Antithesis (second chapter)

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No evil elves or thonged moderators to be found here...just the next Antithesis chapter. It won't make any sense unless you've read the previous chapter, at http://www.sorcerers.net/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=12;t=000370
I'm interested in comments on the pacing (like last time - thanks for your comments, all!). The previous chapter was one long sequence, but here I rapidly between different viewpoints. Does it give it suspense, or is it just confusing? It's a loooooong chapter, but I want it to fly by quickly, and I'm hoping the stacatto approach will give it the illusion of speed.

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It's amazing how many problems can be solved by concentrated violence.

- "Beyond Law and Order", Xavier


Unable to resist any longer, Amanda burst.

A fiery cavalcade of colored light silently exploded from Amanda's body, scattering tinted spotlights across the exterior of the massive Conference Hall. The unexpected light blast pierced through the curtains, sillhouetting the last few partisans succumbing to the poison gas.

"What in the name of..." gasped Bradley, stunned, letting go of his daughter.

Amanda seemed caught in a glowing immolation, her entire body shining, indiscriminately spraying flashes of light all around herself.

The music slowly drained away, dropping in volume and transposing to a lower key.

"Oh, Amanda," wept Samantha, unable to express herself coherently.

And then, all at once, the light was gone.

The evening darkness closed back in upon them, leaving only the illumination from the Hall's torches and the lights from the rest of the city.

"What just happened?" demanded Bradley, confronted with two shocking developments in close succession.

* * * * *

Bosola had the same question.

"Probably fireworks," suggested Don Rivera, dressed in a formal vest and collared shirt, with a triangular prism hanging from his neck by a gold chain. A monocle rested in his right eye, leaving his other brown eye unaided.

"We don't use fireworks on Advent," snapped Bosola, cane in the air. "Send men to investigate."

Bosola and the Valencian don stood outside the bolted front doors of the Conference Hall, waiting for the last of the partisans to collapse from the toxic gasses. Around them were gathered dozens of ominous figures, each garbed in identical brown-hooded robes. Their goggled eyes and gloved hands were invisible behind the huge folds of their lumpy robes. Some of the asaltadors had already put on their gas masks - long, rectangular wedges that fastened across their mouth and nose like grills, jutting out from the hood like a serrated block.

"I'll send two," said Rivera obligingly, signaling to a pair of asaltadors. "And when they get back, we'll begin the..."

"We don't have time to wait," said Bosola impatiently. "All it would take would be one drunk to violate Advent tradition and blunder in on us, and all Cassandra would be awake. We have to get the partisans separated and moved immediately."

"Why don't we just collect everyone?" proposed Rivera. "We've more than enough men to carry the lot of them, and..."

"We don't want to get rid of everyone," said Bosola, frustrated that he had to constantly reexplain the plan. "We're not destroying the Conference, just...rearranging the players."

* * * * *

"I can explain, Bradley," apologized Amanda, her music now at an acceptable volume. "I would've told you before but..."

"On second thought, tell me later," urged Bradley, grabbing the hands of both Samantha and Amanda and pulling them away from the building. "We have to get away from this place."

"What about Vittorio?" cried Samantha.

* * * * *

Rivera snapped his fingers, and a half-dozen asaltadors walked over to the Conference Hall's front doors, ripping off the makeshift bolt. Before opening the doors, all the asaltadors readjusted their facemasks.

"I'm too old for this," muttered Bosola, putting on the gas mask that Rivera provided him, then yanking it off. "I can't talk with this blasted thing on."

"You don't need to talk," said Rivera coolly. "The men already have their instructions. They understand the plan."

"All right," said Bosola, replacing the mask on his face, as Rivera put his on as well.

Rivera could not hear Bosola's muffled comment as the front doors swung open, leeching green gas into the night air.

* * * * *


From behind the trees, the three of them watched the pair of asaltadors make their paces around the building, looking for evidence of fireworks, intruders, anything.

One of the asaltadors tested the side door. It slid open, oozing forth a cloud of green gas.

"They know we escaped," whimpered Samantha, her beautiful blue dress muddied by their frantic flight. "They know we're still alive."

"They're all alive," countered Amanda, listening to the music waft from the Hall.

"What do you mean?" asked Samantha hopefully.

"She's right," said Bradley, watching the two asaltadors enter the building through the side door. "I saw the same thing during the attack on Callicles-Trieste. The gas just puts you to sleep."

"Then Vittorio is..."

