Her first order of business had been making sets of new papers for Arramy and I. Arramy had been released after his sylvographs were done and had gone back to packing up the armamentary. I, however, had been made to sit through six different sessions, with different clothes and hairstyles for each. Then Marin had spent the better part of an hour sketching and comparing my features to Tettian women in her portfolio. An hour later, a mask of translucent rubber was curing on a form she had cast from a mold of my real face.
She fished a candle out of her bag, lit it, and brought the flame close to the surface of the rubber, warming it till it was soft. Then she began adding subtle pigmentation, injecting it beneath the surface of the rubber with tiny needles. Shades of delicate pink and apricot, the barely there blue of blood vessels above the eyes, a brown mole near the mouth, a smattering of freckles over the nose. She even added delicate red-brown eyebrows and a new coppery hairline from her swatches of hair, knotting and planting each strand through the rubber, trimming them with a razor. When she was done, the mask looked freakishly like a human face without eyes or lips.
"Alright," she said, peeling the finished product off the mold. She waved a hand at me, indicating that I should come back over and sit on the bench under the gas lamp.
With a sigh, I got up and took a seat.
Braeton came to stand behind Marin, peering over her shoulder as she pulled up her three-legged stool, and began applying glue to the inside of the mask with a small felt brush. She didn't say anything, but took care to show me which glue, and how much to slather on. Then she had me position the mask on my face, making me feel where the nose and the eyebrows were supposed to go, muttering, "like so," when I got it right.
The last step in my transformation was a layer of thick paint to blend the delicate edges of the rubber into the surface of my skin, and a special mix of heavy cosmetics to hide the difference between my natural olive complexion and the blushing apricot of the mask.
Braeton was shaking his head when she finally stopped painting, his hand at his mouth, his expression awestruck. "Amazing. Utterly amazing... she looks like a completely different person."
Marin clamped her cosmetics brush between her teeth and rummaged in her knapsack, coming out with a piece of mirror.
I hesitated. First my hair, now my face. Even though it was for a good reason, and would probably save my life, I still had to make myself look.
A winsome Tettian waif stared back at me, exquisite features framed by a cascade of rich coppery blonde curls. My eyes were the only thing Marin hadn't changed. She could have if she wanted. She had augmentation syringes and dyes in her toolbox, but it took too long to heal afterward, so my brown Edonian eyes stayed as they were. I couldn't decide if that made it more or less disturbing that they were looking out of a stranger's face.
Marin leaned closer, ducking into my line of sight, her expression serious. "This is just a shell. A pretty Pendar shell. Don't forget that," she said. Then she squinted. "The glue will hold quite well for several hours, but you have to reapply it if it gets wet. No rubbing or wiping your mouth after you eat, either. Dab only. And if it starts itching you can't scratch at it."
I had almost thought she was going to tell me I was still me underneath the mask, but why would she? She wasn't the one sitting in my chair. With a grim smile, I nodded.
"Right," Marin said softly. Then she gave my knee a firm pat. "Now we need another Travel Bureau sylvo."
28. Fienn Emai
10th of Dema, Continued
I was helping Marin clean up the washroom when the swinging door to the galley opened and one of the deck stewards leaned in. "There's two gentlemen on deck ta see ya, sir."
Braeton glanced up from the copy of the Dailies Marin had brought with her from the mainland. "Send them in, thank you. And tell Captain Arramy to come back up, please."
The steward nodded, then left, holding the galley door open for two men. One was of average height and build, with average features and mid-brown hair. The other was thick and bulky, with a bald head. Both of them gave Marin a respectful nod as they came all the way into the washroom and closed the door.
"Ah. The much-fabled Enrys and Longwater," Braeton said, putting down his paper and getting to his feet. He smiled. "Welcome. Now. I'll just get straight down to business. I assume it's been made clear what your duties will be?"
Enrys glanced at Longwater, then nodded. "Aye. Clear enough."
"Good," Braeton said, then reached into his jacket and brought out two envelopes, handing one to each of them. "These are new papers. You're listed on the manifest as my bodyguards, but your real objective is to keep an eye on Captain Arramy at all times once we're ashore. Any questions?"
The men shook their heads.
Footsteps sounded out in the dining room, then, and a moment later Arramy pushed the galley door open.
I tried to ignore the swift kick-over in my heartbeat and focused on sweeping up stray bits of rubber peelings and costuming wax as he came to a halt in the doorway.
"Ah," Braeton said, all smiling and smooth. "Captain, meet Enrys and Longwater. I've brought them in as extra bodyguards. I was hoping you would show them where everything is."
Arramy didn't respond.
I couldn't help it. I hazarded a glance at him.
He was looking at me, his expression cold, those frigid eyes flicking from my hair to my face before shifting past me to Braeton. "Whatever you want, your Lordship," he muttered, his voice flat. Then he turned on his heel and walked out.
Longwater and Enrys exchanged a look, then trailed after Arramy.
