The Fall of Ventaris

by Neil McGarry

  “What is that?” she said, trying to keep her voice calm.

  “The bone of a...certain...man.”

  “Is this some sort of sorcery?” she asked skeptically.

  “Is the work of the gods sorcery?”

  “You’re asking me? You’re the keeper.”

  Jadis smiled. “If you mean love potions and fertility charms and the like, I would say no.” He put away his blade. “If you mean what we do here...oh yes.” She wondered briefly if he spoke of magic or the work of the gods. This was no game. Freeing Pollux from prison could get them both hanged. He probably figured a few dark hints and an old bone would seal her silence just as the rumors about Jana being a witch kept her safe from Deeps thugs. “And now my gift, sweetling,” he said, holding out the bone on his opened palm.

  Still feeling uneasy, she held out the index finger of her left hand and gave it a quick poke with her blade. Blood welled out and she held still until a single splash of red landed upon the sliver of white. Then she pulled her hand away, wiping it on her jerkin.

  Jadis peered closely at his palm, and, feeling a bit foolish, she leaned in as well. The blood seemed to soak directly into the bone, but of course that had to be a trick of the light. What was not a trick of the light was when the bone suddenly began to move, jittering about in his hand like a fly whose wings had been pulled. She jerked back, but Jadis only closed his fingers about the object.

  Duchess steadied herself. “What was that?”

  If he heard the question, Jadis gave no sign. He turned and for a long moment regarded the face of his lady in the flickering light of her lantern, as if in prayer. “You shall have your body, as promised,” he said at last, not turning from the statue. He tucked the bone into his robes. “Where should it be delivered?”

  Whatever had come before, she was ready for this. “Take it to Ferroc and Nieces.” The weaver was well used to strange requests from the Grey, and a handful of sou had been all it took to get the woman to agree to rent the space for one night. “I’ll be waiting after I have...administered this,” she told Jadis, indicating the pocket where the bottle resided.

  “I will arrive sometime after last bell,” he replied, seeming more his old self. “You can see yourself back to Beggar’s Gate?” He made as if to leave, but she lifted a hand to stop him.

  She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but she could not get the image of that jittering, jumping bone from her head. “The dagger...I don’t know what it was. I don’t know why I was sent after it, but I think you do.” He looked at her a long moment, and just when she thought there would be no answer, he spoke.

  “Do you know what faith is?” She shrugged impatiently. “Faith is the ability to live comfortably in not knowing,” he said at last. “The understanding that some answers come only with time, if at all. But we shall speak more of that later, after you have your body.”

  “After I have my body, our business is concluded,” she replied, wondering if it truly were.

  He grinned and in the moon’s light he looked as enigmatic as Mayu herself. “And my faith tells me we shall be friends — or at least allies — for a good, long while, Duchess of the Shallows.” He bowed. “Until next time.” He moved away along the Godswalk, finally disappearing into the darkness. She stood for a long moment with only the statue for company, then turned back towards the Shallows.

  She wasn’t sure what to make of Jadis and his magic – if that was what it was – but she was certain of one thing: she’d had enough of both Mayu and the dark for one night.

  Chapter Eight: A mask of clay and ashes

  Market Square was the same as always, which made it all the more welcome after the previous nights’ little adventure. Duchess hadn’t gotten back to her apartment until after midnight and had not slept well after, waking up again and again after dreams of that twitching, dancing shard of bone. She’d finally rolled out of bed foggy and out of sorts and made her way to the square and her appointment.

  And Lysander was late again.

  Too tired to pace, she took a seat on the lip of the fountain at the center of the crowded plaza, and to distract herself tried to enjoy the bustle. With summer firmly in place the square was filled with farmer’s carts and craftsmans’ booths, and each was swarmed with customers browsing, haggling and, sometimes buying. The air was filled with the sounds of commerce, and the aroma of bread, wine, and roasting meat. Her stomach growled, and she wished Lysander would arrive so they could see what the market might offer for breakfast. She had other shopping to do as well, but that was always more fun with company. Surveying the scene, she wondered what her father would have said if he’d known that one day this place would be as much a home to her as the Freehold.

