The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 12
A pair of labourers, their overalls dark with grime, spoke in voices fuelled by drink. One fellow reeked of rosemary oil, the glint of it on exposed forearms a clear sign that his home or place of work was plagued by mosquitoes. Notch understood. He’d stayed in rooms near standing water, trapped between stone landings and street puddles, and it wasn’t pleasant.
“No. I say he won’t last the week,” said the oiled man.
“You’re wrong, Bac. The king will live for another month. More.” He punctuated his words with arm waving.
Bac made a rude gesture. “Bah. You’re thicker than a tree stump. The Prince says he’s been keeping his illness secret for a whole year now.”
“So he’s not in a hurry, is he?” The other man’s voice faded as they turned a corner. Notch liked the second man’s odds. The sooner the old bastard shuffled off the better.
Notch swivelled his head. At the opposite end of the street, which ran into an intersection where a rundown warehouse sat with gaping windows, a small group of Shields strode along the cobbles, their boots loud. He kept his head down and waited for them to pass.
When the door to the Iron Pig opened and a man stumbled away, Notch straightened. The drunk was followed by a Mascare. A chance to get some more answers? Notch had tangled with the Mascare before and they deserved their reputation. Superior in close quarters, but if he could manage to surprise the mask...
He hurried across the street, keeping a fair distance from the mask but steadily closing the gap. The crimson robes fluttered round a corner as the Mascare entered an alley. Notch paused to draw his sword.
He stepped into the darkness and confronted nothing but emptiness. Two boarded up doors and a dead end, a pile of rotten fish heads and a hook placed above one of the doors. He checked each one, kicking at an apple core as he did. Both locked up tight. “Where did you go?”
“Found him.”
Four men with drawn weapons crowded the mouth of the alley. One, the tall man who led them, sneered. Gaps winked between his teeth. He held a hooked blade, pointing it at Notch. “You shouldn’t have come back here, Notch. Stupid. Very stupid.”
Notch hefted his blade. “If I’d known you’d be here I would have stayed away, Cegnar.” He spat. “I didn’t think you’d stoop to this.”
The man shrugged. “We’re mercenaries.”
“But not dogs.”
“It’s a very nice reward, Notch. What do you expect me to do? Now put your sword down and we’ll make it easy, eh?”
“No.”
Cegnar waved the weapon and his men charged. “We need him alive, hear?”
Notch remained still, sword ready. How long since he’d taken on four men at once? The narrow confines slowed them, but the first man broke from the press and swung his short sword with a snarl. Notch caught the blade on his own and dropped the man with a kick to the groin. Crouching beneath a slash from the second mercenary, Notch tore a knife from the fallen man’s belt and drove it into his attacker’s stomach.
Springing up, he shoved the wounded man into Cegnar and used his cloak to turn a stab from the third man, tangling the blade. Pain sliced the inside of his forearm. Too slow. Notch lashed out with his free arm, sword tearing through the man’s throat, a spray of blood black in the air.
A grunt of effort from behind.
He spun, switching sword hands to catch Cegnar’s wrist. The man slammed him into the wall and Notch growled. He dropped his weapon and caught the man’s other hand as it snaked toward a dagger on his belt.
“Give up, Notch.”
Notch squeezed Cegnar’s wrists, then drove his head into the man’s mouth. The mercenary roared, stumbling back. Blood covered Cegnar’s chin and the his lips were split. Another tooth was missing. Notch bent to snatch his sword as Cegnar leapt forward, weapon raised. Notch rolled, air from the blade whistling, and scrambled to his feet. Off balance, Cegnar tried to turn, but Notch was too fast, whipping his sword across the back of the man’s neck. The mercenary slumped to the cobblestones without a sound.
“I wouldn’t,” Notch warned the man he’d kicked, who had now found his feet and stood locked in place, eyes wide. “Help your friend,” Notch added, pointing his gleaming blade at the fellow who moaned, knife hilt protruding from his gut.
