Novel 3. The Last Autumn

— Is it... an ore mine? — Don suggested. Alex clarified something to the guards following him, and nodded:

— Yes, that's right. The base is set up in an old iron mine. The locals gave it to us, we just expanded it. Three levels. This one's residential, below that's storage, above that's the generator room. That's where the machines make the electricity, you know.

Their journey through the base ended at a metal door. Armando and the girls were crammed into a cramped room with two unmade bunks. Alex said, coughing into his fist:

— You'll wait here while I report back. Then they'll call you in, too.

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

— I'd like a stronger drink right now, — Armando admitted to his companions. The captain put her finger to her lips in response. Well, yes, it would be wise of the aliens to listen this room. Nevertheless, Sergeant Dallan said softly, taking a seat on the bunk:

— Good thing we're not magicians. If the mine wasn't worked dry, there's iron ore on all sides. Right in the walls. An archmage would have a hard time, and a fifth-level mage would go blind in here.

— Damn it! — Armando managed, by pure miracle, to say it out loud, with just his lips. He understood what the sergeant meant. Stone was no barrier to the flow of magic, but iron in any form... Master Carlon had warned of such things. The invisible light of the magical mark would penetrate the steel plate, but it would be weakened. Akira, almost helpless with magic, might not be able to see it at all. So the mark must be pulled out. And that requires freedom of movement...

The iron door swung open, and the stranger guard gestured for them to come out. The mercenaries were led into another room, much larger and well-lit. Wooden and iron cabinets lined the walls. In the centre stood a massive table, behind which sat a thin, young man in a simple blue uniform. Armando recognised him as Fulcanelli, the leader of the expedition from the other world, by his eagle nose and the bald spots on his head. The man responsible for...a lot of things. "Okay," Armando reminded himself, "he's just a top-level executive. Types like Auguste are to blame for all the trouble. On both sides of the portal. And the ones left in the other world are out of reach. And this one... he's not even directly responsible for Octavia's death. Look him in the eye and don't clench your fists."

— Have a seat. — Fulcanelli pointed with his palm to a row of chairs near the entrance, where one seat was already occupied by Alex. — Ladies too.

When everyone was seated, he continued, turning to Armando:

— So you're the mercenary who helped our operative complete the mission after losing his squad?

— I suppose so... that's me. — The former bailiff didn't hide his excitement — it seemed appropriate now.

— Great, we need fighters more than ever. Your services will be paid, and we will be happy to give you new contracts. And you, ladies... — The stranger turned his gaze to the girls. Captain Valria sat up straight, raised her chin, put her ears back and proudly declared:

— I would like to discuss with you the terms of changing employers. You see, I have recently been looking for a new job.

Alex didn't change his face, but Armando wouldn't vouch for himself. She did not explain to her companions how she intended to talk to the aliens, probably because she was going to improvise again.

— Isn't it a little late for that, Captain? — Fulcanelli hummed, leaning back against the armrest of his chair. His tone was full of scepticism. — You've done us a lot of harm, and now you're trying to get away with it?

— Just in time, — the girl smiled at him. — I always try to honour the contract, but my life is more valuable. The essence of mercenary work, you know, is to make money. Reputation is important, but a dead man doesn't need money. I've had the opportunity to see what you can do, sire. After all your failures, you're still a force to be reckoned with. And I can make you stronger.

— In what way? — The alien leader raised his eyebrows.

— I'll give you information that will keep me on the other side of the barricades. And then I'll help you put it to good use. You can just squeeze the information out of me in the torture chamber, but my active co-operation will be much more valuable. I believe that you and I are both pragmatic and not prone to petty grudges.

— You are not a human being, — Fulcanelli corrected. — But let's say... I'm listening.

— While you were on the continent, your informants must have told you that the Eastern Empire's intelligence chief had resigned shortly after your assassination attempt on the Duchess of Elvart, right? — The elven woman squinted her eyes, making her smile turn sly.

— Yes, — the stranger nodded.

— That's not true. — The captain leaned back in her chair with a satisfied look. — The old man is still going strong. He's heading up a new secret service dedicated entirely to countering you. To uncover and thwart your plans. The Emperor was very frightened, what can I say?

