The City of Lies

by Robert J. Crane

  Heidi again: “Scam—”

  “He used the whole Pharo thing as an excuse to get close to me, and buttered up Carson so he’d spill all our secrets, so he could—”

  “Mira! Would you shut up ranting for just one second?”

  I inhaled a great breath. Blinked. Half of Pharo had fallen away underfoot without me even realizing. We were most of the way back to the place we’d come in; another few streets, and crossing one of the many squares littered throughout the city, and we’d be en route back to London—and hopefully, hopefully—

  “He has Carson,” I muttered.

  “Maybe he does,” said Heidi. “And maybe he doesn’t.”

  “He does.”

  “And so what? What’s your brother going to do with him? Make off to search for a treasure that doesn’t exist?”

  “He’s—I—” I spluttered. And then I stopped, whirled, and threw my arms up in the air. “I don’t know what he’s doing! All right? Is that what you want to hear? I have no idea what Emmanuel is up to.”

  “Exactly,” said Heidi, voice calm, level. “You don’t know what’s going on. So why stress yourself by assuming the worst? For all we know, Carson and Emmanuel saw us asleep, decided not to bother us, and left us a note while they headed back to base.”

  “There was no note,” I said. And then frowned. “Was there a note?”

  “We didn’t look.”

  Damn it.

  I looked back the way we’d come. No sign of the Order. Maybe they’d evacuated the Archive and pulled another of their handy vanishing acts? We could backtrack, scour the wreckage from the fight and—

  “No,” I said, cutting that line of thought off. “They wouldn’t have left a note. Emmanuel, maybe, but Carson wouldn’t have left without us, no matter how enthralled he was with the golden boy.”

  Would he? He’d resorted to some low blows to facilitate this trip in the first place.

  Low-ish. Reminding me of the existence of a boy I fancied was not a low blow.

  I shook my head. I didn’t know what to think now. All I could see was what was plainly obvious to me and me only: Carson was in trouble, and it was Emmanuel’s fault. I had to rescue him. And then feed my brother to the orc.

  “We need to keep moving,” I said, striding away again. “They could be anywhere by now.” Literally. Damn it, who had the clever idea to tame these talismans in the first place? My life would be a billion times simpler right now if not for that.

  “They’re probably in the hideout,” said Heidi.

  “The idea that they, my brother included in that, are presently in my secret hideout, with the Chalice Gloria and the Tide of Ages and the other trinkets we’ve picked up, is not a particularly calming thought, Luo,” I answered.

  Shrill. I was sounding shrill.

  The road fed into a square. An abstract fountain sat in the center. This morning when we passed it had reminded me of the wings of a swan, water spewing. Now it was nothing more than an inconvenience I needed to move around, slowing me down from getting Carson back and murdering my idiot br—

  “Mira Brand?”

  I slowed, head jerking round.

  A Pharosian boy of about eleven had been leaning against the fountain. Human enough, he’d have blended into London streets at a glance, slouched with a dark shirt two sizes too big draped over him. But take a moment to really look at his face, and the closeness of his eyes was obvious. So too was the shortness of his teeth: they were tiny stubs, barely longer than the nail of my little toe.

  “Hello?” I said.

  The boy straightened, but came no closer. “You Mira Brand?” His words were accented, almost Asian-sounding.

  “Yes? Yes, that’s me.”

  “Message for you.”

  He dug into his pocket, and came out with a small square of paper. Warily he approached, half an eye on Burbondrer. Then he extended his fist. The square was tucked between his middle and ring finger.

  I took it.

  “Bye.” And he sprinted away, disappearing into a side street.

  “You have an admirer here?” Heidi asked.

  I began to answer, “No—”

  The word died on my tongue.

  Unfolded, the note was short. Two lines of black ink and no more.

  Meet us in Ostiagard, and hurry if you want Carson to live.

  Underneath was a signature that had haunted me for years.

  Emmanuel Brand.

  23

  He betrayed me.

  “Mira.”

  My brother. My own flesh and blood. He had betrayed me.

