The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 18
They stood in a chamber of smooth, dark stones of blue. Two openings allowed a narrow but deep channel of water to pass, slender walkways on either side. Above the openings, each large enough for a man to walk within, were indecipherable carven symbols. Medah markings? Or were they older still? One was a series of vertical lines in a tight pattern, but none possessed the familiar oceanic aspect to Anaskar, and nor were they crude as the scratched arrow marked to the left.
Wayrn held his lantern up to a symbol. “These are ancient.”
“Do you know who made them?”
“No. But they almost trigger a memory. During my studies with Lord Biagio, I may have... I do not know.”
“Well let’s follow that arrow.” He pointed. “The children won’t have put it there for no reason.”
“Indeed.”
Notch took the lamp and started down the passage, sword drawn.
“Expecting trouble?”
“Last time I went beneath the city I was attacked by some... creature. So keep your ears open.”
“What manner of creature?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of its like in Anaskar. Its slime was numbing and it was probably man-shaped, but I never saw the beast itself.”
The channel flowed through the unchanging passage. Their footsteps echoed and the lamplight caught in the water. Notch kept one eye on the murky surface; the other was reserved for shadows beyond the lamp. He kept his sword point up.
“Do you hear that?” Wayrn asked after a time.
Notch stopped. From ahead, the echo of falling water bounced off the careful brickwork. He increased his pace, lantern high. Twice the passage turned at right angles before he came upon a sharp drop, the way opening out to a much larger chamber, dwarfing the one he and Wayrn had first entered. There was no walkway, instead water cascaded into the black, disappearing in a muddle of echoes and dying light as his lantern struggled.
“Do the street children leap into the abyss?”
“I hope not.” Notch crouched by the flow. Set off from the water, partially hidden from sight, was a heavy chain, bolted into the stonework at intervals. It too, slipped into the darkness beyond the light. “Down we go then.”
Wayrn grinned. “No problem.”
Hooking the lantern to his belt, Notch lowered himself over the side, grabbing the chain and setting his feet against the stone. Hand over hand he worked backwards, keeping a good grip. From the sound of water hitting water below, it was a significant drop.
“Can you see?”
“Well enough,” Wayrn replied.
Notch climbed, muscles in his arms straining. When his foot slipped, he found himself kicking air where there should have been rock face. The chain continued down, but he had to lower himself several arm lengths before his boot found stone again, the flat surface and regular opening suggesting a passage. “I’ve found another tunnel.” He swung inside.
It was unlike the blue tinted stone from above. The stonework here was older, more time-worn, chipped and scuffed. The floor was scattered with debris, a belt buckle and a handful of fish bones. One of the markings was another arrow, which he showed to Wayrn when the man joined him.
The passage was not long. It branched several times, each with an arrow, before climbing rough steps and emerging through the ruins of a grate, into the aqueducts. A now familiar sound of moving water met his ears but Notch gave a start when he raised the lantern. Grim-faced children, holding blades, slings and even a pair of short bows, ringed the opening. Several, including those on the far side of the channel, raised torches that hissed when water dripped from the ceiling.
Notch put the lantern down, moving slowly, and raised his hands. Wayrn did the same.
One child, smaller than the others but a little older, crossed her arms. She wore a knife but had not drawn it, and her vest was almost clean. Its green was gaudy but she obviously took pride in it. “What are you doing here?”
“Searching for Kael.”
Muttering came from the children but the small girl glared at them, before turning back to Notch. “Why?”
“I need his help to find someone. It’s a matter of life and death.”
“All matters are of life and death,” she replied, small face grim.
“True,” Notch said. “Can you help us?”
“That’s up to Kael-is.”
“Will you take us to him?”
“No-one sees Kael without his say so.”
“I see.” He had to tread lightly. He could feel the beads of the arrows on his chest. People were counting on him. Sofia especially didn’t need him dead in an aqueduct beneath the city. Wayrn shifted beside him. “Then may I speak with Tenaci?”
