Why doesn’t he have his espringal out? Why doesn’t he just shoot the stupid bastard?
There was a long silence. Then the tip of the scrived espringal slowly poked its way through the door.
Gregor pounced.
Orso had never seen Gregor fight, so he was astonished at how fast a man of his size could move. In a flash, Gregor had grabbed the espringal, wrenched it up, and then he’d head-butted the guard soundly in the face. The guard cried out, and a scrived bolt cracked off the ceiling, sending shrapnel flying through the room. Orso felt one large fragment thud into the wall just next to his head.
Gregor heaved the guard into the room and smashed his fist into the man’s face. But the guard was clearly trained as well, and though he was stunned, he was prepared for the next blow: he brought his forearm up to block Gregor’s strike, and then he stepped forward and shoved his elbow into Gregor’s neck. Gregor gagged and bent double as the guard reached for his rapier. Before he could draw it, Gregor charged forward, put his shoulder into the man’s gut, and slammed him into the stone wall behind him.
Though the guard wore a helmet, the way his head cracked into the wall clearly hurt. He slid down the wall, still feebly fighting Gregor, who pinned him down with his left hand as he fumbled for something on his belt with his right. The guard kept struggling and trying to scream for help, so Gregor shoved his left hand into the guard’s mouth, which he then bit—hard.
Gregor growled, pulled something from his belt—a dolorspina dart, Orso thought—and stabbed the man in the neck with it. The guard gasped and fell back. Then his eyes rolled up into his head, and he was still.
Gregor pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped his hand, which was bleeding freely. Then he knelt and searched the man. “A sachet,” he said, taking it. “I wonder what permissions it grants…”
Orso slowly stood, still trembling with fright. “For…For the love of God, man!”
“What?”
“Did you really need to enter into some kind of street brawl with him? I mean…he could have killed you, or me, or raised the alarm! Next time just stab the bastard, or cut his throat, and be done with it, all right?”
Gregor looked at Orso for a moment, his face curiously closed. Then he stood and said, “No.”
“No to what?”
“No. I will not kill these men unless I have no other choice.”
“But…goddamn it, Gregor, we don’t have time for your honor, or your scrumming morali—”
Gregor whirled on him. “This is not just about my moralities!” he spat. “And it is most certainly not about my honor!”
Orso drew back, surprised by his viciousness—especially since Gregor was usually so taciturn. “What?”
“This isn’t about…about mercy or cruelty, or…or any such useless twaddle! It’s…” Gregor’s fury changed to sorrow and despair. “It’s about this!” He pointed at the right side of his head, where the plate was still installed.
“What about it?”
He struggled to explain it. “The less I think myself a killer, then…then the less control it has over me.” He shut his eyes and said, “Because I have changed my mind about what I am. I have changed. My. Mind.” He spoke the words as if they were an inner mantra he’d been repeating for the past three years. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Orso pleadingly. “Do not ask me to be a murderer. Not even now. I do not wish to be the thing I was anymore. And if I slip back, then it will be easier for…for those who made me to command me to murder you. All right?”
“I…all right. All right.”
Gregor looked back down at the guard. “Wait. He’s got some kind of…of glowing light on his belt. What is that?”
Orso looked and saw he was right: there was a tiny, twinkling light on the guard’s side. He bent and unhooked the object from his belt.
It looked like a wire mesh ball, but there were tiny, tiny lights embedded where the wires wrapped around one another, so it was effectively covered in them. Only one little light was glowing, on the side facing him.
“Huh,” said Orso, and he turned it over in his hands—but as he did, the lights changed: whichever one was facing him always stayed lit, while the others stayed dark.
He began to get a dreadful idea.
“Gregor,” he said, “take that sachet you got out of your pocket and toss it away.”
Gregor did so. Instantly, a second light sprang on, this one facing Gregor.
“Walk around the room,” said Orso.
Gregor walked in a circle around the room. The light moved with him, always pointing at his position, while the second light pointed to Orso.
“Shit,” said Orso.
“It’s…It’s some kind of detection rig, isn’t it?” asked Gregor.
“Yes,” said Orso grimly. “I think it senses blood that isn’t paired with the right sachet—just like the espringal batteries on the walls. That’s how the bastard found us.”
“Crasedes knew we’d be coming,” he said.
“It seems so.”
“We’ve got to warn Sancia. But…she and Berenice must be almost to the basements by now.”
“I’m a little more worried about us, to be frank, but…” Orso thought for a second. Then he cleared his voice, and said aloud, “Mountain—can you hear me?”
The light in the room blinked on and off.
“Please tell Sancia what we’ve discovered here, if you’d be so kind.”
The light blinked on and off again.
“I suppose it is useful,” said Gregor, “to have the very building on your side…”
“But the building won’t matter worth shit if they can detect us through scrumming walls.” Orso thought for a moment. “Gregor—pick up that sachet again, please.”
He stooped and did so. “Now what?”
“Now turn around and let me climb on your back.”
Gregor stared at him blankly. “What?”
“Just do it before they detect us!”
Muttering, Gregor turned around and bent his knees slightly while Orso clambered up onto his back.
“There,” he grunted as he grasped Gregor’s neck. “That should do. And now let’s see if this worked…”
He pulled the little people finder back out. Just as he suspected, the lights were all off.