by H. A. Harvey
“You’re on.” Adair’s murmur snapped Autumn from her reverie. The handful of common folk were collecting ahead of the wagon into a meager crowd. They watched with eager expressions as the wagon drew up to the cluster of buildings that lay outside the city gates. She took a deep breath and nodded, her curly, golden locks bouncing prettily and reflecting Phoenix’ light to dazzling effect. She leapt to the tongue of the wagon, skipping up with a spin to land with the toes of one foot on the shoulders of each horse while her garb of wound sashes trailed her movements fantastically.
“Hail, Broadstone!” She cried with arms spread wide, “I, Dantia of Praxis, bring you my Festival of Miracles!”
A still of silent awe broke into delighted applause just before Dale and three others danced from behind the wagon, their brightly colored fool’s garb tinkling with bells at their every jaunty step. The rest of the pack joined in with their own theatrics, juggling, tumbling, or parading along with their ‘freakish’ disguises. Autumn thought Dale’s fire dancing was surprisingly good, and she resolved to make him tell her where he picked it up after they were done. What had been a quiet procession of three garishly painted wagons exploded into a spontaneous parade down the streets to the city’s square.
The pack’s antics throughout the day drew quite the crowd by the time evening approached. It seemed most of the city’s populace turned out, as well as many soldiers that were not unfortunate enough to be on post at the moment. A few local merchants even turned out their wares around the square, hawking sweet buns, mountain lager, and little meat treats. As the gates shut and light faded from the sky, ‘Dantia’ withdrew to the lead wagon for a costume change.
Inside, Penn was waiting for her. Autumn wasn’t sure about the only other Fae they had been able to wrangle up for the task. She wasn’t a wolf, but a freelance mercenary, and she was a normal Fae rather than a Dryad. To Autumn, that meant doubly unreliable. Still, best that be kept to herself. She started to disrobe as she let her masque fade. Her bright, glittery blonde hair shifted back to red and gold and shortened to her normal feathered cut while her bronze flesh faded back to its normal striped white.
“Huh,” Penn laughed to herself as Autumn watched her take on the shape of Dantia, “I never saw a Dryad use a masque before. Always thought you lot couldn’t do it.”
“We can,” Autumn shrugged as she shifted to a rather overly buxom, olive-skinned and raven haired maiden, pulling a revealing cotton gown from the little cabinet in the wagon. “Most of us just don’t see a point to changing what we look like. I remember when I was little there were a few ladies who shifted their hair with the seasons, that’s about it.”
“What are you doing?” Penn eyed Autumn, bemused as she struggled into the tight-fitting dress. “You know the masque works for clothes too, right?”
“I don’t really practice much, so things that dangle and drape, and don’t move like I’m used to are a bit much.” Autumn explained, “Especially to hold it all day like this.”
“Right,” Penn said, her Dantia masque now sporting a silk version of Autumn’s gown with golden embroidery. “To be honest, that part was impressive. I think the longest I’ve been able to keep a masque up was like three hours before I lost focus. How are you holding up?”
“My head feels like it’s splitting in two.” Autumn smiled since she knew her remote kin were uncomfortable with Dryad stoicism. “But I should be able to hold out for another few minutes, long enough to get the job done.”
“Want a tip?” Penn asked, “Sweat.”
“Huh?” Autumn blinked.
“You are new to this aren’t you?” Penn laughed and caught Autumn by surprise, fluffing the Dryad’s breasts, “If you are putting out a trap for boys, a figure is great, but make your skin glisten just a little, like it’s barely wet. Makes their brains porridge.”
“Like this?”
“By the Twelve! No.” Penn snickered at her, “You want to look like you are a little warmed up from dancing, not like you just sprinted for a day and probably smell like a warm dock. Like this.”
Autumn watched as Dantia’s bronze skin took on the slightest glisten to it. The torchlight dancing through the windows made the highlights and shadows dance along her form enticingly. Autumn’s gaze was snared by a bead of sweat that formed at the base of her neck and trailed down to her cleavage.