"They're not safe, if that's what you mean," said Bradley brusquely, insensitively reverting to his role as head of the Harmony militia.

"They're not going to kill them," said Amanda, listening carefully.

"You don't know that," said Bradley, to his daughter's dismay.

"I can hear it," said Amanda.

"In the music?" asked Bradley, disbelieving. "I can hear music for you two - and that's it. The Hall is too far away, and there are too many people. No one could hear if..."

Amanda clasped her hands together, unleashing a bright glow between her palms. Her music changed tempo and grew softer.

"Then again..." murmured Bradley, watching the light with fascination.

* * * * *

An asaltador kicked at a body with his foot, rolling it over.

Bosola angrily stomped forward through the thinning smoke, striking the asaltador with his cane.

The hooded figure whirled, but Don Rivera snapped his fingers, and the asaltador relented. He picked up the body carefully, then extended his fingers from beneath his thick robe and lifted up the limp body's eyelids.

Green. The body was carried over to the corner of the Hall where the non-blue-eyed individuals were being carefully lined up in rows. The blue-eyed bodies were similarly lined up on the other side of the room. Between the two neatly organized walls, dozens of asaltadors slowly cleaned up the disorderly mess in the audience chairs.

Bosola walked over to the line of blue-eyed individuals and recognized one as a leader of a minor party. He pulled one of the asaltadors over, pointing at that specific body and using signals to indicate that it should be moved to the other side of the room.

The asaltador leaned over and lifted the body's eyelids. Recognizing the blue, the asaltador shook his head and began to walk away.

Bosola grabbed hold of the asaltador's robe, again pointing at the body, and again pointing to the other side of the room. The asaltador tried to pull away, but the old man's grip was too tight on the loose robe.

Rivera rushed over and made a few signals to the asaltador. Again shaking his head, the asaltador bent over, opened the man's eyes, and pointed out the blue.

The don turned to Bosola and shrugged, dismissing the asaltador.

Bosola seized Rivera's arm and pulled him towards the front doors.

* * * * *


"I knew you could make yourself glow," said Samantha, as the three of them crept around the building towards the front, using the trees for cover. "But I didn't know you could hear music to...to such an extent."

"It's usually too much music at once," explained Amanda humbly, "but I've been practicing listening, and when it gets too loud, I can only get rid of it by...by bursting."

"Human fireworks," muttered Bradley. "Next time, warn us before you call the asaltadors over."

"I'm really sorry," apologized Amanda, embarrassment submerging the fear of the current situation. "It usually isn't this severe, and then I can focus it better."

"So you hear music from miles away and you shine like a firecracker," said Bradley frostily. "Can you see through walls, too?"

"Don't be silly," said Amanda, remembering why she had kept this a secret for so long. "I hear music, but so can the both of you. We're all musicians. The light only comes when there's too much music." Actually, that was untrue, but she didn't have time to explain the details. "So it's only a matter of degree."

"Degree?" asked Bradley, wrinkling his nose. "You're glowing like a torch and that's a matter of degree?"

"Vittorio thinks so," Amanda said defensively.

"Oh, Vittorio," choked Samantha, remembering why they were creeping around the building in the first place.

"It's all right, dear," said Bradley, attempting tenderness. "We'll manage to..."

Amanda stopped moving, listening to a familiar tune grow stronger.

"Not now," said Bradley, pulling her further back into the trees, afraid that she was about to start sparkling again. "They'll see!"

"Wait," shushed Amanda, listening. "Bosola is coming outside."

* * * * *

Bosola ripped off his facemask.

"It's not as simple as just separating the blue-eyed from the others," the old man protested, as Rivera removed his mask. "Then we'd be as guilty as the Harmony Party."

Bosola could not know that three Harmony members were listening to his conversation, hidden behind some trees.

"These are simple men," said Rivera condescendingly, torchlight reflecting off his monocle. "Blue here, others there. We can correct their little errors later, but if we make the job too complicated..."

"Life is complicated," said Bosola angrily, "and I won't allow the innocent to be dragged away as 'little errors'. This is not a blind campaign against anyone who happens to have blue eyes. The agreement was that only Harmony members would be removed to the islands - and even then, only the ones from the Hall. So if I point out someone that stays, then he had better stay. Understand?"

"Of course, Bosola," said the don graciously. "But it was you who reminded me of the necessity for speed. Additional factors entail additional delay, and risk."

"No, you're right, you're right," allowed Bosola, just as graciously. The night's work had put him on edge, wearing down his usual diplomatic charm. "We are rushed."

