The Masked City

by Genevieve Cogman

  ‘Kidnapping you, of course. Oh, I know that you know I did it, but who else would? There’s so much scope here, I wouldn’t want to confine myself unduly. Perhaps the best option would be to wait until word gets out about your capture and then suggest that someone was impersonating me. Or maybe that I was an agent for your mother, and the whole thing was the first strike in a civil war against your father. Of course there isn’t actually a civil war yet, but we can work on that.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I must control myself. Stick with the current plan until it’s fully carried through, as my dear wife keeps on saying.’

  Kai tried to laugh, his throat still burning from the brandy. He gathered his pride, squaring his shoulders and rising to his feet. ‘If you go so far as to offend my mother, the fate that I have in mind for you now will pale by comparison. You are a fool, and you are meddling in matters beyond your understanding.’

  ‘A very pretty speech,’ Guantes said. ‘I’d be proud of it myself. But allow me to point out that you are currently in chains, in prison, and far away from anyone who could possibly help you. Also, nobody knows where you are.’

  ‘A temporary situation,’ Kai retorted as he tried to ignore the hollow uncertainty in his belly. ‘My friends will come for me. My uncle will find me.’

  ‘Not here,’ Guantes said, with a certainty that conveyed absolute truth. ‘This sphere is deep in the chaos zones. Even if your uncle could find you, he neither could nor would come here, even to save your life. It would be an act of open war. Actually, the fact that you are here yourself could be construed as a provocation. The King of the Eastern Ocean’s youngest son, deep in the heart of our territory.’

  Anger and fear fought with Kai’s urge to roll his eyes. ‘You kidnapped me.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true. I’d just have to make sure you were incapable of incriminating me …’ Again he shook his head. ‘I suppose I can always save it as a last resort, if the auction doesn’t go ahead on schedule.’

  ‘Auction?’ Kai asked. Part of him still didn’t accept that this could be happening.

  ‘Yes, at midnight tomorrow.’ Guantes glanced up at the window-openings in the wall high above. Thin, pale light shone through them, and it was impossible to determine the time of day. ‘You’re to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Very elegant, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’m going to kill you,’ Kai swore again. Anger and pride were the only things he had left to give him strength. ‘And if I don’t, my friends will.’

  ‘But I’ve already told you,’ Guantes said mildly. ‘Dragons can’t reach you here. Even the Library won’t help you.’

  ‘You know about the Library?’

  ‘I know all the players in the game.’ Guantes turned and strolled towards the door. ‘And you, young prince, are in checkmate. Sleep well.’

  The door closed behind him with a hollow boom, cutting off Kai’s last shouted defiance and leaving him alone in the cell.

  Was it checkmate? Perhaps not. He had to believe there was still a chance, or he would despair. And if Guantes thought that the Library wouldn’t help, then he didn’t know Irene. She would still be in the game.

  She had to be.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Just as Irene had expected, the scene upon arrival was mayhem, and very nearly bloody mayhem. She stumbled out of the Train onto a long swaying platform, which extended far into the dark lagoon. The Train rested upon steel tracks, but there was no indication as to what supported those tracks, or if anything did at all.

  The crowd from Aunt Isra’s seminar conveniently surrounded Irene, and she took care to stay in the middle of it. Some elements were peeling off in an attempt to find their patrons or protectors, but others were holding their current position until the mob had thinned out. What with the servants, maids, piles of luggage, pet greyhounds and set of white Lipizzaner stallions, there was very little chance to see what was going on or to tell one group of visiting Fae from another. The platform was a riot of different costumes, almost all of them highly dramatic, and in the light of the high street lamps it looked like a fever dream: all colour, brightness and no logic or sanity at all. The Library brand on her back was a permanent low throb of painful warmth, like sunburn, constantly reminding her of its presence. But, from the outside, she was just one more anonymous person in the mob. And, thankfully, nobody looked twice at her.

  Theoretically, since this was a high-chaos alternate, she could wander into the crowd and meet exactly the person that she needed to meet in order to rescue Kai and save the day. Stories formed easily here, and she would be just one more protagonist with a story to tell. On the other hand, she might wander into the crowd and be met by someone, such as Lady Guantes, who needed to meet her to continue their own story. And that could be catastrophic for Irene.

