“I’m sorry to hear of your sister. But you’re young yet and you’re not a coward.” The word ‘coward’ echoed in his father’s voice. But it was never cowardice, it had been duty. Tell that to your brother. Father again.

  “I’m supposed to be brave,” Tenaci said. “For everyone.”

  “My first real battle, I felt the same.”

  “You did?”

  “We were outnumbered. I had my sword and armour, I might have felt safe, but when the order to charge came, I didn’t move. I told myself to go, to help my friends, but I couldn’t move. Someone gave me a shove and it started me running. But without that push, I might not have left my place on the sand.”

  “Sand?”

  “You’re too young to remember the Glass War.”

  His face brightened. “I’ve heard of it. With the damned Medah. And you fought in it? All those years ago?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t add that a little over ten years was not that long at all. And that some days, it was as if he’d just walked right off the sand.

  “I bet it was exciting, Notch.”

  “Sometimes. Mostly not.”

  Wayrn appeared, his hands full of steaming packages. “It’s spiced fish on rice.” He handed them over. “It’s all I could find.”

  “I’m happy,” Notch said.

  “To be honest, I’d prefer some venison, or anything else, right now.” His lip curled when he flicked a piece of tentacle from a fold in his tunic.

  Notch chuckled but set to work eating, licking his lips as he did. Tenaci tore into the food beside him. The spices burned but the rice was filling and the fish fresh – as it always was in Anaskar. Once finished, Notch wiped his hands on his pants and accepted a large rib bone from Tenaci.

  “Pay her with this, it’ll cover whatever you need,” he said.

  “You are not coming in with us?” Wayrn asked.

  “If she knew we led you to her, she wouldn’t see us anymore.”

  “Thank you, Tenaci,” Notch said. “Remember what I said.”

  “I will,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  “What did you tell him?” Wayrn asked when they paused at the door.

  “That being afraid was normal.”

  “Good lesson.”

  Notch opened the green door and stepped into a room awash with colour – all save red. Bold yellows and sea-blues mixed with dark greens and delicate pinks. Fabrics of all shapes and sizes hung from the walls, draped over the counter and rolled up in bolts that lined a series of openings resting behind a woman with an expectant expression.

  “How may I help?” She wore a loose robe of a multi-hued fabric and her hands were covered in rings. She eyed their clothing but did not object. Wayrn shifted beside him.

  The instructions were simple. Approach the woman on the desk, ask her if Metti was awake and hand over a silver penny, King-side up. Refuse to answer questions about how he learnt of the Witch, and reveal nothing about his name or purpose.

  “I’d like to know if Metti’s awake?”

  Her expression darkened. “Who is asking?”

  “I’d rather not say, though it’s urgent.”

  “It always is.” She picked up a heavy pair of scissors, cutting a piece of cloth. It melted away from the blade. “Who told you how to find this place, to ask for her?”

  “I do need her help,” Notch replied, placing a silver penny on the counter, the old King’s stern brow visible.

  She finished her trimming and scooped the coin into a palm. “I see. Follow me – only you,” she told Notch.

  “I will wait here.” Wayrn folded his arms.

  The woman led Notch into a second room, which had a small table and stove, in addition to a set of stairs. Leading down. Notch swallowed a groan. Not underground again.

  The woman paused to check on a simmering pot atop the stove. “Go down and speak to Guingera. When you see Metti, you will swear an oath. If you lie, you will never see Metti again. But she will be able to see you. Any time she likes. Do you understand?”

  “I do.” He didn’t but it seemed the right thing to say.

  “Good.”

  At the bottom of the stairs waited a large man with a scowl. His eyes went directly to Notch’s sword.

  “Leave that with me, then.”

  Notch unbuckled the weapon and handed it over. “Should I knock?”

  Guingera grunted as he rapped on the door.

  “Come in, and don’t let the heat escape.” A melodic voice carried through the wood. Notch slipped into a warm room, closing the door behind him. A healthy blaze burned in a fireplace set behind two grand chairs and a small table, its flames greedy for air.

