It was almost evening by the time Sileo’s servants wrapped up the final preparations for his journey. Leaning against the railing of the first floor, a glass of protein juice between the fingers, Erol surveyed the horse that would take him through the plains of Trisstiss. Once there, he could finally try to get a hold of Marian and bring him back safe and sound. To his astonishment, Freia had given her consent within the day and even gifted him a brand-new Shandaloo gun.

The archaeologist took advantage of his insomnia to wander around the corridors of the cabaret. There was nothing else to do since a curfew had been introduced following the latest riots.

It was very late and he didn’t know if Suzanne was already asleep. He had not seen her since the night that she had disappeared. He promised himself that he would stop by and tell her goodbye tomorrow morning even if his brother had made it clear that she had been very busy working on his personal book collection and the terminal.

Around the corner of a corridor, Erol came across a woman with magnificent blond hair. He had encountered her once before, shortly prior to Freia’s arrival and Suzanne’s escape. Her plastic tunic and undergarments were completely transparent. She smiled at him. The purple of her lipstick was mesmerizing and he felt like he had been struck by lightning. With a gesture of her hand, she invited him to join her in a room from where lights and music seeped out.

He didn’t jump into a conversation right away, preferring to savor the moment. The melody was sweet, but rhythmic. Curiously, the music seemed to mimic the beatings of his heart. The incense fumes made the archaeologist’s head spin, or perhaps it was the body of the young woman between his hands.

“I am happy to see that a simple dance together was enough to remove the veil of sadness that covered your eyes,” she finally said between music beats. She gazed at him and smiled. “Do you need another glass?”

“More like ten,” Erol clumsily replied, sprinkling the crowd with the last drops of his juice.

“That goes without saying,” she joked, heading in the direction of the bar. She held him by the hand and he let her guide him.

The barman knew Erol and they were able to drink on sight for the rest of the evening. Each new glass was followed by a dance. It was the middle of the night and he still did not know her name. “But who the hell are you?” he asked her, finally, when midnight struck.

They were now stretched along one of the benches of the atrium. “Who cares. Do you want to dance?”

“One last one, I am beginning to feel tired. I am leaving at dawn, once the rioters have stopped burning houses down…,” Erol told her.

“I am not talking about this type of choreography.”

“Got me there…”

Climbing the stairs four by four, they took the direction of the archaeologist’s apartment. Once there, they threw themselves on the bed.

She was lying on her back. Her heavy breathing swelled her chest. She helped him get out of his pants, leaving his long-sleeved shirt on. His belt was thrown across the room, breaking a vase a little farther away.

“Merde! Sileo is going to be mad about—what are you doing?” Erol was so drunk that he wondered for half a second what his partner was doing with a knife. When the blade sliced into his upper shoulder, the adrenaline cleared his mind. He then swore and bounced out of the bed, shaking the young woman off him as she grinned, her hands on her face. She was now sitting crossed legs on the mattress.

Erol cursed himself for his stupidity and he threw himself on his blade. The alcohol distorted the distance and he landed on the ground before he had been able to cross even half the room. With great effort, he dodged several new knife stabs that slashed through the wood like butter. Then, with a kick, he hurled the assassin against the low table, breaking the piece of furniture into two.

“Are you made of steel, Fräulein?”

“Partially.” She spit out greenish blood.

“Who sent you?”

Erol peeked in the direction of his sword. The assassin followed his gaze. “I am almost tempted to let you get it. See if you can use it any better than the one you have between your legs.”

“Seeing all the ruckus we are making, I would not be surprised to see Sileo’s men erupting in here before this discussion is over.” Alas, no servant came through the door. Erol was alone in front of his adversary. “Why the hell are the guards of this city as deaf as doornails?” he ranted, thinking about the University.

“Perhaps they are too preoccupied with what is happening outside.”

From the window, Erol could see a fire had erupted close to the ramparts. Then, an explosion lit up the night sky on the side of the Great Dome. Tonight, the riots were turning into a revolution.

The eyes of the archaeologist turned again furtively towards his sword and he made another attempt to retrieve it. His assailant fell against the windowpane and he leaped in the direction of the door. Unfortunately, the dagger whistled through the air and caught in the latch, sealing the room. The blow’s precision was admirable. Erol tried several times to open the door, but without success.

“I am beginning to wonder if the girl will give me this much trouble.”

“And how are you going to manage it without your knife?”

The assassin snickered and brought her hand to her jaw. With a click, she pulled it out to retrieve something from underneath her tongue. The cyborg withdrew a new green blood-covered blade from her throat.

“That’s—incredibly gross,” Erol spit out. “Please don’t ever do that again.”

“It is hard to appear menacing when you are wearing only a shirt and leaving the rest of you to hang out in the open,” she retorted. “Sainte Maev wants the girl alive. You... the Judge said that you would be more difficult to bring back breathing, even if tied up.”

