City of Masks (20 page)

The old lady attempted a smile. It did not suit her face, and even her son shuddered, sending ripples of fat dancing over his jowels. He led Marick to his cart, dumped a smelly assortment of clothing and trash over him, and set off, pulling it himself like a draft horse.

Marick held his nose and tried to calculate several timelines, any one of which could spoil his wonderful plan. The Masks might find him too soon, and his two-legged horse wouldn’t say a word against them searching his cart, of that Marick was sure. If that particular disaster did not fall, then he might not make the bridge gates before the alarm went up, and that depended on a third interval, that of Reebat’s volcanic greed. The bump accompanying each cobblestone was like the ticking of one of Lord Andarack’s clocks. To quiet the pain in his leg, Marick plucked slivers from his hands with his teeth and counted the wheel’s bumps, trying to guess how far they had come.

He felt a new smoothness to the road and decided they must be in the Banehall Plaza. He almost jumped from his hiding place to make a run for the Hall, but restrained himself. He feared there would be an archer or two in the surrounding gardens, waiting for him to try so they could finish him off and then disappear into the mid-day crowds.

The distance between the Hall and the bridge gates seemed to stretch into forever. Finally, they slowed down and stopped.

He pulled apart a peephole in the pile of smelly clothes and looked out. Ten or more Masks were ranged in front of the gates, including Shirin with her spear and the giant with his axe. The guards had been disarmed and were glaring at their captors.

The Hall was sounding like the better plan now, though it would be a dangerous dodge, and he couldn’t count on any help against such odds. Now he wished he had found a way to disguise his shield instead of leaving it at the shop in the market. That might have given him a chance against the arrows.

He was coiling himself up for a sudden springing escape when cries went up on the far side of the Plaza. A thrill went up his spine, half fear and half exhultation. Reebat had done it! She had opened the box, unable to keep her greedy fingers off whatever treasure she imagined was inside. At this distance, the effect was only apparent to a Bane and, it seemed, to a Mask.

Shirin ran back from the gate, past the line of carts and waiting people, to stand and search, turning her head back and forth.

“It’s a demon, probably in a Ward behind the Banehall. Let’s go!”

The big man grabbed her shoulder. He towered over her, shouting. “You’re mad! We have to find that brat. If he tells what he knows, we’re done!”

Shirin whipped around, and the other felt the point of her spear at his throat, just under the stone chin of the mask.

“Listen very carefully,” Shirin said. She walked forward, forcing the big man back. “We fight demons. That’s why we exist, whatever your master thinks. If you want to leave, do so, but first give me your mask.”

The man stumbled away from the point, a trickle of red running down his neck.

The other Masks ranged themselves behind Shirin. Nine Masks looked at one, and the one gave in.

“All right,” the axe-man said. “But you heard that Bane. He knows who you are. Soon, the Hall and Palace will too. After this, you should hide out on your own for a while, lest you draw attention to the rest of us.”

“Don’t worry. Tell your master that I’ll stay with a relative I trust until things calm down,” Shirin said. “Now follow me. It’s time to kill a monster.”

They turned and ran off towards the southern Wards, the big man still grumbling and taking up the rear.

The guards took some time to recover their weapons and pride before allowing anyone through. One ran off towards the palace while Marick followed at his cart’s leisurely pace.

He had actually fallen asleep by the time they stopped. Light hit his eyes as Reebat’s son pulled off the pile of clothing.

“Fifth Ward,” the man said, and turned the cart around when Marick got out.

“Thank you, my friend!” Marick said. “Tell me your name, so that I might ask Heaven to guard you.”

The man just shrugged and pulled the cart away with all the calm resignation of a nameless beast.

Marick made it to his goal step by agonizing step. He had treated his leg very badly today, and now it was returning the favor. At the steps leading up to his hopeful refuge, he paused and looked down at the bandage. Soaked again. He hoped Alanick wouldn’t mind him bleeding all over her expensive carpets. With a smile on his face and that thought in his head, he fainted, and the great astrologer came down the stairs herself to order him carried up to her couch.

GARET AND DORICT
were still waiting on the steps when Marick returned.

“They’re coming back,” Ratal said, using two higher steps and his own height to an advantage. The Gold had been there for hours, following his Master’s orders to guard the doors of the Banehall.

“Who are all those with them?” Dorict asked. He needed neither Ratal’s height nor his elevated position to see that the group was much larger than the one that had set out.

Garet strained his eyes to make something out in the bobbing light of the torches the arrivals carried. He caught glints of light reflecting off steel breastplates and the heads of pikes.

“I think the King’s Guard comes with them,” he said.

“And some Ward Guards too, or I’m still seeing double,” Kesla said. The Gold had come out of her sick bed to stand watch with her teammates. She still had a bandage wrapped around her head and leaned on her flail to keep from falling. Ratal’s most passionate pleas had not persuaded her to return to the infirmary. She had snatched the weapon he had borrowed and snapped, “Get your own, oaf!” and then glared at Garet to smother any further argument against her presence.

The group was close enough now to prove her right. The Masters clustered around a handcart, the King’s Guards surrounded them, and the Fifth Ward Guards trailed behind, looking like they wished they were somewhere else.

The Hallmaster was easily located by his raised voice.

“No, Captain. You will not ask questions of the lad. This is Bane business. I shall inform the King, when I find the time appropriate! You there, at the gates! Stand ready to close them and secure the Hall.”

Ratal rushed down to do so, and Garet followed reluctantly, leaving Dorict with the injured Gold. The King’s Guard came no further than the iron fence, and the Ward Guards had already turned eagerly towards the bridge gates. Together, he and Ratal pushed the heavy ironwork shut and threw the bar across to lock it.