“How do you know Tan?”
“I’ve paid him for information about those I search for.”
The girl frowned harder. “And how did you find this place, then? Did he tell you about it?”
“No. We followed a trail left in an old house across from the Iron Pig.”
“That so?” She turned to a nearby child. “Buckets, get Tan.” The child called ‘Buckets’ ran off, and Notch exchanged a glance with Wayrn. The man’s face was calm, but his eyes were marking the positions of youths who held either bows or slings.
Angry voices floated up the channel as Buckets pushed Tenaci into the light, the boy rubbing his eyes. His hair rested at odd angles. Upon seeing Notch he gaped. “Are we claiming the reward?”
The leader grabbed Tencai, her face alight. “What reward?”
“The one with the rough beard. He’s Notch.”
“So?”
“He’s the one the Vigil’s looking for, Dilo. Did we capture him?”
Dilo turned to Notch. “No. He walked right in, said he was looking for Kael. Said he spoke to you before.”
Notch kept his hands in sight as he stepped forward. Things were getting out of hand. “I can offer more than the Vigil if you help me.”
Dilo stared at him a moment then shrugged, waving at her fellows. “Take their weapons. We’ll see what Kael has to say.”
Chapter 21
Sofia woke in a warm room, bound to a chair. Her face stung and dried blood flaked to heavy carpet when she moved her head. Her temples ached and a faint ringing filled her ears. Even her chest was tight beneath the ropes, muscles afire. There was little she could do about it. At least the room was warm.
Drawn curtains covered the windows and an empty chair sat opposite. Bright lamps were set on the walls, and somewhere, a fireplace crackled. So much like Father’s study.
He would be disappointed. Caught like a mouse. Sofia sneered at herself. “Wonderful job, Successor.” How was she to live up to his hopes now? How could she find him, or take back Argeon? What Successor in hundreds of years had been forced from the palace and snatched from the street? None. She was not fit.
The explosion.
Were Notch and the others alive? She’d been close to Seto, still gaping at Flir’s display of strength, when a deafening sound and blinding light, and heat, tossed her to the ground. She clenched her teeth, wrenching her torso to no avail. Escape was the only option. Survive, prove Oson wrong, find her father. She kept struggling but the ropes were too tight, locking her arms at her side. Her chisel might as well have been back in the palace. If her captors didn’t have it already. “Gods be damned!”
A door creaked and she twisted with a grimace, blind to whoever had entered.
Who was it? They weren’t moving, not saying anything, barely breathing. Mascare. “What do you want?”
Nothing. Was the silence now touched with amusement?
“Who are you?”
Soft footsteps. A red robe came into view and a man sat across from her, hood raised and hands crossed within the sleeves. A sigh escaped the hood as her captor reached up and pushed it back.
A frowning mask of bone greeted her. Sofia drew back as far as her bindings allowed. The eyes were dark, turned at the edges as if in anger and the mouth was all wrong. From the right eye, a single black line ran down to the cheek.
“Sofia, successor, survivor.” His voice was deep, carrying a resonance seldom heard outside a performer’s troupe. Was there a slight Renovar accent, one he tried to hide? All her life she’d been around people who worked hard to control their voice, he was a fool if he thought he could mask his origins from her. “What fortuitousness.” He savoured the word.
“I would know the name of he who held me captive.”
“My, aren’t you formal? Call me Lupo.” Was he smiling beneath the mask? He spread his hands. “And all I wish is for you to help me.”
“Lupo? There’s no Wolf House.”
“For now.” Both hands gripped the arm rest. Healthy skin, not an old man then. And sun burnt, as if unused to the climate. Renovar, without a doubt.
“For now? Ha. You’re just an imposter from across the sea. You can’t even attain Neutral Voice.”
He chuckled. “An apt description perhaps. And yes. I do have an expressive voice, don’t I? Instead, Sofia, consider me a man of my own destiny.”
