Not all Kostromans were allies, though. More to the point, Kostroman clans that were out of power might be willing to deal with Satan himself to change their status. Guarantor Porra was at least the next thing to a devil, but that might not be as obvious in Kostroma City as it was to an officer of the RCN.
Kostroma City would learn how free the stars of the Alliance really were. Of that Daniel was certain.
He turned left at the first corner. His own apartment was only a few blocks away, but going there would mean flipping a coin for his life. This coup had been planned with obvious attention to detail. There was an even chance that those in charge had included in their calculations Cinnabar personnel billeted in the city.
Daniel doubted that any faction on Kostroma could have carried off this operation by itself. The APCs full of Alliance commandoes were a less important factor than the Alliance intelligence officers who must have done the planning.
A pair of jitneys drove past at top speed, bouncing and squealing on irregularities in the pavement. Daniel swept off his cap and goggles, thrusting them into opposite side pockets of his jacket. He hated to lose the vision aids in the goggle lenses, but they marked him as unusual to anyone he met.
Daniel continued walking at his measured pace. He hoped he could locate Candace’s townhouse; he’d only been there twice before and both times was being driven by someone else.
He needed clothing and a place to hide. If Candace could provide him with a weapon and an aircar also, that would be even better. If.
Gunfire crackled in the distant night. Small arms only, a spiteful sound that dissipated quickly among the streets and ornate facades. Candace was a very slim reed for a foreign fugitive to lean on, but he was the best Daniel Leary could think of right now.
“Five ninety-four!” Adele said decisively as she handed the monograph on garden gnomes to Prester. She might have grouped the volume either with gardens, 127, or statuary, 201, but she was at the end of a long day and feeling good at the amount she’d gotten done. “The first new category in the past hour, and a good time to stop and go home.”
“Thank you, mistress!” Prester said in a tone of weary relief. She scurried off with the book. Her hands—the hands of all three of them; this hadn’t been Adele’s work alone—were black with the grime and mold that were inevitable results of a job like this.
Adele heard fireworks and shouting nearby. She sniffed and said, “I’d hoped that people would have worked off their Founder’s Day high spirits by now, but this isn’t the first time I overestimated human nature.”
Prester was pasting a numbered scrap of paper to the end of a shelf. She looked over her shoulder. Adele gave her a quirky smile. Prester was adequately smart and had a dogged willingness that made up for her total inability to understand why anyone would want to store information. Her present labors deserved more reward than they were likely to get unless somebody helped.
“Vanness?” Adele said. The fellow brightened to be addressed directly. “There’s obviously some partying going on. The streets may not be safe, so I want you to escort Prester to her lodgings.”
She reached into her belt purse. “Here,” she added. “I’ll give you something in case you find a taxi.”
Adele wasn’t sure precisely what Hogg had said to the Chancellor, but that worthy had released the Electoral Librarian’s first-quarter honorarium. Presumably this had involved a commission to the Chancellor, but by now Adele had enough contact with Daniel’s servant to know that there were other possibilities. Hogg might have warned that a gang of Cinnabar sailors would smash up the Chancellor’s residence if the honorarium weren’t paid.
And while Bosun’s Mate Woetjans and her crew couldn’t have been more friendly and respectful to Adele herself, the threat might not have been empty. The casual violence with which the sailors cleared gawking locals from their path when they were working suggested they were ready to take the shortest way to accomplishing a task.