by Will Wight
He spoke again, without standing or turning around. “We need information, more than anything. Go down into the town, complete a thorough survey of the area, and return to me with whatever you find.”
Shera deliberately kept her mind from lingering on what she'd been planning. If he felt enough hostility in her Intent, it might set him off.
“What are we looking for?” she asked.
“Answers. Answers and questions. What else is worth seeking?”
He often did this, giving a cryptic answer before the real one. She waited for him to continue.
“Anything you can find,” he finished irritably. “Anything. I'll want a complete report on Silverreach before dawn.”
The Gardeners all acknowledged the command and left, slipping away from the hill.
“We're leaving him by himself,” Lucan noted.
“He ordered us to,” Meia responded, as though that settled the matter.
“We could go back to the ship,” he suggested. “Alert the Imperial Guard. At least if something went wrong, there would be someone to handle it.”
“You really think he's in danger?” Shera asked. As far as she'd seen, the Emperor would be safe even if a hostile army materialized on top of him.
Lucan fiddled with his belt, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I think he might be unstable,” he said at last. “His Intent seemed steady, and it didn't feel like Nakothi, but something’s obviously wrong.”
“Then we'd be putting the Guard in danger,” Shera pointed out. “He'll be fine. More importantly, does anyone remember anything about Mason work?”
“Of course I do,” Meia said, removing the veil over her mouth and adjusting her hair. Preparing to adopt a cover. “I review the Mason's guidebook three times a week.”
“I'm sure you do.”
“I still remember the basics,” Lucan said. “I was training with Zhen before you made it to the island. Before they realized I could learn to Read.”
“I guess I'm the only one,” Shera said. She hadn't ignored Zhen's brief lessons, but she'd always known she wasn't intended for the Masons. And Maxwell's idea of a disguise was anything that got you close enough to your target to stab them in the neck.
What had he said about hiding knives in a dress? There was some device to remembering where she could tuck a weapon. P.U.S.H., was it? Petticoats, Under...things? Underarms?
Kelarac take it, she thought. I'm keeping it simple.
~~~
An hour later, the Gardeners crouched on the roof of an inn, carrying their stolen costumes. The place was crowded and noisy, packed for the local festival, and it was amazing how many patrons left their trunks standing open beneath unlocked windows. It had been the work of fifteen minutes to silently lift one article of clothing from a trunk at a time and haul it up.
Now, Lucan stood in the outfit of a young, dignified scholar from the Heartlands. His pants and coat were both gray, his shirt black, and his bowtie a muted red. He carried a writing-board and batch of papers under one arm, and his crowning acquisition was a pair of small, round spectacles that perched on his nose. He adjusted his tie using the flat of a knife as a mirror, making various expressions to see how it fit.
Meia actually blended in better than Lucan: she looked like a schoolbook picture of an Izyrian savage, complete with a sleeveless tunic of hide painted with tribal symbols. She wore a loose skirt, her hair was tied up with a short leather cord, and loops of colored cloth and metal hung from both wrists and both ankles. Her shoes were thin, which was a modern affectation. Actual pre-Imperial Izyrians would have been barefoot.
Silverreach was technically on the continent of Izyria, so there were more than a few people down below wearing similar costumes. With her blond hair, Meia would slip into the crowd like one of the natives. Better, maybe—her bracelets were actually locked into place with one another, her anklets tied tighter than they looked. Neither would rattle or jingle as she moved around.
She leaned down to adjust the strap on her ankle, where she'd openly tied a sheathed knife. That wouldn't be unusual; an ancient Izyrian would have carried a blade there, and more than one woman at this party would be bringing a weapon. In her case, it was better to show it off than hide it.
As Meia and Lucan perfected their costumes, Shera sat on the tiled roof, leaning her back against the chimney. She'd finished dressing ten minutes ago.
“Lucan, where's your disguise?” He was a real Heartlander with a real interest in his own education. If he wasn't a Consultant, he would likely have worn something like this every day. Not counting the glasses.
