Garet put down the bag at his feet and pulled the cap off his hair. He stood in a small puddle and was soaked to the skin.
“No, the King hasn’t called me, not yet. Master Historian, you said you needed a researcher, and I find myself in need of a job.”
Barick blinked again.
SALICK RAN UP
the steps to the Banehall, wet and furious. It was mid-morning, and once Bandat told her of Garet’s leaving, she had been unable to think of anything else. Her Master, to the Gold’s frustration, had no further information, and the image of Garet laying down his sash went round and round in her head until she could barely think of her surroundings.
“Heaven’s Shield, Salick,” the Red told her. “You’re little use here, especially if we keep tripping over you. I give you my permission to go back to the Hall, ask your questions, and then come back with a clear head!”
She did so, splashing off at a dead run, and giving fright to many who wondered from what calamity might a Bane flee so fast. She was breathless when she arrived at the Hall, and paused at the top of the steps to catch her breath and shake the water from her eyes. Kesla was back on her stool, huddled under a tarp and staring at the new arrival.
“Salick! Is there some danger? Have the demons returned?” she asked. She rose carefully and pulled the other Gold out of the rain to stand within the entrance hall.
“Claw’s sake, tell me! What is it?”
“Garet,” Salick gasped out. She wiped more water from her face and looked up into the taller woman’s eyes. “Have you seen him?” she asked.
Kesla shook her head. “No, I haven’t, though I’ve heard, as you obviously have, what he did. I’ve never heard of such a thing! And Garet is such a good Bane. Do you think he went mad or is ill in some other way?”
Salick shook her head. “I don’t know. I think I might have . . . never mind. Where is Tarix?”
“On patrol,” Kesla answered. “We still have half the Banes out there, though no demon has been seen or felt since yesterday. Some think we’ve beaten them.”
Salick looked out into the rain. She could barely see the river-side Wall in this downpour.
“Why is he out there?” she asked the grey sky.
Kesla, having no answer, shook her head. A practical young woman, she knew that the secret of another’s heart was something only Heaven could reveal. She went back to her stool, braving the rain so she would not shame Salick by being a witness to her tears.
“
A STORM LIKE
this they call Heaven’s Tears,” Torfor said. He tied down the last lashing of the tarp protecting his bakery stand. The Palace Market had been busy earlier with daily shopping and the gossip of the night, but now few braved the downpour. The baker turned back to his guest. They had spoken much while the rain fell.
“What do they call such a drenching in the Midlands?”
Garet thought for a moment. “Just rain, I think. Perhaps we aren’t as poetic in the east. Now, what about the clothes? I have some coins here to buy them, but I was hoping you could help me get a better set than these. Barick sniffed at them like I pulled them from a sewer!”
Torfor laughed and poured another small cup of tea for them both. “They’ll be clean enough now. Let’s see those coins.”
He took the Northern coppers in his hand and poked at them. “Hmmm, never seen such before. I’ll take them over to Agar’s place. He trades in foreign things and might take them for real money. Stay here and try to sell these buns to anyone foolish enough to be out in this weather.”
He threw his jacket over his head and ran off down the alley of tents and stalls. Garet waited nervously, for he had little grasp of Shirath’s money—Banes rarely had to use it—and feared serving a customer would only show his ignorance. Luckily, Torfor returned before anyone else came by.
“You’re in luck, Heaven be praised, for Agar says these are rare in the South. Here you are, my friend, a silver piece and two bronze. That will get you a fine, used suit and a coat to stave off this rain, plus money in your pocket. Keep the cap if you want,” he said, and hunched on his stool, hands held over the tiny brazier that had boiled the tea.
The kettle had the symbol for “luck” raised on one side. So did the cups, and there were such tokens all over the stall and even cut into the crusts of the loaves ready to be sold.
“Thank you, Torfor. You’ve been very kind to me, especially since I’m not a Bane anymore.”
Torfor laughed. “Well, you’ve done much for this city already, and from what you’ve told me, you were right to leave the Banehall. Imagine, sending out someone to their death when we all work so hard just to stay alive.”
“You don’t think Shirin should be exiled?” Garet asked. He sipped his tea and let warmth seep into his bones.
“Course not!” Torfor said. “You’re right about talking with those Masks. That’s how we settle things in the Wards. Talk, don’t fight, just like all our mothers said. Makes sense, crowded as we are. If we took up swords and sticks at every problem, we’d be a town of corpses. No, you can’t live within these Walls and raise your hand against your neighbour. Nor should the Banehall raise its hand against anything but dem . . . ahhh! Sorry, I’ve lived so long not saying the word. Against anything but those beasts.”
Garet nodded. He sipped more tea.
The old man leaned forward. “Now, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Garet said. He owed this man much for his kindness, and liked him besides.
“Do you think the beasts have retreated? Have we won as the gossips say?”
Garet wished he had asked a different question. He put down his empty cup on the table beside the kettle. “No. I wish I did, but I don’t. I think this is a trick, perhaps to make us let down our guard, but I don’t really know. There are pieces of the puzzle missing.”
Torfor sighed and filled up their cups again. “Well, I hope the Hall, or the Palace, or you figure it out soon. These times are wearying for an old man. But come what may, you have a friend here, Garet.”
His guest smiled. “I think I need one, Torfor. There is something I must do before nightfall, something that will take some time to accomplish. If you could direct me to places in the Market that sell certain items?”
“What items?” Torfor asked, his brows pulled down.
Garet told him, and the old man whistled.
“Well, well. No need to ask what you want them for, and I agree, of course, though don’t tell anyone I said so. I’d better take you myself. There’s one or two we can trust. Wait here, and I’ll get Salan’s daughter to watch the stall.”
