The Facefaker's Game

by Chandler J. Birch

  He had Stitched the boy’s face. He had Stitched people’s faces before. They hadn’t been real, had they?

  Stupid, he thought. You can figure this out for yourself.

  He grabbed his own wrist, and found that he was shaking. He gritted his teeth, told himself not to be a coward, and Stitched. His head throbbed violently. He felt the magic gutter and shake, like a candle flame beneath a breeze. He grasped at it, trying to force the illusion through his fingertips, and felt the magic slip out of his hands.

  He looked at his arm and grimaced. He hadn’t even changed the color of the skin. It had been weeks since he’d failed so thoroughly. Focus, he ordered himself.

  He laid his hand over the skin again, took a breath, closed his eyes. Do not command the light, William said in his head. Coax it.

  The magic bloomed in him again, slender and frail as a sprouting flower. He took another breath, gathering his strength, and Stitched.

  When he opened his eyes, the skin of his right arm was blackened and flaky, looking like it had been burned to a crisp. He let out a breath. There had been no pain.

  What had the boy been doing, then, when he screamed? Was it just a trick, something to get into Ashes’s head? He had certainly succeeded there. It seemed silly, though, for him to expect Mr. Smoke—legendary terrorist, the ghost that haunted Burroughside, the enemy of Mr. Ragged himself—to be affected by his screams. He had been right, admittedly, but still . . .

  Ashes shook himself. He had to get back in control of himself. He was, after all, Mr. Smoke, legendary terrorist, etc. The boy he’d Stitched had gotten into his head. He couldn’t let that happen again, not with so much at stake. What if he’d hesitated like that and the Ysonne had managed to capture him? Ashes would be dead. The war on Ragged would be over.

  He would get better. He was just off-balance tonight. Off-balance and exhausted and scared. He wrapped the shadow-bound cloak tighter around himself, as if to protect against a chill.

  There was more to do tonight. Gods, he wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t stop. Not just yet.

  Ashes crept toward the ramshackle building where he had been meeting Jasin for the last several months. The shadows here were deep, covering a hole too small for a full-grown Ravager to enter. Ashes had to get on his knees and crawl to enter the basement, miraculously untouched by whatever had leveled the aboveground floors, where Jasin would already be waiting.

  Before he pushed himself the last few feet into the small room, he exchanged the demon-face for another version of Mr. Smoke: slightly closer to his size, with a fierce, but otherwise normal, adult face, suited for meeting people he wanted to impress but not terrify. Jasin was young still, and he had no interest in giving her nightmares.

  He emerged from the tight hole and pulled out his Artificer’s lamp, willing it to light up the small room. Jasin was asleep on the floor, waking slowly as the light invaded her dreams.

  “I’m not paying you to sleep,” Ashes said, not unkindly. The girl jerked, scrambled to her feet, and gave him a stubborn look.

  “You were late,” she said. “I’m not sure by how much, but you were definitely late this time.”

  “Other priorities demanded my attention,” Ashes said. “What word did I give you last time?”

  “Peaches, sir.” Jasin smiled broadly, proud of herself for remembering. Ashes felt more than a little proud as well. He was getting to be as paranoid as Jack.

  “Good girl. You have news for me?”

  “Juicy things,” the girl said with a ruthless and gap-toothed smile. “Mr. Ragged’s issued a bounty on you, sir.”

  Ashes blinked. “What?”

  “Heard it with my own ears, sir,” Jasin said. “Bounty on Mr. Smoke. Five hundred crowns, living or dead.”

  “That’s—that’s a lot of money,” Ashes muttered, still shocked.

  “Not enough to make me turn on you, sir,” Jasin said.

  Five hundred crowns for Mr. Smoke? Ashes could hardly believe it. Where was Ragged getting that sort of money?

  His shock was quickly superseded by elation. Five hundred crowns. Ragged really was scared. Ashes’s message must have spooked him.

  “Anything else?”

  “Ragged went somewhere last night,” Jasin said. “Some carriage came and picked him up. Big carriage. There were guards on it an’ all.”

  “Did they see you?”

  “Course not,” Jasin said, her eyes flicking away from him. “I’m too good, sir.”