He tapped those glasses with one finger. “You know, the boy that owned these spectacles specialized in the study of rebellions and civil wars. Fascinating stuff. I'm learning a lot.”
She turned to Meia. “Meia, are you looking to fight in the arena after this? I'm sure our employer could get you a fight.”
Meia answered while tying another strip of cloth onto her left ankle. “The closer a disguise is to reality, the more effective. This costume was worn by another blond girl of sixteen or seventeen, but it's common enough that she won't be able to identify it as hers, even if she gets a look close-up. It was the natural choice.”
She looked up at Shera and hesitated. “Yours...I can't do it. It's sad, Shera. It's just sad.”
“It's quick and simple,” Lucan said. “But it is a little sad.”
Shera wore brown pants, a white shirt, a gray vest, and a shapeless gray hat. Gray socks, and brown shoes that fit her surprisingly well.
It wasn't a festival costume. They were the simplest, cheapest clothes she'd found lying around as Lucan and Meia were assembling their disguises. She'd actually found the vest lying at the end of an alley wrapped around a half-full bottle of cheap liquor.
She looked like the poorest, least interesting person in town.
“No one will give me a second glance,” she said.
“That's certainly true,” Lucan responded, and somehow she felt as though she'd lost something.
~~~
Silverreach celebrated the anniversary of its founding with food stalls, bonfires, and children running everywhere in colorful costumes. To Shera, it seemed like a dangerous combination. Surely it was only a matter of time before the dense crowd scattered one of the fires, which would spread to the rickety wooden stalls, and from there to the nearby buildings.
But the town hadn't burned down thus far, so she was forced to admit that it probably wouldn't happen tonight.
Besides, there was something more disturbing going on.
The town seemed to be collectively having a good time, with more smiles and laughter and songs than frowns or complaints. One Mason lesson that Shera hadn't forgotten was how to gauge the mood of a crowd; it was a skill that had helped her more than once in her work as a Gardener. As she knew the telltale signs to look for, she could tell that even the stragglers on the outlying edges of the party were mostly having a good time. They slipped off into someone else's arms, or into the embrace of a bottle. No simmering resentment, no imminent sense of rebellion. If she didn't know any better, she would say this was the happiest town in the Empire.
If it all weren't so wrong.
A fruit vendor selling roasted, sugared apples had his desserts arranged from largest to smallest in his booth, but he had stopped sales as he busily rearranged them from smallest to largest. A line of people stood outside his booth, waiting for him to finish, but none seemed impatient. They laughed and joked and sang with the others in line, not one of them complaining about the vendor's unnecessary delay. It took her three or four seconds of close observation to notice the other disturbing detail: all their feet were pointed in precisely the same direction.
Shera signaled to Meia, who was fifteen yards away in the crowd—the Gardeners rarely moved as an obvious group—and pointed at the line. Meia glanced at the fruit booth, spun around a group of townsfolk in a mock dance, and by 'coincidence' ended up passing within inches o
f Shera.
“Watch the birds,” she said quietly as she danced away.
It took almost another minute for Shera to note what she was talking about. A sound like a chorus of screams turned her head around, and she saw a flock of gulls. The same gulls, she was sure, that had all cried out together. As she watched them, they did it again, twenty beaks opening together and releasing the same caw. They flew in an exact grid, like soldiers in formation, and when they landed on a nearby roof, they did so at the same time.
Children pointed up at the birds, laughing, and then returned to scratching some message on the cobblestones in chalk. Shera moved a few steps out of her way to determine what they were writing.
Mathematical equations, clearly beyond anything a child should have understood. They didn't seem to make much sense, either. The answer to one equation would blend seamlessly in another child's calculation, which would pass over and through yet a third formula. The Gardeners did not emphasize mathematics as a subject, but they did insist that all of their graduates have a basic education. This looked like nonsense.
