“I would like you to consider what will happen when a fortress made entirely of stone gets very hot. And begins to break.”
Shane had a marvelously carrying voice. Someone in the crowd began to wail.
“You can stay if you like,” the paladin said, “but I wouldn’t.” He set the man down, turned, and said, at a volume better suited to a parade ground than an enclosed hallway, “Remain calm! Form orderly lines! Assist those who require aid!”
To Marguerite’s absolute astonishment, the panicked milling subsided somewhat. Shane pointed.
“You there! You’re a military man, aren’t you?”
The man’s back was as straight as an arrow and he ripped off a perfect salute, despite wearing a nightcap and gown. “Sir! Sergeant-at-Arms Kettler, formerly of the Fightin’ Fifteenth, sir!”
“Good. You are in charge of this hallway. Make certain that everyone gets out of their rooms.
Deputize anyone who can keep their head to lead groups to the stairs in an orderly fashion.
Understood?”
“Sir!” Another picture-perfect salute, which Shane returned. The paladin came striding through the crowd, and took up his position at the front of the group again. Behind them, Kettler’s voice rose, ordering people to form those lines and stop shoving.
“What the hell did I just watch?” Davith asked Marguerite.
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
“If I tried to do that, those people would kill and eat me!”
“He’s really good at the voice,” Marguerite said.
The crowd thinned out substantially as they went. Marguerite steered them toward the stairs used to move deliveries between levels, rather than the broader set used by those guests who chose not to take the lifts. I don’t even want to think about what the approach to the lifts looks like right now.
There were two more guards stationed ahead, who hadn’t left their post. Marguerite slowed a little, not liking the suspicious way they eyed the group.
“There’s a fire,” said Shane.
“Good to know,” said the one on the right. The one on the left grunted. Neither of them budged.
“We’re taking the stairs down,” said Shane.
“Not these stairs,” said the one on the right. The one on the left was looking past them. There was an expectant edge to his gaze that set off Marguerite’s internal alarms.
She turned, saw three men approaching, and inhaled sharply…and then wished very strongly that she hadn’t.
A smell was flowing through the corridor like nothing she had ever experienced in her life. It was like rotten eggs and rancid meat and burning feathers had compared notes and come up with something that combined the most extraordinary parts of all three.
Also, for some reason, pumpkin.
The three men slowed. One doubled over and began to enthusiastically rid himself of his dinner.
The other two staggered against the walls, wiping at their eyes. However strong the smell was at this end of the hall, Marguerite guessed that it was substantially worse at their end.
“What the hell is that?” Davith choked, flinging an arm over his face.
And then, to her absolute astonishment, she heard Shane laughing.
Marguerite turned back in time to see Shane lowering the lefthand guard to the floor, head lolling to one side. The righthand guard would probably have protested, but Wren had stepped up very close to him, holding her axe in an odd, low grip. “Do you have any children?” she asked pleasantly.
The guard swallowed hard. He seemed to be standing on his toes. “N-no, ma’am.”
“Would you like to be able to?”
“Yes’m.”
“Good answer.”
Shane waved Marguerite and Davith down the stairs. Marguerite plunged downward, gulping fresher air with great relief. Wren joined them a moment later, wrinkling her nose. “That smell is getting worse. What the hell is it?”
“I believe it is a cynocephalic perfume,” said Shane.
“A what?”
“Lady Silver is a member of a dog-headed race. I smelled one of her perfumes when I visited her, and it was remarkably similar.” He shook his head, smile growing. “If she were to smash a concentrated vial, I imagine it would have much the same effect.”
Marguerite glanced over her shoulder, as if somehow she would be able to see the spreading clouds of scent. “I wonder if the smoke was a perfume too. That would be a lot safer.”
“I certainly hope so.” Shane’s smile faded. “I hope that it isn’t traced back to her. I can’t imagine that anyone would be happy about it.”
“From what little I know of the lady,” said Marguerite, “I suspect that she’ll have taken precautions. Lady Silver isn’t known for any intrigues whatsoever…and after a certain point, that lack begins to indicate almost superhuman skill.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Have faith,” said Marguerite, and was rewarded with a startled smile.
They reached the next level down, which smelled of laundry and scrubbing powder. The alarm clearly hadn’t reached this far yet. A pair of women appeared in the doorway, holding baskets of laundry. Judging by their expressions, they had not expected to encounter people carrying quite large weapons.
One shrieked and dropped her basket. The other, made of sterner stuff, narrowed her eyes and said, “I don’t know what you’re doing here and I don’t want to know, but if you keep moving, no one will hear about it from me.”
Shane inclined his head gravely. “Thank you, madam.”
Not to be outdone, Davith swept off his hat and bowed so low that the plume touched the stairs.
“Your discernment is matched only by your beauty, O Queen of Washerwomen—”
Marguerite reached over, seized him by the ear, and pulled. “Enough of that. We’ve got places to be.”
“Ow…ow…ow…”
“Do you want me to let Shane do this instead?”
“He’s taller so it probably wouldn’t hurt as much!”
The next two floors were servant quarters and had the determined silence of people who only had a narrow window of time in which to sleep and were not going to waste any of it.
They were halfway to the next level when Shane paused and held up a hand.
“Problem?” asked Wren softly.
“People coming down the stairs. Fast.” He started down the steps again, setting a much quicker pace.
“Evacuating?”
“I don’t think so.” He shot a quick glance back at Marguerite. “Fighting on the stairs heavily favors the higher ground.”
Marguerite grimaced. “Next floors are storage. We may be able to hide?”
“I dislike being cornered.”
“Go down one more,” said Davith abruptly. “There’s a separate stair in the back on that floor.”
Shane gave him a deeply suspicious look. Davith rolled his eyes. “Will you just trust me? They’re going to kill me too, you know!”
The paladin looked to Marguerite, his opinion stamped clearly across his face. I don’t trust him, but you are in charge.
And to think that I used to find the man hard to read… Aloud she said, “We don’t have much to lose.”