  A white haired woman sat regarding him from lidded eyes. Her hair was cut close to her head and she wore a black robe over white skirts, neatly arranged. A kitten slept in her lap, its striped fur blending.

  “Sit.” She waved a bone at the opposite chair. It looked to be a jaw bone but it disappeared up a sleeve before he could be sure. Notch did as instructed, a slight gasp escaping. Up close, her face was a mask. Not a mask like those worn by the Mascare, but one of skin. Waxy smooth. No wrinkles but no natural movement either. When she spoke, her gaze passed over his face and to the bone he held. Her eyes widened, even as she asked his name. The corners of her mouth barely moved.

  Tenaci said nothing of hiding his identity from the Witch. “My name is Notch.”

  She took writing materials from the table, wrote a moment and nodded. “I see. A new name for an old hero?”

  Hero. The Glass War made no heroes. What he’d done for Anaskar was not heroism. What he failed to do would have made him a hero – in his father’s eyes at least.

  And maybe his brother’s too.

  “I’m no hero. I’m a mercenary.”

  Her laugh was a whisper. “You cannot hide your identity from one such as me, Captain. Though I will not press you, others must surely still recognise you as one of the men who turned the tide? And more, others may not have forgotten why you are not remembered with fondness at the palace.”

  “It doesn’t happen often.” He would not think on what the King had done. Bad enough that the dreams were coming back. “And thank you.”

  “Very well. To business.” The kitten stirred in her lap and she stroked it before extending her arm. “Take my hand.”

  He leaned forward. Her wrinkled skin was hot, not just warm. Hot. He frowned at her unnatural-looking face. “An oath?”

  “Of course.” Her fingertips were like embers against his knuckles. “Swear now, by whatever deity you see fit, that you will never share what you learn of Metti the Harbour Witch.”

  “I, Notch, swear by Celno, Mountain God of Anaskar, never to reveal what I know of Metti the Harbour Witch.”

  She let go and he wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. He felt no different. Whatever binding, if any, she had performed, registered not. The idea of her mask-like face watching gave him a shiver.

  Metti’s gaze dropped to the bone in his hand. “From where did that bone come? A fish?”

  “Beneath the city, from a beast now dead. Must it be a fish? It had the look of one, in a manner of speaking.”

  “It must indeed be a fish.” Metti opened her hand and he placed the bone within. The moment her fingers closed around it, the witch swayed in her chair. She placed it on the hearth, breathing with a hand on her chest a moment.

  “I know its worth,” he said when she turned back. Or at least, he had an inkling now. If merely touching it created such a reaction, and if she were actually a witch...

  She raised a white eyebrow. “I doubt that, Notch.” A smile. “And you believe I would cheat you?”

  “I only want it to be sufficient payment.”

  “It is. But before we speak on that, describe the creature.”

  “Misshapen, with uneven scales and tentacles. Very fast. When we cut it, blue ichor or slime oozed from the wounds. It couldn’t move its neck properly and it had useless fins.”

  “An efficient description,” she said. “It certainly matches no creature I have encountered.”

  “Nor I.”

  “Hmmm. Very well, Notch. What do you require?”

  “I need to find a girl. A young woman. Sofia Falco. She’s in trouble.”

  Her tight face twitched, a slight widening of her eyes. “Danillo’s daughter is in danger?”

  “Yes. She’s been taken by false Mascare, from the Lower Tier. Near the Iron Pig, only a few days gone. Do you know her?”

  “I know her father. But that is not important now. Wait.” Metti took the bone again, lay back in the chair and closed her eyes. Notch turned to the flames. Her face, with closed eyes, was the perfect imitation of a corpse. Without the rise and fall of her chest, slight though it was, he might have been fooled.

  He tapped a finger on the armrest while she sat and breathed. Then two fingers and then both hands. He moved from the fire, pacing the room. Beyond the shadows were small boxes in neat stacks, but he did not examine them, instead pacing. How far away would Sofia be now? Could he reach her quickly? She lived yet. That needed to be true. Else his efforts were for naught.

