“Colonel!” the Preacher said. “It’s all right, Viera. The colonel’s here to help.” The Preacher strode over. The office was a large one, with a full table and chairs in addition to a massive desk and liquor cabinet. In the back wall, a large multipaned window was covered by a curtain, and three more students were clustered around it, peering through a narrow gap.

“Captain,” Marcus said. “I came as quickly as I could. It looks like you’re having some problems.”

“Not really my problems, in truth, but I can’t just leave ’em be. Did Norman and Geoff fill you in?”

“Somewhat. How many foreigners have you got here?”

“Just Viera and the three lads over there. She’s one of mine, and the other foreigners are all medical types.” The Preacher’s bearded face clouded over. “I’ll not hand any of ’em over to be spiked, you understand? It’d be plain murder.”

A woman cannoneer? Marcus looked at Viera, who stared back at him icily.

“I don’t suppose you happened to bring about a company of grenadiers with you?” the Preacher said.

“Just the two you sent me. I didn’t know we’d be standing a siege.”

He wished, momentarily, that he’d brought Uhlan and his men—if it did come to a fight, the veteran Mierantai riflemen would have been a reassuring weight on his side. Then again, if it comes to shooting down unarmed civilians in the street . . . He shied away from the thought.

“I thought as much,” the Preacher said. “How many do you figure at the main gate?”

“Maybe five hundred,” Marcus said.

“There’s more now,” one of the boys called from the window. “At least a thousand. They’re going crazy!”

“Listen.” The Preacher stepped closer and spoke quietly. “We’ve got to get these lads out of here. It’s only a matter of time before someone decides to push through those Patriot Guard. I need your help.”

“You’ve got it, but I’m not sure what you want me to do.”

“If we can get them off the campus . . .” The Preacher eyed Marcus sidelong. “I hear tell that you’re sneaking Hamvelts and Borels out of the city.”

Cora’s refugees. Marcus thought he’d been careful. Cargo ships left every day for the front, with army crews, and he’d impressed on them the need for silence about their extra cargo. The name of Janus bet Vhalnich was one to conjure with, as he’d found at the Gateway of Wisdom, and mentioning that this was all part of the general’s plan was usually enough to secure enthusiastic cooperation. It made Marcus feel guilty, but only a little. Janus would certainly approve, if he knew.

They’d been sneaking the refugees out slowly, one family every few days. But if the Preacher knows about it . . .