  ‘Hey.’ The woman in cowboy leathers poked Irene’s arm, taking her by surprise, and Irene suppressed a twitch of shock as she turned warily towards her. They’ve caught me! No, wait, she just wants to ask me something. ‘Clarice, was it? My name’s Martha. Look, some of us are going to get a - what did they call them, Athanais? - a water-taxi from here, and find the higher-ups later. I don’t have to be with my lady until midnight, and I know where she’s lodging. Can you catch up with your higher-ups later? Where will they be?’

  Irene thought back to the few comments Lord Silver had made. ‘He said the Gritti Palace,’ she said truthfully. But it might be useful to have an excuse for wandering … ‘But he might change his mind. What can you do?’ She shrugged.

  Martha nodded. Light-brown curls the same shade as her leathers foamed round her face and fell over her shoulders, and her skin was tanned to precisely a few shades paler. ‘I’ve had a few like that, yes. But something else: you were speaking to Aunt Isra in Arabic earlier, weren’t you? Are you good with languages - such as Italian?’ Her question was more than a little desperate.

  For a moment Irene wanted to laugh hysterically. Of course, being Fae didn’t somehow make you omni-lingual, though Aunt Isra had suggested the very powerful ones could get round that. The junior Fae here, low-ranking pawns of her own presumed level, wouldn’t necessarily be linguists. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘Well enough to get by, at least …’

  ‘That’ll do. Hey, Athanais! Grab that boat!’ The woman seized Irene’s arm and began towing her through the mob towards the far side of the platform, where the waters lapped against it. Irene recognized some of the other students from the seminar there. ‘Clarice here can speak Italian!’

  ‘Oh, thank god for that,’ Athanais said. Irene suppressed a sigh of relief. They weren’t thinking twice about her, weren’t even considering enemies in their midst. A sudden burst of distant fireworks shone on his pale hair. ‘None of us here speak Italian at all. Look, talk to this ferryman: what we want is a good tavern—’

  ‘Bar,’ the woman in the business suit put in.

  ‘My dear, we must have a clothing shop first,’ a woman in a black bikini said, sitting at the edge of the platform, her legs dangling knee-deep in the water. ‘I’m called Zayanna, darling,’ she introduced herself to Irene. ‘I swear, had I been allowed to bring as much clothing as certain other people …’

  Several small boats were floating on the far side of the platform. Some were gondolas, large enough to hold half a dozen, but others were slightly larger crafts with several oarsmen. The boatmen - gondolieri? - all wore black cloaks, domino masks, striped jumpers and tricorne hats, as if it was some sort of uniform.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Irene said, then switched to Italian. ‘Excuse me! Let me through, please.’ She edged up next to Athanais and quickly managed to negotiate a price for the six of them. Sterrington, the one in the business suit, was happy enough to pay, as long as she could have a receipt for it.

  The idea of taking refuge in a tavern was sounding better and better by the second. She could use a stiff drink, and get her bearings and pick up local gossip before going back on the hunt for Kai. As long as the pack of seemingly friendl
y Fae didn’t turn on her. She finished agreeing the deal with the gondolier and shifted back to English. ‘Everyone aboard, ladies, gentlemen. We are getting out of here before someone high-ranking requisitions our craft for their pet elephant and we all have to swim to the bar.’

  There were chuckles, and the others filed on board the narrow boat. The remaining student was introduced as Atrox Ferox - an Asian Fae in black leather and latex plating. He had a sleek gun holstered at his side and his face was chiselled and expressionless. Zayanna simply slipped into the water and swam up next to the boat, sliding an arm over the edge to hold on. Sterrington helped Irene on board before following her, and Athanais joined them.

  The boatman stood to the rear, oar dramatically poised, and then the boat slid into motion, pushing away from the platform and heading across a lagoon into the city.