  “Stop that.”

  Notch paused mid-step.

  “Simply be still, Notch. And don’t hang there.”

  He placed his foot down. “Do you see her?”

  “I believe so.” Smoke began to curl from her hands. “She has passed Mountain Gate.”

  Notch returned to the chair opposite. “Is she alone?”

  “No. Her captors are two. Both wear the robe and mask. Sofia is collared and leashed. They travel west on horseback.”

  “What else?”

  “It is day. A mansion lies in the distance.”

  “Has she been hurt?”

  “I cannot see for certain but I think not. Wait... she is gone.” Metti opened her eyes. Smoke still rose from her hands and when she lifted them, vivid scorch marks lay on the bone. The witch smiled. “My. That was the clearest picture I have ever experienced.”

  “So she’s there now, near this mansion west of the Mountain Gate?”

  “I believe so, though I did not expect to lose sight of her so quickly.”

  “Was the bone –”

  “No. It is more than suitable. She... passed into a place where I became blind to her. But that, I feel is geographical. There is something about the foothills to the west that has always been strange.”

  Notch stood. Something to go on at last. A destination. Evidence that Sofia was alive. All he had to do now was collect Wayrn, find Flir and Luik and set out. West of the Mountain Gate were few structures, and certainly only one mansion – the Falco Mansion. “Thank you, Metti. I have to go now.”

  “Wait.” She did not rise, but her eyes bored into his own, hands moving of their own accord to stroke the kitten. “The creature you slew for this bone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now that I have touched it, I suspect it is a symptom of something wrong within the city. It did not come from a typical fish, perhaps not a fish at all.”

  Notch straightened. “Do you mean magic?”

  “No.” She shrugged. “Perhaps. I cannot be sure. But I do not wish for harm to come to those who would harvest such a creature. Especially if those doing the harvesting were... vulnerable.”

  “I believe such harvesters are in possession of enough bones to never seek such other creatures, should they exist.”

  “That is well.”

  “Though who knows if there are more or not.”

  “You are right of course.”

  “Thank you again.” Notch headed to the door. He paused when she spoke again.

  “And do remember your oath, won’t you, Captain?”

  A flash of heat ran over his hand. He swallowed. “I will.”

  Chapter 27

  Notch led Wayrn into the Harper’s stables. The scent of hay, dirt and horse combined to clog his nose. Sunlight filtered through a gap in the roof, upon which one of Seto’s men had climbed to repair. His hammer beat a regular rhythm.

  Seto, Flir and Luik waited. Luik still wore his bandage and Flir was pacing.

  “Ah, Notch, you’re finally ready.” Seto said. His colour remained off, but he moved well enough as he crossed the yard to open the gate. Tulio had forced his employer to wear a large coat of fur, despite the warm autumn afternoon, something Seto had complained about. Loudly.

  “I am. What now?” Notch rubbed his hand where the Witch had touched him. Was it unnaturally warm? She could be watching right now. He’d stretched the limits of his oath in delivering his news. Was she unhappy?

  From above came a curse, then the hammering resumed. Seto grinned. “Hope that wasn’t his thumb.” He leant against the wall. “Very well, allow me to sum up what you have each learned. Even though Flir and Luik could not find Vinezi, they tracked his associates to a building – since abandoned – one which shows signs of great organisation.”

  “At least twenty or thirty men,” she added.

  “From traces they found in several rooms, it’s clear they have enough of this powder substance to inflict much more damage.”

  Notch shifted. Had he made a mistake, focusing on Sofia? The city could be in real danger. And yet, Flir and Luik could manage. Sofia needed him too. “How much more?”

  Flir shrugged. “No way to know. Enough to damage or destroy another half dozen buildings. Maybe less. Or twice as much. I’m just guessing based on what’s already happened and what was left in their hideout.”

  Seto nodded. “But it is a grave threat.”

  Wayrn cleared his throat. “May I speak?”