Then again, when you stepped back and looked at all the equations together, it almost seemed like they fit together. Like the team of children was working to fill in a puzzle on the streets of Silverreach...
She was still staring at the stones, trying to work out the pattern, when Lucan tugged on her elbow and guided her into the crowd. Unlike Meia, Lucan seemed to focus more on the party than on his mission. He joined in a song as he walked arm-in-arm with Shera down the street, flashing her a smile as though to invite her to join in.
Which confused her, more than anything. She was glad to see Lucan enjoying himself, but this was hardly the time for it. She casually took her arm from his and whispered a question to keep him on track. “Does anything feel strange to you?”
He threw his arm around her shoulders instead, which almost caused her to miss a step. “Lots of people having a great time!” he said loudly, and a few people cheered him for it. One man raised a drink, toasting the statement.
Lucan pointed to another nearby stall, this one selling grilled buns that seemed to be filled with meat. He walked straight up to the stall, bypassing the line, and plucked a bun off the cooling rack right in front of the vendor.
Shera's hand went to her knife out of habit, ready to defend Lucan if it came to a fight. Part of her was horrified that he would risk their assignment so carelessly, but the rest of her was already freezing, tightening. If they did have to defend themselves, she would hit the vendor from a distance, and she might be able to push through the crowd before they had a chance to react. So long as Meia got here to carry Lucan, they could be two blocks away before anyone caught on.
Then she realized what had actually happened. At the instant Lucan reached for the grille, some boxes had shifted on the table behind the vendor. He'd turned around, distracted for a split second, as Lucan snatched the food and moved back to Shera. When the vendor moved back to face the crowd, a smile on his face, the Consultant was gone.
Lucan took a bite of the bun, revealing an interior of steamed beef, and extended it to Shera.
She stared into his eyes, trying to see some hint of madness. “Did you do that?”
“Yyyyyeeesss...” he said, slowly drawing the word out as though he thought she was the crazy one.
“I mean the distraction. Did you set that up?” No matter how much time she spent around Lucan and the Emperor, she could never figure out what Readers could and couldn't do. There were rules, but the Emperor and his student seemed to ignore them all. She tended to assume that a Reader could do anything.
He frowned, confused. “What? No. I saw he was going to be distracted, so I took one.”
“But how did you see that? What tipped you off?”
Lucan actually thought about it this time, taking another bite and chewing as he considered. “I sensed it, I guess. I could feel that it was going to happen.”
She relaxed, accepting that. As long as it was part of his Reader powers, that meant nothing unusual was happening to him. To be clear, she asked him one last question. “So you Read it, then?”
He scratched at the side of his face with one gloved hand. “Well...no. Not intentionally. Sometimes I pick up on Intent anyway, and I'm sure that's what it was.”
Shera nodded and kept walking, but she didn't accept a bite of the food.
There was definitely something strange going on here, but she wasn't sure how to report it. What did you call birds that flew in formation, and strange hunches that ended up being true?
They had been walking for twelve minutes—she counted—when Shera finally stopped. Lucan walked on, reminiscing aloud about his training with the Emperor, and was five yards past her before he realized she hadn't followed him. Meia was quicker to understand, stopping as if to examine a colorful pennant hanging nearby as decoration. She walked backward to get a better vantage point, ending up back-to-back with Shera.
“Enjoying the party?” Meia asked.
“This is the exact center of town,” Shera responded.
Lucan jogged over, eyes on the crowd, suddenly more serious. “Is it?”
Shera looked around. It didn't seem much different than a dozen other places they'd passed; they stood in the center of an intersection, surrounded by houses, businesses, and temporary stalls. The crowd bustled around them uninterrupted, a stream passing by a stone.
There was nothing to tell her, but she knew that her feet were planted in the middle of the town. And the center of the mysterious barrier that isolated Silverreach, as well.
“I can't prove it,” Shera said. “But I'm sure that this spot is the center of Silverreach.”
