The City of Lies

by Robert J. Crane

  “What if Carson isn’t with the other Brand?” Burbondrer rumbled.

  “Then we ask around, I guess,” I said.

  “And if no one has seen them?”

  I pursed my lips. That was not a possibility I wanted to consider.

  I let Heidi take the lead. She knew Ostiagard better than I did, or at least this part of it. If we didn’t find Carson at the monument, I had to trust that she would know somewhere else, the next likely spot, and then the next, and then the next.

  Stop it, Mira. They’ll be there.

  A less and yet more rational voice: Will they? Will they really? How lucky a coincidence is—

  “Mira Brand!”

  The call had come from the other side of the street. I froze mid-step, turning.

  Maybe another child would come running, a girl this time, with another note from Emmanuel. A nice little paper trail he was building for us—like a treasure hunt, only there was no treasure at the end. Instead I might have to give up everything I’d achieved these few months to save Carson’s life.

  I’d do it. I would absolutely do it.

  But this was no child. It was a woman, coming at us from the alley between two helter-skelter buildings, the leftward of which bowed forward at a dangerous angle over the pavement.

  She stepped into the pale glow of the streetlamps.

  “Lady Angelica?”

  Heidi hesitated. “What are you doing here?”

  “Passing through; nothing interesting. I often procure ingredients for spells in Ostiagard.” Across the street, her footsteps clipped in perfect cadence against the flagstones. She held her Victorian skirt up on either side between a thumb and forefinger, her other fingers extended perfectly straight.

  “I’m not one for nightly jaunts,” she finished, drawing close to us, “but some of the things I require can only be procured after hours. Anyway.” She looked between us, from tense Heidi to Burbondrer, and then finally she settled her gaze on me. “Mira. You’re in danger.”

  In the frail light from the streetlamps, Lady Angelica’s face was almost haggard. She appeared deathly pale. The lines on her face, radiating from the corners of her eyes and across her forehead and down the sides of her nose, were darker. She’d always been old—grandmotherly, that sort of age—but here in Ostiagard her agedness was stark. This was an old woman. Concern the likes of which I hadn’t seen before edged her eyes.

  “What sort of danger?” I asked.

  “I’m under the impression you’ve been attacked once again by the Order of Apdau.”

  Oh. Well, yeah, of course. I thought Lady Angelica was going to spout some new danger. Maybe she knew about Emmanuel’s plans for Carson and the rest of us.

  “That’s old news,” I said. “They keep popping up all over—”

  She spoke over me. “The Order aren’t just appearing and making fights for the sake of it. They’re actively tracking your position, Mira, through London and the worlds beneath it.”

  “Tracking?” I echoed. “How?”

  “An artifact they’ve procured. I know little about it—it’s not something I’ve seen before—but I’ve heard enough about how it functions. It’s able to sense the location of a specific object the Order is seeking. Your spear.”

  I looked down. Decidian’s Spear, disguised as an umbrella, was stuffed into my left pocket. Flaps of red and yellow material poked out.

  “They’re tracking this?” New panic swelled. “Right now?”

  “Perhaps not actively. But they will. Mira, the Order is moving between worlds in search for you. They step through a crossing point, and their tracker will tell them whether Decidian’s Spear is present in that world, and if so, where to go to find it.”

  “That’s some compass,” Heidi said.

  Lady Angelica nodded, face fraught. “Quite.”

  “That’s how they found us before,” I muttered. “In the Felldawn. They must’ve been using the crossings to move between worlds.”

  “You encountered them there?”

  “Yeah.” I swallowed. My throat was dry, tight. “We were coming back from Rome on the Spurn Wyle. At least a dozen of them were arrayed on the moor, waiting until we were close enough to strike.”

  “Luring us in,” said Heidi. “Even in dark, movement would’ve been obvious. They must’ve just come back through from London, and sensed the appearance of the spear when we came through the other side.”

  “Would they have known we’d be heading their way?” I asked Lady Angelica. “Would their artifact have told them that?”

