horrid moans of the living… and I decided there were some things even a Sensate didn't need to see.

  «Shall we try to find a way out?» I said to Hezekiah. «We may be safe from the fire for the moment, but if the whole building starts to burn…»

  «In a minute,» he replied. «I want a chance to look at this great stuff.»

  And indeed, Guvner DeVail's office was cluttered to the rafters with «great stuff»: delicately painted porcelain, brassbound chests, mummified animals hanging from ropes attached to the ceiling… dozens upon dozens of outlandish curios, and most no doubt reeking of magic.

  «Don't touch anything!» I snapped at Hezekiah, who was about to pick up a copper-framed handmirror. «For that matter, don't even look at anything! If you stare into that mirror, you have no idea what might stare back.»

  «I wasn't hurting anything,» he answered defensively. He closed his eyes, furrowed his brow for a moment, then opened his eyes again to look at the mirror in his hand. «It doesn't matter anyway,» he said. «The mirror's okay. It's not magic.»

  «How do you know?»

  «If I concentrate, I can sense a kind of radiation coming off magical things. Uncle Toby taught me that whenever I'm in a strange place, I should —» Hezekiah stopped abruptly and snapped his head around toward the door. In a low whisper, he said, «Something with a lot of magic is coming straight at us.»

  «Probably Judge DeVail and that staff of hers.»

  He shook his head. «I don't think so.» Once more his brow furrowed in concentration, then he whispered, «Hide!»

  Much as I hated taking orders from a Clueless, the worry on Hezekiah's face suggested this was not the time for argument. Beside me stood a coat-tree with several bulky cloaks hanging from its hooks; I nipped behind it and quickly fanned out the cloaks so they'd conceal me without looking too unnatural. Given a little luck, none of the cloaks would turn me into a frog. Given a lot of luck, maybe one of the cloaks would make me invisible.

  I left a tiny gap in the arrangement of clothing, just enough to let me peek out with one eye. Hezekiah was nowhere to be seen, but I could hear him shuffling around outside my line of sight, no doubt burrowing into the jumble of souvenirs Guvner DeVail kept from her trips across the planes. After a few seconds, his scurrying stopped… and a good thing too, because half a second later, the door eased open with a creak.

  Two shadowed figures stood in the entranceway, both carrying cocked crossbows. They relaxed slowly as they scanned the room. «I told you,» whispered one of them, «I saw the old basher light out with some halfling. Right through the floor, she went.»

  The other only grunted. «Where do you think she keeps it?»

  «Try the desk first.»

  The one who just spoke stepped farther into the room, crossbow still at the ready. In the light from the oil lamp on the Guvner's desk, the intruder was tall and thin, with raggedly pointed ears and cat-like yellow eyes – a githzerai, and one that looked fiercer than usual, if that was possible. Sigil has a sizable population of githzerai, but I didn't know any personally. Their race prides itself on severity, and never spends its gold on indulgences like art; therefore, githzerai and I don't move in the same circles.

  As the githzerai moved toward DeVail's desk, the other intruder entered the spill of light from the lamp. I gulped hard to stop myself from gasping. This one had a face much like his githzerai companion, but his skin was as yellow as corn and his eyes like black marbles. Unless I was hallucinating, this was a githyanki: closely related to the githzerai race, but its bitter blood enemy.

  A githzerai and githyanki working together? That was like a fire sprite inviting a water elemental to dance the minuet. The two gith races hated each other with the purest of passions, killing one another on sight whenever they happened to meet. The only time the githzerai and githyanki had ever agreed on anything was when they declared genocidal war on each other.

  This had to be an illusion – a shapeshifting disguise. For all I knew these two might be gnome sorcerer-thieves, wearing an enchantment so they couldn't be identified as they looted this office. At least that made sense.

  The two laid their crossbows on the Guvner's desk and began rummaging through the drawers. From my angle I could only see the githzerai, and his body blocked my view of most of the desk. Still, I caught the occasional glimpse of him lifting up one scroll after another, unrollin
g a length to skim the contents, then discarding the parchment into a growing pile on the floor. The nonchalance of his actions made me wince – not just because of his disdain for scrolls that might carry priceless ancient knowledge, but at his lack of concern for magical consequences. Some scrolls don't allow themselves to be read and tossed away. They can have curses or booby-traps, even imprisoned monsters who leap forth to shred unwary pilferers. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't care if two thieves got themselves eaten; but I didn't want to be nabbed for dessert.