“The bait bead is a good touch,” Penn giggled mischievously, “If you time it right, poor sap finds himself staring right where he knows he shouldn’t, and he’s all yours. Kinda an advanced skill though, stick to glisten for tonight. As for Dantia, I don’t know how convincing I can be. I don’t do tightropes and backflips.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” Autumn assured her, “I’ve done plenty to establish her as a lead performer. Now, you just have to keep people from wondering where she’s gone off to. You can pretend to be into your cups a bit and just mingle.”
“Pretend?” Penn chuckled as she hopped lightly out of the wagon, turning back to wink at Autumn, “You just take care of your little errand. I’ll keep it cheery here.”
Autumn sighed and gathered up her stack of cups and bottle of wine before dropping out of the wagon and slipping quietly through the edge of the crowd to the main street. As she made her way through the darkened streets, Autumn didn’t see another soul. That was a good thing. With the common folk and foot patrols at the heart of the city, they would be out of the way for what came next. By the time word reached them, things would be just about over.
“’old an’ state yer business.” The sentry called out to Autumn from his post before the gatehouse door.
The gates stood in heavy shadow, shut for the evening against roving beasts and undesirable traffic. The only sources of light were from a torch atop the wall where another soldier paced quietly to and fro, and from a small window in the heavy oak door behind the sentry who challenged her. Autumn figured two more waited inside as relief for the two outer guards. More weren’t likely with how lightly patrolled the walls were. She donned a winsome smile as she drew closer to the guard.
“Evening, good sir.” Autumn purred, “I’m from the carnival. Mistress Dantia thought you men on the wall could use a bit of comfort as well. She sent me with this bottle of Avan wine for you men on watch.”
“Ah . . . we ain’t s’posed ta-“ The sentry began, but Autumn had not stopped walking closer, and was quick to lay a soft hand on the sentry’s.
“It’s only one bottle, hardly more than a glass or two when you pass it between you. Just enough to take the bite out of the cold night air.” Autumn reassured him, “Please, Mistress Dantia had wanted very much for you to partake in the festivities. Here, if you’re worried it’s poisoned, I’ll taste it first.”
Autumn pulled the loosened cork with her teeth and poured a draught into the top cup. She replaced the cork before smiling and nodding at the sentry. She downed the sweet wine in a long, slow swallow. She closed her eyes and decided it was a good time to try the bait bead. When she opened her eyes, she could tell it had worked, even in the night shadows, she could tell his eyes weren’t on her face or the bottle.
“See?” She cooed, “Sweet and smooth.”
“Yeah . . .” The sentry mumbled agreement. He stepped back a pace and rapped on the door, his gaze still anchored to her ample cleavage. After a moment, a head darkened the small window.
“What?” A harsh voice came from the shadow within, “You just got out there. Not my fault if ya forgot to empty yer canteen first. Use tha alley or wet yer trousers fer all I care.”
“We got a guest,” The sentry replied, “From tha carnival.”
Autumn could feel the shadowed man’s eyes on her. She gave a smile and shifted to stand in the starlight. After a moment, she heard the heavy slide of a metal bar moving free from behind the door and it swung out slowly. She swayed through, followed closely by the sentry.
Once through the door, Autumn paused momentarily. There was a third guard inside, he looked like the watch sergeant. That complicated things. She’d hoped to drop the two by the door quick and quiet and get the third with a thrown blade. A fourth man meant she needed to get three closer or wait for the sentry to go back outside. No, he could hear an armored body drop through the door and raise the alarm. It would have to be all four. Adair always said that even the best plan only lasts until you step onto the field.
“Mistress Dantia wanted to ensure that the men keeping us safe for the night were not left out of the festivities.” Autumn kept the sultry tone to her voice as she set the cups together on the table and poured a healthy measure into each. All four in close quarters was risky, but could work if she were fast enough. “I’m glad she thought of it. I like soldiers. You keep us safe from bandits and the like.”