The big Gold set himself there as if he meant to stay all night and repel the squadron of armed guards with just the superior look on his face. The Captain stood and returned his stare for a moment, then signaled her squad to about-face and march back to the Palace. Ratal preened and turned to Garet.

“The nerve of those arrogant fools to come against the Banehall!” he said.

“Were they coming against us?” Garet asked. “It looked to me like they were guarding the Masters. Can I leave? I have to go and see how Marick is.”

Ratal nodded nobly and turned to face the darkened plaza.

“I will remain here,” he said.

With Dorict’s help, they got Kesla through the crowds of confused Banes in the hallways and back to the infirmary. By the time they laid her on her cot, she was sweating and green in the face.

“Claws! Next time I might just take Banerict’s advice and stay in bed.”

The physician came up and took her pulse. He made the appropriate disapproving noises and moved on to where Marick lay amid a circle of onlookers. Among the Red Sashes, Garet spotted a Gold one. He slipped through to stand beside Salick. Dorict appeared at his elbow, and they all looked down at the wounded Bane.

“He’s never been happier,” Dorict growled. “All this fuss over him? It’s all he’s ever wanted.”

“Dorict?” came a weak voice from the bed. “Is that you, friend Dorict?”

The stout Blue relented at the pitiful sound of his friend’s voice and came close to take his hand.

“Are you all right? Were you badly hurt?” he asked.

Everyone surrounding the bed leaned in closer to hear the answer.

The all-too innocent face nestled amongst the pillows and blankets whispered, “Banerict said I might have died.”

Dorict sniffed.

“Actually,” the Physician shouted, “I said I might kill you myself, if I recall.”

The usually compassionate man glared at his patient and then the other Banes.

“Sometimes you are all too foolish for words! I have set more broken bones than all the other physicians in the city combined. I have stitched up tears from claws, punctures from teeth, slashes from demon skull-ridges, and Heaven knows what else. I have healed an uncountable number of training injuries including broken toes and fingers, wrenched shoulders, twisted knees, ankles, and torn muscles I had no idea existed until I came here. Now add to that all the other ills of a Bane: nightmares, nervous collapse, loss of appetite, broken hearts, and so on. I have even had the misfortune,” and here he glared at Garet and Salick, “of tending Banes punctured by swords. But that isn’t enough for you suicidal idiots! Now you bring me arrow wounds!”

He threw up his hands. “What is this city coming to?” he asked, and his audience wisely chose silence and retreat as their only answer.

The others left until only Dorict, Salick, and Garet remained, along with Tarix who sat on the sleeping Kesla’s bed and watched the physician boil.

“Easy, Banerict. I’m sure Marick didn’t go looking for that wound,” she said. “How bad is it?”

The stooped man huffed and then answered, “Not too bad. Luckily it just pierced the outside of his thigh. A bit to the left and it would have been but a scratch. As it is, he’s lost enough blood to make him weak for a day or so. You can all stay for just a moment, then let the boy rest.”

And with that, he was off to his room at the end of the infirmary, his progress marked by muttering.

Tarix left Kesla to sit on a stool beside Marick’s bed.

“Oh, that’s good to rest the leg. I daren’t tell Banerict I overdid it by running all the way to the Fifth Ward. He’d burst like over-ripe fruit!”

She looked at Marick, who moaned at her. The Red frowned.

“I told Banerict I didn’t think you went looking for that arrow, but we both know that is exactly what you did. Idiot! No, don’t try your tricks on me. Moaning won’t help you now. Marick, I swear by Heaven’s Shield that I will feed you to a demon myself if you don’t immediately tell me all that went on and what clawed reason you had to do it!”

Marick sat up, looking less at death’s door and more on his best behaviour. He avoided the glares of his friends, especially one from Dorict that might have set him on fire.

“Master, I really didn’t try to get hurt! It just turned out that way. I was helping the Hall, and I just got into a little trouble, that’s all.”

“A little trouble?” Salick said. “
Little trouble
doesn’t need the protection of Bane, King, and Ward, or come back with a hole in its leg!”

Garet bit his tongue. He had tried to make the boy more responsible, but Marick would always be Marick. There was no doubt he would lead an interesting life, no matter how short it was.

“Talk,” said Tarix.

An hour later, Banerict shooed them out of the infirmary, and Tarix took the others to the room she shared with Relict. Her husband was sitting at a table mending a tear in his sash when they came in.

“What’s this, company at such a late, no, I suppose
early
hour. My dear, how is your leg? I saw how hard you worked to keep up.”

Tarix shrugged. “Painful, but if that is what it costs, that is what I’ll pay. Now listen to what Marick told us.”

She repeated the story of the Blue’s spying on the Masks and his narrow escape. Relict’s eyes widened at the young Bane’s near-capture at the Bridge Gate.

“Well, luck is better than wisdom, it seems. Though it was a clever trick with the jewel.”

Salick shook her head.

“One that might have gone badly wrong had that old woman opened the box too early or too late, Master. But what surprises me is that the Mask, Shirin, gave up the chase to go fight what she thought was a demon.”

Relict nodded. “Branet would hate to hear me say this, but it was a very Banelike decision. He has sent a demand to the King that ‘all false Banes’ must be captured at once. The wording of that letter was insulting enough that I doubt the King will even reply. And Trax is on his side, if our Hallmaster would just notice. The fortune-teller who sheltered Marick sent word to both the Hall and the Palace, and the King ordered out his guards right away to protect us on the way back.”

“There were some Ward Guards too,” Garet said.

Tarix sat on the bed and raised her leg. She took off the brace, and Relict put a cushion under her knee.