Marin was crouched next to her knapsack, loading the last of her trays of pigments into it. "Well, he seems delightful. You obviously get along very well," she said when Arramy had gone, a wry grin curling her lips. She closed the knapsack and buckled the top shut, then pushed herself to her feet. "We need to talk." She aimed a meaningful look at the swinging door. "Somewhere a little less... open."
~~~
Marin waited until Braeton had closed and locked his stateroom door, then she got right to it. "Songbird says there's nothing new from the Communication Bureau about Reixham, Delmyrre, or any of the other names you gave her. She'll keep her ear to the ground as always... And Orrelian said to tell you the harbormaster has been searching all incoming vessels for nearly a week."
"I was afraid of that," Braeton muttered, pocketing his key as he scooted around me and headed for the small bar cabinet, where he poured himself a shot of rum and got a jar of beer from the insulabox. The beer was for Marin.
He glanced at me, his hand hovering over the rum bottle again, but I just shook my head and sat down at his breakfast table. I didn't feel like adding alcohol to the weird, hollow ache in my middle.
Marin nodded her thanks and took her beer, then sank into the chair across from mine and stretched out her long legs. "Orrelian is getting worried. There is talk on the street about new caerhundar activity, more than we've ever had. Twelve more reports of missing people already this month from Arritagne, another twenty from Vreis, more from farther north... They're moving them fast. None of our scouting missions turned up anything but a few places they might have been held. They were long gone before we got there."
She took a swig of her beer, then went on. "Orrelian thinks they're targeting the skilled trades, now, specifically. All of the men taken were mine workers. The girls were seamstresses and dairy hands..." her eyes darkened and her brows lowered. "Except for the children."
"Children," I whispered. "Is that new?"
"No... but it's been a while," she said quietly, not looking at me.
Braeton leaned his rear against the drink cabinet and lifted his rum. "Just one more reason to bring them down."
"Fienn emai" Marin said in Ronyran, raising her beer. "Let it be so." Then she took a drink before looking at Braeton. "What is this other job you need me to do?"
"Mmm." Braeton swallowed, put his rum down, reached into his vest pocket, and
leaned over to place a money bag on the table. "We need to keep Captain Arramy as far away from any Coventry contact as possible, for as long as possible. So. I need you to bribe one of the City Guard into finding nothing in the forward cargo hold tomorrow." He indicated the bag with a nod of his head. "That's ten thousand. Seven to start the deal, and a little extra for bargaining."
Marin raised a slender brow, then reached out and picked the money up, tucking it casually into the front of her jacket. Then she finished her beer and got to her feet, giving me a swift smile before turning to face Braeton. "The harbor gates close in an hour. I have to beat curfew."
Braeton pushed himself off the drink counter and caught her in a gruff hug.
She clapped his shoulder, then pulled away and held him at arm's length. "See you on the other side."
~~~
I ran my brush through my new hair. Eventually I would get used to it, but it was still strange. As was the fact that there was another person's face lying on my dressing table, pale and jiggly like a washed-up jellyfish. I knew how valuable it was, but it still sent a shudder down my spine. It was at once fascinating, disturbing, and a relief. On one hand, I would be able to walk right out in front of the Coventry, but on the other hand, I would be walking right out in front of the Coventry.
With a drawn-out sigh, I put my brush down. Then I undid the clasp of my necklace, letting the compass rose catch the lantern light for a second before placing it gently in the velvet lined box Ina had given me for it.
It was time to start packing, and I couldn't take anything that could link Pretty Pendar to my real identity.
One more thing to leave behind.
It would be waiting for me when this was all over. And it would all be over.
Or, that was what I was trying desperately to make myself believe.
~~~
Fienn emai: (Fee-ehn EH-my) Ronyran toast that literally means 'the good or perfect thing,' but situationally means 'so it should be.'
29. Smile, My Dear
11th of Dema
I sat in my lounging nook, watching the wind whip the trees lining the cliffs of the Lodesian coastline. As if to mirror my mood, heavy clouds churned across the sky, dulling the sunlight and muting the bright colors of the residential district stack-houses clamoring up the face of the bluffs above San Domynne.
"You're twisting your napkin," Braeton observed quietly.
"Sorry." I let go of the crumple of linen and reached for my tea instead.
He gave me a long look. "We're just coming home after a summer abroad. That's all. This is just a routine security stop."
I didn't argue, but we both knew there wasn't anything routine about what was going on at the Sant Domynne sea gates. The Coralynne was fifth in line for the entrance to the harbor, close enough to make out the men in black Coalition Army coats swarming along the ramparts of the fortified harbor wall.
Something caught my attention, and the warmth drained from my face. "You'll need to do better than that. They're boarding civilian vessels," I whispered, gaze glued to the pleasure barge two places ahead of us.
A faint frown drew Braeton's brows together before he looked away. "That was to be expected. The plan stays the same."
My teacup wobbled as I lifted it to my lips and took a sip. My heartbeat throbbed in my throat. I was sitting right there in the open with nothing between me and the Coventry but a bit of costuming rubber and a copper-blonde hair treatment.
I swallowed a large gulp of tea.
A few agonizing minutes later, the Coralynne was next, and the lofty curve of the sea-gate portcullis loomed over us, casting a thick shadow as we drifted past the knot of Coalition men standing on the harbormaster's boarding platform.