Without further delay, she threw herself on him, her sword in front of her. Erol tried to fend it off as best he could. The impact destabilized him and he stumbled on the dresser against a metal bowl of fruit. He retreated to the terrace, leaned against the stone wall, and seized up his adversary with his gaze.

Anxious to accomplish her mission, the young blond leaped ahead, pushing aside with a simple kick a bunch of chairs that the archaeologist would have had trouble moving with his two hands. She hit him and the grave robber slipped, dragging her with him by her hair.

On her end, Suzanne had yet to fall asleep. She had been spending the evening on the computer when she saw two half-naked bodies riddled with splinters shatter the roof of her room.

One of them was Erol. He winced, his face a bloody pulp. He managed to open his eyes only after getting up from the rubble. “Suzanne!”

“Erol? What the hell are you doing?”

The archaeologist did not reply right away. He searched among the rubble, but the clouds of dust made his eyes burn. The remains of the assassin appeared only after he’d searched underneath the entire pile. A beam had pierced her guts, but she could still move. With a gloved fist, he detached her head from her body. It was now hanging by a few multicolored cables and a bloody hose.

He had been lucky to get out alive. Although now that he was standing in front of Suzanne, he suddenly realized that his shirt was the only thing he had on. A sense of shame began to pervade the archaeologist. But he didn’t have time to feel too humiliated as a sharp whistle and the crashing noise of a projectile impaling itself on a terminal on the bed brought him back to reality.

After pulverizing the wooden blinds, another crossbow bolt came to rest a few inches from his head.

Behind them, on the roof of the building facing the cabaret, two easily discernible men drew out their swords while a third tried to rearm a curious makeshift ballista.

“Erol!” Suzanne cried as the archaeologist seized one of the curtains of the canopy bed to cover himself as best he could.

“Would you do me the honor?” he smiled, pointing at the entrance gate. The white fabric draped over his shoulder became soaked in blood. He had not escaped his last fight unscathed.

Erol guided Suzanne through the maze of stairs until they reached his room. Another projectile flew through the space, almost grazing the young woman’s face as she hastened to join him.

“Erol! You are nuts! Why are we going up?”

“In case you had failed to notice, I am as naked as a jaybird and strolling around the city in my birthday suit, especially in the middle of the night, is not part of my plans.” He then penetrated his room alone and their assailants seem to have departed from the roof in front. He put back his trousers quickly, then attached his sheath and his holster. Once his hat was again on his head, he began to inspect the hole he had fallen through.

“Who was that woman, Erol?” Suzanne asked after joining him on the terrace.

“A bad hookup,” he answered ambiguously. “This cyborg, it was you that he or she wanted. And alive—”

“Cyborg? She’s a technomancer?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just a steel puppet—half machine.”

“The Inquisition?”

“Bingo!” he responded before giving her his weapon. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Yes. I mean, I think so.”

A new crossbow bolt came to rest near her cheek. A rain of projectiles fell on them in quick succession, not allowing either of them the time to breathe.

Taking advantage of a lull in the assault, they rushed out of the apartment and down the stairs again. Furious, Erol broke down the door and landed on the balustrade overlooking the inner courtyard of the building.

At the very bottom of the atrium, the front door chime rang and one of the servants rushed to open the postern.

“No! Wait!” screamed Suzanne as Erol held her by the shoulder.

It was too late. The damage had already been done. No sooner had the lame old man lifted the heavy iron bar that about fifteen men burst in. The first one thrust his blade through the unfortunate servant’s face, clearing the way for a new assassin with a gun.

Suzanne was the target this time, and she ran to take cover as she heard a bullet whistle over her head. “I thought they wanted me alive!” she screamed at Erol who shrugged his shoulders, incredulous.

Cries resonated in the building as the domestic servants and the guests fled in all directions. The assailants didn’t spare any violence as they made their way through the stairs, not hesitating to slay a poor boy who barred their advance.

Throwing his body over the railing, an assassin climbed heavily up the last few steps and finally came face to face with Sileo who had burst in before them. Sileo grabbed the assassin by the throat with his left arm, ripping out his tongue and Adam’s apple. Turning back to the young woman, he shouted at her to flee with Erol in the opposite direction.

“We have to go help Sileo!” Suzanne cried.

With an impressive punch, the cabaret owner slammed the assassin against the brick wall.

For their part, the servants of Bacchus’s lair had also taken up arms. The less trustworthy customers stood by their side, armed and enhanced to the teeth. The assault turned into a butchery.

“I think it would be better for you to find shelter!”

The same men who had previously targeted them from the roof of the adjacent building appeared on top of the staircase. Surprised to find himself in front of Erol, the first one lowered his wooden and iron crossbow by reflex, but narrowly missed his target.

Sileo intervened and reduced the assailants to pieces. The cabaret owner then looked at Erol. The latter was staggering and in very bad shape. “Do you have any capsules?” Sileo asked.

“No. You?”

“In my right pocket. I am going to take one. Take the rest.”