  “It’s quite possible, yes.”

  I clenched my fist, closed my eyes. “That’s one mystery solved.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t do more at this time,” said Lady Angelica, “except to warn you …”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Thanks. Um. What do I owe you for this?”

  This was how it worked with Seekers. Nothing was free; everything had to be bought and paid for. That Lady Angelica had done us one great favor in the beginning, on our quest for the Chalice Gloria, still filled my chest with guilt (and gratitude, obviously. Mostly guilt, though). For this information regarding the Order, and how they were following me still, I surely must pay a price.

  But: “Consider this another favor, Miss Brand,” Lady Angelica answered.

  “Um?”

  She smiled for the first time since she’d found us. The light made it almost ominous.

  “A selfish favor, of course,” she said. “If I don’t pass this on, I shan’t receive your custom in the future.”

  “Oh.”

  “And there is also the fact that I dislike the Order generally.” A nod to each of us in turn. “Safe travels.” And she turned and walked off, going back the way we’d come.

  I turned to watch her go. “How do you know all this?” I called after her.

  Her answer was short, thrown back over her shoulder. “Word gets around.”

  Footsteps on flagstones as she receded …

  Stopped. One hand still on her dress, she reached for something around her chest. Tugging it out from her dress, I caught a coppery flash.

  Talisman. She was leaving.

  “Why don’t you like the Order?” I called.

  She glanced back our way. “Several reasons.” Then she swiped a hand, and a faintly plum-colored gateway opened on the façade of the angular building—a shop with small glass windows far too high to really see into—she had stopped beside. A polite smile, and she stepped through, the gateway folding in on itself behind her.

  “That’s not the way back to London,” I said.

  “She might not be going back home,” said Heidi. “Come on. We still need to find Carson.”

  “Right.” Hearing Lady Angelica’s news about the Order and their methods had derailed my panic for Carson for a moment. Occupied with slotting things into place, my brain had temporarily forgotten the reason we were here: my brother had made off with Carson, and presumably did not intend to give him back alive.

  I fell back into step with Heidi, heading down the street. It jagged awkwardly, a curve reduced to straight lines, and I was glad for the people of Ostiagard that their fire trucks did not have to follow tracks—because here, smooth navigation would be a real pain in the backside.

  Thoughts of the Order lingered though.

  I pulled the umbrella from my pocket.

  This thing was giving me away.

  No. Not the spear. Whatever it was the Order were using to track it with.

  But. What if the Order were still on this world? They could be en route to Ostiagard right now.

  “What am I supposed to do without my spear?” I asked Heidi. “Should I leave it behind?”

  “Hell no,” she said. “Especially not if your brother has betrayed us.”

  Fair point. I’d need it to gut the traitorous, weaselly—

  I won’t repeat the rest of that thought. Suffice it to say though, that it would have made Heidi proud. Very proud indee
d.

  24

  My dread rose, and rose, and rose.

  Ostiagard’s Monument to the Wayfarers was grand. It soared from a wide, blocky base against the night and the ever-present blanket of smog, tapering to a point. A spotlight had been placed at the bottom, in the center, illuminating it with harsh green light. Compared to the dim glow of the streetlamps, the spotlight glaring skyward was blinding.

  A handful of other streets led into it, two on the front, where we stood, three to the left, and just the one on the right.

  And in front of it, his back to us, was …

  “Emmanuel,” I growled.

  He turned, a serene smile on his face. “You finally made it, then.”

  I stormed for him. Tearing Decidian’s Spear from my pocket, I brought it to full length, tip bearing forward on him—

  “You damned son of a—”

  “Mira!”

  Something rushed at me from the side—

  I turned, twisted—but I’d been blindsided by my rage, by my determination to tear my brother in two, and so the second body collided with me before I could bring the spear around.

  I clattered to the floor. The spear was suddenly loose—when had I let go?—and it rattled against flagstones.

  “Get off—!” I grappled, hands like claws, nails scratching—

  “Mira, it’s me!” gasped a familiar voice as I drew a deep gouge in the man’s cheek, drawing blood—

  I froze. “Carson?”