— We have no record of anything like that, — Fulcanelli reluctantly admitted.

— Naturally, the service is secret. But it's responsible for all your recent failures. I'm aware of that because I've been brought in to co-operate. I know many names, many methods, many plans. — Valria tried to splash her hands, forgetting the shackles, and their chain jingled. — Hire me and my friend, and you'll feel better about your life.

What the captain was saying now completely contradicted everything Armando had heard before. Starting with the fact that the company worked not for the Empire, but for the Duchy of Elvart. But it sounded convincing and logical. So much so that the don had a pang of doubt — what if it was something they were not telling him? No, nonsense. The bright heads are too diverse to lie so coherently and for so long. But Fulcanelli hesitated. He said, without his former scepticism:

— Well, I think you've convinced me to hold off on shooting you. We should discuss this again in a calmer atmosphere. For now, you'll be escorted to the holding cell.

As the guards led the girls out, Fulcanelli turned to Alex, still in Daertian:

— You and messire Luca have done well. The loss was not in vain.

Armando remembered only a moment later that Luca was his false name and bowed his head gratefully.

— What now, commander? — Alex asked.

— Get some rest. Perhaps something will happen soon. — Fulcanelli chewed his lip. — Our allies from the Tagawa clan reported that their dragons had seen some strange ship at sea. Large, with a pad on its bow, no flag. Their lizards wouldn't go near it, so I sent an armed helicopter to reconnoitre. Maybe the island will be hit by Tagawa's enemies. Worst case scenario, we'd have to evacuate to their capital. We don't want to do that. There's no prepared base there. We don't intend to go to war, but anything is possible. You'll be assigned a room, Messire Luca will be on the fourth lower level. There are barracks for the local staff.

— I'd rather Luca stayed with me, — Alex said quickly. — He's not from here, really. Not Erdosian, that is. He doesn't even know the language. And he's already been tested in battle.

— All right, as you wish. — The head alien released them with a motion of his hand. — Go.

The living room was quite far away from Fulcanelli's office and looked like the hold of a helicopter. By some miracle it contained bunk bunks, the kind Armando had only seen in a royal prison, a bedside table, and a wall lamp. Alex, locking the door with the latch and sitting down on the bunk, said:

— You can talk freely in here. The Boss not paranoid enough to wire the operatives' rooms.

— And for nothing, it seems, — de Gorazzo said, leaning his shoulder blades against the cold wall. — How are you? Are you well?

— I just made sure I was doing the right thing, — the defector grinned wryly. — You should have seen our base on the continent... This one's a shithole. Look — the corridors are empty, the living block is empty. The expedition's down to three choppers and a dozen men. And they're trying to play independent politics. By the way!" he slapped himself on the thigh. — One of the languages of our world has a special word for what the captain did. Hutzpah. That's what it's called. You heard that, didn't you? She repeated what I said!

— I'm not surprised at all, — Armando lied. — Valria is like that. But we have a problem.

He briefly explained to Alex why the magical mark could fail them in the bowels of the old iron mine. He added:

— Maybe I should have gone to the outer barracks after all. But they're underground, too, and a long way from the right people. The best thing to do would be to take her to the helipad. From there, the Republic dragons can infiltrate the base. And with their support, we can get to Fulcanelli.

— I can't take the tag myself, I take it. — Alex rubbed his chin. — It'll run out of power... And they won't let you wander around the facility. We could go out together, but we'd have to come up with an excuse.

Armando sat down on the bed next to the defector, and they were silent for several minutes. Before either of them had realised it, a heartbreaking mew was heard in the corridor. Armando jumped, but the stranger frowned:

— Sound the alarm. It's early.

The two men looked out into the corridor. Alex asked something to a soldier running past, who answered without stopping. The defector tugged de Gorazzo's sleeve:

— Come on, there's a meeting in the break room.

