“What’s happening?” he asked. The short man gave him a baleful glare for his trouble, then carried on past him. Eira paused to watch him retreat, although her eyes were on the bird. It had turned around to watch them over the man’s shoulder, but span back around when it saw Eira staring at it. When the man had vanished down a corridor, she turned back to Marcus.
“I’ve been recruiting,” she said mysteriously.
“For what?”
She didn’t answer immediately, instead glancing after the short man again. “That man has an invaluable Talent,” she said. “He can transfer his own vision behind the eyes of anyone else, and see what they can see. It blinds his own eyes for the duration of time he spends doing it, but still. He could do so much with it, but he spends his time spying on his boss and cheating at poker games. A true missed opportunity, but maybe he could be bought back in line.”
“Did you actually hear me?” Marcus asked.
“Or maybe he’ll get killed,” Eira mused. “At least then I wouldn’t have to pay him.”
“What’s a Talent?”
Eira continued to look distant. “Best you go and get some sleep, Marcus. You’re going to have a busy day tomorrow.”
And then on that ominous note, she too was gone, leaving Marcus alone but for his Viaggiatori guard, still lurking in the corner by the lift, and his resurgent sense of befuddlement.
13
Marcus found out what Eira had meant very early the following morning, when he was almost literally tossed out of bed by the vigorous shaking of his guard, the man whose name was apparently Musk. The man’s strength was ridiculous; despite his only mildly bulky stature, he’d almost upended the bed before Marcus had managed to convince him that he was awake and getting up. A few minutes later, dressed once again in questionable Viaggiatori colours and leaning on his staff for support, he met the man in the main room, where he learnt he had been summoned to a very important but secretive meeting, and that if they didn’t hurry up, they were going to be late. Desperately blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he trudged after the man down the corridors of the House of Viaggiatori.
Eventually they came to the anteroom of Eira’s office, where her secretary already sat, despite the hour, sorting piles of paperwork into new, better piles. She glanced up at them as they strode past, seemingly more out of habit than any interest. She didn’t even bother to wave them in.
“Ah, Marcus,” Eira said, as he followed Musk into the office, “about time you turned up.”
She was sitting this morning at the desk by the window, illuminated from behind by the light of a pale, washed-out sun that appeared to have had a real struggle conquering the horizon that morning. Though Eira’s hair still hung about her face and shoulders without any particular style, it was looked less tangled, and her features seemed brighter. Perhaps she’d actually had a few hours of sleep.
There were other people in the office already. In the two chairs on the other side of the desk there sat two men; one of them was the short man from the night before, his eyes darting to and fro as if searching for escape routes. His bird sat on Eira’s desk pecking at one of her random devices.
The other man was significantly older, with a short, greying beard and hair. He was also, apparently, asleep. He lay slumped in the chair, his long limbs protruding at angles, closed eyelids pointed towards the ceiling. The general effect was that of a dead starfish. Since no-one else seemed to find this sight odd, however, Marcus didn’t comment on it.
Leaning against the other desk was a young woman, short and long-haired with a round face and big, dark eyes that matched her complexion. She gave Marcus a wan, quiet smile as he glanced at her, and he felt himself smile back before he realised what his facial muscles were doing.
“Marcus,” Eira said again, standing up and casting her eyes about her desk, before locating and powering up her kettle. “I’d like you to meet some people. This is Lucin,” - she indicated the short man - “..and his, erm, bird. Its name is Aura.”
The man barely glanced at Marcus before turning back to whatever internal thoughts were troubling him. The raven continued to peck at random things; it hit what appeared to be a series of balls hanging on strings around a cubic frame, which started them ricocheting off each other noisily. Apparently satisfied with this, it took off, flew up and landed on the ornate chandelier that hung dangerously above them, where it began to croak irritably.
“This is Fervesce,” Eira continued, indicating the sleeping man, who, surprisingly, waved. Marcus almost waved back out of sheer amazement before catching himself.