"A suggestion," proposed the don. "You can monitor the situation inside the Hall, and if you want someone moved from one side to the other, I'll make sure the asaltadors respect your instructions. And you can check the captives individually before they're loaded onto the transports. Would that be acceptable?"

"That would be more than acceptable," agreed Bosola. "Thank you, Don Rivera."

"No, thank you, Bosola," nodded Rivera, replacing his mask.

* * * * *

"That traitor! He sold us out to the Valencians!" seethed Samantha. "He knew Vittorio would win the elections!"

"But why would he conspire with the Valencians?" mused Amanda. "There were a hundred other ways he could've stopped us from winning."

Bradley had moved past blame to tactics.

"Loaded onto transports," he considered. "Removed to the islands, he said. I've seen Valencian transports - they're huge. You couldn't possibly hide them, even on Advent. Someone would look out the window."

"Maybe the transports are further out to sea," suggested Amanda. "They might be using smaller boats to move from the coast to the transport."

"Those boats could be anywhere," he said. "We'll have to follow them when they..."

"Quiet," shushed Amanda, stopping to listen.

A short pause.

"They're at the closest dock, right by Turin's Arc," said Amanda, eyes closed. "I can hear it."

"You're not serious," said Bradley incredulously.

"Ten...no, twelve boats," continued Amanda, counting melody patterns as she plucked them free from the background noise of houseboats and empty yachts. "Only two asaltadors."

"You're not serious," he repeated.

"Listen to her, Father," pleaded Samantha desperately.

Bradley looked back at the Conference Hall, considering.

"If you're right, we have a chance, a real chance," said Bradley slowly, risking hope. "I'll wake up Cassandra - Advent or no Advent, I'll have every man in the city at the Turin's Arc docks in an hour. And you two..."

He paused for a moment, staring through his daughter at an unforgotten memory.

"Samantha, go home and collect Carolyn," he ordered. "Take your sister and leave the city tonight."

"I won't run away!" insisted Samantha. "I refuse!"

"Under no circumstances are you to join in the fighting," continued Bradley, unconsciously reliving an old instruction, "and I mean that as an absolute rule."

"This is all about Mother!" snapped Samantha hysterically, her father's words echoing her nightmarish memories from four years prior, when her mother had been killed by raiders during a Regimental attack. "I would rather die than..."

"You don't know what you're saying," insisted Bradley, seizing his daughter's hands. His own hands trembled a little at the mention of his wife. "Do you think that I'm going to survive this?"

Samantha turned away, not answering.

"I need someone to take care of Carolyn," said her father, almost pleading. "Do you think they'll stop with this? They'll come after our families next. That means Carolyn and you."

"But I need to..."

"Look at me, Samantha!" said Bradley sharply. "Do you think any of us wouldn't give our lives to save Vittorio, or you? But what good does it do us if you...how could I ever explain to him if you..."

Samantha burst into tears.

"Let's go, Samantha," said Amanda quietly, wrapping her arm around her friend.

But her father hesitated, listening to Samantha's tormented melody.

"Only two asaltadors?" he asked, turned away from Amanda.

"Only two," she repeated, hardly catching their duet over the melodic tussle between Bradley and Samantha.

He stared into the night sky, scattered with thousands of Advent stars.

"I'll...I'll send someone else after Carolyn," he said slowly, still looking at the stars. "And you two will sink those boats - for the Republic."

"For Vittorio," whispered Samantha.

* * * * *

Bosola strode up to the front of the stage, watching as the asaltadors finished their cleanup efforts. Most of the gas had already escaped the building, though the asaltadors knew from experience that they were best served leaving on their gasmasks until absolutely certain the room was clear.

One of the asaltadors walked up to Kayla's body, leaning over to check her blue eyes.

Bosola slapped the floor with his cane, threatening the asaltador away, and signaling to have her moved to the non-Harmony side of the Hall.

Another asaltador pushed past him brusquely, picking up Edmond's body. A quick check of his brown eyes, and he followed after the asaltador carrying Kayla.

Bosola grabbed his robe and signaled with his cane, pointing to the Harmony side of the Hall. The asaltador pointed at Edmond's closed eyes, and turned to go, but Bosola insisted, pointing vigorously at the Harmony rows. Finally the hooded figure relented, and lay Edmond next to Vittorio's body.

* * * * *

There was a short knock at the little home's front door.

No answer.

Another series of knocks, harder.

"We're asleep!" shouted a man's voice. "Come back tomorrow!"

