The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 4
She accepted the belt with a bow. “Thank you for your trust too, Dirratore Poison.”
He smiled at her. “That’s enough for today.”
She left the training room, lined with dozens of sets of knives, staves and wooden practice swords. So many of which were simply too heavy for her wrists.
Closing the door, she leant against it a moment, breathing a sigh of relief. She’d held her own this time. Now she could tell Father –
“That’s not what I meant.” Luciano’s raised voice cut through the wood.
“Then what did you mean?” Uche asked, his own voice heated.
“Only that Danillo underestimates the Mascare’s progressiveness. You know she won’t be so easily be accepted as Successor, let alone Protector one day. He expects too much of her. A woman as Protector? You saw the Cavallo boy, how he acted. He’s not alone.”
“That I know. It’s how your House acts too, Luciano.”
“Well Danillo won’t have the king’s ear forever.”
“I believe she can handle it.”
“We’ll see.” He paused. “Now, her brother, there was a man fit to follow in his father’s footsteps...”
Sofia pulled away from the door. She didn’t need to hear any more about how Tantos had been better. What did they expect? She’d been training half her life to become a carver.
She stalked the hallways, heading for the Lord Protector’s rooms, breezing past the guard when she arrived.
Inside, her father paced the study. He wore no under-mask and held Argeon at arm’s length. He stopped when she entered.
“How were your lessons?”
“I’m improving.”
“Good, good.”
“Is something wrong with Argeon?”
“No. But I think it is time for you to meet him formally.”
Sofia straightened. Another chance to prove herself. “What do I do?”
“Simply open yourself to him.” He raised a hand when she made to speak. “I know that is vague, but trust Argeon. Do not fear. He will lead. It’s confronting at first, as there will be darkness only. But in time, you’ll see beyond the dark and wear the mask as any other, and Argeon will rest on the edge of your awareness.”
“That doesn’t make much more sense, father.” Sofia held out her hands, palms up and her father lowered the mask.
A shiver ran up her arms at the touch of cool bone on skin. Argeon was heavier than she’d expected. His surface was not a bright, bleached white like the new masks she made; it was yellowed with age, with smudges and a nick in one of the cheeks, and tiny cracks around the edges. He was more than old, he was ancient. The mask had been in her family for over four hundred years, since before the Great Landing. He radiated something. Was the hard line of his mouth about to pronounce judgement? The black space of his eyes were as hypnotic as they were chilling.
She’d never been allowed to touch Argeon. The mask was always too old, too dangerous for her – for anyone – to play with as a child. Not that anyone but her father and brother were able to lift it from the setting anyway.
“But why is it dangerous, Father?” she would ask.
He’d pick her up then, rest her on his knee. “Many reasons. We might use a Greatmask to compel others to act in a way to protect us, our city, our people. But also because sometimes, some people might be influenced by the masks themselves. Do you understand?”
She’d said she did, but she hadn’t really.
That was when Father wore Argeon often and when mother would shake her head if Sofia asked to touch the mask, dispensing a few stern words before returning to her carving, robe sleeves pushed up and fingers covered in bone dust. Carving. Even now, standing in Father’s dim chambers in her own grey carver’s robe, she could still hear the scrape of steel on bone, the coughing fits her mother would fall prey to while doing women’s work.
Important work, Father always said.
Argeon gave off a faint glow – he absorbed the firelight whereas the dark, polished furniture that filled the room reflected it. Sucking in a shallow breath she placed the mask on her face.
The room disappeared.
Argeon floated before her in a black void. Every mark on his face stood in vivid detail and the sockets of his eyes burned with... not hostility, but a tangible disinterest. He negated her in a way even Oson couldn’t manage. As if every possible choice, every moment of her life to date, her life to come, was as nothing.
Sofia groaned. Had he refused her already? Or was it simply Argeon’s way?
And then Father was there. His stern presence held no shape yet he ‘stepped’ between them, freeing her from the mask’s eyes. Somehow he communicated with Argeon and then the mask’s attention, while divided between her and what felt like thousands of others, was no longer cruelly uncaring.
Argeon looked at her and she did not quiver. A flicker of acknowledgement. The flash of feathers streaking across blue sky.
The study flicked back into focus, her father’s concerned face before her.
Had Argeon recognised her? She let out a breath and handed back the Greatmask. A shiver lingered from his disinterest. “Did I do something wrong? He didn’t seem to like me, father. He didn’t speak.” Sofia looked down. “I thought I’d do better.”
“I’m sorry, Petal. It was wrong to rush you. But he saw you, he knows you. Worry not.” He stared into the fireplace and she stood beside him, following his gaze. The yellow tongues of flame were frantic but somehow soothing.
“You expected more?”
“Perhaps. I was certain you would be able to speak with him right away. But there is time enough for you to spend with him before the Successor’s Ceremony. It would do well to impress the king. We will try again tomorrow.”
“Will it become easier?”
“In time.”
Her Father returned Argeon to its setting above the mantle and she met the mask’s eyes again.
Darkness.
Chapter 6
“Notch?”
He started. Flir stirred in his arms.
“I’m here.”