  He gave her a hard look, tugging his magic to himself once more. He willed the eyes of the false face to turn violet for just a moment, and felt the energy slither out of him, but he couldn’t have said if it worked. He kept his expression hard and wise, though, just in case. “You oughtn’t lie to me, Jasin. I know when I’m lied to.”

  Jasin’s cheeks paled, but only briefly. “Eh, one saw me. He didn’t catch my face, though, I’m damn sure of that.”

  “Only promise me you’ll be more careful in the future,” Ashes commanded, trying to imitate Jack’s air of authority. “You’d be much less use against Ragged if you’re captured.”

  “Sir,” Jasin said, inclining her head. She looked him in the eye and smiled widely. “And I’ve got something else for you, too, sir.”

  “What’d that be?”

  “I think I probably ought to show you, sir,” she said, making for the tunnel out. “Do you trust me?”

  Ashes paused. His default answer to that question was no. “I don’t trust many folk.”

  “You can be invisible for it,” she offered. “If you want. But I really think you ought to see it for yourself. It’ll mean more.”

  He grimaced. He didn’t have time to indulge this girl’s whims. He was exhausted, all the way down to the bone.

  “All right,” he said. “Fine.”

  There was no trap awaiting them outside their secluded meeting-place, which did a lot to soothe Ashes’s suspicions. He had certain surprises prepared in case someone found the meeting-place, but such contingencies seemed more fragile when they were the only thing standing between you and a determined fighter.

  He put up the hood and traveled alongside Jasin as they flitted from shadow to shadow. Jasin was as adept at moving stealthily as anyone Ashes had ever met; he had to work to keep up with her. He noticed, also, that the girl moved with the caution of someone trying to avoid being followed. She certainly wasn’t behaving like someone who didn’t want to be seen at all, which was what any sane Burroughsider would be doing this late at night.

  “You’re not worried about Ravagers,” he noted.

  “Not tonight,” she said, looking in his direction with something like faith. “I don’t worry about them at all when I go to meet you.”

  Ashes frowned, but let it pass. Jasin was an odd girl.

  She led him for fewer than five minutes before she stopped outside one of the larger buildings. He recognized it as the headquarters of the Motleys—at least, that had been the case when he left Burroughside. Real estate changed hands quickly here.

  “What’re we doing here?” he asked.

  “Wait and see, sir,” she said.

  He tried again to make his eyes flash, and again couldn’t have said whether it worked. “Jasin. I need you to understand. If you’re leading me to a trap, or if you’re trying to gain some advantage over me, it will not go well for you. I’ll come for you when my business with Ragged is finished.”

  “You got nothing to worry about, sir,” she said. “Nothing at all, not from me. I wouldn’t turn you in to Ragged ever. I wouldn’t turn you over to nobody.” She said it with a profound seriousness that bordered on reverence.

  “All the same,” he said, “I think I shall stay invisible until I’m convinced.”

  “You do that, sir. Just through here. Would you like to go first or second?”

  “Second,” Ashes said, stepping through the empty doorway ahead of her. He held the folds of his cloak in his fists to muffle the noise. Being nigh invi
sible wasn’t much use if you could be heard by a deaf idiot.

  “As you say, sir.” Jasin walked calmly through the entryway and made a grand gesture, as if she were presenting something. “How’d you like to meet your crew?”

  Ashes peered at the girl, searching her for some indication that she was lying. The girl’s face was perfectly sincere. They came around a corner into a large, open room that murmured with the soft breaths of sleeping people. Many sleeping people . . .

  “Not a lot of ’em awake just now, I’d bet anything,” she muttered. “But I’ve been telling people about you, sir, just like you asked.”

  Ashes looked at her, confused, as understanding began to creep through his head. His confusion turned to shock, then to disbelief, and then to frustration.

  “No,” he said softly. “No, this wasn’t . . .”

  “There’s about thirty of us now,” the girl said softly. She hadn’t heard him. “Ever since I started telling folks, they’ve all wanted to meet you.”

  “Jasin?” said someone. A form split away from the darkness, baring a sharp knife. “What the hell? How’d you get in here?”

