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“They’re starting to gather outside,” Ranette said, distracted. “Chanting slogans about the governor.”

“I need to check that,” Wayne decided. If the governor wasn’t going to let him in and watch him close up, maybe he could learn something about Bleeder’s plans out in that crowd. “Get back to your house, lock the doors, and keep your guns handy.”

It was telling that she didn’t offer the slightest objection to his order as he strode toward the door out into the mists.

*   *   *

Captain Aradel regarded the governor’s writ as he would the last will and testament of a beloved family member: with both reverence and obvious discomfort.

“He names me lord high constable,” Aradel said. “But … rusts, I’m no lord.” He looked up at Reddi and his other lieutenants.

“Perhaps,” Reddi said, “the appointment conveys a title, sir.”

“The governor can’t just appoint someone to the peerage,” Marasi said. “A new title has to be ratified by a council with a quorum of the major house seats in the city.” She bit her lip as soon as she said it. She didn’t mean to be contrary.

Aradel didn’t appear to mind. He carefully folded the writ and slid it into his jacket pocket. She’d found him gathering a sizable force outside of headquarters, preparing to still malcontents and ring constabulary bells to let the people living nearby know that at least someone was patrolling this night. Phantom sounds floated through the mists. Distant shouts. Clangs. Screams. It felt like hell itself surrounded them, shrouded in a veil of darkness and fog.

“Sir,” Marasi said. “The governor said that he wanted you to do two things. First, send a detachment to forcefully quell rioting in the city. Second, bring up a smaller force to guard him as he prepares to address the people near the mansion. You’re not to turn protesters away there, but elsewhere in the city … sir, he counseled you to be firm of hand. Very firm.”

“Rusting idiots deserve it,” said Lieutenant Mereline, a woman with short blonde hair.

“No need for bloodthirst, Lieutenant,” Aradel said. “I seem to remember you cussing out the Hasting family with some regularity yourself.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m setting fire to the city,” Mereline said. “The high houses being bastards doesn’t excuse being bastards ourselves. Sir.”

“Well, the mansion seems a good enough center from which to operate,” Aradel said. “Chip, you and the messengers run to the other constables-general and ask them to meet me at the governor’s mansion with their officers. We’ll coordinate the city lockdown from there. Everyone else, let’s double-time it that way. If His Grace wants to talk to the people, I want a nice thick barrier of police bodies between him and his constituents, understand?”

The group bustled into motion, the bell ringers setting out in front, the messengers scattering—one even taking to the skies; Chip was one of the Coinshots. The rest of the constables fell into a march. An uneven one—they weren’t soldiers—but no less resolute.

“Sir,” Marasi said, walking quickly up to Aradel, “there’s something else I need to tell you, if you can spare a moment.”

“How important is it?” Aradel asked, pausing at the side of the group.

“Very.”

Reddi cleared his throat behind them. “Perhaps you should discuss it while traveling to the mansion, sir. If the governor really is planning to address the crowds…”

“Yes,” Aradel said. “Innate suddenly appointed me lord high constable; that immediately worries me about what other kinds of impulsive things he’s capable of doing tonight. Let’s do this on the move, Colms. Reddi, bring along the rest of the constables as smartly as you can. I’m going to the mansion ahead of you.”

Marasi nodded. The things she wanted to discuss would be best said in the privacy of a carriage anyway.

Except …

Idiot, she thought as Aradel jogged over to a group of horses in constable livery, reins held by a corporal. The carriage she’d been contemplating pulled away, loaded with equipment most likely. Reddi grinned at her smugly.

Marasi sighed. She’d been looking forward to maintaining her decorum tonight. Ah well. She walked over and took a set of reins.

Aradel was already in his saddle. He glanced at her, then raised a hand to his head. “Oh, of course. I didn’t think—”

Marasi swung up into the saddle, awkwardly bunching her skirt up between her legs and sitting on part of it, revealing a generous expanse of leg. “It occurs to me, sir,” Marasi noted, “that lady constable uniforms could be distinctly more utilitarian.”

“We’ll … make a note of it, Lieutenant Colms.” He glanced toward the retreating carriage. “If you wish—”

“Sir,” Marasi said, “I believe the city is on fire. Perhaps we can discuss feminine modesty on another occasion?”

“Of course.” He nodded and they set off in a clatter of hooves, trailed by two corporals with rifles in the scabbards on their saddles. The four horses quickly outpaced the larger group of constables, and even the carriage, as they rode through the mists.