The Fall of Ventaris

by Neil McGarry

  Moving with all the care and deliberation she could muster, she uncorked the skin and squeezed a thin trickle of water onto the cloth. This was the crucial moment. If she spilled even a drop the Atropi would look up, spy her, and her whole scheme would unravel. After beam-walking with a cup of water in each hand, pouring a bit into cloth was simple. When the cloth was wet she put away the skin and brought out the bag of seeds. She loosed the drawstring, stuffed in the wet damp cloth, and closed the bag once more, tucking it away in her tunic. She offered a prayer to Mayu that whatever magic was contained within would not fail her.

  Then it was back to waiting. The Atropi could talk endlessly about cloth, it seemed. Once again her mind wandered and she found herself wondering where Lysander was now, and if he’d gotten into the district safely. Then she heard something that snapped her attention back to the women’s talk.

  “...that bit of nastiness with the Domae girl,” Green was saying, fingering her teacup with wrinkled hands.

  Red looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t like the idea from the beginning, you’ll recall. It was a stain on us and, frankly, on the guild. A mistake, plain and simple.”

  Brown set down her cup with a click. “Now let’s not start all that again. That needle’s been threaded, for Ventaris’ sake.”

  “What I don’t understand,” said Green, pulling off a corner of cake, “is why Gloria ever licensed her in the first place. All that fuss over some prophecy.” She shook her head and put the cake into her mouth.

  “The damned prophecy! Who paid for that, I’d like to know!” Brown waggled a crooked finger. “Not the Domae girl, that’s for certain. Those facets don’t give away their scrolls to the likes of her.”

  “Could it have been Gloria herself?” Red asked. “As an excuse to do something she wished to do anyway?”

  Brown shook her head. “Rebecca says no, and she would never lie to me.” And now Duchess knew why the Atropi had removed their dress from its hiding place. Like the guildmaster, the women had their own spies. “Tremaine was in a foul mood the day the Domae got her license, not what you’d expect if she was behind the whole thing.”

  “Unless she was pretending to be upset,” Red pointed out.

  Green snorted. “She’s no actor, that one. If she looked upset she was upset.” There was silence for a long moment, and then she said, “I’m starting to think Ferroc might have been behind it. She’s been gaining support for years, and it would be just like her to do something that would set Gloria against us, perhaps so she can make her own move.”

  “She was behind the theft at our shop, most like, in hopes that we’d blame Tremaine.” Red added, in worried tones. “It’s said she’s dipped her fingers in the Grey, if you know what I mean.”

  “She’s on the Grey,” Brown snapped, “or I’m a Shallows whore.” Duchess smiled, wondering if Minette knew one of her girls was working in Garden. “Probably used some foul connection to the facets against her other guild sisters.”

  “Perhaps,” Green mused, “but in any case what’s done is done. And I agree that we were...hasty...in contacting Amabilis. The man may wear a radiant’s robes, but he’s as shady as the evening. If I’d known he was going to send those thugs after the Domae girl...well, the whole thing was just unseemly.”

  Red nodded. “Whatever this Domae girl was, she’s now our sister. We can’t make any more trouble without dishonoring the guild.” The others murmured agreement, and Duchess suddenly felt...small. Not only had the Atropi no idea who she was, they even seemed a bit sorry for what they’d done. When she’d cooked up this plan with Tremaine, she’d envisioned three hags in a tower, casting spells and plotting their next move against her. Instead she’d found three old women who didn’t even know Jana’s name, let alone her own. She was on a quest for vengeance against a foe that wasn’t even aware she existed.

  And this talk of Ferroc was disturbing in its own way. The tailor was used by the Grey, but now Duchess wondered if she in turn used the Grey. The information she’d shared about Gloria Tremaine and the Atropi last summer...was it all part of a scheme to set one against the other? Or was Duchess seeing shadowy motives where there were none?

