The two guards hastened from the stable, but Lapis grabbed Ciaran and Rin before they followed. “I want to find that cannon before it causes more problems,” she told them. “I’m not certain where, exactly, it is, but I can guess.”

“It took out the side of the house?” the rat asked, dubious.

“Yep. And I don’t want it used on Sir Armarandos and Superior Fyor and their people. Or on us.” She took a deep breath. “Predi’s after me,” she admitted. “He’s carrying a working tech weapon, and I don’t want him to get that cannon and use it, too. He was haphazardly shooting into the fog earlier, so he doesn’t care who gets hit.”

“Why is he after you?” Ciaran asked, concerned.

She shook her head. “He said he owed my partner,” she whispered. “He shouldn’t know who that even is.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, that will last for about as long as it takes for you to tell him,” he reminded her.

“They’ve tangled before,” she told him.

“Which will give him more reason to take him out.”

Rin glared at them, folding his arms, his lower lip stuck out. Stubborn rat, she was not about to tell him who her partner was. She turned on her heel and marched out of the stable.

“Lady!” he whined. She ignored him. “Ciaran?”

The rebel bustled after her, amused, silent. The rat growled before shuffling from the hiding place.

She did her best to orient herself and scamper to where she thought she discovered the weapon. Rin smacked her shoulder and pointed; someone else discovered it first. Caitria sat on the ground, legs splayed wide, a panel removed, rifling through the wiring. Mairin stood next to her, alert, and sagged in relief when she recognized them.

“The shell is Dentherion tech,” Caitria said as she ripped out a few more wires. “But the innards are Taangis.” She looked up at them. “Clips hold the actual weapon in place on small ledges, with the emitter pointed at the barrel. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s pretty unstable, and as like to blow the shell apart as to fire correctly.”

“So the Jiy underground is hiding Taangis tech within Dentherion tech?” Ciaran asked, though he did not sound as shocked as Lapis felt.

“I couldn’t say, but that’s how this one is set up.” She looked at them, serious. “It means that those eggs you found might well be ready to deploy. Raban described them, and it would be simple to hide a smaller Taangis trigger in the covered side.”

Shit. Her chest went cold.

“We need to get this to the guards surrounding the place,” Lapis told her, concentrating on something other than the dread she could have accidentally blown Brander and the rats into oblivion. “We don’t want any of the shanks to use it against us.”

“Alright.” Caitria carefully withdrew a far smaller device from the cannon. Several blinking lights ran along its thin black metal sides, with four evenly spaced silver rectangles at one end, divided by thick layers of a copperish material. The rectangles angled towards a small red triangle at the tip. “But it’s not operational anymore.”

“The thing that hit the guardhouse was as large as my head,” Lapis said, staring. Another device must be somewhere in the fog, one big enough to destroy a wall.

“Some of Taangis’s tech produces small shots of energy that grow larger as they discorporate.”

Now was not the time to argue about it. Ciaran aided Caitria with the cannon while Lapis and Rin took the lead and Mairin took the rear. The rat had a phenomenal sense of direction, even in the fog, and he led them directly to the wagons that the Lells guards brought. No one stood around, and as she paused, she heard, though did not see, fighting.

Trepidation shot through her.

A nighthawk warble. Rin immediately answered. Before she could chastise him, Brander and Tearlach appeared out of the fog, scaring her near to death. They did not apologize, either, which caused a burst of hot anger before their words sunk in.

“The Tree Streets guards were hiding some tech,” Brander said, winded. Tearlach bent over, wincing. “It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before. Most of the underground stuff is small, and if it works, it works poorly. A wagon pulled up to the back, and they loaded it up. It’s huge, it’s heavy. It’s a box, with odd colored lights running up the edges, and a panel that’s flashing red. It was making a whirring sound, and the shanks weren’t happy with that. They’re afraid.”

“They might abandon it?” Lapis asked.

“We need to get to it,” Caitria said. “It might be malfunctioning.”

“Take Mairin and go,” Ciaran told her, taking the full weight of the cannon. “We’ll get this to the guard.”

She thrust the smaller device at Lapis; she juggled it as Brander and Tearlach led the two women into the fog. It swallowed them quickly, even muffling their footsteps.

