Song of the Dragoons

"So," said Grace. "How are we going to do this? We're out in the open here, so I doubt we'll be able to break in the front unless we wait around until nightfall."

My eyes scanned around the hall in front of us. I could see how Grace's attention would be drawn to the grand front entrance, but she was right. We'd never get in undetected that way, especially if the alchemists and chasseurs had guards of their own on the inside. But it wasn't the only way in. I tilted my head back, looking up at the upper levels.

"The carts," I said, pointing at the line that the metal vessels descended from. "Those windows are open. If we can just go up the cable instead of down, they'd never expect an infiltration from that direction."

Grace leaned over me, glancing to where the workers were taking the carts as they landed and leading them off to wherever they belonged. "That doesn't look too discreet either," she said. "Plus, we'll never be able to all fit in one cart, so we'd need to go up one at a time. Which would be slow. And obvious."

Ingo tapped his cane against the ground with a grimace. "How big are these carts?" he asked.

"About…uh…." Grace mimed a box before awkwardly realising her error. "About four feet on a side, looks like."

Ingo shook his head. "If they are also full of cargo, I doubt most of us would fit in them to begin with, then. Not without pouring them out first."

"I could fit," I said.

Grace raised an eyebrow. I could tell she knew where I was going with this.

"I'd just need a distraction so I could hop in and pull the thing up," I continued. "I'll scout ahead, then I can drop a rope from one of the windows, somewhere that the rest of you can get to without drawing as much attention."

"What do I do?" asked Walter.

I bent my neck down to look at him more directly. "You've done enough," I said. "You just find somewhere nearby to stay until we're through with this. We'll find you afterward. I've got something I want to talk to you about then."

Yura scratched his beard, frowning at my suggestion. "Are you certain? That seems very dangerous for you. What if you get spotted while you're alone?"

"This is the entire reason I wanted to come, remember?" I said. "I'm the best in the flight at sneaking around, and with you three not wearing armour, I'm also the toughest here by leaps and bounds. I won't get seen, but if I am, I can handle a fight on my own. I did at the castle, I can do it again here."

Grace shook her head. "I'm not sure about this plan," she said. "But…you're the flight captain, Belfry. If you're sure it's best…."

"I'm confident," I asserted with a firm nod. "All I need is a distraction to give me the opportunity."

Ingo cracked his knuckles loudly. "We can do that," he said. "Just be quick about this. I would like us to all get into the hall before the guards arrive."

He walked off first, with Yura close behind and Grace following along after giving me one more nervous glance. I tried to smile to reassure her. I really was confident I could do this. It couldn't be much harder to get into than the monastery on the mountain, and the only reason we got spotted there was Grace deciding she knew better than me, and this time I'd be alone. After Walter scampered off somewhere farther away, I slunk through the square, keeping close to the border until I arrived at an alley closer to where the carts were landing.

I quickly lost sight of the others as they passed around the other side of the hall. I always hated this part of jobs. The wait was agonising, especially if I was alone. And now, I was alone in a way I hadn't been in weeks. I still couldn't stop myself from thinking about the Fiend's disappearance, even without having learned anything new to ponder or guess at. After a while, I started counting the bricks in the walls around me, just to give my mind something to focus on other than theories and mysteries.

Like everywhere else in the district, it was difficult to make out where one brick began and ended, caked as they were in soot and grime. The ones here were riddled with small holes and imperfections, maybe caused by some caustic chemical floating in the smoke vented from the alchemists' hall. Hopefully none of us would get too badly sickened by the air here if we left soon.

But amidst all the damage, there was one tiny part on the lower edge of the wall that caught my attention. Beneath the ash, there was a clear outline of a circle, with some kind of indentation in the middle. It was little more than a curiosity, the slight anomaly of a recognisable shape, but I had time to kill, so I brushed the dirt away with my tail.

Beneath, filling a shallow engraving on the wall, was a circle in dark reddish-brown—the colour of aged blood. Inside, an intricate series of glyphs, painted with such thin lines so as to fit in the small circle, were drawn with the same tone. A line traced away from the square at the glyph's side, and a second line went down, into a pinhole in the street that I hadn't noticed until I followed the line. It was too dark and far too small for me to see the bottom, but it was clearly carved by magic, being perfectly straight and narrower than any other tool could manage.

