“That’s dead clever, Blimes,” Ashes said. “I’m impressed. Really.”
“I thought I should probably get good at it,” Blimey said. Ashes noticed an errant note in his voice, something wistful. It wasn’t far removed from the way he talked about being a gallant knight, or saving princesses. Ashes had learned to mistrust that sound.
“Sounds like you’re talking about more than just passing the time,” he said warily.
Blimey didn’t respond for several moments. Then he said, “You remember how you used to play games with Ivories?” He paused—not waiting for a response, but steeling himself. “You said there’s some kind of thing you do with them, when you want to take them for some money.”
“Conning,” Ashes said. “Eh.”
“Well, I thought maybe I could try some of that,” Blimey said. He was very pointedly not looking in Ashes’s direction. “You know. Start to do a little bit more around here. I figure I could probably make a fair turn at it, you give me enough time. And if you make Glamours for me . . .”
“No,” Ashes said. “No, Blimes, I don’t figure that’s a good idea.”
Blimey gave a tight-lipped smile. “No. Yes. I guess not.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “Why’s it not a good idea?”
“’Cause I got the tar kicked out of me more often than I didn’t,” Ashes said flatly. “Folks hate getting scammed. It insults them, y’know. It’s not just you could beat them—you could beat them so easy you played around, like a cat messing with a mouse. Folk don’t much like feeling they’ve just got played for fools by somebody that don’t even have beard hairs yet.”
“I wouldn’t be obvious about it,” Blimey said. “I could make it look convincing. Like I just won by a fluke.”
“You got to be a good bluffer to do that sort of thing, mate.”
“I could be clever,” Blimey said, sounding faintly hurt. “You know I’m clever.”
Ashes squirmed. But you’re just a kid, Blimey. “It’s a different kind of clever, that’s all. I figure you’re a damn good chess-player, but that’s different from being good at cons. You gotta be able to read folks.”
“Huh,” Blimey said. “Eh. I guess you’re right.”
“Course I’m right,” Ashes said, pitching his voice into something cheerful. “Blimey, you know you’re clever, I know you’re clever. It’s just a whole different sort out there, you know? It’s not about knowing words or playing chess. It’s playing people.”
“Eh.” Blimey looked at him, finally. “If you say so.” He was not convinced.
Ashes rolled onto his side, intending to go to sleep. He could practically hear Blimey thinking of arguments, but didn’t press him. It wasn’t a fight that Ashes particularly wanted to have at the moment. Better to sleep, if he could.
“Ashes.” Blimey’s voice wasn’t confrontational. It sounded curious. It also sounded rehearsed. “Why are we still here?”
“What are you on about now?” Ashes said, more bitingly than he’d meant to.
“Just that it’s been months,” Blimey said hesitantly. “And—and I thought you were going to be looking for other places we could stay. Somewhere out of Burroughside, I thought. We can’t stay with Annie much longer.”
“I have been,” Ashes said.
He could hear Blimey let out a breath. “No you haven’t, or we’d be there by now.”
Ashes stiffened. “The ruddy hell you mean by that?”
“I mean I’ve seen you focused, Ashes.” Blimey was biting the ends off the words now, trying not to sound angry and failing. “I’ve seen how you are when you want something done. And . . . well, when you really want to make something happen, it does. Seems like you’re not as focused right now.”
“It’s not like it’s easy,” Ashes snapped. “The Ivories have us trussed up good and tight. I can’t get anything without an iron name—”
“Which you could’ve gotten,” Blimey said softly. “You’re clever enough for that, Ashes, don’t say you’re not.”
“I just haven’t—”
“And it’s not like those are the only places in the world,” Blimey went on, as if Ashes hadn’t spoken. “Why aren’t we staying with that Artificer? Your teacher?”