  He would certainly have disapproved of her plans, and she found herself wondering, not for the first time, if freeing Pollux from prison was the right thing to do. The man was guilty of serious violations, and if she were caught trying to rescue him she could easily wind up on the gallows beside him. Even if she managed to help Pollux without arousing imperial attention, could she be certain he’d enter her service? Anyone trained to the White would be proud and dangerous. There was no guarantee he’d view her intervention with gratitude. Much would depend on who he was. Would a man who’d risked his station to beget a son throw aside his only chance to take care of her?

  It was a slender thread, but without risk there was no chance of gain, and she hadn’t gotten this far by playing it safe. Besides, if Jadis handled his part correctly no one would think Pollux had escaped, except through death’s door.

  She covered a jaw-cracking yawn with one hand, turning back to practical details. Jadis had warned her that the moonshadow had to be used soon or not at all, and now she was left to move ahead with her plans with only a few hours’ sleep. Life on the Grey had turned out to be much busier than she had expected.

  She slipped a hand into her pocket to touch the coin she always kept there. Her fingers slide over the engravings in the rubbed brass: a letter P and a serpent swallowing its own tail. Everything that had happened to her in the last three months was in some way connected to this token of mysterious provenance. In the end, it had transformed her into Duchess of the Grey. Eight years before, a coin much like this had changed her from Marina Kell into the bread girl in Noam’s bakery. Minette had once told her such coins appeared at times of great change and upheaval. When would the next one appear and what would it herald? And who would she be when it was all over?

  She was still pondering this when Lysander finally showed up, dressed in a white tunic and tight black satin breeches, with a roughspun sack over his shoulder. He looked wonderful despite the fact that the tunic was stained with last night’s wine and the breeches had seen better days. He had most likely come directly from last night’s customer...was it Stephan again, or Christophe? She couldn’t keep track.

  “Have fun visiting old haunts last night?” he said, stopping before her with his hands on his hips. “You really are mad, aren’t you?”

  Duchess rubbed her eyes, in no mood for riddles. “What are you going on about? I’m bone-tired, and I can’t play guessing games on an empty stomach.”

  He took a seat beside her. “I admit that getting into Temple on a keeper’s arm was clever, but the rest...haven’t you been down that road before?”

  She looked at him blankly. “What road? I told you I was meeting Jadis and I did, but he insisted that we go up to the Godswalk. After he gave me...well, you know...I came right back to the Shallows, where I managed not to sleep.”

  His eyes narrowed. “So you didn’t make a stop at House Eusbius on the way back?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “Well, that makes more sense,” he remarked, crossing his legs. “I told Burrell that taking the thing once was funny, but twice would just be...rude.”

  She shook her head. “Taking what?”

  He laughed. “My, you are sleepy, aren’t you? If you’d taken half a second to listen to
gossip, you’d have heard that the baron’s prized dagger has gone missing. Again.”

  Duchess blinked. She hadn’t done any fruning today – after rolling out of bed she’d come right to the Market – and was clearly behind on the news. Why would anyone steal the baron’s dagger a second time? He’d already been embarrassed by the first disappearance; stealing it again wouldn’t provide any further fun. The thing was valuable, certainly, but so rare and identifiable it would be hard to fence, just as Hector had said the day after she’d stolen it. And since Duchess had already lifted the blade once, there was no honor to be gained on the Grey by an encore performance.

  “It’s gone?”

  “Like morning fog. The news is all over the Shallows.”

  She shook her head, and wondered if the baron had complained to the Uncle again, and if the Uncle suspected her. She recalled that Jadis had asked her about the dagger just last night. Had he...?

  “It’s just as well, I suppose,” Lysander went on. “Damn thing caused enough trouble the first time. Let’s get something to eat.” They moved into the crowd, but Duchess found herself disquieted. She hadn’t forgotten the strange symbol on the blade’s hilt, nor the fog in the sewers and the dreadful presence it heralded. Had He Who Devours found another cat’s paw to fetch the blade? An uncomfortable thought, to say the least.