This must have been one of the markings the others had reported in the Old Quarter. But why were they up here, too? Was the body of the ritual circle wherever that pinhole led? My mind spun, trying to think of answers. If only I knew the meaning of those glyphs….

A shout came from the square, and I jerked my head up and pressed against the wall. I snaked my neck forward, looking just barely past the bricks to try and see what was going on.

The workers handling the carts had all left. Most of them seemed to have gone to join a crowd that surrounded a carriage painted in bright whites and reds that starkly contrasted with the colour of the district. The horse had stalled before the crowd, and the driver was quickly pulled from his seat before he could grab whatever weapon he reached to his side for. Someone passed a crowbar forward, and the door was pried open. A man, screaming useless pleas for whatever guards may be near, was hauled from inside and thrown to the ground. He was clearly a priest by his vestments, but that didn't afford him any respect from the mob. Shouts erupted from them as they corralled the priest, some demanding water, others rain, and some saying something about crime. One woman with a faded leather hat could be heard over the rest, her voice carrying like a commander's. "Where are our children, you worthless blood-drinker!?" she screamed at the fallen priest.

Others nearby turned their attention to the growing brawl. Some simply spectated, while a few went to join the crowd. I didn't see any guards or hear the sound of metal boots on the stone streets yet, so unless some civilians came to break up the fight, I doubted the priest would survive for much longer after the first worker brought down the crowbar.

«Was that you?» I whispered to Grace through our bond.

«No, that lady beat us to it,» she said. «What do we do?»

I glanced at the mob. There were no eyes on the line, and whoever had been sending the carts down seemed to have stopped once the commotion began.

«I'm going in,» I said. «You three make sure none of the people here get hurt. I don't know how long it'll take for the guards to get here.»

«So you're just going to be completely alone?» said Grace. I could here the waver in her voice, even mentally. «Are you sure?»

«It'll be easier to stay unseen alone anyway,» I said. «I did this at the castle too. I can handle it. I promise.»

Grace didn't answer, but I still felt her sense of unease. I shook my head. It would be fine. I knew it would be. I just had to trust in the skills that had gotten me through the last five years.

I hopped into one of the carts. This one was halfway-filled with glass bottles containing some kind of brownish liquid that spilled all over the bottom when my weight crushed most of the bottles. Thankfully, my scales were too tough for the glass to cut me to shreds, though whatever chemical was inside them made me itch wherever it touched me. I flipped over onto my back, keeping my hind legs and tail beneath the wall of the cart, and reached my hands up to begin pulling the cart up the incline.

I felt the strain quickly. It was like trying to climb a rope, except the rope was slick with oil, and I only had use of my hands. Keeping the cart from sliding backwards meant I constantly had to work against the weight of myself, plus the metal body of the cart and all the liquid I had spilled. The itch from that liquid soon turned into a burn, too. It must have been something acidic, probably for refining ore or something like that. I picked up the pace as much as I physically could.

As soon as the cart levelled out and I saw the window pass over me, I rolled over and stood up. I was in a long room with stacks of these metal carts all along the walls, opposite shelves containing bottles filled with tinctures, solutions, and powders, all of the same black-grey-white-brown colour scheme. Three doors led out, two of which had been left hanging open. Next to the one closed door, miraculously the one right next to the window I just entered through, stood a woman with thick eyeglasses and a distinct purple vest over her shirt. She didn't seem to notice me as she fretted with a lock on the door, going through a ring of keys one at a time.

I took a moment to crouch down and tense my legs before I pounced. I tackled the woman to the ground, immediately clamping one hand over her mouth and nose as I wrapped my hind legs and tail around her torso to keep her from flailing and making too much noise. She let out muffled screams and frantically kicked, stomping on my tail again and again. Thankfully, she lost strength before she could stomp on one of my needles hard enough for it to go through her shoe and poison her. Her screams slowed and then silenced, and her eyes fluttered closed. I let my hand go from her mouth, hovering over her for just a moment more to make sure it wasn't an act before finally uncoiling myself and propping the woman's unconscious body up against the wall.