  It was everything that a fairytale Venice should be, Irene decided cynically. The buildings were brick and marble, old and beautiful. They reared triumphant and agelessly out of the night fog, blazing with oil-lamps and coloured lights. Further in she could see other boats - smaller gondolas - darting around with lamps hanging at their prows, and there were distant sounds of music and laughter. Further away, someone screamed briefly and was silent.

  ‘Look,’ Sterrington murmured, pointing back towards the platform they had just left. An ebony coach had come to a stop at the head of the platform, pulled by four black horses. A servant was helping a woman into it, while other servants loaded her luggage. Even from this distance, Irene could recognize Lady Guantes.

  ‘Do you think we should have stayed and tried for an introduction?’ Athanais suggested. ‘There must have been a dozen ways we could have done her some small service—’

  ‘Invasive,’ Atrox Ferox snapped. It was the first thing Irene had heard him say. His voice was like his face, sharp and cold. ‘One does not force one’s attentions upon the dependant of a patron.’

  The woman in the water lifted herself to rest on the side of the boat, propping herself on one elbow. ‘That would be “force one’s company” rather than “force one’s attentions”.’

  ‘Your correction is appreciated, Zayanna,’ Atrox Ferox said sourly. ‘One does not force one’s company upon the dependant of a patron without that patron’s permission. The sequel of a casual meeting would be more appropriate when it is arrangeable.’

  As she tried to unscramble his meaning, Irene found herself wondering if dragons had language issues as well. Was there a draconic language which they all spoke? And if so, could she learn it?

  ‘A penny for your thoughts, Clarice,’ Martha said.

  Irene looked for something innocent to say. ‘I was surprised that so many of us don’t have immediate assignments. Could it be that our patrons were more concerned with the size of their retinues than with us being genuinely useful?’

  Athanais, Martha and Zayanna laughed. Sterrington’s mouth twitched at the corners. Atrox Ferox stared, unspeaking, into the darkness.

  Irene shrugged. ‘I suppose some things are the same everywhere.’ She was very aware that every attempt at interaction was a risk. But if she was going to get information out of them, then someone had to start the conversational ball rolling.

  ‘Oh, look!’ Zayanna pulled herself up on the side of the boat again and pointed towards the shore they were approaching.

  ‘Yes,’ Sterrington said calmly, ‘the buildings are extremely impressive.’

  ‘Not that. Look at the people!’

  There was a moment of silence. Now that they were closer it was possible to get a good look at the people loitering along the pavements, even through the shrouding fog. Some were visible through windows, or in other gondolas, and the most obvious common denominator, Irene realized, was that they were all wearing masks.

  ‘Is it Carnival?’ Irene asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  Martha shrugged. ‘It’s Venice. So of course it’s Carnival. Why didn’t I think of that!’ She slapped her hand against her thigh. ‘I need a mask!’

  ‘We all do, or we’re going to be obvious and out of place,’ Athanais said. ‘Clarice, you’ve got to ask our boatman to take us to a mask shop first. Please?’ He made big soulful eyes at her. Again, she felt relieved that her cover as one of them seemed to be holding. For now, at least.

  It’s Venice, so of course it’s Carnival. Martha’s words echoed in her head. Venice as the dream, not as the reality. No wonder the water smelt pleasantly of salt, rather than of sewage or worse. No wonder they’d managed to catch a boat easily, rather than having to wait for ages and then haggle the man down.

  Our best dreams - but our nightmares, too? No, better not think that, just in case. Because what if thinking makes it real?

  Irene informed the boatman of the change in plans, then smiled at the others. ‘It’s nice to know you all trust me to do the talking.’ She hoped she wasn’t pushing the casual nonchalance too far.

  ‘If you can’t trust a total stranger whom you meet on the train, who can you trust?’ Athanais said lazily. ‘It’s not as if we were plotting to murder each other’s enemies, after all.’ Whatever his origin, he was apparently a Hitchcock fan.

  ‘Of course not,’ Martha said quickly.

  ‘Definitely not,’ Sterrington agreed.

  ‘Quite absolutely not,’ Zayanna murmured.

  ‘Such illegalities would be not thought of,’ Atrox Ferox said firmly.

  The boatman politely waited for them all to finish exchanging quips, before murmuring his agreement to Irene. At a very slight increase in price, of course.