With a kick, the front door broke off its hinges.

"Wake up," ordered Bradley, marching into the home and pulling the man out of bed, nightclothes and all, while his wife stared speechless.

"What are you doing here, Bradley?" asked the man, half-asleep, as Bradley threw a set of clothes at him. "It's Advent, for goodness' sake!"

"You're drafted."

* * * * *

"I've never killed anyone before," breathed Samantha, as they raced down to the dockside.

"And you won't tonight, either," countered Amanda, concerned by her suddenly bloodthirsty friend.

"Oh, someone is going to pay, believe me," rambled Samantha. "Not after...not after everything and...and Vittorio, and..."

She stopped running.

"I didn't even say goodbye," said Samantha quietly, considering. "What if Father...and Vittorio...I didn't even think to..."

"It's all right, Samantha," assured Amanda, belying the ominous music that played in the background. "You heard your father - he has a plan, we'll sink the boats and then everything will work out."

"I've lost my father and husband in one night," whispered Samantha, the shock returning. "I'll never see them again."

"You don't know that," said Amanda hopefully, giving her friend a hug.

"I do know that," snapped Samantha, pushing Amanda away, causing her to spark briefly. "They'll be dead, and...and I don't even know how to sink a boat or kill anyone or anything and I know Vittorio would never...and Carolyn isn't..."

"It's all right," repeated Amanda, trying to soothe her friend before she had another nervous breakdown.

"It's not all right," insisted Samantha, wobbling a bit. Her formal dress was ruined, wrecked by their frenzied escape from the Hall and from skulking around in the dark. "Why did Father send us to sink the boats? What was he thinking? What was I thinking? I should've run away with Carolyn like Father said. Why didn't he send us to rally support in the city? We're going to die and he's going to die and Carolyn and Vittorio..."

"Ssh," nudged Amanda, pulling her friend forward towards the cluttered pier. "They're bringing them."

* * * * *

"Next time we bring wagons," said Don Rivera, watching his asaltadors struggle down the hillside, each carrying two or three limp bodies indelicately slung over their shoulders.

"There won't be a next time," said Bosola firmly. "With their deviant party broken, the musicians will go back to what they were before - citizens among many, equal with all."

"You don't think they'll reorganize?" asked Rivera, genuinely curious.

"I've been in politics all my life," said Bosola, leaning on his cane. "If you throttle the demagogue early, and crush his support network, then you defeat the movement."

"In Valencia, we have a saying," recounted Rivera. "A don may die, but the dons live forever."

"Meaning?" asked the old man, in no mood for cryptic proverbs.

"Our leaders may perish - it happens rather frequently, actually," said Rivera, winking behind his monocle. "But someone always rises up to fill the gap. You don't think that will happen here?"

"Vittorio was a charismatic deceiver," countered Bosola. "Our Republic is crawling with petty would-be tyrants that would love to fill his gap, as you put it. But Vittorio was the exception. With him gone, we can go back to politics as usual."

"You're the expert," said Rivera agreeably, watching his asaltadors carry the Harmony politicians on their backs.

* * * * *

"I applied for the Harmony militia two months ago," said the man resentfully, tossing on a jacket, "and you rejected me. You said I was too weak."

"We've reevaluated those standards," said Bradley dryly, as a swarm of recruits rifled through the man's kitchenette.

"Hands off, there!" snarled the newest draftee, pushing the men away. "What are you doing, looking for campaign contributions?"

"Knives," said Bradley, pulling a dozen small ones out of a drawer. "Take two or three."

* * * * *

"I hear them, too," said Samantha, listening to the tunes of the asaltador pair sitting in one of the boats along the pier. She could also hear, though not see, a dozen of the medium-sized, low-floating crafts moored in a line, between larger merchants' vessels.

Amanda could hear the two guards, as well as the procession moving steadily closer from the Conference Hall.

"How do we sink a boat?" asked Samantha, peering through the darkness. Turin's Arc loomed nearby, a massive landmark by night - except that its torches had been extinguished for Advent. "With a rock?"

"We're not strong enough to lift any rock big enough to sink their boats," said Amanda. "But there's always fire."

"Of course!" exulted Samantha. "But how? There's no torchlight - not on Advent."

Amanda probed the musical tapestry, pulling loose several threads.

"Fireworks in that one," said Amanda, pointing to a merchant's watercraft.

* * * * *

"Not this time, Bradley," insisted the fireworks merchant, rejecting the summons. "I'm just traveling through the area. Back home, I have two children that need a father."