“I MUST LEAVE
the Hall to get supplies,” Banerict said to Salick.
They stood just outside the infirmary.
“Since we have more injured everyday, I need more of everything! Don’t worry, the older Banes are here to keep an eye on things, and as for Marick, I’ve left his friend to watch him.”
She had come down to check on Marick in the evening, long after most of the day patrols had found their beds. Now, at Banerict’s words, she ran into the big room, hoping to find Garet, but stopped when she saw Dorict was the friend sitting and nodding beside the injured Blue.
Marick was asleep on his cot, the splint on his leg a sharp line under the blanket. Three other Banes were abed in various stages of injury, and all asleep as well, so that the Gold felt she was the only one awake in the Hall. Four Banes, too old for active duty, sat at the other end of the room, nodding over cups of tea.
Salick came up beside Dorict and touched his arm.
“Oh, it’s you, Salick. Are you all right? You, you’ve heard about Garet, I suppose?” he said, rubbing at his eyes.
She nodded and pulled up a chair beside him. “Did he talk to you before he left?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Marick.
Dorict shook his head. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to her and shrugged.
“This is all he left, besides his uniform and rope-hammer,” he replied softly.
Salick read the note, then read it again. Her anger rose once more, only to be knocked down by worry and guilt. She handed the paper back to the Blue. “Was there anything else, anything for me?”
Dorict looked at her for a moment before answering. “No, I’m sorry, just this. Did he leave something in your room, or perhaps with Vinir?”
She shook her head. “No, he didn’t say anything . . .” she began, then her sense of duty, which she realized had probably caused this clawed mess, forced her to add, “not after last night, and then I wouldn’t talk to him.”
“You’re a fool then,” Marick said.
They looked to see his bright eyes staring at them over the top of his blanket. The young Bane checked that Banerict was indeed gone from the main room of the infirmary. With a sigh, he pushed the splint out from under the blanket and let it fall to the floor.
“There! That is a most uncomfortable thing to wear, and I know he only did it to keep me in bed! Now, Salick, tell me all the news!”
She bristled. “You call me a fool then want a favour?” she asked. “Claws take you!”
“They’ll take you first,” Marick said, “if you don’t use your brains. Why did you fight with Garet? No, don’t deny it, Vinir told us all about it! You’re not mad at him because he thinks you have a horrible nature—which you do—or that you can’t be trusted—which you can’t! He’s mad because you treat him like he’s a Black Sash!”
Salick started to protest, but Marick ignored it and continued, “You think you’re the only one who cares about morals and duty in this Hall, but you forget that Garet is just as bad. The two of you deserve each other, as far as I can tell.”
Salick made to stand, but Dorict pulled her back down to her chair. “Listen, Salick. For once, he’s making sense,” he said, and Salick, stunned by a glare from the usually placid Blue, did as she was told.
Marick sat up, still holding the blanket to his chin, and finished his ranting. “Yes, deserve each other! Yet you get your nose pinched by him going on about change? I know he can be boring sometimes, but he wasn’t the first to talk that way. Mandarack was, and you thought he was Heaven’s gift to the city, which, come to think of it, he was!”
“Enough,” Salick hissed, but Dorict kept her firmly in her seat with a strength she had not known he possessed.
One hand on her wrist, he hissed right back at her. “He’s right, Master Mandarack would be changing this Hall, had he lived. Do you think he would have let things get this bad without taking action? The patrols would have been changed weeks ago, and you can’t tell me he’d have sent that poor, mad woman out to her death. I won’t believe it! The Master would have talked to her, found a place for her in the defense of the city. He would have done everything you hate Garet for suggesting!”
And with that, he let her go. Turning to Marick, he said, “Are you ready?”
The supposedly injured Bane threw off the covers to reveal he was fully dressed in his Bane’s uniform. He swung his legs down, grimaced, and said, “If you really want to help the Hall and your true love, talk to Tarix.”
They left her there. Salick stared at the empty bed, her shoulders slowly dropping, her head bending down, and detested, unbidden tears falling onto her limp hands. After some time, an old man, one of the retired Banes who helped Banerict, came over and sat beside her. He put a gentle arm around her shaking shoulders and waited while she cried out all the tears held in since Garet left.
It took a long time, but he had trained many young Banes in his time, and was patient with their sudden storms.
ACCORDING TO THE
King, Shirin had not said a word since her capture. She certainly had nothing to say to Garet, though he had tried several times to get a response to his questions. Neither pleading nor threats had worked so far, according to Trax.
“Look,” Garet said, considering the approaching hour of exile, “I don’t want this, nor does the King. He let me come down here to talk to you, after all. So if you won’t say anything, then please just listen.”
They sat on stools in a low-ceilinged cellar of the Palace. Shirin, of course, was chained to the wall. She looked at him, or rather through him, her hair matted and tangled and her clothes filthy from her violent passage to the Palace. There were bruises all over her face and arms. Sacourat’s guards had not been gentle.
Garet held out a hand, palm up. If he was to help her, even in the small way he hoped, he had to get her attention. “Shirin, you don’t have to die out there,” he said. “The King has promised that you will be spared exile if you name those who command the Masks. It is the best deal he can make, for he must have something to hold off the Banehall’s demand for your death.”
Her focus shifted to acknowledge his presence.
“The best deal?” she said, her voice rough and scornful. “You sound just like a Trader, and I’ve had more than enough of that kind of talk. Tell the King he can take back his clawed deal. It’s a lie, anyway. The Banehall won’t relent, will they, Garet? And I know that I’m dead when I walk out those walls.”