Inej’s heart careened against her ribs. On the aerial swings, there was a moment when you let go of one and reached for the next, when you realised you’d made a mistake and you no longer felt weightless, when you simply started to fall.
The guards hauled her back through the prison gate. There were many more guards and many more guns pointed at her than the first time she’d come through this courtyard, when she’d stepped off the prison wagon with the rest of the crew. They passed through the mouth of the wolf and up the stairs, and dragged her down the walkway through the corridor with its giant glass enclosure. Nina had translated the banner for her: Fjerdan might. She’d smirked at that the first time she’d passed, gazing down at the tanks and weapons, one eye on Kaz and the others on the opposite walkway. She’d wondered what kind of men needed to display their strength to helpless captives in chains.
The guards were moving too fast. For the second time that night, Inej made herself stumble.
“Move,” the soldier snapped in Kerch, dragging her forwards. “You’re going too quickly.”
He gave her arm a hard shake. “Stop stalling.”
“Don’t you want to meet our inquisitors?” the other asked her. “They’ll get you talking.”
“But you won’t look so pretty after they’re through.”
They laughed, and Inej’s stomach turned. She knew they’d spoken in Kerch to make sure she understood.
She thought she might be able to take them, despite their guns and even without her knives. Her hands weren’t bound, and they still thought they had a disgraced prostitute on their hands. Heleen had called her a criminal, but to them, she was only a little thief in scraps of purple silk.
Just as she was considering making her move, she heard other footsteps headed their way. She saw the silhouettes of two more men in uniform striding towards them. Could she manage four guards on her own? She wasn’t sure, but she knew that if they left this corridor behind, it was all over.
She glanced again at the banner in the glass enclosure. It was now or never.
She hooked her leg around the ankle of the guard to her left. He pitched forwards, and she slammed her hand upwards, breaking his nose.
The other raised his gun. “You’re going to pay for that.” “You won’t shoot me. You need information.”
“I can shoot you in the leg,” he sneered, lowering his rifle.
Then he crumpled to the ground, a pair of beaten-up shears protruding from his back. The soldier standing behind him gave a cheery wave.
“Jesper,” she gasped in relief. “Finally.” “I’m here, too, you know,” said Wylan.
The guard with the broken nose moaned from the floor and tried to lift his gun. Inej gave him a good hard kick to the head. He didn’t move again.
“Did you manage to get hold of a big enough diamond?” Jesper asked.
Inej nodded and slipped the massive jewelled choker from her sleeve. “Hurry,” she said. “If Heleen hasn’t noticed it’s missing, she will soon.” Though with Black Protocol in effect there wasn’t much she could do about it.
Jesper snatched the choker from Inej’s hand, mouth agape. “Kaz said we needed a diamond. He didn’t tell you to steal Heleen Van Houden’s diamonds!”
“Just get to work.”
Kaz had given Inej two objectives: nab a big enough diamond for Jesper to work with and get herself into this corridor after eleven bells. There were plenty of other diamonds she could have stolen for their
purposes and other trouble she could have made to attract the guards’ attention. But it was Heleen she’d wanted to dupe. For all the secrets she’d gathered and documents she’d stolen and violence she’d done, it was Heleen Van Houden she’d needed to best.
And Heleen had made it easy. During the scuffle in the rotunda, Inej had made sure that she was too focused on being choked to worry about being robbed. After that, all of Heleen’s attention had been devoted to gloating. Inej only regretted that she wouldn’t be there to see Tante Heleen discover her prized necklace was missing.
Jesper lit a lantern and went to work beside Wylan. Only then did she see they were both covered in soot from their trip back down the prison incinerator shaft. They’d dragged two grubby coils of rope with them, too. While they worked, Inej barred the doors set into the arches on either side of the corridor. They had just a few minutes before another patrol came through and discovered a door that shouldn’t be locked.
Wylan had produced a long metal screw and what looked like the handle of a massive winch, and was attempting to rig them together to form what Inej hoped would be an ugly but functional drill.
A thump came from one of the doors. “Hurry,” Inej said.
“Saying that doesn’t actually make me work faster,” Jesper complained as he concentrated on the stones. “If I just break them down, they’ll lose their molecular structure. They have to be cut, carefully, the edges assembled into a single perfect drill bit. I don’t have the training
—”
“Whose fault is that?” put in Wylan, not looking up from his own work.
“Again, not helpful.”
Now the guards were pounding on the door. Across the enclosure, Inej saw men storming onto the other walkway, pointing and shouting. But they couldn’t very well shoot through two walls of bulletproof glass. The glass was Grisha made. Nina had recognised it as soon as they’d passed through the display – Fjerdan might protected by Grisha skill –
and the one thing harder than Fabrikator glass was diamond.
The doors on both sides of the walkway were rattling now. “They’re coming!” Inej said.
Wylan secured the diamond bit to the makeshift drill. It made a scraping sound as they placed it up against the glass, and Jesper began
turning the handle. The progress was painfully slow. “Is it even working?” Inej cried.
“The glass is thick!”
Something smashed into the door on their right. “They have a battering ram,” Wylan moaned.
“Keep going,” urged Inej. She toed off her shoes.
Jesper turned the crank faster as the drill bit whirred. He began to move it in a curving line, sketching the beginnings of a circle, then a half moon. Faster.
The wood of the door at the end of the walkway started to splinter. “Take the handle, Wylan!” Jesper shouted.
Wylan took his place, turning the drill as fast as he could.
Jesper grabbed the fallen guards’ guns and pointed them at the door. “They’re coming!” he yelled.
On the glass, the two lines met. The moon was full. The circle popped free, tipping inwards. It hadn’t even struck the floor before Inej was backing up.