“’Cause I don’t trust them,” Ashes said reflexively. He wasn’t lying; he liked Jack and his company well enough. He could at least say that Synder had kept her promise. But two months hadn’t changed the truth: he wasn’t part of the Rehl Company. He was hired help. Jack still hadn’t even bothered to tell him what they’d be stealing from Lord Edgecombe. At first Ashes had suspected it was Jack’s compulsion to improvise, but the Weaver had planned every other detail of the heist so carefully, down to what they’d wear and what doors they’d use to get in and out. Jack already knew what they’d be stealing. Probably Will did, too, and Synder and Juliana. Ashes was being kept in the dark deliberately. They didn’t trust him, either.
“But you trust Annie?” Blimey challenged. “How d’you figure she’s any better?”
“I don’t!” The words came out louder than he’d meant them to, but he couldn’t stop himself now. “Look, Blimes. I can’t trust anyone with you but me, all right? And I don’t trust Annie, but I know she hates Ragged as much as we do. I can’t—I don’t know the same about those Artificers.”
“You mean you can’t control things with the Artificers,” Blimey said quietly.
“Yeah, maybe I do.” Ashes huffed. “Look, Blimey, I just— I’m not going to let you get hurt because I made the wrong decision. I’m not going to do that over again.”
“But why’s it have to be your . . .” Blimey stopped. After a minute, Ashes turned to face him. The younger boy’s mouth was tightly shut, his knees pressed against his chest. He looked so small. Fragile.
“I’ve just remembered,” Ashes said, rising, “I think they actually need me there now.”
“Best go, then.”
Ashes moved to the stairs, and paused. “I am going to fix things, Blimey.”
“If you say so, mate.” Blimey was no liar, even when he wanted to be. He didn’t believe Ashes at all.
Ashes’s chest went tight. “And I’ll think about what you said,” he promised. “Might be we can get you out of here without needing those damned iron names. Trust me.” It wouldn’t be long before Ashes found a way to bring Ragged down for good. And with the Beggar Lord and his pet monsters gone, Blimey wouldn’t need to hide anymore.
Blimey said nothing, and Ashes left.
“I absolutely will not!”
“You most certainly shall, young lady!”
“What about me makes you think that’s a valid term? Am I not communicating effectively? Do I need to be more explicit? I have some thoughts on ladyship, your Ladyship—”
“Syndia Wellingham—”
“Faces’ sake!”
Synder rounded the corner, light swirling in a wild maelstrom around her, and nearly crashed into Ashes. Her furious gaze landed on him, and just as quickly galvanized into the most affected parody of submissiveness Ashes had ever seen.
“Pardon me, sir, I fear I did not see you coming,” she said, loudly enough to carry to the room she’d just left. “I worry that my teeny-tiny lady brain lacks the necessary function to identify my superior. Alas! But at least I’m pretty, and that will never ever ever change, and as we all know that’s what bloody counts!” She stepped adroitly around Ashes, bumping him with her shoulder. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Ware that tongue, Syndia!” Juliana’s voice was as clipped and precise as ever. Albeit rather strained. Ashes realized, on balance, that perhaps he had come a little earlier than was entirely wise. He tried sneaking past the door, but Juliana’s voice stopped him inches away from safety. “Roger! Do come in, I need to make certain this will fit you.”
Ashes obeyed, looking around in astonishment at the state of the walls. Light played along them, shifting and twisting every moment. The swirling was strongest around Mrs. Rehl, who was holding his
suit for the evening. He gave it a suspicious glance, then took it behind a temporary changing station in the corner.
“You’ve arrived rather early,” Juliana said as he changed. “Nervous?”
“Bit jumpy,” Ashes said, stifling a yawn.
“Tired?” Juliana gave him an inquisitive look.
“Floor’s not particular soft, where I’m sleeping.”
“Particularly,” Juliana said. “We are attending an Ivory Lord’s ball, Roger. It will not do to forget our manners.”
“Right,” he said. “Sorry. Is Syn all right?”
“Syndia seems to think her attire is a matter of distinct moral importance,” Juliana said. Ashes couldn’t see her face, but he would have bet anything her mouth had gotten that pinched look it had when she was keeping her irritation under control. “Or perhaps she simply finds a great deal of purpose in iconoclasm.”