  They passed a Domae arguing heatedly with Samual over the price of two chickens and Duchess shook her head. She’d worked in the market for years and she knew the foreigner could argue until he was out of breath. Samual never lowered his prices for Domae. Lysander paid the argument no heed, instead buying from one of Samual’s sons a loaf of bread and — the gods be praised — a pair of oranges.

  “Do you think it’s gotten to the Uncle yet?” Duchess asked as they moved away from Samual’s cart.

  “Probably.” Lysander ripped into an orange.”He certainly found out quickly enough last time.” Of course that had been Minette’s work, but neither of them brought that up. “If he was angry he’d have sent Antony around after you again. Speaking of Antony,” he said around a mouthful of fruit, “has he dropped by yet?”

  Duchess tried to look casual. “Once or twice. Just wondering how things are going.” She took the orange, tore off a wedge and took a grateful bite. She hadn’t had an orange in a long time, and this one was worth the wait.

  Lysander gave her a look. “I’m presuming you didn’t say ‘Not so well’?”

  “No. I like my insides where they are, thank you very much.” She grimaced. “Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to put him off.”

  “Maybe solving one of your problems will solve another?” She glanced at him curiously as he handed her another slice of orange. “If you spring you-know-who from you-know-where, couldn’t you simply have him beat everyone’s respective property out of Julius?”

  She considered that for a moment as they made their way through a gaggle of old women carrying baskets of eggs. Then she sighed. “I’d love to, but that might just make things worse.” Lysander raised an eyebrow. “The Red beat things out of people, but for a member of the Grey to answer cleverness with violence...”

  “You’d end up looking like a thug,” said Lysander, following her train of thought, “and by evening your mark would be worth less than Hector’s.”

  “But speaking of you-know-who...” Duchess gestured to the bag he was carrying. “I hope that’s what I think it is.”

  “It is, and you owe me some pennies for the purchase.” He gave her a warning look. “I’ll do my best, but people who know you might recognize you anyway. And if you’re thinking of using Beggar’s Gate...”

  She shook her head. “Bad enough you heard about me with Jadis. I don’t need Burrell telling half the Shallows that I’ve become faithful.”

  “That’ll mean taking the long way around.” He took a last bite of orange, artfully avoiding the juice that would have dripped onto his tunic.

  “First we have to take the long way around Market Square,” she pointed out. “Pastries don’t make themselves, you know. I’ll need some flour, some sugar, and some fruit.”

  “You can take the girl out of the bakery...” Lysander laughed. “Fine...you make the food, and then I’ll go to work.” He grabbed her arm and led her onwards much like Jadis the night before. “Enough of this amateur dabbling about with facets and keepers. It’s about time we turn you into a true cultist!”

  * * *

  “This took some doing, I’ll have you know,” muttered Lysander, brandishing the horse-hair brush before her. “Deneys swiped this from a client and he’ll want it back before anyone’s the wiser.” He went back to stirring the ashes into the bowl of soft, wet clay he’d produced from his sack.

  “And you’re sure this stuff will stay on?” she asked. She was sitting with her back to the hearth, relishing the warmth of the recent fire. Summer held hard in the city, but this morning’s fog had brought a chill right up from the harbor. She glanced again at the tarts that were still browning near the banked ashes within. Normally she would have preferred to use an oven, but eight years in Noam’s kitchen had taught her that there were many ways to make a pastry. The moonshadow Jadis had provided had been absorbed into the dough almost instantly, leaving only a slight reddish stain and the faint scent of cinnamon. She’d used raspberries for that one, the better to cover the color and the taste. It sat slightly apart from its brothers at the far end of the hearth, each of those made with a different kind of fruit. “The last thing I need is my face falling off in front of Sheriff Takkis.”

