The Masked City

She had to be.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Just as Irene had expected, the scene upon arrival was mayhem, and very nearly bloody mayhem. She stumbled out of the Train onto a long swaying platform, which extended far into the dark lagoon. The Train rested upon steel tracks, but there was no indication as to what supported those tracks, or if anything did at all.

The crowd from Aunt Isra’s seminar conveniently surrounded Irene, and she took care to stay in the middle of it. Some elements were peeling off in an attempt to find their patrons or protectors, but others were holding their current position until the mob had thinned out. What with the servants, maids, piles of luggage, pet greyhounds and set of white Lipizzaner stallions, there was very little chance to see what was going on or to tell one group of visiting Fae from another. The platform was a riot of different costumes, almost all of them highly dramatic, and in the light of the high street lamps it looked like a fever dream: all colour, brightness and no logic or sanity at all. The Library brand on her back was a permanent low throb of painful warmth, like sunburn, constantly reminding her of its presence. But, from the outside, she was just one more anonymous person in the mob. And, thankfully, nobody looked twice at her.

Theoretically, since this was a high-chaos alternate, she could wander into the crowd and meet exactly the person that she needed to meet in order to rescue Kai and save the day. Stories formed easily here, and she would be just one more protagonist with a story to tell. On the other hand, she might wander into the crowd and be met by someone, such as Lady Guantes, who needed to meet her to continue their own story. And that could be catastrophic for Irene.

‘Hey.’ The woman in cowboy leathers poked Irene’s arm, taking her by surprise, and Irene suppressed a twitch of shock as she turned warily towards her. They’ve caught me! No, wait, she just wants to ask me something. ‘Clarice, was it? My name’s Martha. Look, some of us are going to get a - what did they call them, Athanais? - a water-taxi from here, and find the higher-ups later. I don’t have to be with my lady until midnight, and I know where she’s lodging. Can you catch up with your higher-ups later? Where will they be?’

Irene thought back to the few comments Lord Silver had made. ‘He said the Gritti Palace,’ she said truthfully. But it might be useful to have an excuse for wandering … ‘But he might change his mind. What can you do?’ She shrugged.

Martha nodded. Light-brown curls the same shade as her leathers foamed round her face and fell over her shoulders, and her skin was tanned to precisely a few shades paler. ‘I’ve had a few like that, yes. But something else: you were speaking to Aunt Isra in Arabic earlier, weren’t you? Are you good with languages - such as Italian?’ Her question was more than a little desperate.

For a moment Irene wanted to laugh hysterically. Of course, being Fae didn’t somehow make you omni-lingual, though Aunt Isra had suggested the very powerful ones could get round that. The junior Fae here, low-ranking pawns of her own presumed level, wouldn’t necessarily be linguists. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘Well enough to get by, at least …’

‘That’ll do. Hey, Athanais! Grab that boat!’ The woman seized Irene’s arm and began towing her through the mob towards the far side of the platform, where the waters lapped against it. Irene recognized some of the other students from the seminar there. ‘Clarice here can speak Italian!’

‘Oh, thank god for that,’ Athanais said. Irene suppressed a sigh of relief. They weren’t thinking twice about her, weren’t even considering enemies in their midst. A sudden burst of distant fireworks shone on his pale hair. ‘None of us here speak Italian at all. Look, talk to this ferryman: what we want is a good tavern—’

‘Bar,’ the woman in the business suit put in.

‘My dear, we must have a clothing shop first,’ a woman in a black bikini said, sitting at the edge of the platform, her legs dangling knee-deep in the water. ‘I’m called Zayanna, darling,’ she introduced herself to Irene. ‘I swear, had I been allowed to bring as much clothing as certain other people …’

Several small boats were floating on the far side of the platform. Some were gondolas, large enough to hold half a dozen, but others were slightly larger crafts with several oarsmen. The boatmen - gondolieri? - all wore black cloaks, domino masks, striped jumpers and tricorne hats, as if it was some sort of uniform.

‘Excuse me,’ Irene said, then switched to Italian. ‘Excuse me! Let me through, please.’ She edged up next to Athanais and quickly managed to negotiate a price for the six of them. Sterrington, the one in the business suit, was happy enough to pay, as long as she could have a receipt for it.

The idea of taking refuge in a tavern was sounding better and better by the second. She could use a stiff drink, and get her bearings and pick up local gossip before going back on the hunt for Kai. As long as the pack of seemingly friendly Fae didn’t turn on her. She finished agreeing the deal with the gondolier and shifted back to English. ‘Everyone aboard, ladies, gentlemen. We are getting out of here before someone high-ranking requisitions our craft for their pet elephant and we all have to swim to the bar.’

There were chuckles, and the others filed on board the narrow boat. The remaining student was introduced as Atrox Ferox - an Asian Fae in black leather and latex plating. He had a sleek gun holstered at his side and his face was chiselled and expressionless. Zayanna simply slipped into the water and swam up next to the boat, sliding an arm over the edge to hold on. Sterrington helped Irene on board before following her, and Athanais joined them.