Page 78 of Paladin's Faith

“Unhand me, sir!”

“First of all,” said Shane, pushing the man up against a wall so that the other three could move through the gap, “if you will look up, you will see that there are wooden beams holding the ceilings in place.”

“Put me down!”

“Secondly, heated stone tends to crack and break.”

“I said, put me down!”

The clot of traffic was slowing even further as people stopped to watch the show. Marguerite had to use her elbows to wedge her way through.

“I would like you to consider what will happen when a fortress made entirely of stone gets very hot. And begins to break.”

Shane had a marvelously carrying voice. Someone in the crowd began to wail.

“You can stay if you like,” the paladin said, “but I wouldn’t.” He set the man down, turned, and said, at a volume better suited to a parade ground than an enclosed hallway, “Remain calm! Form orderly lines! Assist those who require aid!”

To Marguerite’s absolute astonishment, the panicked milling subsided somewhat. Shane pointed. “You there! You’re a military man, aren’t you?”

The man’s back was as straight as an arrow and he ripped off a perfect salute, despite wearing a nightcap and gown. “Sir! Sergeant-at-Arms Kettler, formerly of the Fightin’ Fifteenth, sir!”

“Good. You are in charge of this hallway. Make certain that everyone gets out of their rooms. Deputize anyone who can keep their head to lead groups to the stairs in an orderly fashion. Understood?”

“Sir!” Another picture-perfect salute, which Shane returned. The paladin came striding through the crowd, and took up his position at the front of the group again. Behind them, Kettler’s voice rose, ordering people to form those lines and stop shoving.

“What the hell did I just watch?” Davith asked Marguerite.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

“If I tried to do that, those people would kill and eat me!”

“He’s really good at the voice,” Marguerite said.

The crowd thinned out substantially as they went. Marguerite steered them toward the stairs used to move deliveries between levels, rather than the broader set used by those guests who chose not to take the lifts. I don’t even want to think about what the approach to the lifts looks like right now.

There were two more guards stationed ahead, who hadn’t left their post. Marguerite slowed a little, not liking the suspicious way they eyed the group.

“There’s a fire,” said Shane.

“Good to know,” said the one on the right. The one on the left grunted. Neither of them budged.

“We’re taking the stairs down,” said Shane.

“Not these stairs,” said the one on the right. The one on the left was looking past them. There was an expectant edge to his gaze that set off Marguerite’s internal alarms.

She turned, saw three men approaching, and inhaled sharply…and then wished very strongly that she hadn’t.

A smell was flowing through the corridor like nothing she had ever experienced in her life. It was like rotten eggs and rancid meat and burning feathers had compared notes and come up with something that combined the most extraordinary parts of all three.

Also, for some reason, pumpkin.

The three men slowed. One doubled over and began to enthusiastically rid himself of his dinner. The other two staggered against the walls, wiping at their eyes. However strong the smell was at this end of the hall, Marguerite guessed that it was substantially worse at their end.

“What the hell is that?” Davith choked, flinging an arm over his face.

And then, to her absolute astonishment, she heard Shane laughing.

Marguerite turned back in time to see Shane lowering the lefthand guard to the floor, head lolling to one side. The righthand guard would probably have protested, but Wren had stepped up very close to him, holding her axe in an odd, low grip. “Do you have any children?” she asked pleasantly.

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