The Masked City

by Genevieve Cogman

  ‘I wonder if they’d accept requests for a transfer here,’ Irene said thoughtfully. ‘From what Aunt Isra said, a sphere of high virtue like this could be quite … stimulating.’

  Athanais patted her hand. ‘Don’t believe a word of it, Clarice. That’s what they tell you, to encourage you to give your allegiance, but it never pans out. Look at me.’ He sighed. ‘Three times now I’ve been promised a higher place in someone’s household, and has it actually worked out that way?’

  ‘What we need,’ Sterrington said, tucking her wad of receipts back inside her jacket, ‘is a local informant. If we’re going to parlay this situation to our own advantage - or our mutual advantage …’ she glanced at Atrox Ferox, ‘or our superiors’ advantage, then we need better information on how things stand.’

  Irene wanted to stand up and applaud, but restrained herself. ‘But would many local people know about - um, the reason for us coming here?’ Irene wasn’t sure if saying ‘the imprisoned dragon’ out loud would be the proper thing to do. ‘And where would we find the right sort of people to question?’

  She looked around the tavern, trying to answer her own question. As far as she could judge, the boatman had brought them to a good place - containing actual locals, rather than just a tourist trap. The other people drinking here, although also masked and cloaked, were wearing garments showing signs of wear, rather than ones straight out of a shop, like Irene’s own.

  ‘One should be careful,’ Sterrington said. ‘After all, in a situation like this, they’ll have flooded the area with informers, who will be reporting on any suspicious behaviour.’

  ‘They being?’ Martha enquired.

  ‘Whoever is in power,’ Sterrington said calmly. ‘It’s the sensible thing to do.’

  ‘That assumes that they have lots of informers to flood the area with,’ Zayanna said. ‘Good spies take such a large amount of the budget.’ She held out her glass for another refill. ‘Oh gods, it’s so good to have something to drink other than mushroom wine! I swear that when our master told us about this trip, we were positively assassinating each other for the chance to go on it. I don’t care about spies, dragons or whatever, I just want the chance to be careless for once.’

  ‘Zayanna,’ Athanais started, reaching out to move the bottle away from her. ‘Perhaps if you took a little less for the moment …’

  ‘Oh, let her drink,’ Martha said. ‘We’ve only got a couple of days here, from what I heard. We might as well enjoy it while we can.’

  ‘Is it only a few days?’ Irene asked, trying to sound plausibly ignorant. ‘Even if the auction’s tomorrow, there will still be socializing afterwards. That’s what I was told, at least.’

  ‘Some people may be staying later,’ Sterrington said. ‘I’m not fully informed. But the Train itself will be leaving in three days. It can only stay that long in any given place. Is your patron going to be travelling back by some other route?’

  ‘He might be,’ Irene agreed, her stomach falling again. So much for any thoughts of hiding Kai after the auction, then sneaking onto the Train once the metaphorical heat was off. Granted, the auction was the most urgent deadline, but this extra hurdle didn’t help. ‘He doesn’t tell me everything. It makes it hard to organize things.’ She shrugged.

  ‘I’m surprised that you aren’t with him, if you’re his personal interpreter.’ Sterrington delivered the statement quite casually, but Irene felt the hackles on the back of her neck rise in warning.

  She shrugged again, as casually as possible. ‘Oh, he doesn’t need me when he has someone else to meet.’ She stressed the word to add a suggestion of improper liaison and heated affairs. ‘I didn’t want to get a flogging for impertinence, so I took myself elsewhere. As long as I’m back by dawn, I’ll be safe.’

  ‘Oh, you’re that sort of private secretary,’ Martha said, suddenly sounding extremely prim and disapproving. ‘I hadn’t … realized.’

  Athanais rolled his eyes. It was perceptible even behind his scarlet leather mask. He’d stayed with a scarlet theme, to the point where Irene was tempted to ask if he was deliberately impersonating the Red Death, or if he was simply colour-blind. ‘Martha, dear, some of our patrons use a whip as discipline, some use a brand, and some use expense accounts, but let’s not pretend that any of us has that much choice in the matter. If we’d wanted choice, then we wouldn’t have sworn ourselves to a patron. Let’s all just be grateful that we’ve the evening to ourselves. Clarice, do they do food here?’