  Finally, the githyanki said, «This looks like it.»

  The githzerai dropped the scroll he was holding. «Dust?» he asked.

  «Yeah. She's even drawn a map.»

  «How convenient. Let's go.»

  The githyanki refolded the scroll he had found and tucked it inside his vest. Meanwhile, the githzerai picked up the oil lamp from DeVail's desk and held it above the mound of scrolls they had thrown on the floor. «By the time the old basher returns,» he said, «this place'll be burning as bright as downstairs. They'll think it's all part of the same blaze.»

  «Maybe,» his partner replied. «But Her Nibs told me to torch a few more offices so the Guvs aren't suspicious about this one. I've got a list of rooms that're empty.»

  The githzerai sniffed the air. «Once people smell smoke, they'll empty the whole building.»

  He picked up his crossbow and headed for the exit. In his hand, he still carried the lighted oil lamp. At the door, he waited while his partner peered out to check that the hall was clear. After a moment, the githyanki nodded. «Let's go.»

  The one with the lamp turned around in the doorway for one last look at the room. Then, curling his lip with disdain, he threw the lamp onto the stack of scrolls and slammed the door behind him.

  Both Hezekiah and I dove instantly from our hiding places to snuff out the flames. It was a close call – the parchments were old and dry, and paraffin oil had splashed about liberally as the lamp struck the floor. Fortunately, the glass lamp cracked but didn't break; and with the help of the cloaks from the coat-tree, we smothered the blaze before it got out of hand.

  «Who were those guys?» Hezekiah panted as we eased back from the mound of crispy-edged scrolls.

  «How should I know?» I replied. «Do you think I recognize every thug in Sigil?»

  «Just asking,» he shrugged. «What do we do now?»

  «Well, we could cool our heels chatting and see if the building burns down around us; or we could pike it out of here before we singe off our eyebrows. Do you have a preference?»

  Clueless though he was, Hezekiah opted for the sensible choice; and soon, we were blundering our way through the corridors of the court building, trying to find a way out.

  This wing was taken up with private offices for high-level Guvners, all of whom appeared to be elsewhere. While I had visited the public areas of the courts a few times, I had never come to this part of the building; and Hezekiah was no help in figuring out where we were, because he admitted he had teleported out of the rotunda, completely blind. It was sheer luck we hadn't materialized inside a solid wall.

  In time, we rounded a corner and saw a doorway down the hall, pouring out roils of black smoke. We approached cautiously, worried about bumping into our arsonist thieves, but reluctant to turn tail if someone inside needed our help. The door opened into a large room filled with row upon row of bookracks; and one shelf of the rack closest to us had been pierced by a flaming crossbow bolt.

  «Our friends from the office have been here,» I muttered, pointing at the arrow.

  «They're setting fire to a library?» Hezekiah cried in outrage. «That's criminal!»

  Despite the smoke, he charged forward, shouting, «We can still save most of the books!» Never mind that the rack where the fire-arrow had landed was almost completely ablaze. Never mind the stupidity of running into a room full of paper just before flames make it impossible to get back out the door. Hezekiah ran straight into the library like some duty-brained knight.

  «What do you think you're doing?» I yelled at him.

  «Only one set of shelves are burning,» he called, stepping into the gap between the blazing rack and the one behind it. «If we can separate these from the rest of the books…» His voice broke off as he inhaled a lungful of smoke and buckled over coughing.

  «Damn it, Hezekiah!» I took a step into the room, then stopped to ask myself what I was doing. If a Clueless nobody wanted to die playing hero, why should I risk my own hide to save him? I'd only known him for ten minutes, and they had been ten solid minutes of annoyance and terror. Granted, Hezekiah hadn't been responsible for the terror part; in fact, his teleport spell had saved my life…

  «Damn it,» I said again, and ran in after him, keeping low to stay out of the smoke.

  When I reached his side, he had struggled to his feet and was pushing weakly against the blazing bookrack. «Shove this rack forward against the wall,» he choked out, «then we shove the other racks back as far away as we can, so they don't catch fire.»