I snatched her ring of keys before letting myself out of the room. The door led onto a balcony that wrapped around the upper level of an enormous central hall. Apart from looking like a cathedral, this place was also structured like one, with a grand nave that stretched all the way up to the high pitched ceiling and rooms going off from the sides. Unlike a cathedral, however, the nave was occupied by what appeared to be long dining tables, leaving me to assume that the side rooms must be whatever laboratories this place housed. Those tables were filled with people, all wearing the same purple vests as that woman, and all glancing nervously at the huge doors.

"Brawl!" someone shouted. "There's a brawl on the square! They're killing someone!"

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A chorus of murmurs echoed through the room. Some stood, warily look around as though searching for exits. One person, the only one in the room wearing a long coat over their vest, beckoned a space beneath the balcony. "Joseph, Uma, secure the square," they ordered. From the shadows, two chasseurs suddenly emerged into the room and headed for the doors.

«There's chasseurs coming your way,» I said to Grace. «Two of them. Be careful.»

«At least we know for sure that Wymond wasn't lying,» she responded. «We'll stay safe. You do the same.»

I nodded as though she could see me, and glanced around at my options. It seemed like most everyone was down at the tables right then, which was good as long as I didn't need to go down there myself. Annoyingly, most of the doors accessible via the balcony looked nearly identical to each other. Still, some of them had been carelessly left open by the alchemists, and a single glance in any of them confirmed my suspicions. They were laboratories, most of them quite similar to one another. All had tables and desks covered in flasks and instruments to heat, cool, or stir whatever they put in those flasks, alongside some freestanding structures like aludels and small furnaces. A couple had huge athanor furnaces, which were attached to piping that must be where most of the smoke pouring out of the top of the hall came from.

The only difference was a set of double doors at the balcony's centre, opposite the entrance to the hall. They were a little larger than the others, though no more ornately-designed. Still, they were about the only difference that stood out to me as worth immediate investigation. I scuttled forward, keeping low to the ground until I reached the doors, and pulled out my lock-picking set.

Rather than risk damaging the lock by forcing it open with picks, I instead felt the contours of the interior, before withdrawing the picks and searching through the key ring for just the right one to fit the lock. When I inserted it, though, it refused to turn, and magic circles briefly flashed red on the door's surface before fading again.

Damn it, I thought to myself. Not this again. Last time it had taken great concentration just to harness the magic needed to break the warding spell without the Fiend's help. With it gone, I'd need to go through all that again, and burn a lot of my blood in the process just to get inside. I put the key back in, holding it at the edge of where the ward allowed it to turn to force the circle to appear again. It was far more complex-looking than the simple, quick one the cadaver had made in the castle, too. Who knew if I even had the potential to break it without knocking myself out from blood loss?

No, the safer, stealthier way would be to find a path around. But how?

I looked all around at the other doors, then finally up. The pitched ceiling extended up to a third level that was composed only of rafters that crossed back and forth over the hall. They were clearly structural, but at the edges there was a path next to some of the upper windows. It must have been used by the builders, and was probably left in case the roof needed repairs. It didn't extend over any of the side rooms, but if there was a path around the windows on the outside, I might be able to get in this secret room that way. Surely they didn't ward against infiltrators coming in from outside, right? Not this high up, they couldn't have.

I took another glance down at all the people in the hall. They had their eyes fixed firmly on the door as the chasseurs went out of the building, then set to murmuring amongst themselves, worrying about what could be going on outside. They were distracted, but also on edge. I had to be absolutely silent to avoid drawing any attention.

I looked up at the rafters, orienting myself towards one closest to me, above the balcony so that on the off chance I fell, it wouldn't be for two storeys and directly in front of the enemy. Just like I had when I pounced earlier, I crouched down and tensed my legs, then I leaped.

Then I remembered midair that I didn't have wings right then.

I had gotten so used to being a dragon that I had expected my wings to give me a boost. Without them, I only barely managed to touch the rafter. Instead of letting myself fall and trying a different method, though, I instinctively wrapped my fingers around it, swinging for a second as I strengthened my grip.