"You applied for the militia before, Leo," said Bradley, who had two children of his own. Behind him stood dozens of conscripts that had acceded to his call; other conscripts were running through the city, marshalling support. "Now's your chance."

"My chance to die, you mean," frowned Leo. "I'm not suicidal."

"This is your chance to do something great for the Republic," urged Bradley. "You can go out heroically in a blaze of glory."

"I like the blaze of glory," allowed Leo, who loved his fireworks. "It's the going out that I don't care for."

"Let me explain it another way," said Bradley, politely harsh. "If you come with us, you have a chance to survive. If you stay here, then my men will run you through."

"You wouldn't dare," said the would-be draftee, stepping back.

"It would be great for discipline," said Bradley frostily, signaling to the conscripts, who edged forward uncertainly, knives out.

"Knives?" laughed Leo uneasily. "Is that all the weaponry you're using? I was there at Castor Point, Bradley. I saw what the asaltadors can do."

"I was at Castor Point too," said Bradley, remembering, "and I also know what they can do. But more importantly, I know what we can do."

"Maybe you and your knife-wielding rejects can murder a man like me," said Leo, his voice alternating between terror and contempt. "But you'll need more than knives against asaltadors."

"That's our next stop," said Bradley, seizing the merchant's arm. "Emphasis on 'our'."

* * * * *

Amanda took her friend's hand and pulled her forward, feeling her way through the darkness by sound rather than sight.

Creeping forward, they reached the merchant's boat, and pulled themselves ondeck.

"The fireworks are stored below," whispered Amanda, testing the locked storage door set into the boat's deck. Around her, the night air pulsed with musical energy.

"How are we going to get them out?" asked Samantha, listening carefully to the nearby asaltadors, still unaware of the musicians' presence.

With a violent crack, Amanda slammed her foot against the door lock, breaking the door open in a shower of sparks from her toes.

"I think they heard that," whispered Samantha.

Amanda paused, listening intently.

"They heard it, but they're not going to investigate," she said, interpreting the music, quieter after the quick light discharge. "Now give me a hand with this."

* * * * *

"Your politicians are remarkably well-fed," observed Rivera, watching the asaltadors struggle under the weight of the Harmony musicians. The line was moving very slowly towards the docks.

"Common to most politicians," said Bosola, noting Rivera's mild pudge. The old man himself was lean and gaunt, unchanged from his youth.

"Except maybe these," the don added, pointing to the last asaltador in line, carrying Vittorio and Edmond on his back. "Very thin."

"In more ways than one," muttered Bosola.

* * * * *

"This is the longest fuse I've ever seen," said Samantha, as they finished tying dozens of tiny, fireworks together in a line, wrapped around a makeshift spool converted from a chair. Besides coils and barrels of raw materials, the fireworks merchant had left his most compact, most expensive, most explosive fireworks in his personal boat.

"It has to be," said Amanda, lifting up the chair. The background music was beginning to build again. "We have to stretch this across twelve boats."

"And how will we do that?" asked Samantha.

"'We', nothing," said Amanda, pulling the flammable chair up to the top deck and handing one end to her friend. "There's a little rowboat right next to us. I'll string the fireworks across all twelve, and when I give the signal, light it."

"Light it, sure," said Samantha, squeezing the firestarter in her trembling hands. "What signal?"

But Amanda had already left her friend to the darkness.

* * * * *

"I can't believe this," mourned Leo.

"You'll be reimbursed," Bradley assured him, as a hundred recruits plundered Leo's fireworks warehouse of anything remotely flammable.

"You don't have to lie to me," retorted Leo. "Save it for the others."

* * * * *

Amanda silently rowed the tiny rowboat, "borrowed" from its unknown owner, to the first of the twelve Valencian boats.

But though the night was silent, her music was loud - and getting louder.

"Stay calm, stay calm," she whispered to herself, as she unhooked a length of fireworks from the chair and tied it to the back of the first Valencian craft.

At first she had been able to hear the two Valencian asaltadors as they lounged nearby, but now she could barely pull their melodies from the background. The excitement was intensifying everything, especially the volume.

"Just stay calm," she repeated to herself, unaware that she was no longer whispering but speaking aloud.

Uncurling the fuse a little longer, she gently pulled her rowboat away and moved to the next Valencian craft, drizzling light behind her.

* * * * *

"What was that?" asked Quentin.

"Hmm?" yawned Don Samuel, slumped into his massive brown cloak. Like Rivera, he wore a prism slung around his neck. "What's what?"