Erol rummaged through his brother’s clothes while he tore off one of the steel bars from the balcony to use as a weapon. He found several small gray balls the size of gooseberries, which he shared with Sileo. Sileo crunched one between his teeth and his bionic muscles swelled as a result.

The archaeologist was tucking the combat drug into his trousers when a tile grazed his brother’s neck. Erol let out an expletive as the captain of the guards burst through the great gate. He was accompanied by a cohort of soldiers who rushed to the assistance of the defenders.

“Hurry up and leave the area, Erol. There are snipers on every scaffold in the neighborhood. I am afraid I have led my men into a trap!” shouted the captain on his white ostrich.

The grave robber could already see shadows forming on the roofs of the building. Five new assassins were bursting out of the kitchens. “Are you coming with us, my brother?” asked Erol.

“My god Erol, you look like hell.” The two men exchanged a smile. It was nevertheless true that the archaeologist could barely stay upright. His shoulder was not nice to look at. “I will never leave this place,” Sileo stated. “Plus, it’s you that they are really after, so would you please be kind enough to lead them elsewhere?” Bullets and bolts whizzed by. The soldiers of the guard responded to the assault, but many had already fallen. “Now you have an excuse to take the lady to Trisstiss! Find Marian and come back if the situation here ever becomes calmer!”

Sileo was right. An attack of this magnitude did not bode well. Staying in the city would be suicidal for him. And Suzanne would fall into the hands of the Inquisition and he had no idea what they might want to do with her.

“Goodbye, Sileo, thank you for everything,” Erol said at last.

“Thank you, Sileo,” Suzanne added, before making her way through the atrium where the Inquisition had received a new crop of mercenaries as their reinforcement.

Faced with this danger, Erol handed the gun to Suzanne while he cut a path for them with his sword. Unfortunately, at the gates of the stable, six men-at-arms burst out of their hiding place to block their way. Behind them, a colossus in iron armor shouted orders that echoed through his helmet, demanding they be put to death.

A shot rang out. The head of the man in the armor suddenly exploded, covering the room with blood and brains. The archaeologist’s ears ringed. The gun was still smoking in Suzanne’s hands.

Frightened by what they had just seen, the scoundrels immediately fled from the scene, fearing that they would be the ones to be targeted by Suzanne next. But the gun now lay in her hands.

“Suzanne! You … could … have … warned me!” shouted the archaeologist, trying to regain his hearing.

“Erol! The mounts!”

The archaeologist scanned the stalls as the young woman pointed to them. Their occupants, horses, oxen and ostriches, had all been killed to prevent any attempt at an escape.

Proving faster than him, Suzanne grabbed the nearest manhole cover. Erol helped her drag it open before inviting her down into the darkness. Once the manhole cover was back in place, they were safe. Nevertheless, if they didn’t find other steeds, they would be forced to leave the city on foot and completely blind. Fortunately, Suzanne had a solution to this problem.

“Since when can you see in the dark?” said Erol, his hands on the hips of his guide. He laughed at the situation. Blinded, here he was, helpless in the underground networks that were his home, the place he boasted that he knew like the back of his hand.

“My neural implant has reactivated.”

“And?”

“So, I have an orientation system. The city’s sewers haven’t changed much and their maps are still accessible.”

“Anyone ever told you you’re amazing?”

Even in the dark, he swore he saw her smile.

After a few minutes of walking, they ended up in a labyrinth of vaulted rooms dedicated to growing mushrooms. The smell of mold and manure was most unpleasant and the two fugitives had to cover their noses.

An underground river of filth led them to the edge of the city, marked by a stone plaque and the stocky corpse of a smuggler impaled on a spike in the light of a sewer. The figure’s single eye, not yet devoured by vermin, betrayed Ricine’s identity.

“What do you know! I used to be acquainted with this rotting corpse,” Erol exclaimed. “Not a particularly respectable figure.”

Suzanne stared at the emaciated face of the cadaver.

“So did I. She almost ran me over while on horseback…”

They paused at the foot of the makeshift gallows. From the gap they could hear the clamor made by the rioters.

“What is the plan now?” she whispered, afraid of attracting the attention of passers-by.

Erol coughed up blood. He hoped with all his heart that Sileo’s pills would work. “The revolution will turn into a civil war. The city is no longer safe. You and I are going to look for Marian in Trisstiss,” Erol told her.

“Together?” the young woman gasped.

“With your night vision and marksmanship… you’ll be far from a burden anyway.” With a gesture of his chin, he pointed to the gun she still held in her hand.

“And how are we going to get to Trisstiss? On ostrich?” she asked, holding the weapon in her fingers. He felt a hint of irony in her voice.

“Do you have a problem with ostriches?

“No—well… whatever,” she hesitated before closing the subject.

He did not insist. “We’ll find something to help us out in the faculty compound. We’re almost there.”

Erol smiled. He had been thinking about this plan for years.