Ashes paused in the act of buttoning a cuff. “She don’t—sorry, doesn’t like the clothes you picked out for her?”
The light on the wall swirled violently for just a moment. “Are you quite finished?” Juliana asked, as if he hadn’t asked anything.
That was a boundary if ever he’d seen one. “Just one more button, ma’am.” He stepped out from behind the screen wearing the miniature version of an Ivory’s formal clothing. The suit felt like it had been made specifically to keep people from moving their arms, which made Ashes more than a little nervous. At the same time, though, they gave him a heady confidence, like being just a little drunk. He could tell without needing to look in a mirror that these clothes, and perhaps a little confident bluffing, made him nearly as much a Denizen as the next fellow.
The next fellow, he thought. That’s right. Not the next bloke, not when I’m wearing this. The next fellow.
Juliana looked at him appraisingly. “Nearly there, I think,” she said. “I’ll need to hem it a little.”
“If you say so, ma’am.” He rolled his shoulders. “Feels like it fits just fine at the moment.”
“You’re going to an Ivory party, Roger,” she said, giving him a gentle smile. “ ‘Just fine’ won’t suffice.”
He changed back into his old clothes, feeling all the more comfortable after the stiffness of the Ivorish clothing. He noticed, as he fixed the shadow-bound cloak around his neck, that Juliana was eyeing him strangely.
“Everything all right, ma’am?”
“It fits you well,” she said. “That’s all. Jack will want you in the laboratory, I imagine.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“If you find Syndia there, tell her there is more to our work than idealism and moral stances, will you?” The Lady smiled sweetly. “And remind her that Ivorish women have a patron Face.”
“Erm—yeah, I’ll do that,” he said, sidling out of the room.
It would be a lie to say he was surprised to see Synder and Juliana at odds. The Rehl Company’s two women stood as far apart as light and dark. Synder spoke her mind, laughed easily, and had decided with almost no hesitation that she preferred trousers to dresses. Juliana could have held up the whole weight of Ivorish tradition on her own. The tension between them rarely did more than simmer—Synder’s preferred method of expressing anger was biting sarcasm, a form of attack that barely grazed Juliana’s emotional armor. Still, he’d seen a fair number of tiny fights between the pair in the last three months.
Jack and William were laboring intently over the table when Ashes stepped through the false wall. “You’re rather early,” Jack said, though his back was turned to the entrance.
“Didn’t have much else to do,” Ashes said absently. “Is Synder’s real name Syndia?”
“I expect so,” Jack said. “Will? It’s been a while since I’ve used her full name, to be honest.”
“Syndia Amalee Wellingham,” William supplied without looking up. His face-mask turned his voice muffled and tinny. “Weaver, I need more aether.”
“How’ve I been working with you a quarter of a year and never heard that name?”
“Perhaps you’re not a particularly good listener? Here you are, then, Will,” he said, passing a thin phial to the man.
“And who’s the patron Face of Ivorish women?”
“Duty, I think,” Jack said, leaning back from his project and looking at Ashes. “Something on your mind?”
“Syn and Juliana are going at it,” Ashes said. “Looks to be one for the history books. Juliana’s kicking up a whirlstorm in the other room.”
“Mm,” Jack said. “They’ve picked a fine time.”
“Weaver, another dram—”
“How do you not have enough yet? Hold it there.” Jack stood, wiping his hands on a cloth and moving to the cabinet.
Ashes followed him. “You haven’t seen Syn, then?”
“We’d have noticed,” Jack said. “Probably would have warped our construct all to hell if she’d visited. No, odds are good she’s just off on a walk. She’ll be back in an hour. A little calmer, if we’re lucky.” Over his shoulder, he said, “I’m only getting you a phial, you know.”
“Bring two,” William said.
Jack rolled his eyes as he slipped the key out of a pocket. “Satisfying folks is a fool’s game, Ashes. Don’t ever get tied up in it.” He opened the aether cabinet, angling his shoulders to keep Ashes from seeing inside. Ashes felt a flicker of discomfort, but didn’t show it.