  “That’d be a sight. Your face will be fine.” He dipped the brush into the bowl and tested the mixture on the inside of his wrist. “Poor Gabe practically grew up with the Feasters, so he knows what he’s about.” Gabe was shy of Duchess, so it had fallen to Lysander to tease out the secret of the ash makeup worn by the followers of Naru, Lord of Feasts.”It needs to be darker,” he said, frowning.

  When he was finally happy with the color and consistency of the ash-paste, he took up the brush and had her close her eyes. “You understand you’re not to say anything while you’re doing this, right?” he said, painting with the brush. Lysander was enjoying his moment as the expert and if she wanted his help she had better let him have it. The mixture was cold and gritty against her skin, and she bit her lip so as not to laugh at the tickling bristles on her eyelids. “Gabe said they talk amongst themselves when alone, but never while at the Feaster’s work.” He moved to her other eye, tracing out the second diamond. “And remember to wait for them to eat the gift. Apparently the act of acceptance has to occur there and then or Naru won’t bless it. And smile.”

  “I know what to do, Lysander,” she muttered through non-moving lips and the brush suddenly pulled away. She peeked out of her finished eye, anticipating a swat or a rant. Instead, he only sighed.

  “I know you know. Now let me do your lips.” She closed her eyes again to keep out any ash. “I’ve told you this is crazy, right? If Takkis doesn’t catch you, that keeper who thinks you’re working for someone at court will have you poisoned. I hope this Pollux is worth it.” She hoped the same, but even if she had dared imperil Lysander’s work by moving her lips, she would not worry him by saying so. She wanted nothing more than to beg him to come along with her — who better than Lysander to talk his way into a sheriff’s hold? — but she’d already gotten him into enough trouble.

  The brush finally stopped and she opened her eyes to see his smirking face, half-hidden behind the small beaten-metal mirror he held before her. On its warped surface she admired his handiwork: the three diamonds – one across each eye, the third overlaying her lips – looked as straight and sharp as any Feaster could boast. As usual, Lysander’s hand at makeup was unmatched. She stuck out her tongue at her reflection. “Funny,” she said.

  It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Face the fire,” he said, turning her towards the hearth. “You and the tarts can finish baking at the same time.” She
lay on her side, closing her eyes and listening to the crackling of the flame. She’d been in the garret so many times that she could tell exactly what he was doing by the sound of the creaking floorboards. He rummaged nearby, most likely storing the brush in the small wooden box he kept near his bed. Then he crossed to the flagon of wine they’d laid in, and finally settled on the windowsill overlooking the plaza. She lay for a long time, feeling the ash-clay mixture harden on her face. No wonder the followers of Naru were silent. They were afraid of their makeup cracking off.

  She’d almost fallen asleep when Lysander muttered. “I sometimes wonder.”

  “About what?” she asked, moving her lips as little as possible.

  “It’s one thing to fool about with the nobility — I do it all the time — or even to cross swords with the Red and the Grey...”

  She risked a glance. “But?”

  He turned from his seat at the window. “At the baron’s party, you talked with a facet, not just some noblewoman in costume, and now you’re dressing up as a Feaster and making shady deals with a keeper. I’ve never been religious, but this feels like tempting fate, or something.”

  She sat up, mindful of both her face and the tarts. “What’s this about?” she said at last.

  He looked back out the window for a long moment. “We went to the Gardens yesterday.”

  For a moment, she thought he meant the Common Gardens, but then she understood. “For Pete.”

  He nodded, not looking back. “I’m not one for faith. Never been. I gave up on the gods a long time ago. Either they were just made up, or if they were real each and every one of them was a bastard.” He didn’t often speak like this, so she drew up her legs and said nothing. “When Gabe brought up the idea of having Pete remembered in the Gardens of Mayu I just laughed. The keepers had already carted his body out to the potter’s field, what good would it do him? He was gone. But Gabe said that when the body was lost you could bury a personal item, that it was the same. The girls had an old shirt of his, and they’d gotten some coin together for a prayer from a keeper, so I threw my sou in the pot. I couldn’t be the only one out, now could I?”