"Light, by the transports," said Quentin tightly, watching from onboard one of the massive Valencian transports, anchored some space away from the docks.

"Don Rivera must be signaling us," said Samuel sleepily, peering into the darkness. "Ready to come unload the captives."

"I don't think so," said the lawyer, serving as the official representative for the Valencian mission and impeccably dressed in a brown suitcoat. "Get a boat ready."

* * * * *

Amanda caught her first snag on the fourth craft.

"Cursed fuse!" she snapped, glowing for a split-second. "Stay tied!"

* * * * *

"What was that?" asked Samuel, spotting the sudden flare.

"We'll know soon enough," replied Quentin, as his asaltadors silently rowed his small boat forward.

* * * * *

The music hit a fever-pitch when she finished with the sixth craft.

Amanda put down the chair for a moment and pinched herself, trying desperately to keep it in, nearly going deaf from the pressure.

"Just close your eyes," she mouthed to herself, eyes closed, "and relax, stay calm..."

An asaltador seized her arm just as Quentin's boat pulled alongside.

Amanda burst.

* * * * *

Samantha dropped the firestarter when she saw Amanda burst into light.

"Where is it? Where where where?" she scrambled, reaching madly in the darkness, trying to hear where she had dropped it.

* * * * *

"Get her in the boat!" ordered Quentin, shielding his eyes from the glare.

The asaltadors pulled her, but she dug in her heels and pulled back, light still violently flashing from her body, the background noise rapidly draining away.

"Cover her with something!" demanded Quentin.

The music evaporated into silence, but still the light continued to burn as she wrestled with the asaltadors.

"Gas her if she resists," directed Quentin, as the asaltadors dragged Amanda out of her rowboat and into Quentin's.

"No, don't!" interrupted Samuel, more curious than compassionate, watching the light flare.

* * * * *

"Yes!" shouted Samantha, seizing the firestarter.

* * * * *

"I'm glad you still had stocks left," said Bradley idly. "Yours are always the best quality."

Outside the warehouse, a mob of nearly one thousand men and boys had gathered - united in both their exhaustion from a day of Advent partying, and their anger against the Valencians. Bradley's delegated recruiters were still scouring the city, dragging men out of bed and searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. Leo's fireworks warehouse was the biggest source yet.

"I said, leave me alone," said Leo sullenly. "I'm not even going to survive this fiasco, and all you want to do is..."

"Of course you're going to survive," said Bradley coolly. "I'm sending you to take Carolyn out of the city."

"Your youngest daughter?" asked Leo. "Where?"

"Take her...just take her anywhere," said Bradley, turning away as the recruits streamed past them. "You have a boat."

In the distance, a massive fireball lit up the docks, flooding the sky with fireworks.

"Oh...no..." moaned Leo.

* * * * *

Bosola arrived just in time to see the back of the second craft incinerated in a blue flash.

"Probably fireworks," said Don Rivera, unconsciously echoing his earlier assessment.

"Did your men store fireworks on their boats?" demanded Bosola, as their parade of asaltadors continued, unconcerned, to carry their prisoners to the docks.

* * * * *

"Pull away!" shouted Quentin, as the third craft broke into a bright red burst, and the first craft began to sink.

"Who is this?" asked Samuel, pulling aside the covering after Amanda's light dissipated.

Amanda shook violently, caught in a vicious seizure.

"Did you gas her?" asked Samuel, frowning.

The asaltadors shook their heads.

"I said, keep her covered!" yelled Quentin, as the fourth and fifth crafts lit up with yellow fire.

* * * * *

"We did it!" rejoiced Samantha gleefully, watching the boats burn. "Now I can save Vittorio!"

Unthinking, she hurled the lit firestarter into the air.

* * * * *

"Well, here we are at the docks, right on schedule," smiled Rivera, as the sixth craft exploded with orange sparks. "I'll order the men to prepare for loading."

"Prepare for..." stumbled Bosola, shocked. Half their boats were on fire and in the process of sinking; the two asaltadors left on duty were still standing at the ready, not even bothering to put out the flames. "This is...how can we..."

"These boats might be salvageable," observed Rivera. "Maybe not that one there or this one, but we can put out the fires, and since it's only a short distance between here and the transports..."

With a powerful blast, the merchant's vessel exploded, scattering wood and fire all over the dockside.

