The Masked City

Vale stood back with a grunt as the rope came free. ‘Can you control the boat remotely, if you’re directing it that far?’

‘I can start it going and leave them chasing it,’ Irene said, forcing confidence into her voice. Freezing and then shattering the canal had left her with a nagging headache and a sense of weakness. She wished she’d had a chance to eat supper. Or even lunch. Or possibly breakfast. She set her hand on the boat’s keel as it bobbed in the water. ‘Right, stand back … Boat that I am touching, move out to sea fast, go around the Fae Train and head towards the great shipyard to the east, not stopping until you reach it.’

Energy ran out of her like blood. But Vale caught her before she could topple into the water, as the boat surged forward, cutting through the waves and out to sea. With an arm round her waist, he pulled her towards a side alley between two fish shops, dragging her into the shadows.

They made it just before their pursuers arrived.

Irene pressed against the wall, grateful for the shabby old building’s irregular shadows. Together, she and Vale watched the masked men (most of them dripping from their dip in the canal) point at the now-distant boat, gauge its course and come to the obvious conclusion as it curved round towards the Arsenal.

It was a nerve-racking wait, once the Ten’s servants had gone. She needed to be sure they weren’t just waiting around the corner for her and Vale to come out of hiding. Irene imagined two clocks: one ticking down the seconds until she could be sure it was safe to emerge, and the other larger one counting down the minutes until Kai’s auction. It wasn’t a comforting image.

Once they were moving again, it was early evening and the streets were still busy, but nobody looked twice at them. Without the Ten’s servants lurking, there was enough noise to reassure Irene that nobody else was listening in on their conversation. And everyone was masked now. The light from the lanterns made eye-sockets into dark hollows and turned unornamented masks into skulls. The sound of wind instruments drifted from a house’s upstairs window, giving a somehow sinister cast to the approaching night. Vale bought a couple of pastries from a vendor, and passed one to Irene as they strolled.

They stopped at the edge of the square, and Irene looked across at their target. The Campanile tower stood alone in a corner of the square, a good three hundred feet tall. She could make out the pale marble belfry, the pyramidal spire at the top and the weathervane glinting in the starlight. A set of thin marble-framed windows marched up one side of the brick of the bell tower in a dotted line. It was far enough away from any of the surrounding buildings that she and Vale wouldn’t be able to get to it over the roofs. And, more importantly, a squad of eight guards stood by the only gate at the bottom. ‘Let’s hope they don’t have a shoot-on-sight policy,’ she concluded.

‘If we get close enough, can you use that trick of yours?’ Vale queried. ‘The one where you convince them they’re seeing something else? If not, we’ll have to pretend to be bringing a message.’

Eight people was more than she’d ever tried to work on previously, but it wasn’t as if they had much choice in the matter. ‘You’re going to have to prop me up when I do it.’ She finished the pastry and dusted crumbs off her hands. ‘It’s going to exhaust me, at least for a few minutes. But you’re right, it’s the best option. I wish we could see what’s inside.’

‘I could only see stairs when I looked earlier,’ Vale said. ‘Disguised as a beggar, of course. It allowed me to get close enough to see through that archway. Any impediments are likely to be further up.’

And likely to be something that I’ll have to manage. Irene nodded, bracing herself. ‘We’d better get on with it then, before Lord Guantes catches up,’ she said. She stepped boldly out, Vale’s arm still pseudo-affectionately around her waist, and tried not to look over her shoulder or listen for pursuit.

When they reached the guards, two stepped forward, crossing their pikes in front of Vale and Irene. ‘Not tonight, friend,’ one of them said. ‘If you’re a stranger to the city, come back tomorrow and you can be in the Piazza to hear the bell ring.’

Vale glanced to Irene, and she knew that it was her turn. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. ‘You perceive myself and the man beside me as people who have a right to be here and to enter the Campanile,’ she said, pitching her voice to carry to all the guards.

She felt the compulsion take, tightening like a fishing line caught in reality, and staggered as the impact hit her. Her nose was bleeding again, the blood trickling down her face under her mask, and for a moment her head was pounding so loudly she could barely hear Vale’s voice as he ordered the guards to open the door. Apparently it really was worse when you tried to affect several people at the same time. Good to know. Though hopefully never again. But the way things were going, it would probably be tomorrow morning, without the benefit of coffee.

The guards saluted and stood back, grounding their pikes. ‘Certainly, sir,’ the first guard said, his expression abruptly all deference. ‘We are at your service.’

Vale gave a curt nod to the men and his arm tightened round Irene’s waist, straightening her as she swayed. Then he led her forward and into the arched marble entrance. There were gods carved into the stone, and the lantern light played tricks with her eyes, as the figures seemed to leer at the pair of them accusingly. Another pair of guards threw open the delicate bronze gates, letting them into the building proper.