A sharp pain stabbed into my shoulders, and I had to force myself to mute the small gasp I let out. I was reminded that even though my arms had a wider range of motion than most things with four legs, I still wasn't built to be hanging from my front limbs like this. I tried to pull myself up, but my torso couldn't curl inward and my hind legs couldn't stretch high enough to get me onto the rafter.

I had to take the slow, painful route. Bit by bit, I pulled myself up, loosening my grip and drawing one arm up and around the wooden board, then holding fast while I lifted the other. It took less than a minute, but it was an agonising process. Finally I was high enough that I could lay my neck across the board for extra leverage, then swing once to build up momentum before twisting around all at once to get all four legs under me. I stayed still, panting and getting my strength back while I scanned the faces below to see if any had noticed my botched climb.

None of them screamed about an intruder or pointed my way, so it looked like I was clear. I stayed on my belly as I crawled forward across the precarious bridges in front of me, both to anchor myself and avoid falling, and to keep a low profile. Less I need to conceal this way, I thought to myself. I guess it's probably for the best that I don't have wings right now. I took another look at the precipitous fall that awaited me if I made a misstep. Probably.

Taking my time at a crawl, getting to the walkway by the windows was easy. These windows weren't stained glass, either; they were clearly pure utility, to let sunlight into the hall so the alchemists didn't need to light a hundred candles and risk an apocalyptic blaze in the district if anything went wrong. The circular frame had an easily-identifiable hinge and a small lever release that clicked open at my touch, unlocked. I slowly swung it open, wary of the creaking sound the old hinge let out into the echoing hall, before darting out onto the roof.

As I had hoped, the window exited directly out onto a narrow, narrow ledge that wrapped around the upper level of the hall, just below where the roof tilted into an extreme pitch covered with fitted slate slabs. I had to press myself up against the wall, feeling all the pointy bits of decoration digging into my hide, in order to stay balanced. The wind had been deathly still all day, but up this high, I could now feel a stiff cold breeze from the north. Not enough to shake my footing; just enough to threaten to do so.

I inched forward. As I did, I looked down at the square. There was enough of a vertical gap that the thick smog on the ground kept it from being fully within my view, but my superior vision still allowed me to make out the major details. It looked like the priest had been hurled to the ground away from the carriage, not moving. Dead, probably. The mob had moved to shout at the chasseurs approaching from around the side of the hall, apparently uncowed by their intimidating demeanour. There was a flash of motion nearby. I felt a sense of resolve through the bond, and a gunshot rang out as what I assumed must have been Grace bashed into the chasseur's side, knocking their aim into the ground before they could fire on the civilians.

My heart filled up with worry, but I didn't want to distract her by interrogating her for details while she was in a fight. The best I could do was keep going, and make sure their distraction paid off. I crept around the rear of the hall, away from the towering frontal façade. I had a better view of the hall's decorations from up here, especially the grotesque gargoyles that dotted the roof. Oddly, many of them were out of sight from anywhere but up here, and several clung to sloped buttresses or hung from jutting spikes rather than sitting on corners and overlooking the building, as was the tradition for cathedrals. I wondered if their positioning was supposed to mean something symbolic, or if it was just an inscrutable design choice from the architect.

The small ledge kept going all the way around the hall, but I stopped at the dead centre of the rear side, in front of another simple circular window. I peered in, taking in what I could of the room inside through the glass heavily stained by grime. From what I could tell, it didn't look like an office or a laboratory. More like a ritual chamber or something, with a circle outlined in the centre.

The lever for these windows worked on both sides, thankfully, making it easy enough to snap this one into place and swing it open. I hopped down into the empty room, alighting quietly before the circle. Now that I was past the glass, I could tell that the circle wasn't a ritual circle. It looked more like a platform, a piece of stone cut out of the rest of the floor with a large metal lever attached to the ground beside it. Maybe I was a lift? If so, where did it go?