“She knows a lot about tech,” Rin said, holding out his hands, expecting to help cart the cannon.

“Yeah. She had an interesting childhood,” Ciaran said.

“Interesting?” Lapis grumbled as they continued on their way, searching for signs of friendly guards.

“She grew up around tech. You won’t see the fear in her that others have when they encounter it. She finds it normal.”

“Where was she raised? Dentheria?”

“No. Abastion.”

Abastion was like all other Dentherion vassal states; tech was illegal, and the penalties for possessing it severe. Where, exactly, might she have experienced enough tech to not fear it?

The slap of several someones running through puddles reached them right before a gaggle of men raced into view, too close to avoid them. Her heart sank as she recognized Predi in the lead. They stumbled to a halt as they realized people blocked their escape route; the hunter grinned and raised his tech.

She did not think; she popped a knife and threw, hard. It tore through his thin gloves and embedded itself between his fingers. He howled and dropped the weapon, unable to hold it. He bent over as he worked it free, screaming curses. Instead of retrieving the tech, his buddies turned and fled into the fog. Bit shanks, indeed.

Rin surged ahead and caught the tech with the tip of his shoe, sending it reeling across the gravel. He rolled as the hunter swiped at him, popped up faster than water on hot grease, and backpedaled before skidding up to them. Ciaran settled the cannon down, and Lapis gave the device to the rat; he would outrun the man if this went poorly.

Predi dropped the knife and drew a long dagger with his uninjured hand, his eyes fiery with rage. “You’ll all die,” he informed them. “I’ll throw you in the Pit myself!”

He was fast. She barely avoided the slash of his blade. She rolled and circled him while Rin planted himself out of the way. Ciaran turned sideways and stayed clear of the long reach of the dagger, mirroring her. Moving targets were more difficult to strike.

“So who are you?” Predi asked the rebel as he turned on his heel, paying more attention to the man than either her or Rin. Yet another shank, impressed with a weaponless man while ignoring the fully prepared woman. She should stick him for idiocy. “You’re not her partner.”

“As if I’d divulge to you.”

Predi snarled. “You’ve gotten on the wrong side of Hoyt,” he informed them. “You think you’re going to make it out of here alive?”

For the poise and deadliness Lapis expected in a hunter of Predi’s caliber, he did not seem all that confident, relying on threats. Had he depended overmuch on his tech, using it as a fear-inspiring object before taking down his stakes, rather than ability? That would explain why he preferred to face an unarmed man instead of her and her blades.

A large, muddy rock bounced off his shoulder; he dropped the dagger with a rough curse. Neither she nor Ciaran were near enough to kick it away before he retrieved it, but he ducked as another struck him in the back. The simplest weapons proved the most effective in some situations, and she knew some rats practiced throwing rocks in defense. Predi tried to straighten; another stone smacked him in the temple, bits of mud flying from the strike zone. He stumbled and went down, stunned. Lapis hopped in and kicked at the hand that held the dagger; it bounced away and landed within grabbing distance.

The hunter dug under his chest leathers and withdrew a disc. He flung it at Rinan, who scurried out of the way and ran from it, joining her on her side of the enemy. The object exploded, water, mud, gravel whooshing into the air before pattering about them. Predi covered his eyes with his upper arm to protect them; Ciaran did not bother. He kicked the man in the side, and when he howled and instinctively clutched at his ribs, nailed him in the head with his heel, a precise attack. He went limp.

“Grab the cannon,” he told them as he picked up the dagger. She and Rin snagged it and fled into the fog. Moments later, Ciaran followed, guarding the rear.

They happened upon more wagons by accident. The guards jerked into fighting position before one raised his hand and called them off; Linden, the ex-farmer who escorted her back to the Eaves after she received her pay for the alchemist.

“Lady Lanth,” he said, eyeing the cannon with distrust.

“The attackers were using this,” she told him, indicating the outer shell. “It had that bit of tech inside it,” and she pointed to the device Rin held. A few guards backed up, while most paid closer attention to it. Linden cautiously retrieved it and turned it about in his hands.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. There was an explosion that took out the side of the guardhouse, and I think this did it. There’s more tech, too. The guttershanks loaded a large box from the house into their wagon. It has running lights and a red panel that’s blinking.”