  “Rafe!” Jasin’s voice went low and urgent. “Don’t be an idiot! You have to ask me what the password is!” Her eyes flicked around, searching for Mr. Smoke’s silhouette, no doubt. She made an exaggeratedly frustrated face, but she couldn’t hide her nervousness.

  “What’s the password, then?”

  “Criminey crickets,” she said proudly.

  “How the hell’d you get in here?” Rafe demanded. “We’ve got patrols going—”

  “I’m good at this!” Jasin said, beaming. “But you’d better make sure your patrols get sharper. We’ve got a visitor tonight.” She leaned forward, trying to whisper. “We’ll want to impress him.” The girl inclined her head suggestively.

  Rafe’s eyes went wide enough to be noticeable, even in the gloomy dark. “He’s coming?”

  “He’s here,” she said. “He might have moved already. Are you there, sir?”

  Ashes did not reply. He had barely even heard her. His head was full of one single fact: there were more than thirty people sleeping here, and they wanted to see him.

  This wasn’t what I meant, he thought, staring wordlessly at nothing. I never wanted something like this to happen.

  Jasin had called it a crew. That was a heavy word in Burroughside. A crewleader was as much of a father as some of the gutter-rats ever had. Your crew decided your loyalties, where you slept, how well you ate. If your crewleader was angry at someone, you were angry at them. If your crewleader fought someone, you fought them.

  When the leader moved, the crew followed. Unthinking. Unquestioning. No hesitation.

  This isn’t what I wanted.

  She was only supposed to bring them hope. She wasn’t supposed to be recruiting an army. Ashes fought alone. That was his way. Letting someone else get involved was dangerous. They might fail him. Worse, he might fail them.

  “Must be among them,” Jasin said reverently. “He’s invisible when he wants to be.”

  “I’m here.” Ashes said, keeping his voice as level as he could. He watched Rafe carefully, wondering if the Motley boy would recognize his voice. He pulled down the hood of his shadow-bound cloak, letting Mr. Smoke appear. “Jasin, what’ve you done?”

  “Just like you told me, sir,” she said. The girl couldn’t hear the fear and frustration in Ashes’s voice; she was far too pleased at how well she’d done. “I told them about you. Told them about Ragged and how he’s going to fall. I told them everything.”

  “And who are you, then?” Ashes turned to look at Rafe, and pulled on Jack’s confident tone as easily as a ring.

  “Slippery Rafe, sir.” Rafe gave a short bow. “The Motleys are yours, sir, if you want them. We’ve been waiting for you ever since Jasin told us. We’ll be ready when the time comes.”

  Ashes eyed the boy. Rafe was older than him by a pair of years. Seeing the Motley bow to him made him feel distinctly false.

  “Jasin,” he said slowly, “I think we must’ve misunderstood each other.”

  “How’re you meaning that, sir?”

  “I don’t want a crew,” Ashes said heavily. “I’m not a crewleader. I don’t want— I’m not here to start an actual war.”

  Jasin’s mouth opened, then shut. “Sir, I . . .”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m not angry with you. But I meant something different when I told you to spread the word. I wanted . . .” He looked at the sleeping Burroughsiders. “I just wanted them to know. They don’t need to fight. This is something I have to do.”

  The girl’s face fell. “I didn’t realize. Yes, sir, of course—”

  “Hang on just a moment,” Rafe said. “You’re saying you don’t want us?”

  “I don’t want you hurt,” Ashes said firmly. “Right now the fight’s between Ragged and me, and he can’t touch me. But if you’re involved . . .” He took a breath. “Ragged can hit any of you, anytime he wants. It’s safer for everyone if it’s just me.”

  Jasin grabbed Rafe’s arm. “If that’s the way he wants it . . .” she said.

  “No,” Rafe replied. “Bugger that and bleed on it, too. You think this is just between the two of you?” He scoffed, loudly enough that some of the sleepers began to stir. “It hasn’t been that way. Ever. The Motleys’ve been looking for our chance at payback ever since Ragged gutted Iames the Fool. And ever since you showed up, sir, Ragged’s been bleeding us dry. Two taxing days every month, and he expects just as much every time. We can barely feed our own, he’s taken so much out of us, and we’re one of the best crews in Burroughside. Half of them’ve disbanded already. Couldn’t keep themselves together.”