  ‘I can smell seafood,’ Irene said, trying to ignore Zayanna’s sagging towards the table, and her muttering that nobody cared anyhow and it was all her patron’s fault and she was going to slice his heart out on the sacrificial altar some day, just wait and see. ‘Let me go and ask.’

  Ten minutes later, shrimps with polenta had been negotiated, and the cheerful landlady Maria (who fortunately spoke English) had brought round another bottle for their table. ‘Always good to have new customers in during Carnival,’ she said, with an approving nod towards their masks. ‘We may as well enjoy ourselves before it’s Lent, eh? And I’ll have you know that my little place is good enough to host the Council of Ten themselves—’

  Martha was opening her mouth to say something, and Irene feared that it wasn’t to say Yes, please do go on telling us all about your customers, when the tavern door banged open. A man in plain livery entered, bowing as he did so and holding the door wide open for two more figures, a man and a woman in heavy black velvet drapes and matching silver-and-black masks. They entered together in a drift of fog and stood in the doorway, surveying the tavern.

  Irene saw the crest on their mantles and was seized by an unpleasant suspicion. A pair of silver gloves, crossed on a black background. Her hands clenched on the table edge. Could the story have turned against her? Was this the part of the narrative where the heroine in disguise is confronted by her arch-enemies - or possibly where the protagonists find and dispose of the villainous spy, all depending on the reader’s viewpoint? And the power of story had been so useful up till now …

  ‘Now, will you look at that,’ the landlady said. She marched forward, dropping a floor-brushing curtsey. ‘My lord and lady Guantes. Welcome to my tavern!’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘My dear.’ Lord Guantes led Lady Guantes into the room, seating her at one of the larger tables, before turning to the landlady. ‘We always enjoy your establishment, Donata. The usual, if you please.’ His masked gaze swept across the room, taking in Irene’s table. He had a deep voice, bass though not basso profundo, and his English had just a hint of an accent, though Irene couldn’t identify it.

  Everyone at Irene’s table was scrambling hastily to their feet to bow in the general direction of the new arrivals. Irene rose with the rest of them, feeling her heart go through the floor.

  That’s it. I am totally doomed. Even if they don’t call us over, the others are certain to suggest introducing ourselves. And Lady Guantes at least must know what I look like. She might even recognize me through the mask …

  Her mind was whirring like a nuclear-powered hamster wheel, suggesting and rejecting plans at a speed that would have made Irene’s supervisors proud. If she ever saw them again.

  If this is really the Guantes’ story, and I’m just a minor enemy character within it, this could happen - I get discovered and dragged off in chains, end of chapter. And it all finishes with a triumphant auction featuring a dragon, then a war.

  She needed to leave. And for that, she needed a distraction.

  Everyone’s attention was still on the Guantes. Irene picked up her mostly full glass, murmured, ‘Wine, increase in strength ten times,’ into it, and leaned across to switch it with Zayanna’s nearly empty wine glass.

  Sterrington was turning to look at her. Had she seen?

  Irene quickly picked up her own glass. ‘A toast?’ she suggested.

  ‘A toast to Lord and Lady Guantes!’ Athanais agreed. Everyone picked up their glasses and drank.
Irene watched out of the corner of her eye as Zayanna swigged with abandon.

  ‘How very polite.’ Lady Guantes sounded positively mellow. ‘Donata, do send over another bottle of your best to that table over there.’

  Hadn’t the landlady said earlier that her name was Maria? But she was nodding in agreement, without the slightest complaint. Perhaps, in this place, if you were human you were a piece of stage dressing - and then your name was simply whatever the Fae chose to call you.

  The group resumed their seats. ‘Should we go over and introduce ourselves?’ Athanais said eagerly and predictably. ‘It would be courteous to thank them for the wine.’

  And you’re on the lookout for another patron, Irene decided, however much you’re trying to put the rest of us off.

  ‘Proper courtesy would be to drink the wine and then present thanks,’ Atrox Ferox said curtly. ‘To thank without appreciation is not to show due regard for the gift.’

  Thank you, thank you, thank you, Irene thought silently as she nodded in agreement. She was watching Zayanna unobtrusively, but so far the other woman was resolutely upright.