  “Mira.”

  I whispered, “He betrayed me.”

  Heidi’s hand was on my shoulder. She hovered at my elbow, a look of deep concern on her face. Burbondrer was behind, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

  I took this in, and the burble of the fountain’s streaming water, without paying it any attention whatsoever. My eyes were glued on the note, trembling in my fist, and those words …

  Hurry if you want Carson to live.

  And beneath: the squiggle of black ink that I recognized all too well as Emmanuel’s signature.

  “He took him,” I said. My voice was hollow, quivering. “I knew he had. I said he had, and this note confirms it.” I shook. “My own brother betrayed me.”

  “Mira,” Heidi began again.

  I whirled on her, eyes flashing—not with rage, but desperate fear.

  “I said he had, Heidi. I knew it.”

  She was solemn. “I know.”

  “The other Brand has taken Carson?” Burbondrer asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “To Ostiagard.”

  Burbondrer squinted. “It’s some distance from here. A week’s trek on foot. Cable cars cross the mountains.”

  “We’ll just cut a path,” said Heidi, the are-you-stupid look she shot Burbondrer brief and distracted. “Back to London?” she asked me.

  I racked my brain. “I can’t think of the nearest way to Ostiagard. Or any.” Why was my brain freezing up like this? “I know there are ways, but I just … I can’t think of any.” Wide eyes on Heidi: “I can’t think of any.”

  “I know one.”

  A swell of hope flooded my chest, immediately swallowed and lost to panic. “You sure?”

  “Fairly certain. Let’s get back to our exit. Bub, eyes open for the Order.”

  “On it,” he boomed, and loosed his sword again.

  Before our encounter with the Pharosian kid, we’d been double-timing it. Now we were up to at least quadruple-timing it, Pharo streets flying by underfoot. A little voice in me piped up, reminded me not to trip, like I had in the dream—but given the speed we tore up the road beneath the smoggy, starless Pharo night, I’d just end up rolling half the way, losing little speed.

  The steampunk fire engine was gone from out front when we arrived. Lights were on in the building, their sodium glow soft and warm. A chimney breathed a thin plume, adding to the layer of smog above the city. I couldn’t see it against the pitch, but I could smell the tang, taste it on my tongue.

  “Get ready to blend in, Bub,” said Heidi. She had already dropped her bracelet down to her fingers, and clutched the talisman between her fingers. “Best natural acting, hm?”

  “I’ll make you proud, fiery one.”

  Heidi raised her eyebrow at the orc, then swiped open a gate.

  I had barely waited for it to widen enough to slip through. Shoving past Heidi, etiquette be damned, I vanished through the gap.

  The swim through kaleidoscopic limbo took far too long.

  Then I was vomited back into London.

  Heidi’s arrival seemed to take eons.

  I grabbed her before she had finished stepping through. “Where’s your path to Ostiagard?”

  “On a corner down Tavistock Street.”

  “And where’s that? How do we get there?”

  “Walking distance. Over Waterloo Bridge.”

  In my increasingly addled state, I ha
d no idea where Waterloo Bridge was either. My knowledge of London’s geography had totally deserted me, vanishing without a trace, only to be replaced by two thoughts: panic for what might be happening to Carson right now; and rage for the brother who I should have never trusted, even for a moment.

  “I should’ve warned him,” I said, marching off—

  “This way,” called Heidi.

  I turned and followed.

  Burbondrer spilled out of the gateway at the edge of my vision. An uncomfortable frown twisted his features. He’d turned slightly sideways to get through, and the portal shuddered as it grew even wider around his bulk to let him out.

  One of the barbs on his pauldrons got stuck at the portal’s edge. There was an immense cracking sound, and the spike was seared off.

  “Sorry,” said Heidi. “Human gates aren’t normally designed to carry something so large through.”

  Burbondrer shrugged. “Can be fixed.”

  “Wait up, Mira!” Heidi called. She beat feet behind me. “You’re going the wrong way again. Also, Bub, keep up, but act natural. And if, heavens forbid, the Order tracks us back here, do not start swinging with your sword, okay?”