  “Certainly,” Seto said.

  “Is it time to inform the palace of all this? I could arrange it so that Lord Biagio ‘stumbled’ upon such knowledge. He returns from his hunting trip tomorrow and is in some favour with Oson.”

  Seto pointed with laced fingers. “It would appear so, my dear Wayrn, but I fear even he would not be taken seriously. In an incidental way I have tried to inform the palace already, using Notch as bait. As you said, there are now more Shields and Mascare on the streets. The palace is investigating, but I think we must assume they will not be as effective as we can be. We have more knowledge, even if we cannot share it with them easily. Later, I will send more direct word to other contacts within the palace. For now, I wish to disperse you, my flock, where most needed.”

  “And where is that?” Notch asked when Seto indulged in a dramatic pause.

  “You and Flir to the Falco Manor.” He went on to address Flir and Luik, summarising Notch and Wayrn’s visit with the children, beast and witch. “I believe you can trust the witch’s vision. Truthfully, I’m pleased to learn my father did not drive her out of Anaskar. At the manor you can retrieve Sofia and she will continue to assist me in my goal and Notch’s. Luik, and Wayrn when your master has no need of you, will concentrate your efforts on locating the new hideaway of Vinezi and his Renovar. Wayrn, this is in addition to your usual duties for me.”

  “Yes, Seto.”

  “Begin with the area in the Second Tier where you found the last trace. I want them identified but not approached.”

  Luik nodded, but Flir shook her head. “Shouldn’t I search for Vinezi and the Renovar? I’m the only one who can speak their tongue, after all.”

  “How quickly you forget my own skills, Flir.”

  “Are you coming with us then?”

  “Certainly not. Tulio would never allow it in my present condition. But one of Wayrn’s many talents is that of languages. He will be more than able to assist Luik there,” Seto said. He raised a hand when Flir made to object again. “And I need you to help Notch. He may require your strength. There have been reports of rockslides to the west.”

  “But Seto –”

  “No, Flir. The girl is more important than you seem willing to admit. The sooner you accept it the better.”

  “But why, Seto? She’s not even a guarantee for your plans. She may already be in the hands of the palace. And what if she dies? Is dead already? Or worse, what if she can be returned but cannot help as promised?”

  “Enough,” Seto snapped. “I have a debt and I mean to honour it. Either assist me or seek new employment.”

  Flir crossed her arms. “So I’m just your servant, am I, Seto? Well you’re not in the palace anymore, your majesty.”

  Silence dropped over the stable. Even the man repairing the roof stopped. And then, as if realising his silence was conspicuous, resumed beating.

  Notch held his breath but Seto ignored Flir. “You have your tasks. My stores are open, take as you need.” He swept from the stable.

  Notch sighed. One look at Flir’s red face was enough. He was in for an interesting ride to Falco Manor.

  ***

  He spoke from behind the mask Seto had arranged, false red robes heavy on his shoulders. Although, knowing Seto, they were probably real. “This won’t work.”

  “Of course it will.” Flir’s tone was tight. She rubbed her horse’s neck as they approached the Mountain Gate. “We should have thought of it earlier. It’ll save time, money and effort. What’s not to be thankful for? You just have to say as little as possible. You look the part.”

  A bright sun with little warmth cast long shadows across the guards on the impressive gate. The men bowed and rushed to open the gate when Notch drew level with them. If they thought he was a pretender, likely the guards would turn him in. Or try to. The real problem would be if true Mascare caught them.

  He waited until they’d started down the mountain road before answering Flir.

  “Well I want to wear my sword. And the mask is making me sweat.”

  “We all make sacrifices, Notch.”

  He grunted as the rock face flowed by. It was a day to the manor and they were setting out late, somewhere along the way they’d have to set up camp. It was too slow. From the time he’d left Metti’s, he’d felt a slug. Who knew what was happening to Sofia, and now he was trotting along a mountain road, unable to race. He clenched his jaw. At least he had a destination.

 

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