I could see the warding spell engraved on the back of the door, with several reddish candles linked to it, constantly burning the blood mixed into their wax for a steady supply of vis. Apart from that, though, the room seemed more like it was dedicated to storage. There were shelves to the left and right, both holding more blood candles. Everything else on them seemed very out of place for a typical alchemists' laboratory, though. There was an array of instruments, some familiar but most not, consisting of bloodstained blades, odd dagger-shaped weapons that had a hole in the tip and a plunger at the pommel like a syringe, a collection of bones of all different shapes and sizes, and rows upon rows of vials filled with a purplish-red liquid. Suspicious, I grabbed one, popping the cork out and smelling the contents. It was wretchedly sweet, a scent I now recognised. It was that "royal blood" stuff.

That sent so many questions flying through my head. How did royal blood relate to the chasseurs? It was clearly corrupting, but the chasseurs didn't seem to show any of the same signs of corruption that had happened to the Pure Serpent. Maybe it was something they were simply harvesting? And what about all these bones? Most of them were the wrong size to be human, and the skulls were monstrous. Yet they were all pristine, harvested without breakage, so whatever monster they belonged to must not have gotten into an intense fight before it died.

I heard the sound of stone tapping against stone above me. I immediately whipped around, claws up, ready to fight. But there wasn't any movement. Not anymore, at least. Yet in the window, one of the gargoyles had suddenly appeared. It stood stock still, as though it had always been there, its feline head, far too big for the rest of its body, twisted into a maniacal grin as it levelled its stone stare at me.

As a test, I turned away to put the vial back, and turned back as soon as I heard another click. The gargoyle in the window had moved, crawled several feet down the wall before stopping, suspended as though its claws were fused with the stone. Another one had taken its place in the window, this one with the face of a rotting human, beckoning its thin hand towards me.

I backed away, matching their stares with my own as I tried to go over everything I knew about constructs. I didn't see any glyphs on their bodies, so they must be possessed by spirits. That explained why they only moved when I couldn't see them; it was probably some weird rule the spirit followed. It also meant that they would almost certainly be far, far stronger and tougher than their tiny limbs suggested.

«I've got a problem,» I said to Grace, hoping that now wasn't a bad time.

«So do we!» I heard back. Her voice sounded frantic.

«What's going on?» I asked, priority immediately switching as soon as I heard her distress. «I heard a gunshot, are you hurt?»

«Not yet,» said Grace. «The chasseurs tried to shoot the civilians, but we got their attention and are leading them away from the square. We can't get to you now. You need to get out!»

I couldn't afford to turn around and test the door, but it was a safe assumption that it was sealed from this side too. Every time I blinked, the gargoyles moved a few inches closer, and a few seconds later, a third one appeared in the window. I'd never be able to get past, not without risking getting torn apart. Especially with the advantage in numbers they had.

«I don't have great options to get out,» I said. «I'm pinned down.»

I could see the lift in my peripheral vision. Realistically, it was the only way out of this room short of breaking a wall down, which would just set all the alchemists and their guards on me. Wherever it led, it would at least take me away from here.

«It looks like the only way out is through,» I said.

«Are you insane!?» Grace shouted, before taking a second to reel in her anger. «Belfry, no. You can't go any deeper into that place alone! What if you run into even more chasseurs? They'll kill you!»

I took furtive steps forward until I was on the lift, barely a foot away from the nearest gargoyle. I forced my eyes open, holding back blinking as I felt for the lever. «Grace, I don't have time to argue this point,» I said. «There are three ways out of this room, and one of them is impossible, and another will definitely get me killed if I use it. The only way left is the third. You focus on staying alive.»

«Belfry!» said Grace. «Damn it all, come on! We're a team for a reason!»

I sighed in frustration as my hand found the lever. «You're the one who's always rushing into things and taking reckless risks. I thought you'd be excited to learn secrets about our enemy.»

«Not when it's you taking the risk,» Grace protested. «I thought you would have seen that by now.»

«Same goes for me when you do stupid things that could get you killed!» I shot back. «You care about me, and I care about you, and we're both just going to be scared when the other takes risks, that's how this works.» I heaved, slamming the lever down. Gears and cranks in the walls crunched into motion, and the platform descended into a long, dark tunnel in the floor. I kept my head tilted back, with my eye on the gargoyles.

«But sometimes we need to take risks anyway,» I continued. «Trust me on this. Please.»

«Fine,» said Grace. Her voice sounded weary. «Just…stay alive.»

«I'll try.»