“Untie me. I’ll hear what you have to say.” Then jam a fist into your windpipe.
“I appreciate that, but certainly not.”
She lifted her chin. “Then find someone able to make such a decision, if it’s beyond you.”
He rose, moving behind her chair. The clunk and hiss of a log hitting the embers followed. “Few things will be beyond me soon.”
“But you need me.”
“You’re important.” He rested his hands on the back of her chair and lowered his voice, speaking into her ear. His closeness sent a shiver along her shoulders. Meat was heavy on his breath. “You know things I must know. And unless you’re willing to help me, the little surprise at the Iron Pig will occur again. And again, and no-one will be able to predict where, Sofia. From tier to street, no-one will know.”
“You did that? You’re a madman,” she cried.
His tone remained amused, indulgent even. “Not mad yet. But you’ve witnessed what I’m capable of. It’s not truly in Anaskar’s best interests for you to refuse me.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to reveal where your father has hidden the tabella. It does not lie within his room in the palace.”
Sofia stared. Her arms twitched but there was no way to fold them. The table of names was not something this man should have in his possession, let alone know of. With it, he could trace the identity and location of any Mascare in Anaskar. The whole order would be at risk. Considering his mask and robe, which had a weave that looked authentic, the Mascare were already at risk. If the people connected this man to the explosion in the city...
“I don’t know where it is. And someone like you shouldn’t even know it exists.”
He laughed. “Come now, Sofia. There are always those in high places willing to sell secrets... to those in possession of the right currency.”
Who? Solicci or Lady Cera? She wouldn’t put it past either. They’d shown how desperate they were. Sofia glared at him. “I don’t know where it is.”
Lupo tilted his head, dark holes empty. “As you might have guessed, I expected some reticence. To that end I’m granting you until dawn, Sofia, after which I will return and you will either tell me where the tabella lies, or which tier you wish me to strike. Or if you prefer, I can target your friends. If they survived.” He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder again, bending down. “Consider well what the people of your city mean to you. Be their saviour,” he said and left the room.
Sofia clenched her jaw.
***
Her hands were numb.
Dawn light slipped through the curtains. At one point in the night, another imposter had doused the lamps, held water to her mouth and left, all without speaking. Her stomach had burned in the darkness. Between hopeless plots to escape and useless, fitful dozing, she ran what she knew of the tabella over in her mind.
And it was little.
There was no longer an old list on parchment, written in several hands, sealed in a locked box and placed in the vault concealed behind her father’s bed. Even such measures were still folly, her father told her. It existed only in his mind now. What she could tell Lupo, then, was nothing he’d want to hear.
Not that her captor would keep his word. If she actually knew the names, he could take information he needed, kill her and strike the city despite his word. She could lie, refuse to answer and he might do the same. In either case, she would be dead. Lupo was yet to threaten her directly, but that was no guarantee. And if Notch and Seto had survived, they were in danger.
Misdirection. She had to buy time, find a way to force Lupo to take her out of the room. And get feeling back in her limbs. She shifted on the hard chair, cursing Lupo again. There was no relief. Flexing her muscles periodically was as much a hopeful act as one to occupy her mind. At least she could move her fingers and feet.
The palace was a bad idea. Leading Lupo there would only create more bloodshed, and while the idea of a bleeding Oson appealed, if she escaped there was every chance it would be into the arms of her enemy. Lupo might be clever and ruthless, but was he a match for the entire palace? Unlikely. Going there would be a fool’s swim into dark water. And she didn’t want Lupo in her father’s rooms again.
Seto’s inn was out of the question too. Wherever she took Lupo, it would have to be isolated. Away from innocents. But somewhere he would believe the tabella might be hidden.
The door opened. “Good morning, Sofia. I trust your night was unpleasant?” Lupo sat and crossed his legs at the ankles.
