The first market they came across was empty. Not a single stall holder, not a single customer crossed the cobbles to haggle. Instead of the bustle and hum of voices, the rumble of distant wagon wheels, there was only a rising breeze, whistling between gaps in the stonework.

  “What’s happening?” Even shutters on the windows were closed up.

  “The explosions must have spooked everyone.”

  “They spook me too.”

  Flir approached a woman who’d just opened her door, her voice pitched low. She was arguing with whoever was in the house. “I must go. Mare needs her medicine.”

  Flir leaned down in her saddle. “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  The woman jumped but did not flee, closing the door with a firm hand. She glanced at Notch, noting his garb, then back to Flir in her hood. “Yes, my Lady?”

  “Has there been another explosion?”

  She placed a hand over her heart. “Yes. By the Artisan’s Bazaar last night. Many were killed. I don’t know if it’s even safe to leave my home. The first explosion was in the Lower Tier, thank the Gods. But this one, it was only four squares away.”

  “You must be worried,” Flir said.

  “For days now. There’s no way to know where or when they’ll strike again. I won’t even let my children outside now.”

  Flir offered an understanding smile. “That seems safest. Have you heard who’s responsible?”

  She shook her head, glancing at Notch again. “No-one’s got a clue. Not even the Mascare, begging your pardon, my Lord, can figure it out. I don’t understand. Why can’t the Greatmasks protect us like legend says? What’s the palace doing – they’ve got three of them by the Gods.”

  An old promise in that legend. In times of trouble the Greatmasks were supposed to call forth some great power and ‘compel the fates to smile upon Anaskar’ sometimes by ‘seeing to the city’s bones,’ sometimes by ‘turning every enemy to dust,’ but she’d be waiting forever. A child’s comfort.

  “I’m sure they’re working on it,” Flir said.

  The woman’s expression was not confident. “Some say the masks are involved, but that’s obviously ridiculous.” She trailed off, giving him another look. “Oh, I mean, well, I really must hurry.” She bade them a good day and rushed off, shoulders hunched, as if expecting a blow.

  Notch changed course, heading for the Artisan’s Bazaar. “What does Vinezi want?”

  “Fear. Chaos. Uncertainty.”

  “But what’s it leading up to? You said yourself, you didn’t see Renovar mounting any sort of attack.”

  “I still don’t. He must have something else in mind.”

  “It sounds like the palace can’t put a stop to it.”

  “Neither can we, Notch.”

  “Seto might be able to figure it out.” He came to a halt, dismounting to walk his horse once the market square became visible. The woman took him for a Mascare, but the Shields and Mascare nearer the explosion might not be so easily duped. So long as none sought to speak with him he would be fine. He just had to keep out of sight, and sitting astride a hose in a red robe and white mask was hardly keeping hidden. He let Flir lead.

  Flecks of ash drifted up the street, collecting in doorways and on windowsills. Char and ash stung his nose, the taste of it heavy even behind the mask. Through the crowd of bustling Vigil, onlookers and even a small group of Mascare with their heads together, were the skeletal remains of two shops. Blackened stone rested in a heap, by the look of the surrounding homes, some pieces had been flung from the square. Fragments of a charred frame stood in the centre of the blast and from end to end the square was lined with people shifting the debris, which was strangely colourful.

  Using his horse, Notch kept out of the Mascare’s line of vision, though they hardly seemed inclined to look his way, arguing amongst themselves. A grim-cart rolled out of the square as Notch and Flir stopped at the edge of the crowd. It was trailed by a member of the Vigil and a young Sea Priest, his face white. Notch shook his head. He should have recognised the colourful parts right away. Clothes. The colours were people. Many. No way to get an accurate count either.

  This time the quick prayer he sent to the Ocean Gods didn’t seem anywhere near adequate.

  A young man in the thick of the mess climbed from the centre with a small shape in his arms. The child was battered and bloody, face covered in soot. The man had tears in his eyes and his jaw was locked as he placed the little victim on the grim-cart.