  ‘Clarice?’ Martha queried. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘What you’d expect,’ Irene said. ‘We’ll be there in five minutes - ten at the most.’

  The others exchanged glances. ‘We’re aware of the favour you do us by translating,’ Athanais said, his language becoming formal. ‘While normally we would be glad to owe you a favour, we can’t be sure when we’ll see you again - would you consider it sufficient payment for us to cover the mask and perhaps a drink or two?’

  Just yesterday Irene had been worrying about accepting a coffee from a Fae. Now it seemed the Fae had just as much trouble with favours and gifts between themselves. ‘I would consider it a fair exchange, at least until we get to a good tavern,’ she replied. ‘Besides, we may run into each other in the future.’ If I’m unlucky enough. ‘We might as well start our relationships on good terms.’

  Zayanna nodded. ‘It’s funny how we keep on running into people we know, darling, though I suppose Aunt Isra would say it’s only appropriate. Athanais and I are from the same sphere, second-upon-reticulation, third-by-response, and I met Atrox Ferox when he was visiting us in pursuit of a law-breaker at the order of his commander. And Athanais met Martha—’

  ‘I think Aunt Isra may have been a little quick to judge us when she considered us all total novices,’ Sterrington added. Her tone was pure snobbery, but Irene wondered if she’d intended the undertone of suppressed violence.

  The boat slid into a relatively small canal between two rows of buildings, perhaps five yards wide, with strings of blown-glass lanterns in different shades of blue and green gleaming above. Here, away from the open lagoon and among the palazzos, the fog hung in veils. It was enough to tantalize, but not enough to entirely conceal. Irene tried to track her surroundings, wondering how long it would take to get back to the bay, if she had to make a fast getaway. Perhaps she could hire a boat and simply flee this particular city with Kai, once she’d rescued him from wherever he was being held. Then they could escape from another town further down the coast? If there were any other towns down the coast, or anything else in this world except Venice … She wished she knew where the nearest library was.

  A couple of streets - or canals - later, they were at the mask shop. It was amazing how much time six people could take choosing a mask, but they all managed to find something in the end, as the gondolier waited, no doubt raising the eventual fee higher with every p
assing minute. Irene’s new garb included a pale Columbina half-mask with inset aquamarine glass, tied with blue ribbons. The bit she really appreciated was the big black cloak, with its large concealing hood.

  With something hiding her from any wandering Guantes, Irene found that she could relax a little and pay more attention to the Venice around her. The place was far more alive than it had seemed from the train platform, out on the bay. Tiny lamps burned in little shrines along the canal banks, and sounds came from the tall houses and shops they passed - music, singing, talk, the screams of an argument, the barking of dogs. And the smells! Food, wine, wax candles, oil-lamps, the scent of the open sea …

  Zayanna had clambered into the boat and was more than willing to take up Irene’s share of the conversation, leaving Irene to listen to the others and fret silently behind her mask and hood. All of this was useful cover, but Kai was still a prisoner - and time was running out.

  At the tavern, Irene was delayed at the doorway by Sterrington, who was still happy to pay the boatman’s bill, but wanted a fully itemized and signed receipt. By the time she’d negotiated this with the unenthusiastic boatman, the others had all managed to order drinks, despite their lack of Italian.

  Probable lack of Italian. Irene wasn’t entirely convinced they were all as ignorant as they claimed. It would be stupid to take their word for it.

  ‘It’s the local Prosecco,’ Zayanna said, presenting Irene with a full glass and tugging her towards a table that their group had commandeered. ‘Bottoms up!’

  ‘You’re really enjoying yourself,’ Irene said. They had all filled their glasses from the same bottle, so it was probably safe. She sipped. No immediate signs of being poisoned. She sipped again.

  ‘It makes a nice change to get away from all my wretched responsibilities,’ Zayanna said, with unexpected venom. ‘All those shrines to administer, all those snakes to care for, and when do I ever get the chance to have a few days off for myself? I’m always the one who has to milk the serpents while my master seduces the heroes. It’s just not fair, darling.’ She took a swallow of the wine. It obviously wasn’t her first glass.