  ‘I’m surprised they came in here,’ Sterrington said. She glanced around the room again. ‘It’s good, but I wouldn’t expect it to be one of the best restaurants in the city.’

  She was cut off by Zayanna giving a long gurgling sigh of satisfaction. The other woman carefully put her empty glass down, then slumped forward onto the table. Damn. Overdid it.

  ‘I didn’t think she’d drunk that much,’ Martha said, visibly distancing herself from the situation.

  ‘Zayanna?’ Athanais laid a long-fingered hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. ‘Zayanna, sweetheart, my little honey-flower, wake up?’

  Irene glanced nervously over to the Guantes. They didn’t seem to be paying attention.

  ‘Perhaps some cold water,’ Athanais suggested tactfully. ‘Clarice, can you ask the landlady—’

  ‘Stop shaking me,’ Zayanna slurred. ‘Gonna be sick …’

  Perfect. Irene leaned over to slide an arm round Zayanna. ‘We’ll just go outside for a moment,’ she announced to the rest of the table, as Athanais flinched back. Apparently Fae chivalry didn’t extend to situations where he might get his lovely new red velvet cloak messed up.

  ‘A good idea,’ Martha said. She shifted her chair a little further away, as Irene levered Zayanna upright and swayed under her weight. Over at their table, the Guantes were emphatically not paying attention, and the landlady was pouring their wine. Irene just hoped that meant the story was on her side tonight.

  That’s right, keep it up - just don’t bother looking over here, don’t think of this as anything unusual …

  ‘Madam.’ One of the other drinkers raised his hand to catch her eye, then pointed over at a door on the right-hand wall of the tavern. ‘That way goes out onto the alley outside.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Irene murmured. She assisted a staggering Zayanna over to the door, trying to ignore the woman’s worrying groans. It might be poetic justice, but she didn’t want vomit all down her nice new cloak, either.

  Outside, the cool air was full of fog. It was even thicker now than during their boat ride to the tavern. The temperature seemed to revive Zayanna a little, and she leaned against the wall, swaying, as Irene looked round nervously. There could be anyone hiding here - on the rooftops, around the corner - and she’d never see them coming.

  ‘Wanna go home,’ Zayanna mumbled.

  ‘That’s a bit far, I’m afraid,’ Irene said. ‘Take a few deep breaths and sit down. Let me help you.’ The alley was mostly free of refuse, and it was easy to find a fairly clean bit of paving. ‘Now just sit here. I’ll get you some water.’

  ‘Don’t want water.’ Zayanna’s dark curls tumbled round her face as her hood fell back. ‘Wanna go home. Wanna be with all my sisters, preparing for dawn sacrifice. Wanna seduce a hero. Are you a hero, Clarice darling?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Irene said quickly as Zayanna tried to curl up against her. ‘I’m just like you. I’m just a woman with a job.’ She couldn’t hear anyone following them from the tavern; the others must be trusting her to handle things.

  Zayanna wasn’t saying anything.

  ‘Zayanna?’

  The drunk Fae let out a soft sigh. Harsher critics might have called it a snore.

  Right. This was the perfect moment for Irene to exit stage left and get well away before the Guantes, or indeed anyone else, took an interest. Really, she had to congratulate herself. Textbook stuff. All she had to do was walk off right now … And, her conscience pointed out, leave an unconscious woman alone in the street - at night in a dangerous city. A woman whom Irene herself had drugged. Various words came to mind for this sort of behaviour. They were not nice words.

  But Irene had a mission, and Kai’s life was at stake. Where was her sense of priority?

  She bit her lip. ‘False dichotomy,’ she whispered, as if hearing the words would make them true. ‘There is no reason why I can’t help both of them.’

  She shook Zayanna’s shoulder. ‘Wake up, Zayanna. Where are you lodged? Where is your patron staying?’

  Zayanna’s eyes fluttered open for a moment behind the mask. ‘Gritti Palace. Like yours.’ She slumped again.

  Well, that could work, for Irene had been planning to talk to Silver anyhow. Dragging Zayanna along and dumping her on the hotel staff would mean a little extra effort, but it would also, she assured herself, be good cover.