Ten seconds passed as no one said anything. Lucan pulled out his writing-board, using the corner to point to a girl holding a small cat. “That girl's going to look down right now,” he said.
The cat made a noise, and the girl looked down to see what was wrong.
“There are twenty-four birds on that building,” Meia said. Shera glanced over her shoulder. Only six birds perched on the side facing them, but large parts of the roof were hidden from sight.
Shera nodded, relieved. At least they all three understood something strange was going on.
Lucan tugged off one glove as he walked over to a nearby house, running his hand along the wood. “She's right,” he reported, seconds later. “As far as I can tell, this is the center of town. And I think I can...”
It was forty seconds before anything else happened, but the other two Gardeners waited in silence. They'd seen this before.
Finally, the house shook as though struck, with a muffled thump that shook dust and splinters down from the walls. It wasn't loud enough that it disrupted the celebration, though a few townsfolk took a healthy step back from the wall, but Lucan stepped away satisfied. He turned his gaze to the roof.
And all the birds that had perched there took off. Shera did her best to count them as they flew away, but she already knew how many there would be. Twenty-four.
“Amazing,” Lucan breathed. He had pulled his writing-board out and was scribbling rapidly. “Jorin once proposed a method of sharing knowledge that involved merging the Intent of two or more individuals, but that would mean that we all had exactly the same information. I couldn’t have guessed how many birds were on that roof until Meia told me. Shera?”
Shera shook her head.
“So we're not sharing the same knowledge, but it has to come from somewhere.”
“Where?” Meia asked, and Shera shivered.
Lucan jabbed the end of his pen in her direction. “Exactly.”
“We should leave,” Shera said, placing a hand on Meia's shoulder and gently guiding her away.
Meia nodded. “All right. We've finished one quarter of the city. We can each take another quarter, and meet back here when we're done.”
“No,” Shera said. She wasn't usually forceful, but in this case, she suspected she saw the situation more clearly
than the others. “We need to get out of here now.”
Meia looked irritated, but Lucan held up a hand to stop her before she protested. He, at least, was ready for an explanation.
“Something is putting thoughts in our heads,” Shera said. “The Watchmen are involved, meaning it's an Elder. And he is waiting for us on the hill. Acting strange. As we stand here, an Elder is messing with his head.”
Meia's face hardened, and her shoulders trembled as she visibly restrained her muscles, which had started to move on their own. Her eyes sparked orange before she stopped herself.
They would have seen it, probably faster than Shera, if they were anyone else. Meia's dedication to her orders meant that she wouldn't even consider any other course of action until she'd finished her assignment, and it wouldn't occur to Lucan that anything could hurt the Emperor. He was part of a squad intended to ultimately kill the Emperor, and Shera suspected he still didn't fully accept that. On some level, Lucan knew that there would be some other solution, that they were a contingency plan for some far-off possibility.
Shera's vision of the future ended one of two ways. Either with her shear in the Emperor's heart, or with all three of the Gardeners' heads on the ground. It wasn't practical to expect anything else.
Lucan finally looked like he was taking the problem seriously, but he still protested. “He got around for a long time without us around. He can defend himself.”
Behind him, an older man in a ragged coat—warmer and worse quality than anything the people around him wore—dragged a wooden box over to a corner. He stepped onto it as though he were preparing to make a speech.
“I don't think he's going to get rolled for his wallet,” Shera said dryly. “I think he's going to be replaced from the inside out. If he thought he could solve that problem on his own, he wouldn't need us.”
The old man on the box raised his hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen of all ages, please pay me the courtesy of your attention!”
His voice was strong, and loud enough to cut through the noise of the crowd, but no one gave him the courtesy he sought. He didn't seem bothered by that, launching into his speech. “You see around you a time of celebration! Of excess! But the joys of this happy season are nothing compared that what could, what would await you if only this world were as it should be!”