There was a gentle thump as the halting boom caught the Coralynne's prow, bringing her to a stop in the water. Captain Deironos came down the steps from the observation deck, waiting by the railing as the harbormaster and the military search party extended the accordion boarding ramp and crossed from the platform to the ship, their boots thudding on the deck.
Deironos' baritone carried on the breeze: "Welcome aboard. Can I be of assistance?"
The harbormaster squinted around at the promenade and drew an official Bureau document from his breast pocket. "These are orders from the Civil Magistrate granting free access to your ship." He didn't look at the captain as he held the warrant out. "I will need to see your manifests, and all identity papers for passengers and crew."
A wave of his hand sent the boarding party scattering in all directions, quick-timing up the stairs to the observation deck and disappearing down into the hold.
I worried my lower lip. The plan. Just trust the plan...
Braeton shook open his Muirside Business and Investment periodical, holding it up in front of him as if he really was perusing the financial projections of Edonian silver mines.
Fingers trembling, I placed my tea mug back on its plate and picked up the book Braeton had left on the table for this very moment. I split it roughly in the middle and tried to pretend I was engrossed.
It was impossible to keep from looking, though. They won't find him. Not unless they know where to look... Or if he starts making a racket...
The harbormaster stood there, thumbs hooked in his belt, surveying everything with an impassive expression on his hawkish face while the boarding party began escorting the crew out onto the main deck, lining everyone up by the railing.
Arramy never appeared, and then the last of the boarding party came up from the hold and said something to the harbormaster. There was no way to tell at that distance what the message had been, but judging from the harbormaster's unchanging expression, it hadn't been 'We've found a Navy captain locked up in a secret compartment.'
I shot a quick look at Braeton.
He turned a page and shook his periodical out again.
Nothing to worry about. Right. Everything is absolutely fine. Marin's bribe worked. I took a steadying breath and hid in my book.
One after the other the crew were verified, their names checked. Faruin, Boatswain. Jarrik, Chief Engineer. Tynnes, Cook.
Still no cry of alarm that they had discovered anyone else. Which meant Arramy hadn't given himself away even though Braeton had locked him inside what amounted to a metal box in the bulkhead. A little wave of relief washed through me and I closed my eyes, only to snap them open again when plodding footsteps approached the lounge.
"Sir, I need to see everyone's documentation," the harbormaster said, offering a tight smile. "Yours and the lady's too."
Braeton folded his periodical and placed it neatly on the tea table, reached into his jacket and pulled out a filigreed card case. He withdrew his real papers and my new fake ones, handing them over without a fuss. "Is there something going on? An escaped convict, perhaps?"
"Perhaps." The harbormaster gave Braeton's sylvograph a cursory once over, then spent a little more time on mine, his gaze flicking from my card to my face. At last he pursed his lips and gave the documents back to Braeton, then produced another paper. "Have you seen this girl?"
Braeton took the aldprint flyer and unfurled it, lifting an eyebrow when he saw what was on it. He shook his head and passed the print to me.
It was a rather decent front and side sketch of my real face rendered in black rollpress. At the top marched bold letters, 'Fugitive,' with 'Wanted for the Crimes of Treason, Firestarting and Murder' beneath it. At the bottom was a detailed physical description and contact information for the Magistrate's Bureau.
Braeton cleared his throat. I was taking too long.
"No," I croaked. Then managed a hoarse, "How awful, she seems so nice," as I forced myself to pick the print up and hold it out.
The harbormaster was watching me, murky brown eyes narrowed. He took the wanted flyer from me slowly, and for a terrifying second I thought perhaps the rubber on my nose was peeling, or my false hairline had gone askew. Maybe he could see the real me sitting right there in front of him —
>
The harbormaster simply folded the aldprint back into his pocket, turned, and sauntered off down the deck, signaling to his men that he wanted to hear their reports.
There was a rustle of paper. "Breathe," Braeton hissed from the protection of his quarterly.
I reached for my book, lifted it in front of my face, and exhaled.
30. Welcome to Fame
11th of Dema, Continued
Braeton's horseless slowed to a crawl as we approached the front entrance of the Faraysle Inn. The mechanical click of the amber caution lights flicking on and off was followed by a few quick bleats of the warning klaxon and some muffled cursing. Then Arramy's face appeared in the glass porthole between the cockpit and the traveling compartment. He held the handset of the driver's sonnulator at his lips, and his voice crackled over the broadcaster in the cabin, "We've got trouble. Enrys wants to know if you want to go around back."
Braeton leaned closer to his luxfenestre to get a look at what waited for us. His jaw tightened. Then he shook his head and took up the handset on our side. "No. We need the publicity."
Arramy's glare could have frozen steel. He opened his mouth as if to argue, but then he simply turned around to face the street again.
I opened the shutters on my window and peered out.
A crowd had gathered on the boardwalks on either side of the Faraysle Inn's canopied steps, and there was no mistake who they were gathering for: they were cheering and waving excitedly in our direction as the horseless neared the debarking platform.
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