It had been anything but pleasant. Her neck ached and her limbs were stiff, even though she’d long since given up trying to escape her bindings. “It was tolerable.”
“And have you taken time to think?”
Sofia glared at him. “I’ll tell you. But there’s a condition.”
“How wonderful.”
“I’ll show you where it is, I’ll take you there.”
He made no response.
She straightened her back as best she could. He had to believe her. “Either take me or kill me. Those are my terms.”
After a time his mask shifted a fraction. “And where is ‘there’ exactly?”
“My father’s manor in the Western Foothills.”
He rose and swept a bow. “Very well, Sofia. Let’s prepare for our trip.”
***
Lupo’s men were organised. It was almost impressive. At least a dozen, all in red robes and distorted masks, rushed about in the grey light, filling a courtyard beneath her room. She looked up at it, a box hanging off the edge of a two storey building. She’d seen little of the structure on her way down, Lupo directing her by a leather leash, tied to a collar on her neck.
It chafed. Being able to raise her hands and tug at it should have been a relief after all night tied to a chair, but it still irritated her skin. Worse than the stiffness in her knees, the ache in her ankle or the vicious tingling in her soles.
Lupo had her chisels and linfa-belt, so no-one paid her any heed, unarmed and leashed as she was, instead readying horses and loading supplies into wagon beds. Tent poles, water barrels and crates of food were being loaded, but nothing that looked like it could create the same damage as had been visited upon the Iron Pig.
“What are they doing?” she asked Lupo, who’d donned a true mask earlier. He wasn’t fit to wear it.
He turned to her from where he’d been studying the gates. Beyond waited the rustle and thump of traffic. A bright blue sky presented its face in a mockery of freedom. “First, moving. We never reside in one place very long. Second, visiting with the good people of Anaskar.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing as impressive as last night. Only that they should make themselves seen. Sow seeds of doubt in the minds of the people. Let them wonder about the mighty, dutiful Mascare.”
“They’ll be seen for imposters.”
“That I would be most pleased with also,” he said. “And how long to the manor?”
What was his game? Sending false Mascare into the city with their sad-faced masks would do nothing... unless he meant to link the Mascare to the explosions? But why? Perhaps something greater was afoot. The first steps toward war? Insanity. Renovar merchants might be a little bold, greedy even, but not warlike. No. It had to be personal. Whatever was happening, was all about Lupo.
He was waiting. Focus, Sofia. Escape first. “It’s a two day return trip.”
He waved and a figure emerged from the shadows behind a wagon. Sofia frowned. More Renovar, the pale skin of his hands and wrists an obvious tell. Just how many of them were from across the sea? Worse, were any Anaskari?
“Ready our mounts. You and I are taking a trip into the foothills.”
“Yes, my lord.” The Renovar’s voice was younger than she’d been expecting and his mask trained on her a moment, before he made a quick bow to Lupo and ran off. His accent was also slight. A strip of flaxen hair slipped free as he ran.
“What are you Renovar doing here? Do you truly want war? Our navy would crush you.”
He made an expansive gesture. “What we do here is the creation of a future.”
“That’s not an answer, Lupo. You’re worse than a back alley mystic.”
Lupo jerked the leash, hard enough to make her stumble and she choked, clawing at the collar. “Careful, Sofia. Do not expect that my tolerance for you is boundless. Now mount up.” He propelled her forward and she bumped into a horse’s flank, shock casting her mute. The horse snorted but stayed put. The young Renovar boosted her into the saddle then tied her leash to a lead rope, which he handed to Lupo, who was already mounted. Next, he lashed her to the saddle. She shook her head. Where did he think she was going?
“Westward then,” Lupo said, before shouting to a man on the gate. It swung open and he led them out. A sea mist had rolled in and the empty streets were cool. Breath from the horses’ nostrils steamed, as did her own. She said nothing. Swallowing was uncomfortable and her hands trembled on the pommel as they climbed the Second Tier, passing dark windows with sleeping flower pots.
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