The corridor of the dwelling block led them into a cavernous, round-ceilinged room with a leather sofa, armchairs, and some devices of unclear purpose. They looked faintly like radios. Seven strangers huddled around one of the devices, and the infiltrators joined them. The snuff-box-like device suddenly spoke in a young woman's voice. The Don did not understand the words, but he guessed from the tone that the invisible girl was transmitting an important message and perhaps some orders. When the stranger's speech was cut off with a dry click, the aliens exchanged frowns and hurried away from the room. Alex lingered to explain to his companion:

— The scout helicopter is missing. He said he saw some ships at sea, then he said he was attacked. And that was it.

— If this is Iruthava's fleet, how did they bring it down so quickly? — De Gorazzo asked in a half-whisper. They were alone in the lounge, but someone could hear the conversation from the corridor.

— I have no idea, — Alex wrinkled his chin. — The base is on alert. The entrances to the lower levels are sealed, and additional guards have been sent to the helipad. The operatives have been ordered to arm themselves. Good thing they didn't send you away, the local staff barracks are outside the perimeter. Let's go to the armoury if we're invited.

The armoury was located one floor below the living quarters, on the same level as the punishment cell and storage rooms. A moustachioed stranger guard opened the iron cabinet and handed Alex the rifle he'd flown to the island with. The armoury guard added a couple of pistols and a massive gun, not like the other alien guns.

— This is for you. — Alex slipped the shotgun into de Gorazzo's hands. — It's a pump-action shotgun. If you've shot from your firearms before, you can handle this one, too. It shoots buckshot. Thirty paces. Point the barrel at the target, pull the trigger. Then pull that thing under the barrel, like this. Seven rounds. When you run out, you put new ones through this window. That's it.

The stranger added a belt to the shotgun, which held a dozen or two spare shells. He kept the second pistol for himself. The men returned to the room with the sofa, hesitating to discuss further plans — the inhabitants of the base were milling around. This time there were only four operatives near the talking box. The defector spoke to him, and Armando sat down on the sofa, stroking the butt of his gun. He wished that Captain Valria were here with him right now. The elven woman's ability to make insanely brazen and bold plans on the fly would come in handy more than ever. De Gorazzo could only wait, hoping for the right moment to seize fate. Getting the magic marker out of the tunnels and preventing Fulcanelli from escaping if he started to flee the base was the first thing to do. However, at the same time it would not hurt to rescue the girls from the punishment cell, and at the end of it all — to stay alive.

Half an hour later the box came to life again. The familiar female voice sounded confident and calm, but de Gorazzo picked up a tense note that had not been there before. The new message elicited excited cheers from the operatives. They seemed indignant and upset.

— What happened? — dared to ask the former bailiff.

— The base has surveillance devices in the Tagawa clan's port and on the coast, — Alex turned to him. The other outsiders ignored him, though they surely understood Daertian. — They have just detected garrison activity, as well as a large number of ships approaching the island. Tagawa's squadron is coming out of the bay to meet them.

— Yeah, — de Gorazzo said. — The Republic fleet showed up just in time, I'll give you that.

— A major attack on the island is expected, — the defector continued. — Command has ordered the base to be prepared for evacuation in case the garrison doesn't fight back. Not everyone is comfortable with that. — He nodded at the other aliens, who were already reaching for the exit. — But there's nothing more for you and me to do here.

The spies followed the operatives, but immediately fell behind them. Alex turned down a side passage, knocked on a closed board door, and pushed it open. Armando looked over his companion's shoulder and saw a cramped room filled with shelves and metal boxes, entangled with multicoloured threads. One of the boxes stood on a table, and behind the table sat in a high chair a very pretty girl of about twenty-five. Her facial features resembled Erdosian, and her silky, raven-coloured hair fell in waves below her waist. She wore shiny black boots and a black suit, which would have looked very austere if it had not been for the narrow skirt that barely reached her knees.

— Alex? — She said in surprise, turning round to see who had entered. The seat of the chair turned in place with her. The girl took the headband off her head, connected by a thread to the box on the table, and asked a question in her native language. De Gorazzo recognised the voice — it was this girl who advertised through the "snuff-box".

— I want you to meet a friend. — The defector answered her in Daertian. — This is Luka, he came with me from the continent. He saved my life.