  “Why not?”

  A pause. “Okay, fine, start swinging. Just be subtle, hm?” Another pause. “Okay, scratch the whole lot. You’re to subtle what a death metal concert is to peace and quiet.” Then: “Hi! Just a costume!”

  The passers she belted it at looked a combination of deeply perturbed and incredibly impressed.

  I hardly took it in.

  Heidi caught up with me. “He’ll be okay.”

  “Will he?” My voice was pitched up higher than usual. I felt the whine in my chest and throat. It hurt. “How do you know?”

  “What would Emmanuel even do?”

  I’d gripped the note in my hand since the kid had passed it to me. Now I thrust it at Heidi, shoving it into her hands.

  “You read it and tell me.”

  She unfolded it again, eyed the text.

  “Why would he kidnap Carson?”

  “To find out all my secrets!” I exploded. “That’s the whole reason he’s been hanging around today in the first place!”

  “But to kill him if we don’t show up? Is that not a little extreme? And why not just … do it in Pharo? We were asleep. He could’ve got one over on us so easily.”

  “I cannot be expected to explain my dickhead brother’s actions,” I said. “All right, yes, maybe this is a touch out of character for him—although, is it? He’s always been nasty, always been full of himself. So why wouldn’t I put it past him not to threaten someone’s life?”

  “He seemed to like Carson.”

  “And why not? Carson is … he’s not the weak link, but he’s … you know, he’s …” I couldn’t find the words. And though he wasn’t here, though it didn’t really matter exactly what I said, it felt important that I phrase this properly. ‘The fluffy bunny,’ maybe? ‘The innocent puppy’?

  “Excitable and a little bit naïve,” Heidi put in.

  “Which makes him easy to draw in and take advantage of.” I slammed my palm against my forehead, as hard as I could—nowhere near hard enough. “Why did I let this happen?”

  “You didn’t let anything happen. Your brother just tagged along, and now he’s taken Carson to … to Ostiagard,” she finished lamely. She frowned. “Why Ostiagard?”

  “Maybe Carson did find a lead somehow. And the golden boy wants to take the treasure for himself.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” I didn’t know anymore. This day had taken turn after turn.

  We should never have stepped out of the hideout in the first place. That was mistake number one. I should’ve been harder on Carson about the Order of Apdau; should’ve made sure to drill it into that childlike head of his that danger lurked in London, and was actively tracking us. We should’ve gone into hiding for days, weeks even, to stave off the Order’s search. Maybe taken some of the exits leading elsewhere; visits to Paris, or Tokyo, just to keep us from going stir crazy. The quest for Ostiagard’s treasure could wait. Of course it could; there was nothing to be found.

  Carson didn’t believe that though. And to isolate ourselves, force the three of us into a self-imposed lockdown … I didn’t trust that he would have done it. Maybe for a few days. But trapped in a room filled with books, and too many of those books scrawled with every different version of the myth of the City of Lies there was, Carson wouldn’t be able to help himself. He’d slip his ring on one night, sneak to the wall marked London and then cut through …

  And probably end up tearing down half of the library, as well as most of Tortilla, in the process, the way his gateways functioned.

  Over the bridge—foot traffic was fairly light, and all of it came to a stop as it caught sight of the three of us: two young women power-walking away from a mop-headed orc … or, at least, someone dressed up in a very convincing costume.

  On the other side of the bridge, I said, “Where now?”

  “Follow,” Heidi instructed, and set off.

  Before long, the cacophony of fireworks going off in my brain decided to spill out of my mouth too.

  “It’s just like my family,” I said. “They fought me at every turn, right from day one. Every little thing I wanted to do, they were there to knock me down again. Every step I wanted to take on this road, Mum and Dad and Emmanuel combined forces to shove a hurdle in my way.”

  “Mm.”