  The only certainty she had now was that she had to go on. After all the planning, did she have any other choice? The Grey was still buzzing with the news of the Brutes’ attack upon Jana, and if Duchess let that go unanswered, she might as well hang up her cloak. The Atropi had given her fledgling business a slap, and Duchess’ only choice was to strike back. Hard.

  * * *

  Below, the Atropi sipped tea and chatted, and Duchess noticed that sometimes this one or that one would nod off for awhile, while the other two continued the conversation. Between the dryness of her mouth and the weight of her tired eyelids, she found herself wishing for a bit of that tea, or perhaps a cake from the snack tray.

  Tenth bell sounded, and then eleventh, and as last bell drew near she began to feel the familiar tightness of fear in her belly. Had Lysander made it into the district with his cargo? Even with his silver tongue, bluffing his way into Garden with such unusual baggage was risky at best.

  When the screaming came it was terrible, like a hundred babes all squalling at once. Brown and Red started, and Duchess nearly fell from her perch, although Green napped on, undisturbed. The yowling rose in pitch and volume, and Duchess was surprised at how human the cries sounded. She’d heard many a cat-fight — in the Shallows there were more stray cats than she cared to count — but this was like all of those fights happening at once. The sound was music to her ears. The Atropi, minus Green, pushed out of their chairs and hurried to the west window.

  “Ventaris’ mercy!”

  “...like someone’s being murdered...”

  Duchess smiled in the dark, exultant. She tensed, waiting to see what the Atropi would do. If they simply dispatched servants to see what was amiss she was done, but if they...

  Red leaned out of the window to shout, but Brown silenced her with a gesture. “They’ll never hear us from up here. Let’s go down and see what in the name of the gods is going on. I’ll bring the key.” She picked up a candle and moved to the steps. “And wake her up,” she snapped, indicating Green. “How she can sleep though this I will never know.” Red roused her sister, who blinked and looked around as if she had forgotten where she was.

  “What is that awful...?” Red helped her to her feet. “Where are the guards?” Her sisters ignored her and began to descend the stairs, and Green followed as quickly as old bones allowed. Duchess listened to the sound of their hurrying feet, the rattle of the lower door opening, and the bang of it slamming to. She was alone.

  She moved until she was hanging from the beam by her arms, to make the drop as short as possible, and then released. She landed as Tyford had taught her, but staggered on legs that were stiff and sore from beam-sitting and nearly sent the tea tray crashing to the floor. She moved to the cask, bringing forth the pouch Jadis had given her, which didn’t feel any different since she’d inserted the wet cloth. She lifted the lid of the cask, which swung noiselessly on gilded hinges to reveal a dress, folded neatly.

  She almost laughed aloud. Red and black, just as she’d guessed, with the collar and sleeves picked out in red stones. She couldn’t tell if the design was anything near what she and Castor had invented, but with luck little enough of it would survive for Tremaine to notice. With exaggerated care she lifted a fold of the cloth, smooth and cool as the autumn breeze through the windows, and nestled the pouch inside. The bag was nearly as black as the dress, which she hoped would protect it from discovery. In any case, she could do no more. It was now in the hands of the gods.

  She went to the window and looked out. A cluster of lights appeared from the direction of the yowling, no doubt the Atropi and sundry guards and servants out to investigate. Soon enough the cats would disperse and she must be gone when they did. She took a final look around the chamber to ensure she’d left nothing behind, and only then remembered the
pad, lashed to the rafter above. She hesitated a moment. Would it be found? She imagined it was dark up there even during the day, so no one was likely to discover it before tomorrow night, after which it would no longer matter. Besides, she had no time to climb up after it. Offering another prayer to Mayu she crossed the room and trotted down the steps, one hand trailing along the wall and the other near her dagger.

  At the bottom she moved quickly to the door and pulled...locked. She sighed; naturally the women had taken time to lock it behind them. How else to protect their precious dress? She bent to the lock, picks in hand. She’d tickled the lock once; the second time was even easier.