“And this is Kendra. Musk, you already know.” She indicated the woman opposite, who gave Marcus another smile that seemed to shine out on him like a sunbeam of genuine pleasure. This odd image bounced around Marcus’s head as he smiled back tentatively and alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t holding his poise very well, so he tried to dash it from his mind. He reminded himself that he didn’t have such foolish thoughts when Eira smiled at him, but that may have been because the idea of her doing so had somehow become intertwined with the expectation of terrible things happening to him shortly afterwards.
“Hello,” he said instead, addressing no-one in particular. This gained him a total blanking from Lucin, another wave from Fervesce, another smile from Kendra and a grunt from Musk that could have meant anything. He paused, not entirely sure what was going to happen next, but fairly sure he wouldn’t like it.
“I’m introducing you to these people for a reason,” Eira continued, pouring water. “Tomorrow, they’re heading off on a very important mission to the north.”
“That’s.. nice,” Marcus said blankly.
“Not really,” Eira shot back instantly. “The mission is a very dangerous one; they’re accompanying a trained assassin, a man with notable innate magical resilience, whom our organisation has hired to attempt to kill Keithus, thus solving all of our problems.”
“That actually sounds pretty good to me,” Marcus answered, feeling as he did an enormous weight lifting from his shoulders. They’d found someone else to deal with Keithus! No longer did he have to brood on the nature of his fate regarding the wizard; instead he could dedicate all of his time to brooding on the nature of his fate regarding Death instead.
“I should hope so,” Eira said, grinning her quick, mischievous grin, “since you’re going with them.”
“What?” Marcus asked, feeling the weight drop back on him again with aplomb.
“You’re going with them, Marcus. I spoke with Tec earlier, and though he put a hopeful gloss on it it seems pretty apparent that progress is slow downstairs, and I can’t afford slow. We need a better way to realise the nature of your connection to Keithus, and putting you in close proximity to him seems like a good way to do it.”
Marcus thought this sounded like a terrible way to do it, and said so. He looked around, casting for support. Lucin avoided his gaze, Kendra beamed at him, and Musk simply frowned, clearly not at home with the idea, but with nothing to say.
“Look,” Eira said, rotating her cup, “I know it’s not ideal. But it’s either this, or we leave you here moping around, and run the risk of not finding out what it is you mean to us until it’s too late to do anything with that knowledge. Ideally, I’d wait on this course of action until we knew more, so I could know for sure if it’s better to send you along or not. But Keithus could strike at any time, and for all that we’d surely learn he was coming far in advance of him actually rolling up and knocking on our door, by then it might already be too bloody late to act. I have to do something now, and given the possibilities and though I hate to admit it, this is probably the best course of action.”
“Why do you hate to admit it?” Marcus asked automatically, trying to buy time in the hope that his world would somehow turn back from the upside-down position it once again occupied.
“Because it wasn’t originally my idea,” Eira said, “but I’m making it mine. Th
e people who proposed this are fastidiously short-sighted; they thought they’d send a rogue to stop a rogue, and all would be well. I am less inclined to be idealistic; I’ve been out in the world lately. So, I’m sending these people because I trust them to stop the first rogue if he decides to fall in line with the bigger rogue, and I’m sending you because somehow, in some way, you’re important.
“Hey,” she added, “if the first rogue does his job, you might not even be needed. Think of it as a holiday!”
“This,” Marcus said flatly, “is absolutely mental. Do you have any reason to think that I’m going to suddenly manifest some incredible power and save the day?”
“I have more reason to think that,” Eira countered, “than I do to think that you’re going to be of any use to us here. Yes,” she continued, more solemnly, “it’s a long shot. A really long shot. But you are here now, and we need you, so it seems logical to make use of you. Maybe you won’t be needed. Maybe, your connection won’t turn out to be anything at all – don’t think I haven’t considered that possibility. But we can’t pass up the chance. Keithus has to be stopped before the situation gets any worse, and we can’t afford to squander any advantage we can scrape together.”