  Notch glanced away. Wouldn’t stay so empty for long. “No sign of Vinezi,” he eventually said.

  Flir’s own face was set. “He likes to see it in the moment, doesn’t he?”

  “We’ll show him a moment when we find him.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Before them, a pair of men spoke with crossed arms. Both stood in drab tunics, one with patches. The taller wore boots tied at the ankles with thick string. He spat, his bone charm rattling. “Look at them bloody Masks, then. Not doing nothing to help.”

  “Just ordering folk around. Haven’t seen one lift a single stone.”

  “Bones for brains.”

  The other man snorted in agreement.

  “And why didn’t they warn us, eh? Should have seen this coming, especially after that last one.”

  “Not even safe in our bloody homes. See how much of the next shop it tore apart? I saw one of them new Masks slinking about before too. Worse than them water-priests.”

  “New masks, eh?”

  “Yep. Them ones with the frown. Unnatural-is.” He wiped one hand with the other, as if brushing dust away, an old gesture to ward off evil.

  “Haven’t seen them.” The first man repeated the gesture. “Most of the dead ones look like southerners, bless the ocean. Could have been worse.”

  The second shifted. “Right.”

  “So how’d you think they got it under the shops, eh?”

  “No idea, Bosi.”

  Notch led his horse away, glad they hadn’t noticed him. “Did you hear those two?”

  “Yes. Charming fellows.”

  “They raise a good question.”

  Flir tapped the ground. “Think Vinezi came up from below?”

  “It might explain how no-one saw them coming and going. I don’t know how much magical powder they need. Surely a large amount?”

  “Could have just delivered it. Some of these artisan stalls are furniture ones. They aren’t small. No onlooker would notice a large delivery.”

  Notch cut short his reply when a figure stepped before him.

  Mascare.

  “What have you learned?” The man’s voice was flat, calm.

  Notch shook his head. A trickle of sweat ran down his cheek. Beside him, Flir remained silent.

  “I too, have learnt nothing,” the mask continued, a hint of frustration entering his voice. A great slip, the man must have been upset. “But there’s continued talk of false Mascare, wearing frowning masks. Watch for them. In fact, give the Shield new orders, will you? Any false masks sighted are to be monitored but not stopped. I’m taking word to the palace.”

  Notch nodded and the man nodded back, apparently satisfied. Once the mask disappeared, Notch let out a breath.

  “Well done,” Flir said.

  He laughed. “I suppose so.”

  Flir took his arm. “Look.”

  Luik waved to them from across the square before ducking out of sight. Flir was already leading her horse toward the big man. Notch hurried after.

  Luik leant against a wall, his arms crossed. Bandage gone, his face and tunic were dark with soot, trails of sweat cutting a path down his face. A look of helplessness lay in his eyes.

  “You look like you need some sleep,” Flir said.

  “I’ve been helping.” He paused as shouts from a nearby stall swelled. “Didn’t find her?”

  “She’s back in the city somewhere,” Notch said, explaining their night. He gestured over his shoulder when he finished. “Did you see that?”

  “No. Got here quick enough to catch a glimpse of our old friend,” he said. “Bad even then. Four grim-carts have been and gone since it happened. The place was busy. Another night market.”

  “The bastard had to gloat,” Flir said. She thumped the wall, dislodging fine grains of stone. Her horse shied away but she soothed it.

  “Do you have him?” Notch asked.

  Luik shook his head. “Followed him and left Wayrn to watch while I came back.”

  “We should figure out a way to flush him out,” Flir said. “Then we can beat whatever we need out of him. There could be a dozen more places he’s targeted. Who knows?”

  “I told Seto as much.”

  Notch put a hand on his shoulder. “What does he want us to do?”

  “No idea.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Luik drew a long breath. “Seto’s gone.”

  Chapter 32

  “What do you mean ‘gone’?” Notch took a drink from his flask and handed it over.