Notch turned to leave, wrapping his arm with part of his cloak.
“He’s dying,” the surviving mercenary cried.
“Yes, he is.” Notch didn’t bother turning back.
Chapter 14
Emilio paused at an ancient door heavy with bolts, fitting a key to its lock and motioning for Sofia to wait. Pale light coloured the stone beneath the door and a chill stung her hands and feet. She tasted salt in the air and distant water crashed against stones somewhere beyond. It was the third such door on their escape, each requiring a different key. The respite was welcome. They’d trudged through the secret ways of the Mascare for hours, or so it seemed.
Her ankle still throbbed. An ache gnawed at her stomach and her lips were dry, hours since her last meal and not even water to fool her body into thinking it had eaten. She swallowed her hunger when Emilio finally opened the door. Moonlight hit the white walls of low buildings crowded near the parapets of the Second Tier. Far below, the ocean crashed against stone but she heard Emilio, even with his voice pitched low.
“This is a fair part of the Second Tier but be on guard.”
“I will.”
“Head four streets over, to a cobbler at an intersection. Knock on the rear door. Tell whoever answers that you have been sent by the Little Bird.”
Emilio was the Little Bird? She could have laughed but her body wasn’t willing. Everything ached, stung or weighed down on her. “Thank you, Captain. I’m in your debt now. Casa Falco too.”
He smiled. Her cheeks warmed and she glanced away.
“No. It’s a debt only partially paid to your father.” He paused. “And by my honour, I would see you safe. Go now.”
Sofia nodded but managed only a few steps before her legs gave way. Blinking from the cold cobblestones, she tried to stand but her knees wouldn’t bend. Her vision spun. “Oceans.”
Emilio scooped her up and she exhaled, relief soothing her limbs. The stars bounced as he walked along, hopping up from behind the rooves. The captain appeared to be in two or three places at once too. Holding her, but also appearing above her or off to the side. Sofia fought to keep her eyes open, stirring when she heard a thumping and then a voice, not Emilio’s, speaking with some surprise.
And then the stars were gone and she was somewhere darker, with naught but a single yellow star. Gentle hands placed her onto a bed. Voices conferred a moment, before water was held to her lips. She gulped it down. It was better than any wine she’d had at the royal table. Someone told her, “Slowly” and she obeyed. The room had slowed its spinning and she turned away when something bright flared.
“Can you return?” someone asked.
The reply was lost in smothering dark.
***
Sofia jerked upright. A blanket slipped from her torso, revealing her carver’s robe. Beneath the rest of the blankets her foot had been re-strapped. She shivered. Who had tended to her injury and where was her Mascare robe?
She needed a weapon.
The room was largely unadorned but clean, a dresser with a mirror stood opposite her cot. On the floor beside her was a cup of water, which she drank, and her red robes in a neat pile, half-covered by the blanket. She touched the robe. Clean and dry. Even her small chisels and her linfa-belt sat on top. “Gods, how long was I asleep?”
“Too long, girl.” A tall man appeared in the doorway and she jumped. Dressed in a patched tunic and pants, he would have hardly been threatening, if not for the gaze that rushed out from deep sockets. She shivered when he spoke no more, only staring at her, expression thoughtful. Could she reach a chisel before he moved?
“I thought I was alone. Are you the Water Rat?”
“Of course.”
“Then I must thank you for helping me.”
“You should thank Emilio, it is he who puts his life in jeopardy to help you, girl,” he said with a small smile. His speech was refined, unlike the street slang common from guards at the palace.
Sofia frowned. She was no ‘girl.’ She was to be Successor. Her House was the oldest house next to the king’s, she was... she was alone. In a strange place. With no-one to help her. Father was gone and her future too, unless she could take it back. “Is the captain safe?”
“I believe so.”
Good. “Emilio said you could help me.”