She grinned again. “Look at it this way - yesterday you were trying to run away; today I’m giving you leave to, provided you go in the direction I want. Is that so bad?”
“Yes,” Marcus said, vehemently, well aware of the irony of the situation. “I’m not going.”
“Fine.” Eira sighed. “Have fun living in a city with a large contingent of mercenaries for hire when there’s a huge bounty on your head, taken out by a premier organisation known for paying their debts, and the gate guards have your description and strict orders to not let you leave. Have you met them yet? They can be very persistent, you know. And immune to bribery, oddly enough.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Marcus said, meeting Eira’s eyes. She stared back, poker-faced. He turned to Musk. “Would she do that?” The man smiled, very faintly. Marcus turned back with a sigh. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Only if you force me to, Marcus. We didn’t bring you here for a holiday, but because somehow, we need you. And I will do everything I can to make use of you.”
“Including hiring people to kill me?” Marcus asked glumly.
“I’m rather hoping you won’t let it come to that. Please, Marcus?”
He thought he might have imagined it before – but now it was there for sure; a hint of hopeful desperation in Eira’s voice. She was taking a massive risk and hoping for the best, because there was nothing else she could do. For a moment, he thought he could almost appreciate the sheer difficulty of her life, and how she was working so hard to try and save everybody – even if everybody included the average man on the street, a man who held no love lost for the Viaggiatori for getting them into this situation in the first place. Was it such folly to want to fix your mistakes? Memories of his own dalliances with hindsight the previous evening told him no; it was far from it.
“Alright,” he said, relenting. “I’ll go. It’s not like I have anything else to do with my life, anyway. Might as well throw it away in pursuit of hopeless victory.”
“That’s more like it,” Eira said with an uncharacteristic giggle. “Well, it’s close enough.” She straightened up and locked eyes with him. “Thank you.”
Marcus merely shrugged again. “What now, then?”
“Preparations,” she said. She turned to Musk, who had been observing the exchange with silent interest. “Musk, you have the lead in this expedition. Officially, you are all leaving the city to investigate a possible disturbance caused by the Mirrorline a few miles north, then returning here. Except obviously you’re not; it’s a decent cover story that hopefully will allow you to get to Keithus without him knowing you’re coming. Supplies will be waiting in the next town; once you’re clear, ditch your colours and go incognito. Do everything you can to avoid drawing attention to yourselves, as he could have eyes anywhere.” Here, she glanced up at Lucin’s raven meaningfully. “It’s not unheard of. Find out where, exactly, Keithus is, and help the Assassin do his thing. I doubt he’ll be too hard to find, just look for the massive army.”
“Where is this bloody famous assassin?” Lucin interjected irritably.
“He has not deigned to join us here today,” Eira said, the complete absence of emotion in her voice betraying exactly what she thought of that, “but assures us he’ll be here by tomorrow when you all set out. Please try not to antagonise him, as he is technically a good guy now. Lucin?”
“Whatever,” the man said. In the chair beside him, Fervesce began to snore gently.
“Unless, of course, he looks to be going rogue himself,” Eira added. “Musk, since you’re in charge, you have official judgement on that. If he looks to be going off the rails, or even worse, joining up with Keithus, take him down. I appreciate that it won’t be easy, but I need..”
“Hang on,” Marcus interjected, hearing now what he had been too shocked to register before. “You’re sending this guy to kill Keithus, and you’re afraid he might join up with him?”
“Yes,” Eira said gravely.
Marcus groaned. “Remind me, did I already agree to go?”
“Yes, you did.”
Marcus gently bashed his head against his staff. He had nothing more to add.
Time had passed. Of course it’d actually been passing for quite a while, but in the background, quietly and discreetly. Marcus had been considering the passage of days with little more than vague interest, but the sensation of seconds passing him by had been intensified by the abrupt intrusion of a looming deadline to his relatively comfortably existence in Portruss. Hours that had previously elapsed with little fanfare were now seen off with mourning appropriate to the loss of a close, dear friend.