  Luik accepted it and tipped the flask to his mouth. He spread his hands once he’d handed it back. “Told me he had something to attend to, that it couldn’t wait. Said I had to find Vinezi and wait for you two to get back.”

  “And then?”

  “After that he ran to the stables. Tulio has no idea either,” Luik said when Notch opened his mouth.

  “Fine time for him to disappear on one of his mysterious trips.”

  “They don’t last long,” Luik shrugged.

  “We aren’t waiting anyway,” Notch said. He mounted up. “Show us where Vinezi’s hiding. We’ll figure out what to do once we get there.”

  “Think Sofia’s with him?”

  “I hope so. Flir saw whoever took her, but not their masks.”

  “They have to be the imposters,” she said as they skirted the market. “I can feel it. The Mascare wouldn’t have been waiting near the Mountain Gate in a big group. And besides, now that I think back on it, their voices were...” she trailed off, coming to a halt.

  Notch turned. “What now?”

  “I finally realised something. It’s been gnawing at me for a while, but I recognise it now.” She cursed in her own tongue. “Vinezi’s voice. It changed.”

  “Like a Mask’s Neutral Voice?” Luik asked.

  “No. Like dialects. At first he spoke like the street, then more Second or First Tier. I remembered when I heard the voices last night. The Mascare had a range of voices, I heard that much before they disappeared. They’re fake, and so is Vinezi.”

  “Sofia is probably with Vinezi, but we already knew he was pretending to be a beggar. This ‘Thalik’ he mentioned is a lie too. Vinezi’s the leader.”

  “I know all that you block head,” Flir said. “But if Vinezi was behind this from the beginning, then why did he let himself be captured at all? Did he want Sofia all along? And this all had nothing to do with Notch?”

  “Hmmm.” A good question. Why would a leader risk himself? Seto had said it was difficult, but even so. If Vinezi was the mastermind he’d taken quite a risk.

  “A trap,” Luik said. “He meant to draw us in.”

  Notch scratched at his new beard. “But why?”

  “To kill a lot of people? After all, we led a heap of Shields there.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Flir leaned closer. “No, he’s on to something. It was part of something bigger. He wanted the palace’s eyes drawn to the inn as bait, maybe it’s always been about Sofia for him? And we took her to the inn. Put her right within his reach.” She shrugged. “Or maybe it was about her father... I don’t know. But I doubt Vinezi’s finished with the city.”

  Notch muttered a curse. If she was right, and they’d played into the imposter’s hands... “Let’s go visit him then.”

  His hand strayed to his hilt as he rode after Luik. He led them to a section of the Second Tier where new homes were being constructed on sloping grounds built up from the street. The owners would never see directly over the wall and their houses would not come close to climbing the wall to the First Tier, but Notch could imagine them having a fine view of the Second Tier as it sloped down.

  A commanding house lurked beyond a high wall at a point where two roads intersected. The tops of trees were visible inside and a large gate with iron bands stood closed. The building was barely distinguishable from nearby homes, having only a slightly lower wall.

  Luik nodded to the gate. “In there.”

  “Where’s Wayrn?”

  “Across the road. Paid the owner to let him sit on the roof. See?” Luik pointed to a three storey building, though the third was more of a box atop the second storey. It did not match the architecture of the city, which favoured sloping rooves. The kind Tulio jokingly described as ‘slopes of death.’

  “I can’t see him.”

  “So? He’s in there,” Luik said. “What now?”

  Notch drew his belt knife and slapped the hilt in his palm. His muscles were bunched, straining to strike out. Vinezi was so close. Probably laughing over a nice meal. A blight on the city.

  “Think you could break that door down, Flir?”

  “If I had to. Why?”

  “What would you need?”

  “I’m not planning on tearing up my knuckles, so I’d need something heavy to swing. And I left my best battering ram at Seto’s, so I don’t think we’re going in today.”

  “Very funny.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “That we should break in, right now. Surprise them.”

  “Bad idea,” Luik said.