  Suddenly the world wasn’t topsy-turvy anymore. This lump on me was Carson, in his ugly navy sweater and that damned manbag of his. That was what had dislodged the spear from my grip: the bloody satchel, smashing into my hands.

  He looked down on me from behind glasses about to fall off his nose.

  The gash I’d drawn in his cheek dripped on me.

  “Sorry,” he said and levered back. “I saw you going for—and I thought—”

  I sat, blinking in a daze. Bright lights had confused me. Possibly I’d banged my head, too.

  Just what was happening here?

  “What’s going on?” I looked to Heidi, Burbondrer—no answers there, obviously; they were as baffled as me—and then glared from Carson to Emmanuel and back again. “What’s happening?”

  Carson beamed. “We’ve found it.”

  “Found what?”

  “The treasure of Ostiagard!”

  I blinked again. Had definitely banged my head.

  “What are you … okay, hang on. Rewind a second. What are you two doing here?”

  “Ostiagard. It’s where the treasure is. We went back through to London, and then—”

  “Why are you so cheerful?” I demanded. “Some kid gave me a note, from him—” I jabbed a finger in Emmanuel’s direction “—that said if we didn’t come to Ostiagard, you wouldn’t live.”

  “Oh! Yeah, that was my idea.” Carson grinned.

  I was concussed. That had to be it.

  “Your … idea …” I repeated, each word as slow and long as I could make it.

  Carson beamed even wider, apparently totally oblivious to the look of dark horror on my face. “Yeah! I thought it’d be funny. You know—’Hurry, or your friend dies.’ Like Borrick did. It’s funny!” He laughed.

  He laughed.

  I stared. The world vanished around me. All I was aware of was him, and Emmanuel there in the background, and Carson’s chuckles coming over and over at the fact that he had pranked us, pranked me, with a note that said—implied, whatever—my brother would kill him if we didn’t come quickly enough. The same brother who I had disliked and then despised with every inch of my being, whom I didn’t and couldn’t and wouldn’t trust, and whose company I had been stuck in all day because of Carson.

  Little prankster Carson.

  Was this a YouTube thing? One of those awful ones, where parents punk’d their kids, or creepy weirdos approached strangers and did the most heinously inappropriate things, only to shout, “It’s a prank, bro!” at the end of it like some magic make-everything-better shield?

  No. No, it wasn’t.

  This was worse.

  I couldn’t speak.

  I wanted to. Wanted to tell him just how much panic that letter had generated in me. How much fear at the thought of him being hurt, or scared, or—or gone if we didn’t act quick enough, if Emmanuel was callous enough to pull that trigger despite our best efforts.

  It had driven me half-crazy.

  And Carson was laughing.

  I couldn’t do anything but push to my feet. Stumbling backward, I found where Decidian’s Spear had come to rest and picked it up. It felt suddenly alien in my hands, so I shrunk it and stuffed it awkwardly into the pocket where it currently had to reside, sans belt loop.

  “You won’t believe it,” Carson said. He rose too, and looked between us. One hand scrubbed distractedly at the wound I’d torn in his cheek. Blood smeared. I didn’t say anything. “But I found it. The treasure of Ostiagard. It’s real, and it’s still here—right on the other side of the throne room.”

  If I hadn’t been so hurt, I would’ve laughed.

  Heidi scoffed for me. “Because that’s not the first place anyone ever thought to look.” To Emmanuel: “This an idea you’ve put in his head, sunshine?”

  Emmanuel held up his hands. “Nothing to do with me. Carson found this in Mordame’s journal.”

  Heidi shook her head. “There aren’t any chambers off the throne room—your reading happen to tell you that, Carson?”

  “Oh, but there are,” said Carson gleefully. “And I can show you, now you’re here. Let’s go!” And off he scampered, flashing me an oblivious smile as he passed, rounding the Monument to the Wayfarers.

  “Un-frickin-believable,” Heidi muttered. She touched my arm. “You okay?”