Marcus was alone, now, properly and deliberately, for the first time since arriving in the Mirrorworld. The Master had adjourned her assembled group, recommending that they spend this day in preparation for their departure to the north tomorrow, and everyone had wandered off to do so. That had left Marcus alone and unguarded, free to float through this world as he saw fit. It was a reasonable facsimile of freedom, tempered by the silky noose that Eira had carefully dangled around his neck and could now pull taut at any point. He had to admit that the philosophical, theoretical trap was much more resource-friendly than the one where people followed him around all the time.
Still, his time was briefly his own, and given that his Viaggiatori-provided wardrobe had now more or less run out of shades that didn’t make him feel slightly sick, he’d loaded up his bag of gold and headed out into the city in search of more respectable shades. He’d never been a fan of bright colours, and wandering a strange city in a strange world while wearing such shades had left him feeling very conspicuous. He hid them now beneath the long black jacket that he had more or less stolen from the Viaggiatori cloakroom, and headed to the Eastgate district, which a local guidebook told him was a hub for shopping in the city. It also told him that the city was named for the coppery glint of the river at sunset, so he took it with a pinch, but it turned out to be correct in this instance, and so he wandered from shop to shop, purchasing their wares while his mind fizzled and bubbled.
The thoughts that kept rising in his head were far from pleasant, even by the fluctuating standards of the last few days. Uncertain future had now been stamped into the shape of an unenviable fate, and his peace of mind was shot. In reflection, he’d begun to think that maybe, just maybe, the Mirrorworld could be a new start for him. In his angry rejection of all that had come before he had washed his hands not just of the past, but of Earth, too – what had that planet ever done for him? He’d scoured its lengths looking for somewhere to belong, something that might explain the vagaries of his life and give him a hint as to the meaning of it all, and all that had led to was a cut-off existence that had culminated in bleak depression, drin
king himself to death. Thanks for nothing.
But he had dodged Death, somehow, and left all that behind for a world that was briefly new and interesting again. Without really meaning to, he had invested himself in the Mirrorworld, and rediscovered – or perhaps more accurately, he allowed, discovered for the first time – what it might mean to truly control one’s life, to plough a path through existence rather than to exist purely on the tepid flotsam of things that happened to you. By that power had he stood up to his oppressors, both a man called Lambert and the Viaggiatori, and hope had lit his way towards a second chance, a life beyond what he had settled for over the entirety of his Earthly existence. Though Marcus Chiallion had not literally died, perhaps the person he had been could have laid at rest.
But no. That was all dust now; his jailors had caught up to him. The Viaggiatori had weighed him down under the weight of a responsibility that he hadn’t earned, a destiny of a saviour that he had little interest in; it was just another box, and he was sandwiched in it with them on one side and the primal force of Death on his other, constantly tapping on his shoulder to remind him that, sooner or later, he was going to pay for all this extra time with the life he had forfeit by right. New world though it might be, the Mirrorworld seemed to share Earth’s sense of raucously cruel divine humour.
Crossing the wide plaza at Eastgate, Marcus paused for a wistful look towards the gate proper. There was a constant flow of traffic in and out of the city, watched over by attentive, armoured guards who slowed the stream at the gate, checking paperwork seemingly at random. There were so many of them – his odds of somehow slipping past unseen seemed low. Maybe he would be less conspicuous without the scythe-staff, but there was no way he was parting with that now.
What could he do? Nothing. There was to be no free and daring Marcus of the Mirrorworld; his only course of action was to dance on the strings that had been tied to him, and hope for the best. That meant going north, into danger, Death’s domain. With luck he might be able to dodge around it, let the Assassin deal with Keithus, and be gifted again with freedom to settle his debts.. but that was a far, forlorn hope, a fledgling flame that even a weak wind could snuff out without doubt. It would need nurturing to survive, but all Marcus had to spare was the grim, stoic acceptance of his fate that he had succeeded in talking himself into.
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