The sergeant and his companion at the table leaned over to get their mugs, and Autumn braced inwardly as the man who had unbarred the door started over. She cursed mentally as the sergeant rose and wound up the short stairwell to ensure the door into the gate housing was secure, sipping his wine as he went. The man still seated caught hold of her arm and pulled Autumn into his lap. Autumn almost groaned in frustration as her dress pulled tight over her legs, and between that and the man’s arm around her waist, moving quickly from here would be difficult. Moving quick enough to keep four men from crying out would be impossible.
“So, wut sorta entertainments do you do at the circus, missy?” The guard asked between draughts. His hot, rank breath on her cheek and flowing through her hair made her grateful it was the masque’s and not her own or she’d need a bath after this. She decided she might take one anyway.
“Ah, Fortunes mostly, and dancing.” Autumn smiled sheepishly, shifting her hips slightly in the hopes of coaxing her dress to get the slit lined back up with her leg. She immediately regretted the maneuver as she felt the guard react to her motion on his lap. However, it did give her a plan, one Adair would most certainly have vetoed instantly. She looked over at the sergeant on his way back down the stairs. “My crystal is back at the festival, but I could read your palm if you like and perhaps give you men a dance, though I’ve no music.”
The sergeant strode up and stood over her a moment, sipping his wine as he eyed her hungrily. At length, he pulled a chair around to sit next to them and held out his hand. “Arright.”
Autumn nodded and stood long enough to right her dress, careful to let her hip brush the sergeant’s outstretched hand as she did so. She sat back in the other guard’s lap, sliding her bare leg from the slit in her dress and crossing it prettily over her knee before resting the back of the sergeant’s hand on her thigh. She leaned over and exhaled softly onto his palm sitting back half-upright before she started to trace the lines in the man’s hand softly with her nail. In truth, she knew next to nothing about reading a real Fortune, but she could read the marks of a battlefield well enough, and hoped it would suffice.
“I see you are no stranger to warfare,” She started, noting his well-hardened sword callouses and nicks and gouges along his forearm from more than one closely parried blade. “Most men fight from behind shields, but you are brave, and prefer offense to defense.”
“I know wut I done.” The sergeant started to object but was given pause as Autumn laid her finger over his lips, smiling coyly.
“The threads of Fortune flow both directions. You must read them from one end to the other to read true.” She admonished him in her soft, enticing voice. She was starting to like the voice for this masque, and could almost see the appeal to other Fae always using it to shift identities on a whim. “I see two paths before you, this line that breaks you see. On one path, you will find glory, and perhaps great wealth, but I see a violent end and few close enough to mourn your passing. On the other, I see a young woman who has watched you return time and again from dark, dangerous places. Admiration as a girl has turned to a young woman’s yearning. Yet many deaths of late have made her fear attachment and loss. It will take more than bearing a shield to assure her, and you must surrender the path to glory to bask in her embrace. On that path, I see an old man, loved by wife and child . . . no children, happy at the end in a life well lived.”
“Thet second one sounds nice, Sarge.” The younger man by the door murmured, having retrieved a cup for himself and for the older man who had opened the door.
“Bah,” The sergeant scoffed, drawing his hand back. “Some foolish farmer’s daughter who’s prolly more trouble’n she’s worth. Always go fer tha gold an’ glory. A rich man ken buy all tha soft women he wants. Innat rite missy?”
The sergeant lifted Autumn’s chin with the crook of his finger and she stood, smiling prettily back at him. She had what she wanted. The two men at the table needed to go first. Both the sergeant and the man whose excited lap she had just left were seasoned veterans. The two at the door were newer, probably conscripts or recruits from after the plague. One was younger than her, perhaps Nian’s age or a little older. The other still had dirt-stained hands from working the fields and moved with the sore bones of a long-time farmer in stony ground.
“I can try to give you men a dance before I leave you to your wine, if you like.” Autumn suggested.