“Out of the way!” she demanded.
Then she was running, her feet light, her silks like feathers. In this moment she didn’t mind them. She’d duped Heleen Van Houden. She’d taken a little piece of her away, a silly symbol, but one she prized. It wasn’t enough – it would never be enough – but it was a beginning. There would be other bawds to trick, slavers to fool. Her silks were feathers, and she was free.
Inej focused on that circle of glass – a moon, an absence of moon, a door to the future – and she leaped. The hole was barely big enough for her body, she heard the soft swish as the sharp glass rim sliced through the silks she trailed. She arced her body and reached. She would have only one opportunity to grab for the iron lantern that hung from the ceiling of the enclosure. It was an impossible leap, a mad leap, but she was once again her father’s daughter, unbound by the rules of gravity. She hung in the air for a terrifying moment, and then her hands grasped the lantern’s base.
Behind her, she heard the door in the walkway burst open, gunfire.
Hold them off, Jesper. Buy me time.
She swung back and forth, building momentum. A bullet zinged past her. Accident? Or had someone made it past Wylan and Jesper to shoot at her through the hole?
When she had enough momentum, she let go. She hit the wall hard. There was no graceful way around it, but her hands clung to the lip of the stone ledge where the ancient axes were displayed. From there it was easy: ledge to beam to lower ledge, and down with a dull clang as her bare feet struck the roof of a massive tank. She slid into the metal dome at its centre.
She turned one knob then the next, trying to find the right controls. Finally one of the guns rolled upwards. She pulled on the trigger, and her whole body shook as bullets rattled against the enclosure glass like hail, pinging off in all directions. It was the best warning she could offer Jesper and Wylan.
Inej could only hope she could get the big gun working. She wriggled down in the cockpit of the tank. She rotated the only visible handle, and the nose of the long gun tilted into place. The lever was there, just as Jesper had said it would be. She gave it a hard pull. There was a surprisingly small click. Then, for a long horrible moment, nothing happened. What if it isn’t loaded? she thought. If Jesper’s right about this gun, then the Fjerdans would be fools to keep this much firepower just lying around.
A thunk sounded from somewhere in the tank. She heard something rolling towards her and had the terrifying thought that she’d done it wrong. The mortar was going to roll right down that long barrel and explode in her lap. Instead there was a hissing sound and a shriek like metal grinding against metal. The big gun vibrated. A skull-rattling boom split the air with a puff of dark grey smoke.
The mortar struck the glass, shattering it into thousands of glittering pieces. Prettier than diamonds, Inej marvelled, hoping that Wylan and Jesper had found time and space to take cover.
She waited for the dust to clear, her ears ringing badly. The glass wall was gone. All was still. Then two ropes attached to the walkway rail swung down, and Wylan and Jesper followed: Jesper like a limber insect, Wylan in stops and starts, wiggling like a caterpillar trying to make its way out of a cocoon.
“Ajor!” Inej shouted in Fjerdan. Nina would be proud.
She cranked the gun around. On the other side of the remaining glass wall, men were shouting from the walkway. As the barrel swivelled in their direction, they scattered.
Inej heard footsteps and clanging as Jesper and Wylan climbed onto the tank. Jesper’s head appeared, hanging down from the dome. “You letting me drive?”
“If you insist.”
She moved aside so he could climb behind the controls.
“Oh, hello, darling,” he said happily. He pulled another lever, and the armoured wagon seemed to shudder to life around them, belching black smoke. What kind of monster is this? Inej wondered.
“That noise!” she cried.
“That engine!” cackled Jesper.
Then they were moving – and not a horse in sight.
Gunfire sounded from above. Apparently, Wylan had found the controls.
“For Saints’ sake,” Jesper said to Inej. “Help him aim!”
She squeezed in next to Wylan in the domed turret and aimed the second small gun, helping to lay down cover as guards burst into the enclosure.
Jesper was turning the tank, backing up as far as possible. He fired the big gun once. The mortar smashed the enclosure glass, sailed past the walkway, and struck the ringwall behind it. White dust and shards of stone scattered everywhere. He fired again. The second mortar hit hard, cracks splintering through the rock of the wall. Jesper had made a dent in the ringwall – a sizeable one – but not a hole.
“Ready?” he called.
“Ready,” Inej and Wylan replied in unison. They ducked beneath the gun turret. Wylan had scratches from the glass all over his cheeks and neck. He was beaming. Inej grabbed his hands and squeezed. They’d come to the Ice Court scurrying like rats. Live or die, they were going out like an army.
Inej heard a loud thunk, the plunk and clang of gears turning. The tank roared; the sound was thunder trapped in a metal drum, clamouring to be let out. It rolled back on its treads, then surged forwards. They charged ahead, building momentum, faster and faster. The tank jounced – they must be out of the enclosure.
“Hold tight!” shouted Jesper and they slammed into the Ice Court’s legendary, impenetrable wall with a jaw-shattering crash. Inej and Wylan flew back against the cockpit.
They were through. They rumbled over the road, the smatter and pop of rifle fire fading behind them.
Inej heard a chuffing noise. She righted herself and looked up. Wylan was laughing.
He’d pushed out of the niche of the dome and was looking back at the Ice Court. When she joined him, she saw the hole in the ringwall – a dark blot in all that white stone, men running through, firing futilely at the tank’s dusty wake.
Wylan clutched his middle, still snorting laughter, and pointed downwards. Trailing behind them was a banner, caught in the tank’s treads. Despite the smears of mud and gunpowder burns, Inej could still make out the words: STRYMAKTFJERDAN. Fjerdan might.