* * * * *

"That really tops everything, doesn't it, Bradley?" said Leo bitterly, knowing very well what the fireworks explosion meant. "Not enough to ruin my business and risk my life, but now you have to destroy my boat, too?"

"I wonder if she...if she was..." whispered Bradley, not paying attention.

* * * * *

"Clarify the situation, Don Rivera," demanded Quentin, as his boat pulled up to the part of the dock that wasn't in flames.

"It seems we've had a minor setback," said Rivera calmly, Bosola standing beside him, with asaltadors clustered nearby. The smell of firework smoke hung heavy in the air. "Accident or sabotage or somesuch. But the prisoners are still drugged and are ready to be loaded, and it appears that we still have six seaworthy boats. Two trips should be sufficient."

"Load them," said the lawyer coldly. "Now."

"Of course," said Rivera, giving orders to the asaltadors, who began tossing their captives into the remaining Valencian boats. "And I'll send the remaining asaltadors to search for saboteurs."

"Yes, do so," said Quentin, removing the covering to reveal an exhausted Amanda, both lightshow and seizure over. "Find her friends."

* * * * *

Her friends arrived just as the first round of boats, packed full of prisoners and half the asaltador complement, launched off the dock.

"Well, it looks like Cassandra has come to say goodbye," shrugged Rivera, as a thousand-strong mob came marching towards the docks.

Amanda's music received a sudden jolt from the onslaught of a thousand separate melodies, each trying to harmonize with each other and their rage.

"This is disastrous," moaned Bosola, his worst fears confirmed.

"But not permanently disastrous, I hope?" prodded Rivera.

"No, I have a backup plan," said the old man, regaining his composure. "Several."

"So do I," said Quentin, as the angry mass slowed to a halt near the docks, assessing the situation. "Move the asaltadors into attack position."

"No lethal gas!" said Rivera sharply, recognizing the instruction.

"It's legally required in these situations," said Quentin frostily.

"Of course, I do not mean to violate legal strictures," said Rivera carefully, "but prior agreements with Bosola supercede those particular precedents."

"No death tonight," emphasized Bosola firmly, appalled. "I won't inaugurate this with a slaughter."

* * * * *

"Take them!" screamed Bradley.

With a roar, the mob lurched forward. Behind the shock troops, men under Leo's direction blasted fireworks directly into the asaltadors' ranks.

The asaltadors stood frozen, unwilling to drop their captives, unsure what action to take.

* * * * *

"We'll use a limited response," said Rivera, motioning to the asaltadors.

At their don's signal, the asaltadors unceremoniously dumped their captives backward and attached their gas masks.

"I said, no death!" demanded Bosola fiercely, as the remaining asaltadors - half their number were currently occupied sailing prisoners to the main transports - prepared to repel the mob.

Amanda's music lurched into a discordant theme.

A quick check of the wind direction, and a thick orange cloud escaped from beneath the asaltadors' robes.

* * * * *

"We're all...going...to die," muttered Leo, watching the orange smoke mix with flashes from his fireworks.

"I thought I told you to take my daughter out of the city!" snapped Bradley, recognizing the merchant.

"And miss the chance to see you go out in a blaze of glory?" mimicked Leo.

* * * * *

"What about the musicians?" asked Bosola, watching the exchange with horror, as the mob surged closer to the pile of prisoners.

"They're out of range," said Rivera, "so long as the wind doesn't change. Just in case, you might want to put this on."

"Just in case?" snapped Bosola, pushing away the gas mask Rivera handed him. "Your poisons could kill the musicians, or innocents in the city, or..."

"I have a better idea," suggested Samuel, still sitting in the boat next to Amanda, who was restrained by two asaltadors. "Seeing as hundreds of angry men are about to overrun our position, and given that we still have this boat left, why not use it to retreat? We have half the prisoners, that's better than nothing."

"Excellent idea," said Rivera, winking through his monocle. "We'll be back with reinforcements in less than an hour."

"We don't need to retreat," grimaced Bosola, remembering a secret hiding place near Turin's Arc. "I know a place we can hide until those reinforcements arrive."

"But not in time to keep them from freeing the prisoners," said Quentin, calculating. "Kill them now."

Amanda's music leapt in volume.

"What?" protested Bosola angrily. "No!"

"He's right, Quentin," said Rivera, just as firmly. "We'll deal with them later."

"If the mob recovers them..." started Quentin.

"I won't have them recover a heap of corpses," said Bosola. "Especially if..."

His eyes went down the battleline and spotted Vittorio and Edmond.

