Engines and werewolves

Chapter 68

Andre stays on his feet for a couple of breaths, weaving like a drunk. His eyes find mine again, and there’s nothing in them but bewildered pain, as though he doesn’t understand how this happened. Then he coughs, and blood coats his teeth and dribbles down his chin. He falls, first to his knees and then facedown on the deck, and goes still.

I take another step back, letting my armor fade, the air wonderfully cool on my superheated skin. My breath is ragged, and my side feels like it’s been shredded, but I manage to turn to face the officers’ box. I can’t find Malvel in the crowd anymore.

The rage on the Butcher’s face is easy to see. The Imperial girl smiles and licks her lips, as though she’s seen something appetizing. The big warrior, who’d spoken to start the duel, gets to his feet.

“Victoria Deepwalker. Your challenge has been witnessed.” He nods, gravely. “Pack Nine is yours.”

* * *

For once, I manage to stay on my feet after a fight, though it’s a near-run thing.

Whatever custom kept the crowd out of the Ring while the fight was in progress apparently doesn’t apply once it’s over, because the spectators vault the wall and crowd around. The air is full of excited shouting in a dozen languages, young crew in the outfits of the officers’ clades mixing with scavengers and civilians. Objects were changing hands—bits of dyed crab shell, collected on long strings. Money, I realize, or what passes for it here. Of course they were betting on my life or death.

A group of younger girls pushes their way through the crowd to Andre’s body. Once they lift it, people make way for them. His blood patters to the deck as they bear him away, and one arm dangles limply. I wonder what they’ll do with him.

“Victoria!”

I have only a moment to brace before Malvel is on top of me, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me close. I feel hypersensitive, as though every nerve in my body had been scraped raw. There’s pain from my burns, the dull ache of exhaustion in my muscles, the twinges from old bruises. The slam of my heart against my ribs, slowing down from its galloping pace, and the rasp of breath in my lungs. Malvel, pressed tight to me, the frizz of her hair on my chin, the shape of her body against my own. The smell of blood, sweat, and burnt flesh.

She must have said something, because the next thing I know she’s peering at my face in concern.

“Victoria, can you hear me? Do you need to go to sister collins?”

“I’m all right.” I can barely hear myself over the noise of the crowd. They’re all around me but hesitate to come too close, leaving me and Malvel in the middle of a small, empty space. “Are you…”

She nods. I notice for the first time that she’s leaning on me to stay up, her broken leg still splinted. Belvia is standing at the edge of the circle, holding a leather-topped crutch.

“I think we need somewhere to sit down,” I tell her.

But where do we go now? I crane my head, looking for the officers’ platform and trying to find Olite. The chairs are empty, except for the City of bangad boy with the glasses, who’s watching the crowd with an amused expression. I spot the big warrior talking to some crew, but the others are lost in the mob. There’s no sign of the Butcher.

“Fresh meat no longer!” Someone steps into the circle. It’s Jose, tall and slim, wearing a fey grin. “Victoria Pack-Leader, now. Victoria Deepwalker. And beautiful Malvel, of course.” She bows. “Olite has sent me to fetch you from this mess, if you require fetching.” She c***s her head. “Do you? Or would you rather bask in your glory a little longer?”

“I’ve basked plenty,” I tell her, and Malvel nods agreement. She reaches out to Belvia, who hands over the crutch. I stay close behind her, ready to grab her if she falls, but she’s surprisingly adept.

Jose moves her hands like she’s parting a curtain, and the crowd opens up in front of her, the crew once again giving her a wide berth. She laughs delightedly and leads us down the narrow corridor.

“Make way!” she says. “Make way for the fearsome Deepwalker and Clever Jose!”

Outside the Ring, we reach clear streets and Jose directs us to the tower where I’d first awoken. I’m expecting to return to the chambers where I met Olite, but we go in a different door, and then through a curtained doorway off a long corridor. It leads to a large, nearly empty room, with three more doorways at the back. A rickety wooden table and a pair of elaborately carved chairs are the only furnishings.

“Where are we?” I ask Jose, when she turns and spreads her arms in a grand gesture.

“Why, the quarters of the illustrious Pack Nine!” she says. “Only the best for the latest and most deadly of Olite’s hunters.”

“Quarters here?” Belvia says, from behind us. “In the Upper Stations?”

“As I said,” Jose said. “Olite is a generous master.”

“I thought…,” Malvel says, looking at me.

“I’ll explain in a minute.” I look at Jose. “It’s done, then? Between Olite and the Butcher?”

She nods. “Yes, I believe it is. My master can tell you more. I’ll go and find him, if you don’t mind. He asked to be summoned when you were comfortably ensconced.” She turns to Belvia, then back to me. “I understand there is one more member of your merry company?”