“That doesn’t sound like something Tree Streets should have,” one of the other guards said. “It’s not a tech confinement center.”

“Weren’t you with Sir Armarandos?” Linden asked.

“Sir Armarandos and Guard Superior Fyor went to see what’s up.”

“Of course they did,” the other guard muttered, exasperated.

“What is Superior Nevid doin'?” Linden asked, shaking his head as he continued to study the device. “This is far more than bein' upset about his lack of promotion.”

“I think it has a bit more to do with him personally hating Sir Armarandos than anything about a promotion,” Lapis said. “Where do you want this?”

The guard had them load the cannon into a wagon; most sported tarps with several somethings making odd jutting bumps in the coverings. They had arrived prepared, but why were they not using it? The fog?

“There was a hunter named Predi, who had this,” Ciaran said as he placed the weapons tech next to the cannon. Before Linden could ask, the ugly odor of carrion lizard wafted to them. Lapis covered her nose and choked as she heard the very faint knell of a hand-held bell.

“Really?” Linden asked, outraged. “Could this night get any worse?”

Red light impacted one of the wagons, bursting into sparks and wood shards.

Lapis grabbed Rinan, and they hid with Linden and Ciaran behind the one holding the cannon as more flashes zipped past. They came from multiple directions, making it difficult to pinpoint a source. Who was wielding the tech? The guttershanks she had faced only held knives; had reinforcements arrived, to move that box?

Rinan brought his knees up and hunched over them, shielding his head. She placed a comforting hand on his back and made certain to glare death at Linden, who turned a brilliant shade of red, almost as bright as the lights zipping around them. Ciaran, the ass, chuckled.

“My mother tells me I tempt fate too often,” he told them. “But even I’ve never said that.”

A couple of the other guards laughed, sounding far too happy, considering the situation.

The lights whizzed over them, into the night, far over the wagons. She watched the attack, heard the bells get closer, and hissed through her teeth. “They’re aiming for Mama Poison,” she said in disbelief. Linden and a few of his fellows looked up, realized the ineptness of the shots, and nodded.

“The smell and bells are comin' from this direction,” the guard admitted. His exasperated companion shook his head.

“That’s stupid,” he growled. “What do they think’s going to happen, if they hit a bellringer?”

“I don’t think they care about that,” Ciaran said.

“The hired help I fought were reactionary and scared, definitely not professional,” Lapis told them. “But they didn’t have tech. They had knives.”

“I’ll go warn the ringers,” the exasperated guard said before heading into the fog, keeping his head low.

If she had not been sitting, she never would have felt the earth shake, ever so slightly. Rin’s head popped up; he felt it too. She hissed, loud, and the guards looked at her as the crisper sound of a handbell called out from their right. A very large shape moved opposite them, mostly hidden, just a smear of blacker black against the night. The black swallowed a few red beams; they hit and evaporated, no sparks, no burnt flesh. Thick lizard hide protected Mama to the point she did not even flinch when struck.

The shanks were in for a very rude surprise. Good.

Lapis glanced at Linden. “Sir Armarandos told us to scat, since you’d arrived,” she informed him. He tore his gaze away from the enormous shadow and nodded.

“Now might be the time to do it,” he agreed.

She gripped Rin’s shoulder, motioned to Ciaran, and scurried on her hands and knees to the other side of the wagons before crouching and retreating into the fog, following the sidewalk to the nearest street post. A dim light lit the sign but only produced enough glow to illuminate a small circle around it.

“We need to get the others,” she told them.

“I can gets us behind the house,” Rin said. He glanced towards the wagons. “Mama’s on this side, n’ the house’ll block her from gettin’ out back.”

He confidently took the lead. Lapis rarely asked the rats about their activities outside the Eaves, but the ease in which he traversed the streets, slipped behind bushes, and navigated through tumbled bits of wall made her wonder how far they adventured from home. The Gardens district was not a simple walk down the street from their cubbies.

A faint nighthawk warble reached her ears; it was a good mimic, though she could tell a real bird had not made it. Rin turned, but Ciaran grabbed his arm and pushed both of them around the corner they just left. They planted themselves against the damp wall and waited for whoever he noticed to arrive.