What woke her? It didn’t matter. What mattered was escape. Especially if more creatures lurked beneath the city.
“I can’t feel my face.” She struggled to stand. “I can hardly move, what happened?”
“Let me.” He helped her up. Even in Flir’s weakened state, her attempt to use him as leverage nearly drove him down. “Something attacked us.”
“What was it? My mouth tastes like sewer-fish.”
He laughed, tension in his muscles easing. “Mine too. Nothing natural.”
“Feels like tiny insects are crawling all over my body. What happened back there?”
“The creature did something. Your face was covered in slime.” He rubbed his own jaw, the echo of a tingle still present. “I think it paralyses. You might have drowned otherwise.”
“So that’s what I can taste?” She paused. “Gods, it’s even in my ears.”
“It nearly covered your head.” He paused, ears straining in the dark. Nothing. “It probably wanted food, though I’ve never heard of anything like that living down here.”
“Nor I, but I’m glad you stopped it.”
He could sense more than see her stretching her limbs. “Can you walk?”
“I can. I’m more worried about the lamp.”
“I couldn’t find it.”
“Then we follow our ears.” She took several slow steps forward, boots squelching. “I marked one of the access tunnels not too far from here, at a point where the channel divides. Harder to find without the lamp but we’ll manage.”
Notch followed her uneven footfalls, one hand trailing the wall. “We should visit the Queen’s Harper.”
“Clearing your name won’t be that easy.”
“It’s a start. Seto will have ideas.”
She stopped and he bumped into her. “You’re just a mercenary now, Notch. Don’t forget that, or it’ll get you killed.”
“You think I should leave Anaskar?”
“I do. Forget about your name. Find a new one. You’ve done it before, you could do it again. Besides, the Royal Family want you. On principal anyway; I doubt they care about the girl.”
“That was different,” he said, frowning. His old name was of no use to anyone now, and he wasn’t giving up another one. But she was right about the palace. None of them cared about the girl. Just the perceived blow against whatever House she’d worked for. “And I didn’t kill her.”
“Save it, Notch. You know I believe you.”
“Well?”
“Well what? Are you angry?”
He spoke through clenched teeth. “I don’t want people to think that about me, Flir. It’s not who I am. Is that so hard to understand?”
“It’s not,” she said. “But no-one will ever believe the best about us, Notch. That’s who we are.”
“I’m going to see Seto.”
“And I’m going with you.”
“Thank you.”
***
Flir’s escape route took them right to the harbour. The squawking of gulls slipped through the wooden doors and gaping windows of a rundown building. Its floor was muddy and the walls covered with spider webs. Shouts from dockworkers and sailors mixed with the slosh of water against stone. The scent of fish was strong, even inside.
A child in ragged clothing appeared, his face shadowed.
“Spots. Good work.” Flir flicked him a silver piece and he caught it with a grin, slipping away.
“I have something for you, Notch. Then it’s back to the Second Tier.” She pulled a cloak and hood from a pack resting by the door. “No good breaking you out just to have you recognised.”
“True.” He donned the garment.
He followed her outside, blinking against the sun where it lanced down over the wall. His first step lodged in a grate. A chip of cobblestone flickered into the black, tiny splash following. Though covering a deep shaft, the bars of the grate were narrow enough to be safe. He ignored Flir’s snicker. Such grates served the city well enough in rare times of flood.
Men in canvas pants crowded the streets, the flash of earrings and a swelter of voices, all bouncing off the massive walls. The loudest were those of laughter. Or anger. A noble kicked his horse into a crowd by the Harbour Master’s Offices, curses bouncing from his cloak as he rode up the street.
“Wait. I want to ask after the Blue Lady,” Notch said.
“Someone might recognise you.”
“Then we’ll be quick. You can do all the talking and I’ll wear my hood. Just ask after the ship.”
He slipped into the flow, jostling a man with a crate on his shoulder. The dockworker grunted, but didn’t stop. Notch climbed the steps to the Harbour Master and entered a room presided over by a wide desk carved from bone. At it, Harbour Master Michai, a man every captain and merchant knew well, wrote at a ledger. His bald head glinted in torchlight, despite light streaming through open curtains. Flanked by a pair of Shield, the harbour master ignored a woman and man who stood before him.
By their fair skin and hair, both appeared to be from Renovar, Flir’s homeland. Neither wore an expression of patience.
“But we were not told,” the man said.
Michai did not look up. “Your captain ought to know better. No red items of clothing are to be worn in the city.”
The woman placed her hands on the bone. “But it is only a scarf. Surely that is no crime?”
“It is indeed, madam.” Now he raised his head. “Only the Mascare may wear red. Now remove it or you will be returned to your ship.” He held out his hand.
The Renovar exchanged glances, then looked to the Shield, and back at each other. Finally the woman removed her scarf, tossing it at the Harbour Master with a sneer before storming from the room. The man trailed.
Flir stepped forward. “Harbour Master?”
“Wait.” Michai finished writing, then squinted up at her. “Yes?”
“Has the Blue Lady left the city?”
He didn’t even consult his ledger. “Of course. And it will dock in Whiteport within three weeks, if the weather holds.”