  The cats were silent, having either been chased off or beaten to death, which meant the Atropi were even now on their way back to the tower. She slipped around and took the long way back to the wall, using flowerbeds and trees whenever possible to provide cover. The guards were probably still getting back to their posts but there was no point in being careless now, not when escape was so close. She slipped over the wall like a shadow and was gone.

  * * *

  Lysander wasn’t there.

  She tried telling herself that he’d had to play so much by ear this night that she could scarcely blame him if he’d had to change his plans. But a voice in the back of her head whispered that Lysander had left her there on purpose, just as she’d left him at the baron’s party. She shushed that voice. He’d released the cats, after all, and she could scarcely expect more from him. The tightness in her chest was just leftover tension from the tower, she was certain.

  The cats had roused every blackarm in the district, and she had to be extra careful to avoid them, so she took longer getting back to the sewer opening. If she were caught she’d have no plausible way to explain her presence in Garden at night, which could mean her head. Lysander was no doubt already on his way back to the Shallows, which left her only way home back through the tunnels, and past the pit.

  She wished she could pretend that the voice she’d heard had been merely an echo, but she knew differently. Fool was not what she had said but what she had heard, and unless echoes worked differently in the Ossuary, the word had been spoken by He Who Devours. Her first journey through the sewers, on her way back from House Eusbius, had made her suspect He dwelt beneath the city, and her second had confirmed it. Her secret admirer, if Jana’s cards were to be believed, although that papery whisper from below made her feel anything but admired.

  There was too much here for Duchess to ignore any longer. Whatever happened at the Fall, the time had come for her to learn more of He Who Devours and His interest in her. Assuming, of course, He himself did not make that clear when she again passed his lair on the way back through the tunnels. Her mouth went dry at the thought.

  She crept along a curving lane and peeked carefully around the corner. To her frustration she saw a group of lightboys, with their sticks and lanterns, clustered around a nobleman, standing just a few feet from the grate she’d need to use. She cursed silently. There was no way she could get back underground without them noticing her. She could wait for them to move on, but with the blackarms thick as flies, any delay could doom her. Desperate, she looked more closely and recognized the pack as the Tenth Bell Boys, Zachary among them. Before she could wonder what they were doing so far up the hill, the nobleman turned and she saw he was Lysander, wearing a padded doublet and satin half-cape that would not disgrace even a member of House Meadowmere. Her heart leaped to see him there, and she broke from cover and ran towards him. The lightboys seemed unsurprised to see her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, trying not to cry. “I thought you’d be halfway down the hill by now!”

  “Waiting for you, like I said I would.” He grinned broadly. “You sure didn’t hurry getting back here, did you?” Unable to contain herself any longer, she leaped into his arms. He hugged her tightly, and she knew that, as usual, he was reading her mind. “Before you lose your composure, you’re going to need a costume change,” he said, pushing her out to arm’s length. He beckoned to one of the lightboys, and before she could open her mouth to question, he was unwrapping a parcel of brown cloth and pulling forth a familiar dress.

  She looked at him skeptically. “I’ve already paraded up and down the hill in the empress’s idiot daughter’s dress — ”

  “A cheap knock-off of the empress’s idiot daughter’s dress,” Lysander put in.

  “ — and I have no intention of giving the city another show,” she finished.

  Lysander shrugged. “Suit yourself, but the gate guards are expecting to see me in the company of a young noblewoman, and your current outfit” – he gestured to her dark clothing – “won’t exactly convince them. Unless you’d like us all arrested for trespassing and thievery and gods know whatever else you’ve been up to tonight.”

  She threw up her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine...I’ll wear the damned dress. But then I want to hear how you got past the guards in the first place.” She took the garment from him, and he swept off his cape and used it and his body to shield her from the lightboys’ view.

  “Noblemen travel in the company of lightboys all the time, especially if they’ve been shopping for their beloved in Market.” He indicated the wrapping for the dress. “So it wasn’t hard to smuggle that past the gate.”