“He’ll come after you,” someone said in a furious voice.

“So? Not standin’ ‘bout, t’ gets eaten.”

“Not makin’ ‘nough on this t’ fight Mama,” a third said. Raggedly dressed men hurried past them, four ahead of a frustrated fifth, not a one paying attention to their surroundings.

“Hoyt wants this delivered tonight.”

“He c’n comes n’ do it hisself,” the second snapped. “You said there weren’t to be guards about. There’s plenty.”

“Where you gonna run?”

“Away.”

Lapis bit her lip and Rin smiled; they both knew she would have made the same reply.

Her humor did not linger long. They now had evidence of Hoyt’s involvement in Nevid’s scheme—or should she reverse the roles? It did not matter; Sir Armarandos would not allow either to remain unscathed after this confrontation.

“Must not have paid enough bits,” Ciaran said, as they faded from view.

“Hoyt skimps on his pay,” Rin told him. “We all knows it. Stone Street shanks complain ‘bout it lots. Scarin’ ‘m into helpin’ ain’t workin’ much anymore, ‘cause they’s getting’ caught n’ can’t afford t’ buy themselves outta it.”

A nighthawk whistled and Rin whistled back before they crept towards the sound. The rebels had taken a position in a corner of the backyard, behind bushes sparse of leaves. The wagon stood in the gravel circle in front of the wooden back porch, the tongue broken, no ox in sight. Guards and shanks circled each other in the light from the open door, with several on the ground, some rolling in pain, others motionless.

A high whir filled the air, almost drowned by the yelling. It came from the box, which looked rather pretty, the multi-colored lights on the edges soft and blinking in the mist. Even the glow of red at the bottom did not look dangerous. 

Caitria stared at the object while Mairin and Brander leaned against the wall, bored, chafing their arms against the cold. “They’ve activated it,” she told them. “I don’t think they meant to, and no one seems to know what to do about it.”

“Mama’s here,” Rin said. “Out front.”

“Probably why the ox freaked out,” Brander replied. “It went bonkers and was strong enough to break free. It trampled a few on its way to wherever it was going. The shanks had no option but to face the guard if they didn’t want to lose the box.”

“Is it going to explode?” Ciaran asked.

“Maybe.” Caitria took a deep breath and rubbed a hand across her cheek. “I’m not certain it’s a weapon, though. It reminds me of the devices that Dentherions use in windmills to collect power. If the guttershanks think this is weapons tech, I think they’re wrong.”

“It’s been up for a while, and it hasn’t exploded,” Lapis reminded them. “I’m certain most Jilvaynans who see this will think it’s a weapon, because of the blinking lights. And it’s big, so they’ll think it has a lot of power to kill.”

“How badly do you want to look?” Ciaran studied the box briefly, then glanced at Caitria.

“Not badly enough to wade through that,” she said, indicating the fighting men.

“We met that hunter. He had some papers on him. We should retreat and take a look when we get back to the Eaves.”

“Hope Mama eats ‘m,” Rin declared darkly.

“He’s bloody, and if he hasn’t gotten back up, she will,” Lapis said.

“You thinks he’d be gettin’ back up?” Rin asked wryly. Ciaran said nothing, and she had no idea how to respond. It bothered her, that not only did the rat know she had friends outside the confines of Jiy, she had dangerous friends. What might he think about her partner, in that context? He would badger her needlessly about him, and she did not want to navigate the prodding.

New people swarmed the back of the house, dressed in uniforms that looked like they belonged to a noble household; guards did not wear dark rose and gold. Had Sir Armarandos’s father sent them? The shanks fell or fled under the fresh arrival’s onslaught, leaving the large box behind. Caitira blew out her breath, then pushed from the bushes and trotted over to it. Lapis immediately followed, holding her hands up to show that they did not possess a threat.

“Sir Armarandos!” she called.

“You listen well.” His faint, annoyed voice drifted to her.

“Better sometimes than others,” she replied. “We found that cannon and disabled it.”

“It isn’t safe to be here,” Fyor said, trotting towards them.

“I don’t think that’s a weapon,” Caitria said firmly. “I think it’s a battery.”