  She’s just a Fae, and you’ll probably have to run or kill her if she finds out who you really are, her sense of expediency pointed out.

  The thoughts wormed their way into her mind. But with a grunt she crouched down and slung Zayanna’s arm over her shoulder before pulling the other woman to her feet. It was what Kai would have done. Probably. Even if she was a Fae.

  The nearest canal was down to the left along the street. Hopefully there were frequent gondolas. ‘Shut up,’ she muttered to her inner critic and staggered along, together with Zayanna.

  They waited a cold, damp ten minutes that felt like twenty, Zayanna snoring gently against Irene’s shoulder, before a gondola appeared. But he did seem amenable to a fare to the Gritti Palace.

  ‘Perhaps the lovely visitor would care to pay first?’ the gondolier suggested just as Irene was about to embark. He quoted double what the previous gondolier had charged to get the six of them all the way from the platform to the tavern.

  ‘I was thinking of rather less than that,’ Irene said flatly. ‘About half that, to be precise.’

  The gondolier spread his hands. ‘Ah, but have you no pity for a poor man, madam?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Irene said. ‘Nevertheless, that’s still what I’m offering.’

  ‘I’m sure the beautiful lady could give a little more,’ the gondolier said. ‘Otherwise I must leave her alone here in the mists, waiting for some other gondolier.’ He gestured at the fog meaningfully. The soft noise of waves lapping against the houses mingled with the faint echoes of singing and talking from the tavern. No other gondolas could be seen or heard.

  Luckily, a figure two-thirds of his original price was finally sufficient. And she’d seen a purse under Zayanna’s cloak. Hopefully there would be enough in it.

  Irene supported Zayanna into the boat, and with a sigh of relief dropped her into the far end. Was it a gunwale? She should really do a remedial course on ‘parts of boats’ one of these days. It would have been very useful if she’d done one before coming here. With a bit of fumbling she detached the pouch from inside Zayanna’s cloak and opened it. Gold coins caught the light from the oil-lamps along the canal-side. She counted a few into the gondolier’s hand, then paused when she saw his eyes widen in satisfaction.

  ‘Madam,’ the gondolier said in his most melting tone, ‘beautiful lady, no doubt you are new to the city and do not yet know the exchange rates, but you have not yet paid me my full fee.’

  ‘You get the rest of it on arrival,’ Iren
e said, snapping the purse shut and sitting down next to Zayanna.

  The gondolier must have decided that he couldn’t milk any more from this tourist cash-cow for the moment. With a sigh he pushed away from the alley, sending the gondola out into the middle of the narrow canal. The houses on either side loomed above them, almost frightening in their height and mass, but also oddly reassuring in their slightly ramshackle nature. This part of the city was real. Human beings lived here.

  Within a couple of minutes the gondola swung left and out into the middle of a larger canal, sliding along faster now. The mists cloaked the buildings on either side; they were dark masses, huge and semi-visible, with the blurred brightness of lamps or lit windows gleaming like occasional jewels. Zayanna nestled into Irene’s arm with a soft murmur, settling her head on Irene’s shoulder.

  Irene tried to calm herself by mentally framing her eventual report, but it wasn’t working. She got as far as I was planning to seek out my Fae contact and shake some more information out of him, but thoughts of Kai were becoming increasingly urgent. She only had until midnight tomorrow. And exhaustion was starting to hit.

  They passed under a wide stone bridge and for a moment the lights beyond, few as they were, vanished. Irene’s hand tightened on the side of the boat and she forced herself to relax.

  It wasn’t the dark that bothered her - it was what might be hidden within it.

  The gondolier hummed something that sounded vaguely operatic, and the gondola emerged on the other side. The mist was as thick as ever, but at least now Irene could see the lights in the distance. ‘Tell me,’ she began to frame a question to the gondolier, ‘is it always this foggy—’

  Shadows descended from above, plummeting down in whirls of dark cloaks, landing on the gondola and setting it rocking violently. The gondolier swore, then crossed himself, and Irene sat up abruptly, letting Zayanna sag to one side. There were three of them: two in front of her, balanced on either side of the gondola, and one behind. She could see their boots and cloak out of the corner of her eye. ‘What is this?’ she demanded.