"We'll have to take them with us, at least," said Bosola, triggering their melodies. "They're the main leaders - we can't leave them behind."

"There's no room in the boat," said Quentin coldly. "Just kill them."

"No, Quentin," said Rivera, politely but firmly. "We'll make room."

"As legal representative, I must here overrule you, Don Rivera," said Quentin formally, pointing out the Harmony and Coastal leaders to the personal asaltadors in his boat. "Kill them now."

The two asaltadors let go of Amanda and emerged from the boat, walking towards the smoky chaos on the battleline.

"No!" shouted Amanda, suddenly hearing the music take a terrible turn for the worst.

"Stop her!" ordered Quentin.

But Amanda was already out of the boat, running after the asaltadors, sparkling like a firecracker.

* * * * *

"Now there's a pretty firework," said Leo distantly, unable to tell whether his partisans were winning or losing. "Doesn't look like one of mine."

* * * * *

"No! Don't kill him!" screamed Amanda, kicking and punching and yanking the asaltadors, bursting with light and violence. "Not Vittorio!"

The asaltadors were unable to hold onto her, as she flashed and wailed, thrashing at their cloaks, scattering vials all over the ground.

"Let me go!" yelled Amanda, even though the asaltadors actually could hardly keep a hold on her because the colored light was so disorienting.

But the music drained away, and the light faded with it.

"I said, stop!" ordered Quentin, seizing both her arms and pulling her to his chest.

The music was gone, but...

Amanda's palms erupted with light as bright as the sun, right into Quentin's face.

The lawyer staggered backward, blinded.

Amanda collapsed to the ground, overcome with shaking.

* * * * *

Bradley saw the flash of light, and saw Bosola illuminated nearby.

"This way!" he shouted, redirecting the citizenry for one final push.

* * * * *

"Put them in the boat!" said Bosola sharply, pointing to the blinded Quentin, as well as the unconscious Edmond and Vittorio. "And take her, too!"

"The boat can't take the added weight," warned Samuel.

"Don Rivera and I will stay behind," volunteered Bosola. "I know a place we can wait until the reinforcements arrive. Now go!"

"No!" screeched Amanda, consumed by seizures, as the two asaltadors pulled her thrashing into the boat and then left to recover Quentin and the two prisoners.

"Wait - I know who you are," said Bosola, studying the girl's face as she shivered and shook. "You're Vittorio's attaché, aren't you?"

"Can we just go?" pleaded Samuel, trying to tie up her hands and legs despite her violent twitching.

"You are...a...traitor," spat Amanda, barely able to speak the words as her head trembled.

Bosola bowed his head, leaning heavily on his cane.

"No, I'm not," said Bosola, eyes closed. "I've saved the Conference."

"The Harmony...the Harmony Party will..." stuttered Amanda, seizures gradually abating.

"No, it won't," said Bosola sadly. "There are fifteen Valencian transports waiting to unload new asaltadors. For six months, the Valencians have tested our defenses, in preparation for the real assault. I've forestalled that bloodshed and preserved our independence. Independence for all - not just musicians."

"But Vittorio would've..." slurred Amanda, as the asaltadors guided Quentin into the boat and dumped the two unconscious bodies next to him.

"You should ask Vittorio yourself," said Bosola dully, as the boat pushed away from the dock, leaving the old man and Rivera behind.

"That safe place to wait?" prodded Rivera, as the boat passed out of range. "Perhaps now?"

Bosola turned around to watch as the mob pushed through the line of asaltadors.

"Save the Conference, yes," he said to himself, leading Rivera towards Turin's Arc, as the mob tore into the asaltadors and moved to free the prisoners still on the dock. "But this? This was not as I intended."

 

Grey, you make me ashamed to even post here. You have a gift for flowing prose and dramatic understatement. If you are not yet under contract to a publisher, I have friend who is an agent...

Please keep it up, and indulge us here at SP as your first fans!

 

Hmm. Overall, I think it was, as usual, very good. But to me the sections were sometimes too short, in particular the ones that were less than 3 or 4 paragraphs long. Rather than imparting a sense of urgency, the changes were often more distracting than anything; I found it made it sometimes difficult to get into the story. I’m a big fan of short sequences, but to me you occasionally verged on overkill.

Having said that, my comments may just be me, plus perhaps reflect the fact that I’m at work. However, if other people feel the same way, I think it would be very easy for you to fix it simply by combining some of the shorter parts. Your writing style and plot development are typically (for you) excellent.

*waits impatiently for chapter 3*