  “You ever feel like that? Embattled every moment? Constantly knocked down peg by peg as you tried to pursue your dream, only to be told you’re not good enough, that this isn’t the life for you?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “That’s how I felt, all the time. Day after day, week after week, more of the same.”

  “We’re here,” said Heidi, and tugged me by the arm before I hurtled over the road and past our cut-through point.

  “It’s why I left,” I said. “I couldn’t take it anymore. And yet somehow I’m still being ghosted by them. How? How is that happening, Heidi? How has my brother found me?”

  “Seekers talk,” said Heidi. “Right. We’re going through now.”

  She swung her hand down and cut an opening on the side of the building. It spilled open, a rainbow of colors dancing, edges white and smooth and perfect.

  “Burbondrer, you’ll want to go through sideways again,” she said. “I’m sorry it’s tight, but …”

  The rest was lost. I was through without even checking the compass—a stupid move, a tiny voice piped up far too late. But to check was pointless. Heidi was worried too. She was a friend. She wouldn’t send me into a void. She could be trusted.

  It was just a shame there were so few others in the world I could trust alongside her. Burbondrer, maybe. He seemed decent, his head screwed on and his heart in the right place, but we hadn’t been together all that long, especially considering he’d hardly been present during this adventure, our interactions relegated to notes, of which the orc’s half were largely incomprehensible.

  No, except for Heidi there was only one other person I could think of off the top of my head who I could trust. That was Carson … and right now I’d let him get sucked into a life or death situation.

  I’d let him down.

  Damn it.

  I fell out into Ostiagard, stumbling and righting myself just before barreling headlong into a burly man who was passing. He stank of whiskey, and shot me a deathly glare as he hesitated—thinking of making something of it, maybe. Then Heidi appeared, and finally Burbondrer squeezed out of the gateway with yet another snapping of spikes. The angry drinker huffed and strode off.

  “Ohh,” Burbondrer groaned. “Another one.”

  “Sorry,” said Heidi. “Couldn’t you have used your talisman?”

  “Doesn’t cut through to the same places,” said Burbondrer. “It’s okay. I’ll kill some snarphooks in Blackmire and rebuild the pauldron.” Still, he gave it a sorrowful look. The tight s
queeze had broken most of the bony spikes off one side. They now stuck out at a peculiar angle, the tips totally gone.

  I surveyed Ostiagard. It had been a while since my last visit—and, as expected, it hadn’t changed. Without coffers full of coin, there was no budget to revamp this place again. It was angled like Pharo, though not half as steampunk. The buildings were jagged and black, as were the streetlamps, casting dull spotlights beneath them. There was little of the layered metal of Pharo, though. Instead I could’ve sworn London had bled through the gaps: this place might’ve been home if not for the unnecessary angles. Also there was the issue of the smog, blotting out a sky full of alien stars. Only a frail band of green lingered on the horizon: the last vestiges of twilight, hanging on before being snuffed out for another night.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked Heidi.

  “Uh … I don’t know. I read the same note you did.”

  I cursed. Spun.

  Think, Mira, think. You’re your idiot brother.

  Hang on. Lemme just wedge that head as far as I possibly can up my own arse.

  There. As realistic an experience I could achieve.

  So: you’re your idiot brother. You’ve made off with the American who’s been worshiping you and the ground you walk on all day. You’ve left a note with some little kid, probably paid good coup for the delivery, to ensure the rest of the American’s group are drawn to Ostiagard. And they’ll come, because they know and enjoy actual friendship, a totally alien experience to someone whose only purposes with the rest of the world were to further himself.

  All that said: where do you go?

  “Obvious landmarks in Ostiagard,” I said to Heidi and Burbondrer. “Can you think of any?”

  “Ostiagard’s Monument to the Wayfarers,” she said without thinking. “It’s two miles north of here. Sits on a kind of crossroads, square sort of thing. Big arches sectioning off each boulevard.”

  “They’ll be there?”

  Heidi shrugged. “I have no idea. But it’s the closest landmark to our exit point. If they came here the same way, maybe that’s where they’ll have gone too. It’s obvious enough.”