The sergeant ran his hand down Autumn’s neck, along her breast and to her hip before tugging her forward against him. She found herself wishing earnestly that the masque’s tactile sensations only worked one way. However, she blinked in mock surprise and didn’t pull away. The pieces were falling into place, now just one more need be lured to the honey trap from the doorway. It needed to move quicker though. Her head was pounding from the effort of maintaining the mask, and it was getting harder to focus.
“I’z thinkin’ o’ a bit different entertainment.” The sergeant growled, his hand groping her rump clumsily.
“Oh, I-“ Autumn stammered in mock surprise, “I would. As I said, I like soldiers. But my mistress would beat me if I were to do anything like that for free.”
The sergeant eyed her a moment, his eyes caught by another bait bead travelling down into the inviting chasm between Autumn’s breasts.
“Arright,” He murmured, “Wot kinda coin we talkin’?”
“Silver, two each.” Autumn grasped the first number she’d be sure they had to each contribute to. She saw immediately that she’d overestimated. “Ah, normally two. But my mistress doesn’t know how many are here . . . and I like you strong, brave men. So, one each? And if you could . . . your armor would scratch me horribly.”
The sergeant looked at her a long moment before he bit his lower lip and nodded slightly. He reached two fingers into the purse at his belt and dropped a silver coin on the table, which was quickly joined by a second from the man seated behind her. Autumn smiled seductively and slipped free of the shoulder straps on her dress, reducing the masque’s figure just enough to let the dress slip easily to the floor as the two men from the door hurried over, digging in their own belts for coin.
“Aw, I’s lookin forwerd ta unwrappin’ ya.” The sergeant complained as he loosened the leather cinches at his side.
“It’s an expensive dress I’d rather not replace.” Autumn purred her excuse, running her fingers along the sergeant’s chest as he tugged his chain shirt and wool tunic over his shoulders. “Besides, I need to be able to move.”
The old farmer tossed his coin onto the table with the rest, while the boy, rapt in the visage of her bare flesh, approached her directly with his held out. Autumn released her masque and exploded into movement as the last two men drew up on the table. She drew the sergeant’s dagger from his belt, driving it up into the soldier’s exposed chin as her heel shot back into the seated man’s throat hard enough that she felt his vertebrae against her foot before he rolled back out of the chair. She used the shock of the blow to the man behind her to reverse direction, and bring her knee forward into the
boy’s groin, leaving him to crumple to the floor breathlessly as she spun again, twisting the dagger and lifting her weight onto it as she threw her knees around the old farmer’s head, snapping his neck with a twirl that drug the dagger down the sergeant’s throat to his ribcage before releasing Autumn to summersault to her feet in front of the stunned young sentry. She crouched down until her eyes were level with his and ran the fingers of her empty hand through his hair before firmly gripping his scalp.
“If you live to see dawn,” She whispered in her wooden voice, already missing the vixen’s a little, “I recommend looking for something similar to the second path.”
Autumn brought the pommel of her stolen dagger hard against the side of the young man’s head, driving him deep into unconsciousness. She then quickly used the belts of two dead guards to bind the boy’s hands and feet, stuffing a shirt into his mouth and tying the sleeves about his head. Then she wrapped the sergeant’s belt around herself, stabbing a new hole with the dagger before returning the blade to its sheath. As she looked down, she noted how stark the white of her legs were against the dark stone of the city walls. She bent her masque to shift her skin to a dark grey, and reeled from the sudden rush of splitting pain. Wiping a sudden flow of blood from her nose, Autumn decided her masque was done for the day, at least. Instead she undid one of the guard’s dark cloaks and draped it over her shoulders before heading up the stairs.
Inside the housing directly over the gates, Autumn found herself in a chamber bathed in darkness. It took almost a minute for Autumn’s eyes to adjust to the dark. The only light in the room was indirect starlight from archer slits along the front wall. Great gears and tangles of rope filled most of the room, and the few stretches of bare floor seemed to also sport holes for archers to drop death onto invaders in the darkened gateway below. She slowly picked her way across the shadows of the room, determined that, if she were going to be found dead, it would not be more than half naked with a broken leg or having hung herself in the gate rigging.