  “Mm.” As close to a ‘no’ as I was willing to get in front of my brother.

  “We’re following Carson?” asked Burbondrer.

  “It’s what the man asked,” said Emmanuel. “Mister err …?”

  “Burbondrer of Ocklatojsh.”

  “Gotcha. Emmanuel Brand.” One of his easy grins. “You part of Team Brand?”

  The expression was lost on Burbondrer. His eyebrows drew down. “Um …”

  “Never mind.” Emmanuel looked around the monument’s edge. “You guys up for a run? The big guy has some legs on him.”

  No one answered.

  Emmanuel took charge with a clap. “All right. Let’s head to the keep. Onward! Chop chop, ladies. Burbler.”

  “Burbondr—”

  “Go, go! You want him to get lost?”

  Looking utterly flummoxed, Burbondrer shook his head and began after Carson.

  Heidi took off too.

  Mechanically, I slipped into gear.

  Don’t trip. Don’t trip.

  Or trip. Go for it. Face-plant the ground and knock all your teeth into the back of your throat. Smash your head open, let your brains flow out like egg yolk, and know in that glorious moment before death that this nightmare is finally over.

  Emmanuel kept pace beside me.

  I ignored him. Eyes forward; focus on what lies ahead.

  “Meer,” he said after a while.

  “Shut up.”

  He wasn’t deterred. “Meer, let me talk.”

  “No.” Not that I could actually stop him.

  “I’m just trying to apologize, Meer.”

  “Are you.” Didn’t believe it.

  “I can tell we hurt you with that. It was your friend’s idea, of course,” Emmanuel said quickly—couldn’t fake an apology without shifting as much of the blame away from himself as possible, obviously. “He was really excited by it; said you’d get a kick out of it when you woke up.”

  Yeah. A kick in the gut.

  “I went along with it at the time—he’s effusive, but you already know that. In hindsight, though, given our history … well, I can see that I crossed a line today. And for that I’m sorry.”

 
I gave him the side-eye. This was all an act, of course. It always was with Emmanuel. Say all the right things to elevate himself in the minds of others. He wanted to look humble, sincere, caring—though all those qualities were entirely absent from him.

  And yet … all of a sudden I wasn’t sure. There was something oddly genuine about the seriousness of his face, the set of his jaw. No winning smile plastered his lips; instead I found a downturned line, pocking the dimple in his cheek only very softly.

  Was this Emmanuel remorseful?

  I wouldn’t question. Nor would I give him the satisfaction of hearing me accept this ‘apology,’ or even knowing that he was right: Carson had hurt me tonight. And so I said nothing. Emmanuel lapsed into silence too.

  For a time, the only sound from any of us was our feet leaving the streets of Ostiagard behind.

  The city had grown around an expansive keep. Walled off from the rest of Ostiagard, it was almost ugly in its squatness. Scattered lights within broke up the dark, strangely angled mass.

  Carson stopped us several streets back.

  He bent double, catching his breath.

  “Easy, big fella,” said Emmanuel. “Take that sweater off, why don’t you?”

  “I’m okay,” Carson wheezed.

  “Sure. Take your time, hm?”

  Carson nodded, and bent down again, his face glistening with exertion. As his glasses slipped down his sweat-smeared nose, he pushed them up. A drop of perspiration oozed into the cut on his cheek, and he clenched teeth against it, swiping it away. Blood streaked his face and the back of his hand.

  “You shouldn’t be this unfit,” Heidi said. “It’s not like we never get cardio in on this job.”

  Carson shook his head, but didn’t answer.

  When finally he’d caught his breath, or at least enough of it to be able to speak, he said, “Right. The keep. It’s a heritage site, like the one on the Mirrish world. Not quite as well preserved, I’ve heard—that’s right?”

  He looked to Emmanuel, who nodded. “Right.”

  “You realize the place is guarded, right?” Heidi asked.

  “Not heavily.”

  “Heavily enough.”

  “We can get inside, though. They let people in for tours.”