  “And what about the cats?” Duchess asked, struggling her arm into a sleeve. “Or did you pack them with the dress?”

  Lysander sniffed. “Hardly. They were part of the young nobleman’s scheme.” He glanced back at the lightboys. “You try peeking past me once more and I will slap the Thomas right out of you!” She continued to squirm into the dress and he went on. “It was all part of his scheme to get his beloved out of Garden while her father was distracted by the noise.”

  She giggled, straightening the bodice, which was, naturally, too big for her. “Not bad,” she said, turning so he could lace up the back. “But how did you know where to find me?”

  “I sneaked a look at those maps of yours.” He worked at the laces. “Oh, and here’s some padding for the front. No offense, but this dress was made for someone a bit larger up top, I’m afraid.”

  “I hear that all the time.” She tucked the padding inside, tugging and adjusting so she didn’t look padded. “You got into Garden with a smile and a good story?”

  He shrugged. “Those, and this little gift from Ferroc.” He pointed to the breast of his tunic, where she made out an embroidered pattern. It was hard to tell in this light, but it might have been a flail and pitchfork crossed...

  “House Eusbius!” she exclaimed. She snorted laughter into her hand. “You told the guards you were Dorian!” Both men were tall and blond, and while one was truly noble the other could fake it on command. Only Lysander would think of such a thing, and she loved him all the more for it. “Lysander, you are genius.”

  Lysander smiled modestly. “I’m glad you finally admit it. Remember that the next time I tell you how mad you are.” He examined her critically. “The dress is too short, your hands are filthy and there’s dirt smudged on your face, but that will only convince the guards you climbed over a wall to come to me.” He smiled. “I’d say you look perfect, and that we need a drink...once we get back to the Shallows. The Merry Widow?”

  She smiled, feeling the tension slide away. There would be no need to face those tunnels again, nor He Who Devours. Her Lysander had saved her. “You read my mind,” she said, taking his arm and leading him down the hill. “Between you and this ridiculous dress, let’s see if we can’t give the gossipmongers something to talk about by dawn.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Best-laid plans

  They’d gotten back to the Shallows well past second bell, but at the taverns it might as well have been noon. What started with one celebratory drink at the Widow had turned into a debauch the likes of which Duchess had not seen since the night she’d given Lysander her virginity. She blamed Deneys, who along with the other ganymedes had found them just afte
r the first flagon of ale. They didn’t know about the goings-on in Garden District, of course, but the “girls” knew a party when they saw one. The first flagon had led to another, and another, and by the time an unconscious Zachary had been dragged off by the other Tenth Bell Boys Duchess had feared the Widow was going to run dry.

  The rest of the night was a blur of singing, dancing, and drinking. She told herself she should slow down, considering that the very next night was the Fall and the culmination of her plans, but something had hold of her. She had, after all, managed to pull off quite a daring feat, right under the very noses of the Atropi. Besides, the more she drank the less she thought about the hollow voice beneath the hill, and that was reason enough to overindulge.

  Dawn had nearly broken by the time Lysander and the others left her at the base of her own stairs and staggered on their way. She stepped carefully around a man drunker than she, sprawled against the wall of the alley and started up the stairs. She was not due at Gloria Tremaine’s shop until the afternoon, she remembered, fumbling for her key, which was more than enough time to sleep this off and —

  The door was ajar, and she was not drunk enough to think she’d just forgotten to close it, nor to miss the flickering of lamp-light inside. She looked up at the lintel and saw the crimson handprint, clear as day. Who was fool enough to break into a place protected by the Red? She drew out her dagger and eased the door open with her foot.

  “There’s no need for that...Marina.”

  He was seated at her table with a lamp beside him, cloaked in scholar’s blue. He was perhaps sixty years old, clean-shaven and hollow-cheeked, nearly as fleshless as the horrors that had stalked her beneath the city. Green eyes, sharp with intelligence, regarded her with interest. She had seen those eyes before.