Keturah was in the Regimental Council offices, radiating worry – a state shared by just about all the staff. Thelonious hadn’t come in yet. Slvasta sat behind his desk, not knowing what to do. The ’path babble filling the aether outside precluded any work. Everybody, it seemed, was waiting for something to happen. He told Keturah she could go home if she wanted, but she said, no, she’d ride it out, although she did want to go home early.

At nine o’clock, Arnice stuck his head round the door. ‘This is getting a bit beastly,’ he said.

‘I told you we should be taking those reports of the disappeared more seriously. And did you read about the mods attacking humans in Wurzen? I wonder what Major Rennart makes of that?’

‘Oh, come now, be gallant in your victory.’

‘I don’t think anyone has won anything here. Three hundred people!’

‘Humm. Don’t tell anyone, but it was probably closer to four hundred. The Captain’s police chief, Trevene, was saying the Lanichie family probably Fell five years ago.’

‘Five years? Hey, wait a minute, how do you know what the police chief is saying?’

Arnice winked. ‘Trevene is my sister-in-law’s uncle.’

‘Did he know?’

‘No, of course not. The idiot governor was too stupid to question anything.’

‘Bloody typical.’

‘Quite. Anyway, I’m off to change into my combat uniform.’

‘What? Why?’

Arnice pointed at the window. ‘You need to stretch your ex-sight. There’s a nasty little bunch of peasants congregating in Bromwell Park, fizzing with anti-Captain thoughts – as if he knew what was happening in Wurzen. We’re worried they’ll march on the National Council chamber, or worse, the palace. So the Meor regiment will deploy across Walton Boulevard and, shall we say, discourage them.’

‘Ah.’ Slvasta frowned. ‘Can they get here in time? Your men are all barracked on the south side of the Colbal.’

‘Not as of three o’clock this morning when the news reached us. They’re in various forward deployment bunkers, including the one under this building.’

‘We have a deployment bunker here?’

‘Oh, yes. But don’t spread the news around.’

‘Right.’

‘Don’t worry. The chaps train for civil disobedience suppression. We’ll crack a few heads, chuck some of the would-be revolutionaries in jail, and the rest will slink off back to their hovels and drink themselves stupid all night. And if the worst comes to the worst, well, we’ve got all the guns, haven’t we?’

Slvasta didn’t trust himself to answer; it was difficult enough to keep his shell solid. He’d never known regiments were used to keep order, let alone trained for it. But then the Meor was always regarded as an elite regiment, directed by the National Council. And . . . guns? Fired at civilians?

‘You can take me out for a drink tomorrow evening,’ Arnice said cheerfully as he left. ‘I haven’t seen you properly for ages. I want to know all about her – whoever she is. This girl you’re spending all your time with and ignoring your best friend in the city: your loyal friend, your drinking friend, the friend who showed you round right from the start, your friend who managed to get you laid a lot, the one friend who—’

Slvasta smiled sheepishly. ‘Bethaneve. Her name is Bethaneve.’

‘Lovely. And I’ve got some news, too. Tomorrow.’ A final wave, and he scurried out.

*

The mob was over a thousand strong as it finally spilt out of Bromwell Park. Shared ex-sights allowed the whole city to watch as they started to make their way along Walton Boulevard. Jeering and chanting, they launched half-hearted teekay attacks at statues of historical dignitaries. The surprisingly large number of the protestors encouraged more hesitant people to join and make their opinion known to the arseholes in charge. A steady stream of fresh supporters swarmed in, bolstering the scale and determination of those leading the push up Walton Boulevard. Government buildings along the road were now locked and sealed. Teekay punches from the sneering crowd slammed into the windows. Blizzards of shattered glass began to rain down onto the broad pavements.

Troopers of the Meor regiment filed across Walton Boulevard, forming a resolute barrier, five deep, blocking the approach to the palace. The first rank carried long batons, as did the second. The third rank was made up of strong teekays, well practised in cooperative techniques, shielding their comrades. The fourth and fifth ranks were armed. Sheriffs and marshals scurried onto the road behind them, bringing jail wagons. Officers used strong ’path shouts to order the mob to disperse.

The two sides faced each other for several minutes, with the mob flinging taunts and the occasional teekay-boosted lump of stone. Then a clump of protestors broke off and started running down Cantural Street, shouting, ‘There’s the regiment offices, they’re all in there.’ More hate-inflamed protesters were pouring out of alleys and side roads – those who were genuinely aggrieved by the disaster and blamed the regiment for not stopping it, and others who simply fancied giving the sheriffs and troopers a good kicking, revenge for a life lived at the bottom end of society.

‘Oh, Uracus,’ Slvasta grunted as it became clear that their target was the Joint Regimental Council offices.

‘What do we do?’ a terrified Keturah asked as she ran out of his office.

‘Stay in here,’ he barked at her. ‘Lock the doors and don’t let anyone in that you don’t know.’

Officers were running out into the main corridor, the majors trying to shout orders. The chaos was ridiculous.

‘We have to coordinate our teekay to defend the building,’ Slvasta said.

Nobody paid him any attention. Cursing, he ran for the stairs. The building’s big front doors were shut and bolted, but the broad windows would be easy points of entry once the glass and shutters had been smashed down. They had to be reinforced. ‘Come on,’ he ’pathed to some of the junior officers he knew. They acknowledged his intent and started to follow him. Outside, the shouting was getting louder.

Four squads of Meor troopers came up the narrow stone stairs from the deployment bunker in the basement of the Joint Regimental Council offices. Arnice led them out through a small door at the side of the building. They came round the corner to confront the mob swelling across Cantural Street.

*

‘This has been declared a restricted area,’ Arnice announced, ’pathing as strongly as he could. ‘Disperse and return to your homes.’

The squads lined up in single file all along the front of the long stone office building. They were spaced wider than he would have liked, but then they were a reserve force. The main body of the Meor was still guarding Walton Boulevard.

‘Get some wagons here,’ Arnice ’pathed the local sheriff’s station. ‘We need to make arrests, show these bastards they don’t have free rein.’ He stood at the top of the stone steps, his back to the office block’s sturdy double doors, obviously trying not to let any concern filter out through his shell. Behind him, the teekay of the officers inside the building insinuated its way into the doors, strengthening the wood. On either side, more teekay was weaving into the shutters and glass of the windows.

‘We’re sealing it up,’ Slvasta’s ’path assured him.

Bolstered by the support, Arnice bellowed: ‘Go home!’ at the mob. ‘This is your final warning. I have been authorized by the police councillor herself to use force.’

That was greeted with a chorus of booing and obscenities. Stones began to fly through the air, accelerated and guided by teekay. Several were aimed at him. His own teekay batted them away. Just.

‘Stand by to fire warning shots,’ Arnice told his squads.

He was appalled to see women in the frenzied crowd, and even some children. All of them animated with hatred, letting loose vile ’path images of the Captain and First Officer.