Notch kept back near the door. Flir muttered a curse. “Trouble is, I was meant to be on that ship.”
“I see. Were you looking to book passage to Whiteport? If so, I suggest you try Captain Melosi. His ship is the Hawk.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Notch dragged his feet on the way out. It had always been a futile hope but it was his father’s sword. He’d needed to know.
“Satisfied?” Flir asked when they stood before the crowds.
“No.” He started toward the open gates. “Let’s find Melosi. He’s meant to be one of the best.”
“Gods, why?”
“I want to ask him a question.” He passed the gates, boots clapping on the stone, tread changing to a thump when he hit the boardwalk. It’s trunk-like boards were crowded with sailors and merchants with handcarts, slow wagons and pairs of the Vigil, their blue and silver uniforms bright under the sun. Notch kept Flir between he and the guards but no-one gave him a second glance.
A cold breeze tugged on his cloak, flying in from across the glittering sea. Glimpses of water stretched beyond rocking ships tied off at the moorings, their huge hulls caked in green and black barnacles.
He stopped a smiling sailor, the man chewing on an apple. Sails snapped and Notch had to raise his voice over the throng of shouted commands and cursing. “Ho, sailor. Do you know from where Captain Melosi sails?”
“Aye, friend. The Hawk ain’t far. Green flag up the crow’s nest.” He pointed to a two-masted ship down the harbour and moved on with Notch’s thanks.
“Notch?” Flir had a frown on her face. “This isn’t bright.”
“We won’t be long.”
She shook her head but followed him.
At the Hawk, he hailed a sailor and was sent to one of the taverns built up against the city walls. A flimsy building, it was little more than three walls with a door, and inside, a bar. Rosemary oil burnt on the bar, but Notch still found himself swatting at mosquitoes where he stood. A bald man poured drinks, two street toughs positioned across from the door, eyes watchful. Clubs hung from their belts.
Conversation and bodies filled the tap room, but Captain Melosi was easy to spot, thanks to the description Notch had been given. The man sat alone, nursing an ale, his giant beard woven with tiny bird skulls and silver buttons bright against his black coat.
“Captain Melosi?”
“So I am. You?”
“My name is Marco, and this is Asa. I wish to hire your services.”
He shook his head, not offering a chair. “You can ask, but I don’t take passengers unless they pay handsomely, and I have to say Marco, you don’t seem the type.”
“I’m not looking for passage.”
Melosi eyed him. “Maybe you should sit down.”
Notch sat and pulled a signet ring from a pocket sewn into his tunic. He slid it across the table, the single mountain peak quickly covered by Melosi’s hand, who held it up, squinting. “My sword bears the same insignia, but it’s bound for Whiteport on the Blue Lady. If you know its captain, I would have you seek it out.”
“The Hawk might be heading east on the morrow, but I’m no errand boy.” He placed the ring back on the table and waited.
Notch nodded. “Forgive me if I don’t indulge you in the game, Captain. How does twenty gold pieces sound?”
Flir made a choking sound, but the Captain’s eyes lit up. “Most agreeable. But what guarantee can you offer? I’d hate to come back here to find you gone and my time a wasted.”
“We both know you’re already heading there, what do you waste?”
The man waited.
Notch sighed. “Take my ring as a token.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Not worth much. A Mountain family?”
“To me, it’s priceless.” Notch held the man’s eyes.
Eventually the captain extended a hand over the table. Notch took it.
“A deal then. The Hawk will return before the deep of winter.”
“A deal,” Notch said. He stood. “Thank you. Call upon the Queen’s Harper when you return.”
The captain grinned. “Don’t thank me yet.”
“You sail the East Oceans in winter?” Flir asked.
He shrugged. “I’m the best.”
“Thank you again, Captain,” Notch said, pulling Flir from the tavern. “Let’s go see Seto.”
“And tell him he has to hand over twenty gold pieces?”
“I may just save that conversation until after Captain Melosi returns with the sword.”
“Notch, you might never see your ring again. You know that. Or your father’s sword.”
“He wants the gold.”
Flir said nothing.
Notch followed her up darkening streets toward the Second Tier and the Antico Gate, weaving by taverns and warehouses, small market squares full of bustling colours – no red – where people shouted their promises; fresh fish and plump lemons popular, and up to the open gates, where the emblem of the King’s Swordfish lay on each wing. He couldn’t keep a sneer from his face at the sight.
Flir flashed a carven bone pass and the guards waved them through, giving Notch a look but not challenging them.
“Where did you get that?” Notch asked, some distance from the gate.
“I happened across it some weeks ago.”
“Happened?”
“In a purse I found in a tavern. On a man’s belt. He was sleeping something off.”
He shook his head, but couldn’t stop a smile.
The streets of the Second Tier were quiet. Evenly spaced lamps, well stocked compared to the torches of the Lower Tier, barely illuminated ornate street signs carved into walls of multi-storey buildings. A statue of the old King appeared on a corner, his shape little more than a black outline against the last dying light in the sky. Pinned to the plaque was one of several reward notices.
He took one down. His likeness was fair, though the artist had given him squinty eyes and a sneer – no doubt to suggest a more criminal appearance. “Thought I’d be worth more than that.”
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