  «You're barmy!» I told him. «These shelves are loaded with books. They must weigh tons.» I hiked my hands under his armpits to steady him on his feet – the lungful of smoke had hit him hard. «The only thing we can do,» I said, «is run.»

  «No, we can save the books.» He squirmed away from me and planted his palms on one shelf of the bookrack – a strip of wood that had yet to catch fire. «I'm not going till we save the books.»

  He shoved the rack feebly, with no discernible effect. «Come on,» he gasped at me. «Help!»

  «Sure,» I replied. «Help. Well, I've never set myself on fire before. The other Sensates will be green with envy.»

  I could have chosen finesse. I could have chosen to treat the books with delicate reverence. But there was smoke everywhere, the rack and half its books were on fire, and I was past the point of subtlety. Our goal was to separate the blazing rack from the others. Trusting my boots to protect me for a few seconds, I stepped up onto a shelf of the rack that was on fire, planted my hands against the adjacent rack, and thrust with all my strength.

  The burning rack yielded first, tipping away under my heels to slam against the front wall of the room. A moment later, the other rack tipped backwards, boom into the rack behind it. That rack tipped too, and a third, and a fourth, boom, boom, boom, like dominoes, a ripple of one crash after another as the whole library toppled gracefully backward. The motion didn't even stop at the rear wall – when the final rack struck the plaster it kept on going, smashing a hole through the wall as big as a haycart.

  «We did it!» shouted Hezekiah.

  «You piking well did it, all right,» said a new voice. I looked up to see a burly Harmonium guard towering above me. He had his truncheon drawn and seemed aching to use it. «You two berks are under arrest,» he bellowed, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me to my feet. «And I truly hope you resist, because I'm in the mood to break some skulls. Got me?»

  «Oh good,» Hezekiah piped up. «I wanted to meet someone in the Harmonium so I could ask about your membership requirements.»

  I buried my face in my hands.

  2. THREE CONCERNED FACTOLS

  If you walk (or are dragged) into the main Harmonium guard barracks, the first thing you'll see is a ten-foot tall portrait of their leader, Factol Sarin… and wasn't I glad that I'd gotten on his good side by copying the folds on his neckerchief exactly. Of course, the Harmonium were such a bunch of hardcases, they wouldn't let me go just because I'd painted Factol Sarin from his best profile; but at least when they learned who I was, they stopped swinging their truncheons so recklessly near my skull.

  Half a battalion of guards escorted Hezekiah and me to separate interrogation rooms, and that was the last I saw of the boy for many hours. A sharp-eyed sergeant took my statement, seldom letting me say more than a sentence before interrupting with nitpicky questions. Of course, I told the exact truth, holding nothing back – I had no reason to hide anything I'd seen or done.
I dearly hoped Hezekiah was doing the same in his interrogation… not that he was likely to lie, but the idiotic Clueless might skip over important details in his hurry to start quizzing the guards about Harmonium philosophy. If he annoyed them too much, they might bash out his brains before he had a chance to corroborate my story.

  Even though the interrogation room had thick marble walls, they weren't thick enough to block out all the noise in the barracks that evening. Every minute or so, footsteps would race past the door outside; and several times an hour, I heard distant yelling, not clear enough for me to make out words, but with the tone of someone bellowing orders to subordinates. The sergeant interrogating me refused to share any news about how things had turned out at the courts, but judging by the barracks clamor, I guessed the attackers had escaped. Now the guards were scouring the city in search of the killers.

  After several hours, the sergeant exhausted his questions and left me locked in the room with a couple of watchful-eyed corporals. Clearly, the sergeant was not happy with my story – «A githyanki and githzerai working together… how addle-coved do you think I am?» – but he knew the time had come to find his commander and discuss what to do next. It wasn't every day that Sigil suffered a massacre in the Courts, and the investigation would surely fall under scrutiny from high places. The sergeant and everyone else in the Harmonium would move with the utmost caution to avoid legal slip-ups.

  Another hour passed… or at least what felt like an hour, cooped up with two Harmonium guards who were built like mountains and just about as talkative. They stood on either side of the door, arms folded across their chests and eyes glued on me, instantly ready to gut me with their swords if it looked like I intended to cast some nefarious spell. «I don't know any spells,» I snapped at them around the half-hour mark, when their rigid gazes had begun to get on my nerves. Of course, that only made them more suspicious.