“A battery?” the guard asked, pausing.

“I think she’s right.”

The voice belonged to an old man who seemed to stand tall, despite the bend in his upper back. He had thin snowy hair that reached his shoulders and an over-large, saggy rain hat that hid his eyes. He wore a heavy coat of a sleek black material that caused the droplets to roll off rather than soak in.

“Do you.” Affable and easy-going Sir Armarandos had turned into a man Lapis easily pictured biting through an anvil. So his daddy had arrived to help his son, who did not appreciate him butting in.

The elder waved his hand. “You expected me to sit around while these shanks got it in their heads to attack?”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen this type of battery before?” the elder asked, ignoring his son’s anger as he peered at them from under his hat.

“Not specifically, but it reminds me of the ones used in windmills.”

“Ah!” His eyes brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that. It looks a bit like the objects Dentherion nobles use as backup power sources to their homes.”

“One way to find out.” Caitria hefted herself onto the wagon and propped the glowing red panel open.

Sir Armarandos was not the only one with brass.

Fyor ordered the men to back up as she briefly studied the inside of the panel. She flipped something, and the whirring slowed, then stopped. The elder nodded.

“Battery.”

“Yes. And there’s something odd about it. The writing on the panel isn’t Lyddisian.”

The man frowned and bent over the back of the wagon, squinting as Sir Armarandos came to stand next to him. Caitria sat on the edge and flipped her legs over, jumping down while the two studied it. She walked to Lapis, chewing on her bottom lip. Did she know the language? If so, it bothered her enough not to say.

“Can’t place it,” the elder muttered.

“It’s Taangin,” Sir Armarandos said in a heavy voice.

Taangis tech? Nevid had a lot of explaining to do.

“That cannon, I took it apart,” Caitria said in a rush, as if overriding her better judgement. “It had Taangis tech inside, with a Dentherion shell.” She regarded Sir Armarandos, serious. “Lanth found some eggs at that merchant Orinder’s place. If they’re normal, they’re duds. If they are like these and have a Taangis trigger hidden in the closed side, they may very well be ready to explode.”

“There were dozens of them,” Lapis said.

“Fyor, we need men to go to Orinder’s place, now,” Sir Armarandos told him. They busied themselves in arranging a raid, while the elder smiled at them, his teeth strongly white against his tanned skin.

“Good, to see not everyone’s a screaming baby when it comes to tech,” he said, very amiable, though he obviously directed his words at the guards who gave the box a very wide berth.

“No, sir,” Caitria said.

He patted Lapis’s arm. “Like mother, like daughter,” he hazarded in a low rumble, barely understandable over the drum of rain on the gravel. She choked as Caitria’s eyes widened.

“You must be mistaken—”

“No. I’d never mistake Iolanthe’s daughter.”

Horror coupled with tears never made a good pairing. The elder sighed, a deeply sad response. “Her and Thyra, they livened up the dullest days. Jiy got very boring, after they left.” His face smoothed, but the glint in his eyes reflected an anger as deep as his sadness, one that Lapis understood all too well. It dwelled in the pit of her soul, too dark to study long, too violent to release. “Every evil deed has its payback,” the man promised. His tone, so serious, so vicious, and Lapis believed him. “His will come.” He waved his hand, as if to rid himself of the pain. “That’s for another day, however,” he said, in a louder voice. “If Mama’s around, head home. No use getting under her feet when you can avoid it.”

“Which is where you should be,” his son reminded him without turning about.

“Sitting on my hands worrying isn’t my style.”

“I have known you long enough to understand that.”

The elder huffed and puffed out his chest. Lapis did not think the impending battle of strong wills between father and son needed her presence; Fyor jerked his head at the remainder of their group, and she and Caitria trotted over to them.

She wanted the day done. Too bad, they still needed to walk back to the Eaves. And then the House, because she did not have enough extra bedding to make the rebels comfortable in her room.

Did she really have to walk back to the House? The thought of Rinan refusing to let her sleep, sitting cross-legged on the floor, glaring and pestering her with questions about her friends, the night . . .

No. She would welcome the walk and thank the non-existent gods that she had an excuse to avoid the street rat and his insatiable curiosity.