“Juliana said you wanted to see me?”
“I did. I do,” Jack said, handing William a single phial of aether. “I wanted to talk about your role tonight.”
William stopped and stared at the phial. “This is only one.”
“It’s all you’re getting.” Jack leveled a warning finger at him. “I’ll know if you take more. Just because I’m capable of interacting with humans doesn’t mean I’m unable to do basic sums.”
Ashes squirmed at that—he had used more than a few phials for his excursions into Ragged’s territory—but Jack didn’t seem to notice his disquiet. He steered Ashes from the library by his shoulder, then led him out of the shop.
“How’re you feeling, lad?” Jack asked.
“Well enough,” Ashes said, though at the moment he was feeling rather nervous. It had nothing to do with the heist; did Jack know about the aether Ashes had been using? “A bit jumpy.”
“That’s to be expected,” Jack said, not unkindly. “It’s your first real heist, you’re robbing an Ivory Lord, and you’re doing it with a gang of magicians-cum-criminals you’ve only known for two months. If you didn’t feel a little wobbly I’d worry for your sanity.”
“Seems everyone’s on edge,” Ashes noted.
“You mean Syn and Jewel?” The Weaver chuckled softly. “I can see why you’d think that, but you’re a little wrong. Our thievery isn’t the cause of their argument so much as an opportunity to continue an old one, so to speak.”
Ashes gave him a questioning look.
“Juliana and Synder are the most Ivorish people in my company,” Jack said. “Will’s as foreign as a spider in a teacup. Me, I was born so far down the ladder I had to stretch my neck to get spat on.” He smiled ruefully at Ashes. “You know how that is, I’m sure. But Juliana and Synder come from the more dignified stock of humankind.”
Ashes snorted, earning a wry smirk from the Weaver. “Odd thought, isn’t it? Our genius is many things, and conventional is not one of them. It’s always been a bit of a sticking point between her and Juliana.”
“Why, though?” Ashes asked. “So she wears trousers. It doesn’t seem that important.”
“Trousers are the least of Juliana’s concerns,” Jack said. “She’s far more annoyed with Synder’s attitude.”
Ashes looked at him, lost. “I don’t understand.”
“Hardly surprising.” Jack’s mouth twisted as he thought. He held out his right hand, as if presenting something. “Consider Syndia Amalee Wellingham. Outspoken, yes. Sarcastic, also yes. Brazen and bullish and headstrong, not particularly careful
how she speaks. The girl’s got very few boundaries.”
Damned right about that, Ashes thought.
“Consider, on the other hand, my lady wife.” Jack held out the other hand, and Ashes saw Juliana’s face in it for just a moment. “Juliana is very Ivory. She’s . . .” Jack paused thoughtfully. “Let me put it to you this way. When Juliana was very young, her grandfather was her favorite person in the world. Kept her company during her family’s parties. Visited every week. When her pet cat ran away, he carved a new one for her out of wood, with his own hands.
“Her grandfather caught the wasting flu when she was eight. He didn’t linger long. She cried at his funeral—not loudly, I think. Jewel’s never been the sort to wail in agony. She did it quietly, so she wouldn’t disturb anyone, but she cried. So her parents locked her in the closet. No food, no water. They let her out after two days.”
Ashes’s stomach turned. “Oh.”
“She learned her lesson, all the same,” Jack said bitterly. “Iron-clad composure, she has. No one will ever see her cry.”
Ashes swallowed. “Wow.”
“You’re starting to see why Synder’s outbursts are not her favorite thing,” Jack said.
“Wow,” Ashes said again.
“Don’t focus on it overmuch, lad,” Jack said. “This’s not the worst fight they’ve had. It’s not the worst fight they will have. For now the best thing you can do for anyone is stand out of their way. They work together when it counts.”
“So they’ll be fine tonight?”
“I have no doubts. They will play their parts as admirably as ever.”
“You still haven’t told me what we’re lifting,” Ashes said pointedly.
Jack laughed. “Would you like to know why?”
The Facefaker's Game Page 24