He came closer and she realised he was older than he first appeared. His silvery hair was at odds with his stride, but he was still much older than her father. “For a price, I will do more than help you. I will both protect and restore you to the palace, Sofia Falco. I will ensure you are free of the insufferable Oson. You will have the Greatmask Argeon back and your father will be free to return.”
“Who are you to promise all that?” She was unable to keep her eyebrows down. If he was making such unlikely claims, what would he want in return? “Do you know where my father is?”
“No, I don’t know where your father is, sadly. And I don’t claim it will be simple, but yes. I can arrange the rest. No doubt you miss your Greatmask already.”
“I miss my father.”
“Of course.”
“And your price?”
“Your help. Through the power and influence of your eventual position as Successor.”
“I can’t guarantee that. Look at me. I’m hunted, my family scattered.”
His smile returned, as if her acceptance was a foregone conclusion. “Entrust that to me. Will you accept?”
“If I did, what would you have me do with my influence?”
“For one, you must give me a ship. When you are restored.”
“A ship?”
“A certain ship. The king’s ship.”
She couldn’t stop a frown. A odd request. The Swordfish was the finest vessel in the Anaskari fleet, but it was hardly an object a thief could tuck away beneath a bed. “But why? And why do you think I’d be able to arrange that?”
“You’ll find a way.” His voice suggested the matter were of no consequence. “As to why, that I will keep to myself. Have we an understanding?”
“That’s truly what you desire?” Sofia met his eyes. Resolve simmered beneath his casual attitude. There was more to his request than the ship. This man, this so-called Water Rat, was more than his name suggested. No simple thief. No merchant. And he didn’t posses the bulk of a soldier. How had Emilio crossed paths with this man? From his speech, Sofia placed him in one of the Houses. But his attire, and surroundings, even his smell, suggested something else.
“Which house are you from? I would know with whom I deal.”
“No house. I represent myself only.” He waved a hand, as if to dismiss the whole notion. Or the question. What exactly was he holding back? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t afford to turn his offer down. By his face, it was unlikely he would even permit her to do so. Emilio trusted him and her father trusted Emilio. Was that enough? “Do you know my father?”
“We have met several times over the years. Our business was always mutual.”
“So you claim.”
“Indeed.”
Could she be certain of him? “Very well, Water Rat. We have an understanding. You protect me, help me reclaim my place and retrieve Argeon and I will ensure you are given the king’s ship in return. In addition to my help when I am Successor.” She held out her hand to seal the arrangement, in the style of the street, something she’d seen soldiers do.
He clasped her hand after a moment’s hesitation, as if such a gesture had not occurred to him. Definitely not born on the street then. Sofia smiled. “Partners.”
“Partners.”
***
Sofia chewed her bread and cheese, then sipped some of the lemon tea. It was not close to the quality or variety of food she was accustomed to, but more welcome than any banquet she’d attended. She was escorted, still limping, from the house to a carriage, its horses flicking their manes in the high sun. She wore bulky clothing and hood to conceal both identity and gender. The curtains remained drawn the whole time and the Water Rat said little, only that they were travelling to another part of the Second Tier, where he had access to more resources. If his manner was brisk, at least he was careful.
When the carriage rumbled to a halt, she stepped out before a three storey inn, but its true size only became apparent upon entering the common room. It could have seated near to a hundred patrons along its benches, tables and stools, all polished to a high shine. A stage for musicians was flanked by statues of the Ocean Gods.
Upstairs there must have been over two dozen rooms, though the inn appeared empty. Strange for noon. She’d seen no-one else in the building Captain Emilio took her to either. No servants, no visitors, no-one – in fact she’d only seen the one room. Had the Water Rat prepared her meal? Did he have the building waiting on standby for whatever he was involved in? Unsettling.
She could leave.
Sofia bit her lip. No. No matter his habits or his business, no-one else was helping her. She would stay put, a little longer at least. Her ankle seemed stronger. For now, she would observe her saviour and his so called resources, then decide what to do.
It had to be better than cowering in the palace. And she still had her chisels.
