Stands a Shadow - By Col Buchanan Page 0,61

noble-borns were intolerant to such a turn of events, this sudden collective step down in the grand pecking order of power. And so here they were now, come to dispel such notions from him before he had a chance to exercise his new powers properly.

He thought of all the times they had restrained him, had stopped him from taking on the enemy face to face, more concerned with preserving the status quo than in breaking the siege. He looked to Chonas, the Michinè’s expression eager beneath the great overhangs of his brows.

Aye, the First Minister might be a good man. But when it came down to it, he was still one of them.

Creed rose slowly to his feet. He was larger than these men before him, not in height but in bulk, and in his own capacity for action.

‘I will not stand by and do nothing while good people are put to the sword. My orders stand. We march in the morning.’

He held a hand up to silence them all, and felt a brief moment of satisfaction as their mouths closed again as one. ‘Gollanse!’ he called out.

His ageing orderly shuffled past the group of Michinè, escorting a man who was also dressed in the clothes of a city professional. He had a leather satchel beneath his arm, and a pair of spectacles on his bland, sharp, clever face.

‘Ministers, this is my own advocate, Charson Fay. If you have any legal issues involving my orders then please address them to him. He will construct a case file so that we can all meet together in open session of court upon my return.’

The general closed the drawer with the gun and stepped around the desk. ‘Now, if you will excuse me. I have an army to prepare for the march. Good day to you all.’

Creed strode from the room with the murmur of their discontent like music in his ears.

‘Is it true?’ someone shouted at Bahn as he stepped through the gates of the Ministry of War into the crowd of people gathered there. Behind them, horns were blaring from the Stadium of Arms, calling the city’s soldiery to action; faint wails between the concussions of the distant guns. Every dog in the city seemed to be barking.

‘Have we been invaded, Bahn?’ came the voice again as he pushed through the crowd. He saw that it was Koolas, the war chattēro.

Bahn brushed past the man without comment, but Koolas matched his stride as he headed for the path that would lead him down from the Mount of Truth. The war chattēro was sweating even in the cool breeze that ran in from the sea, the man too heavy to make the hike to the summit easily. His great paunch bounced beneath his shirt at the pace Bahn set for them. Still, Koolas had energy enough to laugh incredulously as they walked, and to sweep the curls of his black hair from his face in strands wet enough for it to be raining.

‘It’s true, then!’

Bahn scowled at him but held his tongue. Koolas made his living by writing news on the war for the copy-houses of the city, and for the proclaimers on the wailing towers of the bazaars. He knew that within an hour the news would be spreading like wildfire throughout the city.

It hardly mattered, he supposed, as they came down off the hill onto the Avenue of Lies. The horns were announcing a full call to arms, and everyone could hear them. The mood in the streets already seemed close to panic. Citizens bawled at each other in their haste to be home or at their local tavernas. Mothers were plucking their children off the streets. All about, he could see Red Guards hurrying towards the Stadium of Arms, and old retired veterans, the Molari, heading for the stadium too, bearing dusty shields and their long chartas bundled in oiled canvases.

‘Come on, now,’ Koolas said to him amicably enough. ‘They already know we’re in trouble. All I’m after are some details so their imaginations won’t run wild on them. What are we up against here? Is it a raid or a full invasion?’

Bahn held up a hand to wave down a passing rickshaw. The bearer sped past him without stopping, the rickshaw empty of passengers. He swore under his breath as he looked around for another, finally managing to get one to stop for him.

‘Olson Avenue,’ he told the bearer quickly, and just before he climbed into the seat

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