  “Rafe, look—”

  “No you look,” Rafe said hotly. “Iames won’t be the last of us he takes. Whether you take him down or not, he’ll have blood from us. And damn it if I’m going to take that showing my belly.” Rafe glared at him fiercely. “This hasn’t ever been just your war. We’re in it just as much. And we’ll see Ragged cut. Mark me.”

  Ashes was stricken. There was nothing he could do but nod.

  “Good,” Rafe said, letting out a breath. “Look. You don’t have to lead us. We can handle ourselves. But we damn well are going to help you, whether you want it or not, so you’d best let me know how we can do it without mucking up whatever you’ve got going on.” He paused. “And you ought to show these folks your face. Talk to them. You owe them that much.”

  Ashes nodded. He did owe them something. They were here for him.

  “Is there a place I can stand?” he asked. “Where everyone could see me?”

  Rafe gave him an odd look. “You realize it’s nighttime, don’t you?”

  “Let me worry about the light. Where would you go if you wanted to talk to everyone at once?”

  Rafe led him to a small raised platform in the back of the room. “Iames used it,” the boy said, almost tonelessly. “Back when he was here. I’ve not set foot on it.”

  “I don’t think Iames would mind our using it tonight,” Ashes said. “Wake them all up for me, will you? You’re right. I do owe them some things.”

  THIRTY half-awake Burroughsiders surrounded him. Most looked displeased at being woken, but the irritation melted off their faces as the word spread around. Mr. Smoke. Mr. Smoke’s here.

  Don’t muck this up.

  Ashes let the whispers swell for a moment, then turned the light of his Artificer’s lamp pure white and let it expand until it illuminated every face around him. He stepped onto the platform and set the lamp at his feet.

  “I think most of you know who I am,” he said softly. The whispers ceased. “I’ve been calling myself Mr. Smoke. It’s good to meet you all.”

  He scanned the audience. Many had adopted the same expression Jasin had when she spoke to him. Respect. Awe. Almost worship.

  I could’ve swindled a lot more money if I’d known how to make everybody like this
. Was this what an Ivory felt, when everyone in the room looked at them like a god who’d set foot on earth?

  “I’ve been told you’re all here as my crew,” Ashes said, raising his voice. Surely he should have been nervous, but he couldn’t feel it just now. There was a crowd. He was lying to them. He was home. “That you’re here to serve me. The bad news is I don’t want a crew.”

  He paused again, let his eyes go hard.

  “What I really need is an army.”

  He pressed his shoe lightly against the Artificer’s lamp and tinted the room red.

  “We’re at war with Ragged,” he said loudly. “It’s always been that way, even if we didn’t know it. Mostly he’s won. He’s bled us of our money. He keeps us sleeping in holes, quaking in fear of the Ravagers. He lets the Broken Boys run over Burroughside like a pack of wolves. You all know it. There’s a war on, and he’s been winning. We’re going to change that.” The red tint deepened. “We’re going to change that tonight.”

  He fished around in his pocket and met Jasin’s eyes, motioning for her to join him onstage. “I’ve known what it’s like to be under Ragged’s thumb. He looks invincible, doesn’t he? Dozens of burglars and thieves, and not one of us has gotten in his house. He’s practically Ivory.”

  Jasin stood beside him. He slipped a ring into her hand. “There are some things need clearing up. First of all, none of you’s ever seen Ragged’s face.” He nodded to Jasin, who cautiously slid the ring over her finger. “Not his real face, anyway.”

  The crowd gasped as they saw Ragged’s face on the stage. One or two cried out, and Ashes stepped in front of Jasin before anyone could throw a knife.

  “Mr. Ragged wears a false face,” he declared, letting them glimpse Jasin again. “I know because I snuck in his house and I stole it, right out from under him.”

  Their attention was riveted to him. He could almost feel it, like a million tiny hooks lodged in their minds, with strings connecting them to his fingers.

  “Ragged’s been hiding his face from you for years,” Ashes said. “You know why that is, Burroughside? You know why Hiram Ragged’s afraid you’ll know the truth about him?” He stared out, and Stitched his eyes as bright as they could go. He felt the magic take this time. “Because he fears you.