  Flir thumped his arm – gently. “Exactly. Stop being impatient. You don’t know how many of them are in there, or what they’re capable of. Or if Sofia is even inside.”

  “We’d still be doing the city, and the world, a favour.”

  “I agree. But we have to think this through.”

  Notch jammed the blade back into its sheath. “Well I’m sick of planning. I’ve been slinking around the city for days and it’s gotten me no-where.”

  “Then let’s do it properly.”

  “Fine. Any ideas?”

  “Deception. And I don’t even have to impersonate a Renovar either.”

  Luik grinned. “We’ll need information. Numbers, location of her room. Routines.”

  Notch grunted. They were right and it was terrible. Just once, couldn’t the scum-sucking imposters face him directly? He frowned at his friends. “I hope one of them is short.”

  ***

  Notch shifted on the bench seat, sweating beneath his hood. The innkeeper of the Old Guard – with its encouraging ‘no Braonn’ sign out front – placed another log onto the already roaring fire. Notch glared at the smiling man. The fellow was obviously happy to have such brisk business. Notch was surprised so many people were out on such a miserable night, especially after the explosion. Rain pelted the glass and wind rattled the door, patrons stumbling in as if given a shove by the weather.

  Their targets were close. Luik sat across from Notch, eating his meal through his own raised hood, keeping Flir in his line of vision. She sat across from two Renovar in Mascare clothing, though they wore accurate copies of the mask this time. She spoke in a low voice, and from what he could tell, her act was working. They nodded along, seeming to buy her claim of being a mistreated foreigner keen to strike back at the city.

  Patrons of the inn cast frequent glances at the group, but no-one was willing to confront a pair of Masks. Even if they didn’t like sharing an inn with them.

  “Brazen, aren’t they?” Notch said.

  “What?”

  “Their disguise. Their game. If true Mascare were to discover them I could almost pity them.”

  “Think we’re not risking as much?”

  “True,” Notch said. He paused. “I’m sorry, Luik. For bringing you here. Flir and I could have done this alone.”

  He shook his head. “You didn’t bring me here, Notch, the Renovar did that. And none of it’s your fault.” He jabbed his roast beef with a knife. “Even if folk here wouldn’t see it that way.”

  “Just keep your hood low.” His friend was tanned enough, but his eyes were a giveaway.

  He took another bite. “I will.”

  “You know, I could accuse them of being fakes. Then we could haul them out of here right now. Find out what we need to know just as quick.”

  “Notch, it took a week to get these two alone, let’s not make a mistake now.”

  “Fine.” He toyed with his mug. “Have you heard from Seto yet?”

  “No. I’m getting worried.”

  “He’ll be fine, he’s too crafty not to be.”

  “Hope so.”

  Laughter broke out at Flir’s table. The small group rose and headed for the door. Just as they passed through, Flir paused, raising her voice. She spoke in Renovar, but Notch knew the translation. They’d worked it out. I forgot my cloak.

  She closed the door and whispered to Notch as he and Luik met her. “Sofia’s in there.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Flir pulled her cloak on as she spoke. “When one referred to someone ‘upstairs’ who they’d been forbidden to see, the other gave him a jab to the ribs.”

  “Hurry,” he said.

  She slipped outside and Notch counted a moment before following, Luik doing the same. The wind hurled rain at him, soaking his clothing. His boots splashed through puddles as he trailed Flir and the cheerful Renovar. Black shapes detached from the walls and kept a parallel course.

  An uneven pool of light from another inn appeared ahead, and Notch clenched and unclenched his hands. Close now. Once the three shapes passed the light... there. Flir, who’d been walking closest to the centre of the rain-swept street, gave one man a shove.

  He careered into the other and disappeared from sight.

  Notch splashed forward, Luik and the dark shapes converging on the alley with him. Flir stood before an open door, pitching one of the men inside, a stern-faced Wayrn holding the door. The other imposter tried to scramble away but a second of Seto’s men kicked him back to the ground.

 

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