“Why is no-one here?”
“Someone is watching my inn.”
“But how can you afford to simply close?”
“For repairs. Did you not notice the sign on the way in?”
“I was surprised. It’s almost grand.”
“Thank you.” He gestured to a stair opposite the long bar, its reflective surface dotted with clean glasses. “Why don’t you take the room up the stairs and at the end. To the left. I’ll be with you shortly, little Falco.”
She frowned. Little Falco indeed. Sofia climbed to the upper storey, clutching the pack into which she’d folded her belongings, and counted doors, “One, two, three...” As she’d guessed, the inn had many rooms. The last door opened to a simple space; bed, chest and basin being its salient features. No window, but when she placed her pack on the chest and checked the sheets they were cool and clean beneath her palms.
“Sofia?”
A dark-haired man stood in the door. Perhaps a little younger than her father, he had close-cut stubble and an expression of concern on his face. A sword hung from his belt, his worn clothes gave him the look of a guard or mercenary. A bit of white – bandages, peeked from beneath a sleeve. She kept her hand near the chisel hidden beneath her clothing, eyes straying to the blade belted at his own waist.
“How do you know me?”
“Seto, ah, the Water Rat, said you need help? I’m Notch.” He eyed her robe. “I didn’t think he’d welcome palace folk, to be honest.”
Her voice cooled. “Palace folk?”
“Well, you’re hardly ‘one of the people’.”
“And that makes you what?” She snapped. Good. Stay angry. Stay on guard. “A thief? A mercenary?”
He stiffened. “Mercenary.”
“Wonderful.”
“And what did you need help with then?”
She threw up her hands. “It matters little. And I don’t need help, thank you.” What she needed was to find her father. He was probably still hiding in the tangled Bloodwood, hunted by Oson and Solicci’s lackeys. Or by hostile Braonn.
No matter. None could match him, no man, no Mascare. Even if they found him, he would stop them. He would stop them as he always had. And yet...
“Wait, Notch.” She stopped him from leaving. “What do you know about Bloodwood, to the south?”
Notch opened his mouth but made no sound. She could see his mind switching things around. He hadn’t expected a question. Father taught her better. Never become predictable, it will keep those around you off-balance. Notch’s brow was furrowed. “I’ve travelled it a few times.”
She swallowed. “Maybe you can help me after all.”
“I can try.”
“I’ve heard it told that the forests are dangerous. That travellers who leave the paths are never seen again. That the trees within can drain a man of his blood and that the Braonn ambush good Anaskar folk.”
“Good Anaskar folk?”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
“I remember hearing all the same stories as a child and again when I first passed through the forests. They’re lies. We travelled by day only and while we did keep mostly to the paths, no-one had their blood stolen by trees. Nor were we attacked.” He paused. “Though we did lose one of our party. A boy.”
“What happened?”
“He was reckless but cheerful. He used to juggle with whatever he could get his hands on. Stones, fruit, coins, anything.”
“Was he killed?”
“I don’t know. One morning he was simply gone. Perhaps he fled, tired of the life of a hired sword. We never found out, but no other strange thing happened. We all emerged unscathed. The Braonn weren’t always friendly, but they let us pass. On other trips, nothing went amiss.”
Sofia sat on the bed.
His expression softened a little. “You shouldn’t worry. Everyone knows that Danillo Falco is –”
“That doesn’t help, you know.” How did he know who she was? What was the Water Rat doing, spreading her name around to anyone in the inn?
“Then many apologies, Lady Sofia.” Notch muttered as he left.
He was just a mercenary. He didn’t understand what she’d lost, didn’t understand how dire things had become. She opened the chest and packed her Mascare robes away, leaving her Carver’s robes on. She’d lost the mask during her escape, so only her belt and chisels were next. Two remained, now that one of her large ones were stuck in the back of some Mascare, another jammed beneath a door in the ways. She shuddered. How had the chisel become an implement of death, something with which to steal blood, not to carve bone?
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