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maneuver their awkward burdens.
Even as Zanja worked with Annis in the secret factory in the chemistÆs
basement,
she had not really expected that theyÆd get this far. Surely the Sainnite
seer
would anticipate that they would arrive, reeking of gunpowder and other less
common concoctions, bearing their bags full of brightly colored lethal gifts:
packages of fused gunpowder, odd constructions of sticks and paper that Annis
swore would fly. But it seemed the Sainnites were not expecting them. Perhaps
even a seer could not predict something so unpredictable as this night.
She and Annis tucked their ladder into a shadow. The only light came from the
smoldering cords they carried at their waists, which Annis called slow
lucifers.
The lucifers glowed very faintly, like coals in ashes. A pair of Sainnites
scuffed past along the wall, talking amiably in a low murmur. One of them
carried a lantern, but its light didnÆt travel far. Zanja and Annis hid the
faint light of the lucifers behind their cupped hands.
They had entered an ornamental garden that was rank with the perfume of
night-blooming vines. White moon flowers glowed in the shadows, and
delicately
formed trees drooped across the walkways like lace curtains. They crossed the
garden cautiously. Its wooden fence was merely ornamental. They climbed it
easily and followed a cobbled walkway between buildings, out into the main
yard.
Here sprawled the stables and the carriage houses on one side and the
barracks
on the other, with the headquarters between, facing the gate. The
architecture
was strange. The rooflines were curved, parts of the buildings jumped forward
like arms or wings, and beads of wood dripped from the eaves.
Most of the barracks windows were propped open to let in the night breeze.
Annis
showed her teeth again, and gestured silently toward the stable. Briefly, her
hand was warm in ZanjaÆs, and then they separated. Zanja set out to find a
way
to the stables. Since all the passageways radiated out from this courtyard,
it
took some time for her to negotiate the maze. Finally, huddled against the
stable wall, she noticed for the first time that there was a guard at the
stable
door. However, many of the stall windows were propped open. They were too
small
to climb through, but when Zanja looked in she could see that the stall walls
were only shoulder high, which suited her purposes.
She went as close to the edge of the courtyard as she dared, and signaled
with
the smoldering tip of her lucifer. She could not see Annis at all in the
shadows, but in a moment her lucifer appeared as well, drawing the shape of a
flame in the darkness. The flame: transformation, revolution. The collapsing
poles of the clanhouses, the burned out shell of the farmhouses. Fire for
fire.
Zanja started unpacking her bag of flying explosives, and balanced one on the
ledge of each open stall window. She held the tip of the lucifer to each fuse
and blew on it to make the smoldering red tip flame and catch the fuse. It
was
rhythmic, meditative work, easy to do even in the darkness. The horses grew
restive as she worked her way around the stable. She used some rockets with
medium length fuses, and had switched to short fuses when she heard the harsh
hiss of the first rocket. Then she saw it fly in a hissing spray of sparks
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across the inside of the stable, the horses braying with terror at its fiery
passage, and then the rocket exploded with a bang and a blinding flash of
light.
The horses screamed. Shod heels crashed against the wooden walls. Zanja lit
the
last fuse and started running, though the crazy woman in her head wanted to
stay
and watch the rockets soar, trailing fire and a glowing white smoke, carrying
their explosive cargo to the many things that are all too ready to burn in a
stable: hay, for instance. There would be plenty of hay.
She could hear explosions now from the barracks as well, and shrill shouts.
Overhead, a balcony door banged open, and a woman rushed out, cursing as she
pulled on her shirt. Zanja paused directly beneath her to light one of her
packages and toss it through a street-level window into the upholstered
cushion
of a chair. The package was a lightweight thing, made of little more than
paper
and gunpowder, with a little bottle of liquid fire at its center, but the
sharp
report of its explosion echoed down the narrow passageway, and it was
followed
by a blinding white flame. The night stank of gunpowder, and was filled with
shouts and the banging of doors.
Zanja hid in the shadows of a side door until it looked as if all the
buildingÆs
occupants had rushed out to fight the fire, then she went in, pistols in
hand.
The building was dark and quiet, the stairs easy to find. But as she started
up
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